Polyphemus Member
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- Old Guild Username: Vulture
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Anyone else got anything to add? Or shall we move forwards?
BlackSam3091 said
Wenchang is a badass!
Agreed! He doesn't even need powers to be dangerous.
Okay, this looks much much better thought out than the usual "ZOMG NAZI ZOMBIES WITH JETPACKS" extended WWII scenario. I'm on board.
I'm thinking it might be a good world to explore from numerous viewpoint characters, not a nation RP. Front-line soldiers and sailors, diplomats, civilians caught in the crossfire, politicians, and so on.
I'm thinking it might be a good world to explore from numerous viewpoint characters, not a nation RP. Front-line soldiers and sailors, diplomats, civilians caught in the crossfire, politicians, and so on.
BlackSam3091 said
To offer a counter argument (just cause I'm contrary by nature) I encourage ya to use you're GM powers to auto-hit Volt. A lot of Rp'ers I've seen in the past can lapse into Marty-Stu territory with their characters (Myself included) and I think its important for the GM to maintain that the PC's aren't invincible, especially in an RP like this. In my last post I was just gonna have Volt shock Shank into submission, but then decided against it, leaving it open ended for MrD, who then had Shank break free and auto-hit Volt a few times. Arguably this makes for a much more exciting scene, which I had to use my imagination to deal with.
I agree. Victory should never come easy.
Yeah, there was server problems, but I think they've been fixed?
The Spirit of St. Louis shrank back, confronted with the specter of Sarin. The woman had turned into a cloud of yellowish gas, advancing menacingly upon her. Here and there in the shifting billows Sonja could make out a face, perhaps an arm or a leg. Sonja dimly remembered high school history lessons about the First World War, a brief WMD seminar the St. Louis police had forced her to attend. Just holding her breath wouldn't be enough, some gas could maim or kill simply by skin contact. She knew that much, as she stumbled backwards away from Sarin.
What could she do? How could she defend herself? A swung bat or thrown fireball would be inconsequential against this foe. A trick to restore Sarin to a solid state would take too long to put together. And Sonja certainly couldn't just try to outpace her and get to the hostages, the end result would be a pile of dead bodies. She looked around, desperate for something useful, then lit on what she hoped was salvation.
A janitor's closet, tucked inconspicuously behind the counter.
Sonja ran, glad she had chosen to wear sensible shoes, slid across the marble countertop, made for the door of the janitor's closet. He dared not look back, but the hissing sound behind her didn't particularly bode well. She couldn't afford to deal with the locked door, and thus with a flick of the wrist burned away the deadbolt in a flash of blue flame. Sorry, bank. By all means, bill Barclay-Hoffmeyer for the damage, but I'm sure your customers will understand. She threw open the door, feverishly tossed aside mops and boxes as the hissing sound stole upon her, as she felt a cool and deadly breeze touch the back of her neck. Sonja had to keep in a shriek of relief of she found the thing she was after, grabbed it, shoving the plug into a handy wall socket and feeling the device roar to life.
Sonja spun around, holding her breath, the powerful suction hose of the running vacuum cleaner shoved into the middle of the cloud of poison gas. If this didn't work, she'd look pretty stupid. Or, for that matter, be pretty dead.
What could she do? How could she defend herself? A swung bat or thrown fireball would be inconsequential against this foe. A trick to restore Sarin to a solid state would take too long to put together. And Sonja certainly couldn't just try to outpace her and get to the hostages, the end result would be a pile of dead bodies. She looked around, desperate for something useful, then lit on what she hoped was salvation.
A janitor's closet, tucked inconspicuously behind the counter.
Sonja ran, glad she had chosen to wear sensible shoes, slid across the marble countertop, made for the door of the janitor's closet. He dared not look back, but the hissing sound behind her didn't particularly bode well. She couldn't afford to deal with the locked door, and thus with a flick of the wrist burned away the deadbolt in a flash of blue flame. Sorry, bank. By all means, bill Barclay-Hoffmeyer for the damage, but I'm sure your customers will understand. She threw open the door, feverishly tossed aside mops and boxes as the hissing sound stole upon her, as she felt a cool and deadly breeze touch the back of her neck. Sonja had to keep in a shriek of relief of she found the thing she was after, grabbed it, shoving the plug into a handy wall socket and feeling the device roar to life.
