Jump to content

Thunder King

Members
  • Content Count

    2,323
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Thunder King

  • Rank
    That One Guy
  • Birthday 07/19/1984

Recent Profile Visitors

1,480 profile views
  1. Come one, come all! Looking to put a social thread wherein our Claremont PCs will settle in for a fantasy tabletop RPG game based more or less on D&D. Please post your PC and what classes you think it would be fun for them to play. I'm throwing Adam into the fray, but I'm not sure if he's going to DM or play. If you want to volunteer your PC to DM, that's fine too. SO far; Adam: DM, Wizard or Rogue.
  2. Thunder King

    Assemble!

    Adam always felt self-conscious when he was in public. While the assembly was a motley group of odd people, he felt the oddest. He was wearing his lightest hoodie, keeping the hood down despite every instinct telling him to cover his head. Still, despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous, he was nevertheless taller than most, and even the hoodie couldn't conceal his musculature. And, even though the rest of his body was a hideous map of scar tissue, his face was reasonable looking, handsome even. . He kept to himself and stood at the back, not trusting anything to be sturdy enough for him to sit down. He was sure he wasn't the only nervous person here. He'd read up on teenagers, a lot, actually, studying books on psychology and biology. He was finding that his theoretical studies showed only that his practical understanding was limited. That was okay, though, his nerves were the product of his sheltered upbringing. The doctors had told him that teenagers were often nervous and that he wasn't anymore maladjusted than any other teen. At least not by a noticeable margin.
  3. "Adam." Adam said with what he hoped was a pleasant smile. He was very new to this type of freestyle socialization, and he hoped it didn't show. "Nice to meet you. I uh, well.." He looked around. "I'm kinda new to this whole...outside world thing." He flinched. "I probably wasn't supposed to admit that." His shoulders slumped. "Not that it matters, I was told that Claremont is home to, well, all sorts of people. So I suppose I should admit to something." He reached up and grabbed the shaggy mop of black hair on his head, and removed it. Beneath the wig was a criss cross network of scars on the top of his head. Only his face was free of scars and, on further inspection, looked almost too perfect. "If we're gonna be roommates, I should admit that I don't have hair, or eyebrows, and my eyes are yellow...and they glow in the dark. Don't want you freaking out if you wake up in the middle of the night and see me like that. I've got uh, a lot of scars. Except on my face, surgery helped with that." "So with all that unnecessarily personal information out of the way, what's up?"
  4. September 4th, 2018 Adam's parents had agreed to back off once he was ready to move into his room. He adored them, he really did, but he was eager to get out on his own. At least somewhat near something similar to 'on his own'. Not like he needed help bringing in his bags. He felt stares on him as he walked up to the building with everything he packed on his back and in his arms. He was wearing a light hoodie, jeans, and a sturdy pair of boots. He much preferred boots, they wore out slower than shoes, especially given his size. He had on his wig, fake eyebrows and contacts. He had already decided that if he was going to be a superhero, the best mask was no mask at all. He was a bit warm, but too self-conscious of his scars to wear anything short sleeved. At least yet. His parents had tried to assure him that they were sure there were other odd kids at Claremont. it was a good place to start really getting out there. He wouldn't be so much of a freak. He stepped into the room and put his things down as gingerly as he could. Then, he set to work.
  5. Solar Sentinel A Soldier Serves He had known war for an entire lifetime. He had breathed it, lived it. He would spend hours sitting and staring at the wall because there was nobody to give him orders anymore. He went through counseling, came to terms with the realities of what he'd faced. He went into being a superhero because it was a natural transition. It was an easy one, so to speak. Not that the job was easy, far from it, but it was easier than war. He let the bad guys on Earth live. He served his community. Some days it was the only reason he got up. War was his purpose, but there was no war. Sure, there were wars, but his war was over. For a time, he was even happy being a hero. It made him feel better about what he done, what he'd been. He knew enough to understand what the Terminus was, what that meant. He had paid his respects at the memorials. He was a superhero, sure. He had a costume, powers, a secret identity. When he stepped out of his apartment and gazed up at the sky, he wasn't a superhero anymore. He was a soldier again. There was an enemy to fight, an enemy to kill. He quashed that line of thinking when he was called