An Outsider

Dragon Age: The Coming Blight

The night before Krios arrives in Denerim

The darkness was full and encapsulating, no moon or stars to illuminate the streets of Denerim tonight. It was the kind of darkness that made most people thankful to have a lock on their doors, or make children insist that their parents leave a lamp burning through the night. The kind of darkness that men like Faen lived for, one that would wrap them up like a warm blanket and hide their acts from prying eyes. A dark night made for darker deeds.

The assassin made quick time through the streets, his time as an urchin living rough giving him an insight of this city's twisting thoroughfares that would turn a guardsman green with envy. Even at the dead of night he was still more confident traversing this place than most people were through the day. He had an appointment to keep tonight, and he hated to be late.

Faen had been hired by a collection of Denerim merchants to deal with a problem they'd been having of late. That problem was named Caleb Losthill, a former mercenary lord who had been squeezing the merchants for protection money, claiming if they didn't pay him then their livelihoods good very well be in jeopardy. Two weeks ago one merchant had refused to pay Caleb's extortionate fee's, taking a stand against the former mercenary. The merchant went missing, and still hadn't been found, but word had got round that it was Caleb's doing, and anyone else thinking about skimping on the payments would meet a similar ignominious end. The rest of the merchants had nearly tripped over themselves in their attempts to ingratiate themselves with Caleb, but had secretly contacted Faen with their problem. Faen told them the same thing he told everyone wishing to contract his services. Two hundred and fifty gold sovereigns up front, then another two hundred and fifty sovereigns when the deed was done. It says a lot about how much Caleb was charging them that they were only to happy to pay.

Not that Faen expected this job to be easy, he had no allusions as to that. Losthill was an old mercenary, and as Marco used to say 'The only way you get old in that profession is to be as sharp as a executioners axe.' Couple that with the sort of security systems only an over abundance of money and caution could afford, a small private army, and the rumours that Caleb had somehow managed to procure the services of a apostate mage, then this job was shaping up to be interesting indeed.

He was approaching the Eastern bridge across Drakon river now, Faen residing in the Northern quarters while his quarry lived in the South. This time of night the bridge should be quiet, save for the occasional drunk or gold-wife, so it was with no small amount of surprise that he heard voices in the night air. Sense's honed by years of training with Marco instantly told him that something about this was not right. He approached the bridge slowly, as soft and quiet as a whisper of the wind, flitting between the shadows, never straying into the light. It took longer, but eventually he had worked his way to the edge of the street overlooking the bridge, the source of his disquiet revealing themselves to him.

A group of seven men were stood at the mouth of the bridge, arguing amongst themselves in the light of the torches they carried. They were armed well, five carrying clubs or axes, one had a bow slung across his shoulders, and the last, the biggest of the group and probably the leader, had the hilt of a sword showing at his belt. Faen made a noise, between a groan and a sigh, when he realised he recognised the swordsman. Tiny Ivan. Faen and Ivan had been part of the same gang when they were growing up, street rats together. While Faen had eventually left Denerim to pursue other 'interests' Ivan had stayed, upgrading from petty thievery to becoming a full on ruffian and cut-throat. Word was that Ivan had been recently hired by Caleb Losthill to be his man on the streets. Faen's sense of unease grew at the sight of him.

The fact that he was headed to Caleb's to assassinate him, while Caleb's men were out on a midnight stroll was far to suspicious to be a coincidence. It could only mean one thing, that someone had betrayed him. That was galling in the extreme, but hardly important at the moment. First he had to deal with Caleb's lackeys, then Caleb himself, then he could find out who had decided to knife him in the back. But how to circumvent Ivan? The first option was just to go back the way he had come, then travelling to one of the other two bridges, but chances were they would also be guarded. Second option would be to try and sneak past the men, but that ran the risk of being spotted by them while he was on the bridge, were he would be a sitting duck for the archer in the group, so that was out too. No, as Marco used to say 'when all the logical paths are closed to you, all you can do is take an illogical path'.

