And we're off. I'm also going to add the kill list to the first OOC post for quick reference and updating. Some of these guys are pushovers. Others are dangerous. I'd advise choosing your targets carefully and not rushing in headlong- scope them out and make a plan.
Good hunting.
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"So, I want to know exactly what the hell we're dealing with," Roman Cunningham said bluntly. He was always blunt. Even in public, when he attempted to give off a charming and friendly air, he was notably plainspoken. Besides, a man with knife scars on his face and a patch over his right eye had some difficulty persuading people that he had always been a beloved figure. No wonder everyone's against me, was a sour thought that often crossed his mind. Not today, though. Roman Cunningham was cheerful today. All his problems were about to be solved.
"We've got several arrivals coming in today," Hickey informed him. Hickey was a big man, with long hair and beard, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in the shirt and tie he wore. Hickey was used to denim and leather. Hickey was used to a lot of things that were no longer in his life. For one, he was used to being in charge, but things had changed in the last year, and he now answered to Roman instead of calling the shots for himself. It was probably for the best. As far as anyone was concerned, anymore Hickey was just an office worker at Cunningham Transport, not the man who had been run out of Rapid City. The big man cleared his throat, went on. "Our man at the airstrip just called and said Honolulu just arrived. Pittsburgh, Buffalo, and Oklahoma City have been here. Los Angeles, Cheyenne, Chicago, and Rhode Island all said yes, so they ought to be rolling in shortly. We're still waiting to hear from Las Vegas and New York, and we still have a pile of invitations to send out for, uh, the party."
"Start sending them out," Roman said tonelessly. He swiveled his chair, had a look out the office window. There wasn't really a very impressive view. Other men in his position had a penthouse office, a city to glower down upon. He just had this trailer, inside his fenced compound. Just outbuildings and a few trucks to look out. The mountains were visible, blue and indistinct in the distance, and maybe you could see movement if you looked the other way, towards Personville. A little town in the middle of the wilderness. Like an island in the ocean.
Roman frowned as he saw the slightly yellowish gas venting from the locked warehouse beside his trailer. One one hand, it meant the cook was going according to schedule. On the other, it made it too obvious what was going on. No wonder word had started to get out, people had starting speaking against him in the town, cops had come sniffing. And the bastards come up from Vegas, looking to buy him out. As if. The money was nice, sure, but this was his. He owned it. He owned this town, and every tweaker in five states. And nothing, no one was going to take that from him.
It'd be their funeral if they tried.
"We've waited long enough, Hickey," Roman growled. "Send out the lists. They know the score, we explained it in the email. We're offering a seven-figure salary, we ought to have the best answering. Let's see just how good they are." He rubbed irritably at his eyepatch, an annoyed tic he often displayed. "Let's start the auditions."
In the town of Personville, in planes in the air, in rental cars speeding along Interstate 90, the message was received. Laptops and mobile phones blinked to life, the secure and encrypted email received. Despite the layer of cybersecurity, it was still carefully couched in euphemistic language- you couldn't be too careful these days. The message was read, heads nodded, work began.
"We've got several arrivals coming in today," Hickey informed him. Hickey was a big man, with long hair and beard, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in the shirt and tie he wore. Hickey was used to denim and leather. Hickey was used to a lot of things that were no longer in his life. For one, he was used to being in charge, but things had changed in the last year, and he now answered to Roman instead of calling the shots for himself. It was probably for the best. As far as anyone was concerned, anymore Hickey was just an office worker at Cunningham Transport, not the man who had been run out of Rapid City. The big man cleared his throat, went on. "Our man at the airstrip just called and said Honolulu just arrived. Pittsburgh, Buffalo, and Oklahoma City have been here. Los Angeles, Cheyenne, Chicago, and Rhode Island all said yes, so they ought to be rolling in shortly. We're still waiting to hear from Las Vegas and New York, and we still have a pile of invitations to send out for, uh, the party."