to help. With his speed he could be anywhere in seconds. He rescued people, protected people. He was a good soldier, and though these weren't orders, he followed them. People needed his help. Every moment he helped, he felt the pull. Go fight, it told him. You are a warrior, a soldier, you were born and bred to kill. He ignored it, not because it didn't make sense, but because it made too much sense. He was a civil servant. He was here to help. He was helping a bunch of civilians when he saw them. They were not people, not anymore. They were monsters, and they could not be reasoned with. There was no discussion, no peace talks, this was an enemy that would not quit until every last one of them was gone. He felt the anger well within them. This was his home, the war wasn't supposed to follow him here. This was a place he could pay the price, he could pay for the blood on his hands, a little at a time. He couldn't let his bloodlust pull him in, he couldn't afford to. He clenched his fists hard enough to crush stone. His knuckles were white, he felt the rage build within him. “F*** it.” He said the moment the people he was helping were. He was a blue streak, speeding through the air at the nearest Omegadrone. The bloodlust won. This was a day of war, a red day. A soldier's war. This was a rage he had not felt in years, and he let himself revel in it. Tomorrow he would pick up his plowshare and put down his sword. He tore through the enemy, reveled in the bloodlust. More enemies, more to kill. He tore a blue streak across the sky, this way and that, finding enemies to fight, helping where he could. He lost track of hours as he fought. It didn't matter if he was tired, as long as there were enemies, he would fight. He was a soldier, and this was a war. Days later, exhausted from muscle to bone, he entered his apartment. He took off his mask, and collapsed to the floor. Henry stared at his hands. They'd been shaking for hours, and simply couldn't stop. This was the price he paid for fighting. He didn't know all the numbers, not the damage, not the death toll, not the casualties. It wasn't that he didn't care, or couldn't care. He was still numb, he hadn't processed anything. The details were all vague. Events disconnected from one another, forming packets of memory that had no relation to any other memories. He sat on the floor in his apartment and just stared at his hands. He was distantly aware that in time, everything would make sense again. He would come back down to reality and, maybe with more counseling, he would be more okay. Now, though, all he did was stare at his hands. He stared at them until, finally, he buried his head in them. Henry William Mason buried his head in his hands, and wept.
  6. Name: Adam Lanchester Codename: Specimen Year: Sophomore Pronouns: Masculine/male Roommate: Unassigned Goal: To make friends and experience what being a teenager is like. Favourite High School Movie: The Breakfast Club, because his parents exposed him to movies they liked when they were young, and he hasn't gotten out much yet.
  7. I corrected the PP totals on his powers section and confirmed that the totals coincide with the top of his powers section and at the bottom of the sheet.
  8. She was going to move the car, get it out of the way, get the people out, and move the convoy. She kept her head on the mission, she needed to. She couldn't let herself think of things, dwell on things. Get people saved, help people, that was what was important. She'd curl into a ball and cry her eyes out tonight. Now, she was a superhero. Whether she wanted to be or not.
  9. Edit; Nevermind. Prism is going to start by trying to pull the people out of the car if she can, mostly because she's worried that attacking Redshift will injure them. If she succeeds on the first try, she'll blast them. Basically, Prism will try to rescue the people, if she succeeds, she'll attack Redshift. If she fails, she'll keep trying until she succeeds. 26 for the first attack 17 for the second attack if she gets one. If I need to make any rolls to facilitate the rescue, let me know.
  10. Prism is going to take her shot, a blast; 11 ...gonna go ahead and burn an HP for that. 29 MUCH better. Remember, autofire.
  11. Prism shifted her stance slightly. These were Omegadromes, the stuff of literal nightmares. She'd heard horror stories, read newspaper articles. She was afraid, but she was a superhero. A cloud of energy formed around her right hand as long practice and reflex took over. Manifest the energy, throw it, shape it. She clenched her fist and swung her arm over and underhand like a softball pitch. It flew from her hand, purple and red clouds changing into jagged, almost crystalline bolts. It slammed into an Omegadrone, and she readied herself for another blast. No hesitation, no time to let herself think about what these things were, where they came from, or what they wanted. The safety of the planet depended on it. "These are monsters from a place of monsters." She said, "I don't think they understand mercy, even the idea of it."
×