So, Faen did the most illogical thing he could think of. He walked into the light, straight for the Ivan's men.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Hi-Voltage

Anyone watching Volt's fight with the three gunmen would be hard pressed to describe what was actually happening, the sheer chaos of the grudge match defying usual descriptive terms. The Lightning-Slinger was slamming his elbow repeatedly into what could have been a man's stomach when a stray fist smashed into his nose, cracking his goggle's in the process. The Scot hardly had time to spare on thinking about that though as one of the men he was grappling with pulled drew a knife from his belt, Volt's free hand shot out to grab at the mans wrist. Down at his legs one of the goons was reaching out, grasping at a dropped rifle. Lacking any other avenues of halting him, Volt wrapped his leg and ankle around the mans throat, in a move you'd never see in UFC. It was in this odd position, desperately trying to elbow one man in unconsciousness while grappling with a knife and trying to choke a third man with his foot when Volt heard Flashbolt yell his battle cry.

"Can ye believe thon guy?" he muttered through gritted teeth. It was more an exclamation to himself, but the goon with the knife looked at him and said huh? Strange sorta response in the middle of a fight, but Volt had come to find people do weird stuff when they're trying to kill each other. Might as well explain maself.

"Well, see, ah can handle another Lightning gudge on tha League, ah mean it wid be big headed of me tae think I'd be the only ane. But for him tae make bad jokes an quote AC/DC mid fight in all, thons just a Touch to Much!" Volt wasn't sure if anyone would get the joke, but wasn't like he was going to give his enemy-come-therapist a chance to puzzle it out. His eyes lit up like blue powder kegs as he generated a high voltage shock that travelled between him and his three antagonists, sending the gunmen into spasmodic shocks. Shoulda done that at tha start of the fight Tommy-Boy. The Lighting-Slinger picked himself back up quick, just in time to see Apogee throwing her fit and Flashbolt getting gunked up by some type of glue gun.

It was a grim situation, and no mistake. Emmanuel was lined up and cushty, ready for his own personal firing squad, while Apogee looked like her brains were being scrambled by whatever it was that black device was doing. Gotta move fast, ma conscience is heavy enough wi one friends death. Don't wanna be adding to thon. The Lightning-Slinger spun and fired, the kind of neat pirouette that would send a ballerina green with envy.

Three shots. Three targets. The black wand, and the two men aiming rifles at Emmanuel.

Morningstar

"Well, that escalated quickly." Morningstar tried to emulate Ron Burgandy from Anchor-man, before realising that Sixgun had probably never even seen that movie.

"Regardless, that was some smooth shooting cowboy. Don't think any of them are going to doubt you're credentials now, or oppose you joining the Outfit. Couple that with one less dangerous meta human in the world, and I think we can label this as a good days work. "

Joe Black

"Would you stop shouting. Fuck sake, I'm the only one here, and I'm standing right next to ya!" Came a deep, irritated voice at MC's side. The speaker was none other than Joe Black, infamous scumbag and general pain in the ass. Before heading for the prison Destiny had commanded Black to join Pariah, and help him in every way. A bit of a bastard for Joe, as he would have rathered to stay home and watch Jerry Springer, but it was actually a blessing in disguise. Joe couldn't even enter the building, due to the magical ward that was up, much less actually do anything to help. As long as that ward stood then all Joe had to do was stand on the street corner and wait, simultaneously fulfilling Destiny's orders and his own obligation to laziness. Now all he had to do was put up with the dumb shit, freakazoid looking thing that was also left out side Maroni's.

The zombie reached into his denim jackets pocket to pull out a marlboro red and his zippo lighter. He lit up, taking a deep draw before turning to face the ugly wizard thing.

"And if you break that ward, and I have to go in, then I am kick your teeth through the back of yer head. I shit you not." It was at that moment a Ghost flew out of Maroni's screaming, Joe giving the image no more than the briefest of contemptuous glances, as if he seen that sort of thing all the time.

"There you are, go play with Casper over there and quit annoying me."

