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Showing results for tags 'ghost girl'.
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April 15, 2015 Liberty Park After over a year in captivity, Tarva had quietly gone into action. She'd taken advantage of a driving rainstorm, one of the heaviest to hit this city in the year she'd lived there, and a rare mystical confluence produced by Seven's battle with Malador in order to slip away from the Dutemps Building's both physical and spiritual security. With a heavy rain jacket on and her face down, she had gone unnoticed by the many proles who walked the wide, nearly empty streets of this city, long enough for her to carefully make her way to her intended destination. She'd seen Liberty Park on a map of Freedom City and decided to make it her own - and as she approached, thanks to the lateness of the hour and the recent driving rains, she was delighted to find the park almost entirely empty. She stripped off her shoes and left them heedlessly by a walking path near the entrance, staring in wide-eyed fascination at the green beauty of the place. There was no smell of poison in the air, no whisper of monsters in the trees - and when she stepped into the grass, the soft blades were damp and cool against her bare feet. It was exactly what she'd wanted. A cool breeze came up, blowing softly against her skin, and in her soul she wanted to weep for the sheer beauty of the park by night. Keeping her hood up against the rain, she walked towards a nearby pond, staring into the water and thinking with fascination about the creatures who must live there! Settling down by the water, she turned and stared east, knowing the sun would be rising in just another hour or so. Plenty of time for her to see the new dawn, the first she had seen in...in an age, and then flee back to the tower like the rat she had become, away from the awesome beauty of this world's star. It was all perfect - except for one thing. She shot a glare up at the artificial lights scattered through the park and muttered a quick spell as the rain continued to die down, smiling as black globes appeared to cover all the lights she could see. Now the park was in the darkness it deserved, despite the glow of the city all around it, and from the curses and exclamations her sensitive hearing could just pick up from around the park, she would not be molested while she waited. She was alone; as she deserved. Taking out her diary, she began to write, letting her sensitive soul spring to glorious umbral life in the words of darkness and regret that lay beneath her skin like her black-tainted blood. The words flowed from her pen like lightning from a bottle - until suddenly she heard the too-heavy footfalls behind her. She leaped to her feet and screamed in horror at the sight of the oncoming Omegadrone, her fear dimmed not at all by the fact that it was not yet wearing its armor. "F-freedrone!" she exclaimed as she shoved her diary behind her back, terror at the fire burning in those cold eyes. "W-what do you want?" Steve's cold voice curdled into a growl as he stared at the Annihilist witch. "I wanted to be free of you, Tarva the Black, but look at you now! Wandering the streets of this city outside of your cage? Casting your spells? Writing who knows what horrible plans?" He turned anger into purpose, turned the urge to grab her by the neck into a surge forward that caught her by the wrist. "Be grateful that it is an ally who holds you captive, woman, or I would surely call the Freedom League and make some suggestions to your confinement." He pulled, and she pulled back, but his strength was far greater than hers. "Mercy! Please, mercy!" Tarva called, "Please, I only wanted to-" Steve came within an inch, a bare inch, of driving his fist against her face - and the thought must have shown on his, because she fell instantly silent. "You beg me for mercy. You beg me. For mercy." Armor erupted across his skin as holo-emitters came to life, transforming him into the armored figure of Caradoc, Tarva briefly crying out in alarm as armor shifted against her skin where his hand gripped her wrist. He didn't speak; instead he began picking her up so that he could fly her directly to the Dutemps Building. The sooner this was done, the better.