"Start sending them out," Roman said tonelessly. He swiveled his chair, had a look out the office window. There wasn't really a very impressive view. Other men in his position had a penthouse office, a city to glower down upon. He just had this trailer, inside his fenced compound. Just outbuildings and a few trucks to look out. The mountains were visible, blue and indistinct in the distance, and maybe you could see movement if you looked the other way, towards Personville. A little town in the middle of the wilderness. Like an island in the ocean.
Roman frowned as he saw the slightly yellowish gas venting from the locked warehouse beside his trailer. One one hand, it meant the cook was going according to schedule. On the other, it made it too obvious what was going on. No wonder word had started to get out, people had starting speaking against him in the town, cops had come sniffing. And the bastards come up from Vegas, looking to buy him out. As if. The money was nice, sure, but this was his. He owned it. He owned this town, and every tweaker in five states. And nothing, no one was going to take that from him.
It'd be their funeral if they tried.
"We've waited long enough, Hickey," Roman growled. "Send out the lists. They know the score, we explained it in the email. We're offering a seven-figure salary, we ought to have the best answering. Let's see just how good they are." He rubbed irritably at his eyepatch, an annoyed tic he often displayed. "Let's start the auditions."
In the town of Personville, in planes in the air, in rental cars speeding along Interstate 90, the message was received. Laptops and mobile phones blinked to life, the secure and encrypted email received. Despite the layer of cybersecurity, it was still carefully couched in euphemistic language- you couldn't be too careful these days. The message was read, heads nodded, work began.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Xaxx? I'm thinking he has the ability to astrally project himself and possess others.
Alternately, laser teeth.
Alternately, laser teeth.
I'll give it another twelve hours. And thanks for pointing that out, I had clean forgot.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
It's a sad truth that many mentally ill people end up in prison instead of under the psychiatric care they need. What I was thinking is that the Schizoid Man is really not terribly dangerous if his telepathy is blocked (it's the outpouring of alien thoughts that he's unable to handle and causes his violent states). Keeping him in prison rather than a hospital is mainly more out of safety concerns.
We're still open if anyone is interested.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Oh, I assumed he was magical like the other Legion bigwigs. I'll edit. Also I assumed Abattoir was here for some reason, my bad, will fix.
I have no idea who Knightmare is, I just randomly came up with an appropriately villainous name (and have done so again in the edited version). Anybody have any suggestions for what his deal is?
I have no idea who Knightmare is, I just randomly came up with an appropriately villainous name (and have done so again in the edited version). Anybody have any suggestions for what his deal is?
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SIXGUN
Ben Brady was entirely uncertain what a "holla" was. Maybe it was like challah, that bread the gang had stolen from Chlomo Weiss when they were starving in the Utah territory. But that didn't make sense, did it?
He was snapped out of his reverie by Marconi looming in front of him, the unimposing man demanding to know what happened, what they had found. "Well, sir, you got one less wizard to worry about, not to mention about a dozen fewer hired guns. The lab ain't running no more. Also got this," he said, sliding the smartphone across the desk. "Could be somethin' worthwhile on there. 'Fraid I got some bad news, though, sir. Chunk didn't make it. He ran in without waiting for me, got hisself killt." Sixgun removed his Panama hat and bowed his head, a gesture of respect he didn't feel. "If it makes it any better, there's some hitters down in Dixie I can reach out to. Know guys in New Orleans and Tallahassee, quality muscle. For the right price they'd be glad to lend a hand." Sixgun hoped his offer would be accepted. It would mean an opportunity to insert more League members into the Outfit.
SONJA
"Polish. Right. Thanks, Mr. Computer Man," she said as she infiltrated the bloodstained max security cellblock, doing her best to keep to the shadows. She had happened to be near it when she dropped off Styx, it had been a short run from the VTOL. The worst of the worst were in here, the Pole had said. Guys like Xaxx and Knightmare and naturally the Schizoid Man. Just one of them could swat her aside without too much trouble. Which meant going in swinging wasn't likely to work. Trickery and confusion were needed. Sounded like a magician.