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Yog Sothoth said
Elijah does have fairly different powers since he uses lightning, comparing the two is like comparing Superman and Captain Marvel. Also Isaak is far more flawed in personality, St Michael is more about leading by example while St Elijah is more angry with the world and how it is sinful. I haven't added his history yet, but it will be fairly different from St Michael in several different ways several

He is still a physical type character though, and even being different from St Michael we still have two lightning users already.

And as an aside, Superman's and Shazam's powersets are very similar, lightning or no. The difference is their origins, power sources and personal philosophies.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Asuras said
Me. I used to play Neutro during the first iteration of The League.

Damn, I always wondered about what happened to you. Glad to have you back Asuras, though technically we've had you back for a while now lol

And I think I've figured out a way to slide Mr Black into events.

Dragon Age: The Coming Blight

GMT+1 In all.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Slendy said
Hello I'm new to RPG and i was wondering if i have to do anything to join in this Rpg

All you have to do is put forward a CS Slendy.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Lookie said
Is it bad that I want to make a sentient robot now? Can I make a sentient robot? Pweease?

Aww, Who could say no to that face?

VADER COULD!!!!

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Why didn't you just pick up St Michael again?

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Apogee didn't hesitate to jump into action, smashing into the bad guys like a bad tempered hurricane with a bone to pick. Volt couldn't help but wince at the carnage she wrought amongst them, bones smashed, arms broke, faces rearranged, it was the sort of mess a bull in a china shop would be proud of. The men were picking themselves up now though, and starting to regroup. Wouldn't be long before they retired their assault rifles and broke out with the heavy gear, and even Apogee couldn't stand up to a sustained grenade assault, at least not without earning her self a bit of a kicking in the process. No, now was time to send in the second wave while the squaddies were still off-foot, but for some reason Emmanuel was hanging back, maybe he'd never faced men as well trained and armed as these, and was taking a moment to gear himself up to the task. Reckon yer gonna have tae do this ane yersell, Tommy-Boy. Like yer old Da always says, best to strike while the irons hot.

Volt threw himself down the corridor, snarling some inanity like a madman. Better snarling than greeting, ah reckon. He would have preferred to stay as far from those military sorts as possible, sniping them from afar. Enhanced strength, speed and durability was all well and good, but it stand up much under sustained fire from high powered rifles. The problem was that Apogee was good and tangled with the goons now, and any shot he fired off would run the risk of hitting her, and taking out their tank with an inadvertent stray shot was not part of his grand plan. So mixing it up old school was the only way forward.

The Lightning-Slinger had fought these types before, St George's Men-At-Arms had mostly been comprised of ex-army types who seemed to have no problems laying their hands on serious military hardware, and he'd discovered only one sure fire way of taking them down. Strike em' hard and strike em' fast, like an act of God. Like a lightning bolt. So it was for this reason that he smashed shoulder first into the back of one of the men taking aim at Apogee, the gun man knocked careening from his feet.

Volt didn't even spend the time it would take to watch the goon hit the floor before spinning on his heel, throwing a fist into the throat of a second foe, the blow hitting the man's unprotected neck like a meat hammer tenderising some steak, more luck than skill really. This gun man also hit the ground, but the rest of the goons were starting to realise that Apogee wasn't the most immediate threat now, three swinging to aim their rifles at the Lightning-Slinger. Volt never gave them a chance to fire before diving at them, arms outstretched to catch all three in his grasp. The four were borne to the ground in a confusion of tangled limbs, the Scotsman dimly aware that maybe he could say something funny and witty now to put the rest of the men off their guard. What his battle muddled mind settled for though, screaming it at the top of his lungs as he wrestled with his three foes, was neither funny nor witty, perhaps a touch stereotypical considering were he was from and definitely used in the wrong context seeing as he was trying to stop a prison riot.

“FREEEEEDOOOOOM!” He roared.

Yer a fecking eejit, Tommy-Boy. he thought to himself.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Right, now I just need to come up with a way of sliding our newest mortally challenged team-mate into the IC somehow.