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Don't freeze me bro
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April 1, 2015 Dutemps Castle "They are not your slaves, Tarva." Furion's rage tempered by the coolness of Earth-Prime, Bluebird fixed a level gaze on Tarva, arms crossed over her chest, a face watching Tarva from the latter's personal computer. "They have a world that is theirs, a city that is theirs, and mighty laws and unions to guard them. If you speak to the cleaning staff like that, they will simply quit, and _you_ will have to explain to Blue Fox why you have driven away her handfast vassals." Her big blue eyes narrowed. "Do you think she will like what you said? Do you think she will laugh?" "No. No, she will not." Tarva looked away guiltily, shadows flushing in her cheeks. "I thought it a jest, to play to my-" "Would it have been a joke before, daughter of Nihilor?" asked Bluebird, her usual cheerful voice serious. "...yes," said Tarva, surrounding herself with a protective blanket of shadow. "But a true jest all the same. Please, please message them and tell them my apologies. I try so hard to be of this place, and I fail sometimes, but...I want to. I want to be a daughter of Earth-Prime." Bluebird let out a breath - an affectation for a projected consciousness. "You are a child in the soul, Tarva." It was, despite everything else, a statement of affection. "I will extend apologies. But then it must be _you_ who apologizes, shadow-witch, and takes them back to Blue Fox's bosom." "You are right. I will go write one." Tarva rose to her feet, a look of determination on her face. "I have procured several books on the subject, and with my vast brain I will surely find some..." The swinging doors closed behind her, cutting off her monologue. Bluebird herself made an appearance a few minutes later, in an immaterial holographic form. She looked around the room for a few moments before her eyes settled on one corner. "Ghost Girl." She smiled cheerfully. "Oh, was I not supposed to spy you?"
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The Terminus High above the Silver Tree, deep in the cold red space of the Terminus itself, darkness billowed from the nothingness. It formed first into a black crescent that glowed with an impossible black radiance, then from the crescent there swelled a long spear with a pentagram at the tip. From the crescent resolved the figure of a pale-skinned woman, the spear in one hand and the crescent of shadow billowing behind her like a cape - her eyes deep voids of blackness as she looked down at the world of the Furions beneath her. Clutching her weapon, which was Starkiller, the slayer of suns in her hand, she waited in the void until the Furions came for her - and when they surrounded her, weapons glowing, she threw aside Starkiller and declared in a booming voice that resounded even in the true vacuum of the Terminus. "I am Tarva the Terrible! I bring grave tidings from the streets of Nihilor. But I will speak only to the Fleet-Footed!" --- March 1, 2014 As happens more often than you'd think, a swirling dimensional portal opened above the Martel Castle suspended itself a full hundred stories above Freedom City. Out stepped a man, if that was a man, all in black - the darkness of his garb marred by silvery lines that criss-crossed his muscular body in an abstract pattern and by his facemask - a white goat's face like that of Baphomet himself! Wielding a staff that glowed with searing red flame at the tip, he folded his arms expectantly and awaited in cold silence the arrival of his host and her escorts - for this was Scavros the Scarred, darkest and most terrifying of the Furions!
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There you go.
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Rio Branco Avenue Rio de Janeiro, Brazil December 25th, 2014 5:25 PM local time Nick Cimitiere's jacket was tempered for heat and cold, meaning he didn't need to forgo protection - or mystique - based on the temperature. But the humidity of the Rio summer was still getting to him. The whole city was strung out for Christmas, but the tilt of the earth meant it felt more like the height of July back home. Speaking of back home... he'd told his family he'd be out of town for a few days, but would be back for Christmas. He always hated to lie to his family about these matters. Four years home from college, eight years as a superhero, and he still hadn't come clean about meddling in the affairs of life and death. But some matters of death were more important than matters of life. There had been a number of disappearances in Rio over the past few weeks. People from all walks of life had left messages for their family and friends, saying they were going to "a better place," and then had vanished entirely. Fortunatus, a local seer and fate manipulator who Nick had partnered with on a particularly tough job years ago, had given him a call about the matter. "The path is clouded to me," he had said. "I see that they are gone, but I cannot see where they have gone and who led them there. I fear this may be more your department than mine." "Anything else you can tell me?" "Just one thing. There are a number of 'great bumps' on the horizon." "Great bumps" was Fortunatus's term for a confluence of random factors that could spell either windfall or disaster. Nick had no idea where it came from. "I have one that I must handle myself, as it involves plucking the threads of chance like a harp. But I can see that these disappearances will not stop soon, and may breed a catastrophe of their own if unimpeded." And so, after spreading the word amongst the community and walking the back roads of reality, Nick had found himself walking a beat in paradise. Those who had gone seemed to be truly gone - after visiting their residences and the local cemeteries, he could find no trace of the vanished having left ghosts. Then again, he wasn't the only one on the beat. "How's it coming on your end?" he asked over the comms relics he'd handed out.