She licked her lips, focused. The way Sonja felt right now she figured a kitten could probably defeat her without undue exertion. Using magic in the dampening field, on top of the problems she was already experiencing- it was like running a mile after having wet cement poured over you. But she had to do something, try to buy a few seconds. She focused on the room, the situation Mr. Computer Man had appraised her of. She focused heavily, marshaling what little strength she had left, until her voice layered over itself, two voices speaking at once. Much like a possessed person. One of Legion's slaves. It was worth a shot.
The cellblock filled with the two voices speaking in unison, echoing through the narrow corridors to reach the ears of the unleashed supervillains. "You cretins, don't you recognize a League trap?" she demanded imperiously before striding out in full view of all of the escapees. Her sunglasses hid her decidedly normal eyes, not to mention the squint of intense concentration. This was taxing, she couldn't keep it up for long. She pointed to the actual Legionnaire, spoke again in the booming double voice. "Do you not recognize Destiny behind his disguise? If you step through that portal, you'll merely be in a more secure facility in Antarctica. I should not have to debase myself by taking the body of this pathetic conjurer Simpson merely to save you from your own foolishness!"
Ben Brady was entirely uncertain what a "holla" was. Maybe it was like challah, that bread the gang had stolen from Chlomo Weiss when they were starving in the Utah territory. But that didn't make sense, did it?
He was snapped out of his reverie by Marconi looming in front of him, the unimposing man demanding to know what happened, what they had found. "Well, sir, you got one less wizard to worry about, not to mention about a dozen fewer hired guns. The lab ain't running no more. Also got this," he said, sliding the smartphone across the desk. "Could be somethin' worthwhile on there. 'Fraid I got some bad news, though, sir. Chunk didn't make it. He ran in without waiting for me, got hisself killt." Sixgun removed his Panama hat and bowed his head, a gesture of respect he didn't feel. "If it makes it any better, there's some hitters down in Dixie I can reach out to. Know guys in New Orleans and Tallahassee, quality muscle. For the right price they'd be glad to lend a hand." Sixgun hoped his offer would be accepted. It would mean an opportunity to insert more League members into the Outfit.
SONJA
"Polish. Right. Thanks, Mr. Computer Man," she said as she infiltrated the bloodstained max security cellblock, doing her best to keep to the shadows. She had happened to be near it when she dropped off Styx, it had been a short run from the VTOL. The worst of the worst were in here, the Pole had said. Guys like Xaxx and Knightmare and naturally the Schizoid Man. Just one of them could swat her aside without too much trouble. Which meant going in swinging wasn't likely to work. Trickery and confusion were needed. Sounded like a magician.
She licked her lips, focused. The way Sonja felt right now she figured a kitten could probably defeat her without undue exertion. Using magic in the dampening field, on top of the problems she was already experiencing- it was like running a mile after having wet cement poured over you. But she had to do something, try to buy a few seconds. She focused on the room, the situation Mr. Computer Man had appraised her of. She focused heavily, marshaling what little strength she had left, until her voice layered over itself, two voices speaking at once. Much like a possessed person. One of Legion's slaves. It was worth a shot.
The cellblock filled with the two voices speaking in unison, echoing through the narrow corridors to reach the ears of the unleashed supervillains. "You cretins, don't you recognize a League trap?" she demanded imperiously before striding out in full view of all of the escapees. Her sunglasses hid her decidedly normal eyes, not to mention the squint of intense concentration. This was taxing, she couldn't keep it up for long. She pointed to the actual Legionnaire, spoke again in the booming double voice. "Do you not recognize Destiny behind his disguise? If you step through that portal, you'll merely be in a more secure facility in Antarctica. I should not have to debase myself by taking the body of this pathetic conjurer Simpson merely to save you from your own foolishness!"
Enh, I liked Victor better.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Oh great, Bad Dudes are escaping.
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