Sonja spun around, holding her breath, the powerful suction hose of the running vacuum cleaner shoved into the middle of the cloud of poison gas. If this didn't work, she'd look pretty stupid. Or, for that matter, be pretty dead.
I can move us to Essen if people wish to get the plot moving along.
"Alright, now!" Sonja said as she heard the flat crack of the flashbang from inside.
Magic, in all forms, requires some sort of ritual, an exchange of some kind. One of the more popular theories about that was that it sated an entity that demanded entertainment or a show of respect before granting a favor. In her particular field, rituals took the form of the spinning box, the top hat, the deck of cards. Or, in this particular instance, an elaborate bent-knee arm-waving flourish. The puff of smoke and bang was perhaps a little much, but hey, it looked good.
Abruptly, they were no longer standing on Chicago asphalt, but waxed marble. The tight group of Wenchang, Olympia, Sonata, and Graviton blinked in the soft fluorescent lighting of the bank's lobby. The Spirit of St. Louis looked around quickly, saw the disoriented villains groggily clawing at their eyes and ears, Hi-Voltage spewing lightning bolts at them. And also the bank manager and one other hostage, blinded and deafened. Too easy for them to catch a bolt of lighting, a blade, a mouthful of toxic gas.
Sonja moved quick, head low, towards the two hapless bystanders, arms extended as she grabbed both of them. "Alakazam!" she shouted as she pulled her second teleportation in less than five seconds, the puff of smoke taking them outside the bank. Wordlessly she shoved the two liberated hostages towards the waiting police officers, a light sheen of sweat already starting to form on her face. This many complicated tricks like teleporting were going to do a real number on her, especially this close together. But she had to do it. Lives were at stake.
And so, the black edges of fatigue encroaching on her vision, she disappeared in another puff of smoke, back into the bank.
Magic, in all forms, requires some sort of ritual, an exchange of some kind. One of the more popular theories about that was that it sated an entity that demanded entertainment or a show of respect before granting a favor. In her particular field, rituals took the form of the spinning box, the top hat, the deck of cards. Or, in this particular instance, an elaborate bent-knee arm-waving flourish. The puff of smoke and bang was perhaps a little much, but hey, it looked good.
Abruptly, they were no longer standing on Chicago asphalt, but waxed marble. The tight group of Wenchang, Olympia, Sonata, and Graviton blinked in the soft fluorescent lighting of the bank's lobby. The Spirit of St. Louis looked around quickly, saw the disoriented villains groggily clawing at their eyes and ears, Hi-Voltage spewing lightning bolts at them. And also the bank manager and one other hostage, blinded and deafened. Too easy for them to catch a bolt of lighting, a blade, a mouthful of toxic gas.
Sonja moved quick, head low, towards the two hapless bystanders, arms extended as she grabbed both of them. "Alakazam!" she shouted as she pulled her second teleportation in less than five seconds, the puff of smoke taking them outside the bank. Wordlessly she shoved the two liberated hostages towards the waiting police officers, a light sheen of sweat already starting to form on her face. This many complicated tricks like teleporting were going to do a real number on her, especially this close together. But she had to do it. Lives were at stake.
And so, the black edges of fatigue encroaching on her vision, she disappeared in another puff of smoke, back into the bank.
Eddie Swiss said
Hmm. Could be interesting. How much of an idiot are we talking?
The type of person who gets killed in a Friday the 13th movie.
"Good luck, honey," the Spirit of St. Louis said to Hi-Voltage, giving his shoulder a squeeze. The CPD had been appraised of the plan and were doing their part to support their superpowered backup, announcing over a megaphone that the pizza was on the way. Sonja noted with a grim smile that the civilian preparations included several more ambulances arriving and standing ready.
They had to do this right.
"Alright, everybody come in tight. I can usually only teleport inside an enclosed space or small radius, and given that we're outside. . ." Sonja smiled, tried to cut some of the tension with a joke. "Just so we're all clear, if any of those hostages happen to play for the Cubs they're getting left behind. Everyone ready?"
They had to do this right.
"Alright, everybody come in tight. I can usually only teleport inside an enclosed space or small radius, and given that we're outside. . ." Sonja smiled, tried to cut some of the tension with a joke. "Just so we're all clear, if any of those hostages happen to play for the Cubs they're getting left behind. Everyone ready?"
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