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From the album: Gizmo's Junk Drawer
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GM November 11, Monday, 4.50PM the city of Algeciras, Cadiz province, Spain Algeciras is easily one of the world's busiest ports. Connecting the shipping of Africa, the Americas and Europe meant the city was a hive of activity, and the three newcomers from America had seen plenty of evidence of that just from the plane. Down on the streets that feeling was compounded. The air rang with voices from a dozen nations, the roads hummed with traffic racing across the metropolis, and along with the sharp smell of the sea were the deep scents of petrol, metal and lots and lots of cheerfully sweaty people strolling, jogging, running and generally moving on the long trek of their lives. The coffee house Corbin's contact, an archaeologist with an at least cursory knowledge of the arcane world, had asked to meet them in was hardly a respite. It buzzed with the chatter of its patrons, the strong, thick coffees made every breath aromatic and the intricate carvings that passed over every corner of the ceiling, the myriad of pictures and beautiful sea view from the windows ensuring that if you bored of the people, the place could still entertain. It had been only around ten minutes since Tia Rojas had been late, and the minutes flew by regardless of what she was here to tell them. Cobalt Templar was always on the search for the rest of the Seven Rings of antiquity, in part to make sure they found worthy bearers in the present, and that nobody would abuse their power. Tia had heard rumors that something uncannily like the Indigo Ring had just appeared in Spain, somewhere in southern Iberia. Its wielder was impossible to make out, a patch of inky darkness that vanished into the night it never dared leave, leaving behind people stricken with lost memories only able to recall a flash of purple light. Thus, the presence of his former team mates Indira Singh(Wraith, of the shapeshifting metal species Kinigosi), and Kimber Storm(Ghost Girl, world's happiest poltergeist). Whatever this new bearer was about, it was hard to look at favorably.
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March 5, 2014 Freedom City "The entire garrison? You are absolutely certain?" Alone in the small, cramped office that was all he had in Freedom City, Comrade Frost closed his eyes as he held his cellphone to his ear. "All right. All right, I will be there within twenty-four hours. Yes, with superpowered associates." At his interrogator's question, Frost simply laughed bitterly, remembering what he'd seen in the reports sent his way from Bukhara, as well as what he'd seen on the news from Moscow. "No, not the Freedom League. No, we will need rather different help for _this_ threat..." For all that he'd had to wheedle his office space and his first-level access to the League, the effort paid for itself again and again every day, as now when Frost used the League's access to make a few clandestine phone calls. And so it was that with the help of a few borrowed phone numbers, he managed to have a message sent to Ghost Girl and Revenant, albeit the first through a third party. CRISIS OF THE DEAD. MEET ME IN FREEDOM HALL TONIGHT AT SUNSET. -COMRADE FROST At the appointed hour, Frost was sitting in the small meeting room he'd set aside for the occasion, drinking from a large cup of nearly-boiling hot coffee as he awaited his guests - allies in what promised to be a difficult situation to come.
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Friday, January 24th, 2014 6:22 AM The sun had yet to rise, but Eliza Oxum was already in the shower, preparing for the school day. She knew she was supposed to get out quickly - the hot water had been on the fritz lately, so much that she'd taken to a cold shower or two (then again, unlike her mom, she didn't really feel the cold). But on a day like this, with the weekend just around the corner, she felt like indulging a little. "...let it goooo, I am one with the wind and sky, let it goooo, let it goooo..." A knock at the door cut her off. "Eliza," came her mother's voice, "are you ever gonna get sick of that song?" "Sorry, Mom! Kinda speaks to me!" "That makes one of us. Dear, I wouldn't rush you, but I gotta get to work soon, and --" "Two minutes! Just let me do my hair!" Eliza's mom worked down by the Boardwalk in a rented store front as a palmister. It was a "breakout" space that allowed her to service clients when the winter weather meant a general downturn in Boardwalk audiences. But in the past few days, Freedom had been unseasonably warm, and the forecast promised clear skies today, so there was talk of going back to the Boardwalk. After putting her ablutions to rest, Eliza turned off the water and got ready to finish things up. She walked to the mirror when she saw the ghost of movement through the fogged-up window. She brushed aside the fog -- only to see curtains of snow falling from darkened skies. It was already piled up an inch, and didn't seem to be quitting. "Mom? Think you might be working from the office today..."
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OOC thread for thread. Adventures in Spain!
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Knew I forgot an OOC thread. Ghost Girl and Temperance enjoy a snow day, until they find out it might last a lot longer than a day. All right, so for the Vetrgoltr, we'll be using Shaen's Fenris Wolf build at PL11 - ATT +7 Base (+9 Melee, +11 Unarmed), DEF +11 (+5 Flat-Footed), TOU +11, FORT +7, REF +9, WILL +7 (+11 vs. Fear), Damage +13 Melee/+11 Unarmed. Vetrgoltr goes on 7. Temperance goes on 14.
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what does Lucy dooo?
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GM Claremont Academy, Freedom City April 14th, Sunday, 11.59AM Another crisp, breezy spring day in Freedom City was at its height. The sun shone weakly down through a thick bank of clouds that hadn't shown any sign of leaving since morning, a gentle sea breeze was rushing across the Bayview Hill, and Claremont Academy was its usual quiet self. The grounds were well-populated, dotted with the school's outlandish students taking a breather from learning how to be the heroes the world would need. Most students were either off-campus or enjoying the outdoors before the week started the next morning and they would be stuck inside once more. Koshiro McMillan and Kimber Storm were among them, the paper-manipulator and poltergeist sharing a rare stroll together on the path threading around Claremont's lawn. Everything was going very well, until the golden eagle landed with a thud on the path a few feet in front of them. Looking up at the pair, it got unsteadily to its feet, croaked and offered them a talon ringed by a thin band of silver holding a small scroll.
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Nick Cimitiere, Equinox, and Ghost Girl deal with a really strange haunting.
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Wednesday, January 23rd 10:13 PM There was no reason the Levant Arms should have loomed the way it did. It wasn't even that tall - a mere five stories, and there were much taller buildings on this stretch of the West End. Likewise, the street was fairly well lit, and lights were on in most of the buildings surrounding it. But then, that just made the shadows inside loom that much taller. Nick took the building in, trying to get a more detailed read off of it. It had only been empty for the last few hours; there was no official word from the city, but so far, their opinions ran everywhere from "gas leak" to "undetermined event" - the usual code for "we don't know, but boy, is this weird." He'd heard rumors over the past few nights, from all over the city. Customers at the Black Petal whispering about the strange lights in closed-off rooms. Ghost hunting websites talking about strange wails. The ghosts themselves at Lantern Hill, speaking of an "overwhelming presence." He had been about ready to check it out tonight when all hell had broken loose. There was little word on what had happened, but a 911 call brought most of STAR down on the place, and the first response team had been quick to get all the tenants out. Nor was there any one solid account, with stories ranging from "phantom fire" to "I saw this horrible face looking at me in the mirror" to... "there was a unicorn in the elevator." He'd had to make sure he'd heard that one right. More than once, in fact. Nick checked his watch and kept his eyes firmly on the building. It probably wasn't the sort of place to go in alone. Fortunately, he wasn't going in alone.
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January 18, 9:30am Three days after the havoc wreaked by the robotic hero doppelgangers, Freedom City was still finding a precarious balance of normalcy. The rescue work was done, the destroyed buildings were being put back together, the rubble swept up and carted away. Funerals and memorials were being held for the dead, funds raised for the care of the living. As usual in these sorts of events, the Viktor Archeville Foundation, the charitable branch of ArcheTech, was one of the earliest and largest donors of both money and equipment, but for the first time in more than a year, the charismatic CEO was nowhere to be seen. In fact, no one had seen the unmistakable Miss Americana since before the Day of Wrath, and people were beginning to wonder. On the morning of January 18, ArcheTech released a statement that Miss Americana had been injured while defending Blackstone Prison against a robot doppelganger and would be recovering at her home. All inquiries would be routed through her office until further notice. Not too far away from ArcheTech, in an unassuming house on an unremarkable street, Miss Americana herself was busy catching up on her correspondence. Or rather, Miss Americana lay in useless pieces on a lab table in the corner while Gina sat at her computer and picked through her messages. There were a lot of them. She felt no guilt about taking a couple of days off after the crazy trip through space to save Steve. It had taken almost that long for her to just start feeling normal and safe again. She might even have been willing to play hooky a little longer, but Steve had insisted it was time for him to get back to his job, so she'd done the same. The first thing that stood out when she checked her transcribed voicemails was the more than a dozen messages from Ghost Girl, aka Kimber Storm, all wanting to talk about Sharl. Gina remembered, of course, being told about Sharl's teammates, and suspected she knew what this was about. Sharl was another topic she'd been unfairly putting off, but it really had been a difficult couple of days. Steeling herself, Gina activated the voice modulator that would trade her own voice for the more dulcet tones of Miss Americana, then called the offered number. "Hello, this is Miss Americana, calling for Kimber Storm, is she available?"
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The Morning of January 15, 2013 The Wonderbus roared through the skies of the Northern Hemisphere almost impossibly fast, the extra-dimensional construction of the craft shunting away the excess heat energy from its hypersonic flight enough to keep it undetectable in the air. They were flying thousands of miles, but the fantastic speed of their craft would get them there in less than an hour. Trying to keep his mind off the crisis of Erde-Tronik, the bioweapons, and the advanced plasma weapon that had nearly killed them all, Sharl had pulled up situation monitors from the computer inside the Bus, trying to keep track of what they'd left behind. "The good news is, the chaos seems to be limited to Freedom City, so it must be something there...I don't know, that bomb was extra-terrestrial, but I didn't recognize the maker. Maybe it's something with the Grue again." At least what they hoped to do with the Sanctum was easy enough. "I'll connect Erde-Tronik to the power supply there and keep it safe until Miss A and I can get it protected. As for the bioweapons, we can just drop them in one of the stasis fields there. It's not a long-term solution, but it'll last long enough for us to keep things safe. We-" A distant beeping interrupted Sharl. "That's the proximity alarm. Maybe there's somebody from the League there already." He tapped a few buttons on the bank of monitors they were all sitting around, the black and white screens looking as much like something from a 60s sci-fi TV show as the high-tech pieces of super-science they were. "I don't understand, there's something on top of..." The great grey vessel squatted over the Sanctum like an anteater scooping out ants, tentacles rising from its lower half scooping away huge chunks of ice even as they watched. The three eyes and slight horn at the rear echoed the face of the Gorgon, but Sharl knew that face well enough from his studies and his nightmares. He saw the details in an instant; the great digitizing towers driven into the icy Arctic landscape like tent spikes the size of buildings, the glowing red 'eyes' that bespoke an active subspace connection across the galaxy, and worst of all, much, much worse, were the smaller tentacles already buried in the exposed roof of the Centurion's Sanctum. His eyes wide with horror, Citizen managed to form the words: "It's the Curator."
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the climactic struggle of the Day of Wrath saga
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When the battle was done and the commandos defeated, Citizen floated out of the warehouse with his precious cargo tucked beneath one arm. "I've got it, guys!" He had both the truncated Erde-Tronik drive and the gold boxy storage medium from Earth-Prime in the same big black case. It would be up to he and Gina over the next few months, (probably as what would incidentally count as his graduation project) to integrate the Troniks together successfully but for now the backup was complete and the City of the Future (as he still sometimes thought of it, the very old motto that Tronik had kept even after the Exodus) was safe from the National Socialists. Assuming they got out there in time! "Wow!" He wasn't so focused as to not be impressed when he saw the battle with his own eyes; the smoking helicopters, the fleeing commando, the crack Nazi strike team that Young Freedom had taken apart with all of the skill and power of a master artist painting a portrait. "Nice, you guys," he said with a grin before disappearing into the Wonder Bus. "Now let me get the systems in here rebooted..." As the lights inside the Bus came back on, the other machines came out, Rogue in the lead in a humanoid body that looked like a human woman cast in the featureless nude, like something from a German Expressionist movie. With no explanation for the new shape, she cast her gaze from the scene of the battle to the heroes, back and forth, and for the first time seemed almost uncertain. "You did this. All of this, when you could have taken your Sharl and that city and..." She opened and closed mechanical hands before saying, decisively, "All right. All right, maybe you're right. Maybe there is another way to prosecute our war against the National Socialists." The group of robots behind her, which did not include her Sharl (who was in that system his counterpart was carrying) startled at that, but Rogue pressed on. "If you can fight the Nazis like this, teach them _fear_ without destroying them all, maybe we can try it ourselves. At least once, anyway. But you'd better take the Ragnorak with you. If we're not going to prune the humans back, it'll just look bad if we have it in our possession."
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Are we in initiative? I dunno. Disable Device, Notice, Sense Motive, or Technology checks might also be prudent.
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Monday, June 4th 6:16 PM Eric LaCroix had just gotten off his shift at the Black Petal, and was enjoying the time before his night job began. Usually he'd go right back to his apartment, bolt down a sandwich or something pre-made from Trader Joe's, then get on the makeup as soon as twilight hit and head out to Lantern Hill. But one of the things about getting closer to the Summer Solstice was that twilight got later and later, which gave him a bit more downtime. So, with some cash from tips in his pocket and not much else to do, he decided to head over to Pyramid Plaza. For a resident of Freedom, Eric never really got much chance to check out the landmark plaza. Sure, there had been the luncheon for various practitioners that had been thrown soon after he'd settled down in the city, but his day job usually kept him around Riverside and his night work didn't often take him to places so peaceful and well-maintained. As he walked away from the food court, a pulled pork sandwich in his hand, he took the time to take advantage of the rare peaceful hubbub. It said a lot that the chorus of screams sounded more familiar. Setting the pulled pork sandwich aside, he found a place in the shadows to duck away to the back corner of Hades' demesne where he kept his work gear. Within a few seconds, Nick Cimitiere was back out in the world of the living, scanning the street for the source of panic. He found it across the street, as dozens of people were running out of an apartment building that looked like a fortress carved from marble. He thought about stopping to ask someone about what was going on, but figured a skull-faced man stopping them in a time of crisis would not help anyone. So he danced around the crowd, pushing his way into the building and towards the horror within.
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January 2013 Outside Heesterstadt (formerly Branson), Missouri It was raining when the Wonderbus arrived, a thick, icy-cold storm of freezing rain that would have surely been a blizzard had the weather been any warmer. Warm and insulated through the dimensional craft was, it wasn't hard to feel the chill outside. The bus had folded its way through space and time to come rumbling out onto a deserted stretch of concrete road by a grim, grey lake that might possibly have been more attractive in the spring. As it was, the whole world was grey and brown: the city across the lake, what was Branson on another world, was almost lost beneath the heavy fog which swaddled the area. Shifting his clothing over to the bland, servile pattern his counterpart had worn, Sharl peered through the front windows, just able to make out tall concrete towers and a massive, hovering flag projected against the clouds from the city below like a massive old-style holographic billboard. It was grim. "Everybody get changed," he said, calling back to the passenger compartment as he reached down to turn on the conventional gasoline engine. "The Tronik base is about five miles up this road! We're turning around..." He muttered a bad word in Lor, trying to remember how to work these stupid controls. With all the worries about fighting Nazis and transdimensional technology, maybe he hadn't paid enough attention to how to drive a stupid four-wheeled, rubber-tired bus! Why can't they just use antigravs like civilized people?
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Doo doo doo.
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May 18, 2012 The first thing that Kimber Storm noticed as terribly, urgently wrong as she staggered, coughing from the cloud of smoke was not in fact that she had to cough or even stagger. Neither should have been a concern for the long since deceased poltergeist, but her first thought was that she was wearing absolutely the wrong hood. Rather than the ethereal cowl of her usual reaper's cloak, this was a heavy fabric attached to a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off and something scrawled on the front in stylized spraypaint. The jumpsuit underneath she recognized as the Claremont Academy uniform, which she was also sure wasn't right. Raising her hands to pull the hood out of the way, she saw that they were a healthy pink, undeniably solid and beating with a pulse. "Oh, marmalade," the living girl gulped. Thirty Minutes Earlier It took a lot of concentration from Kimber to keep her excited feet on the floor as the group of students entered the famous 'Super Museum' in Midtown, and even more concentration to keep her excitable body language confined to the shelter of the black umbrella blocking the sun's rays from revealing her as a translucent specter. The school trip to see the recently unveiled Lucas Collection had prompted a few significant looks between the senior members of the current iteration of Young Freedom, but the entusiastic Canadian was just looking forward to seeing all of the memorabilia in person. If all of the pieces were half as interesting as the ones mentioned specifically in the brochure, it was bound to be a memorable day!
