Raptorman

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Magic Ded. Magic answers everything.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

The Shroud Syndicate was far from the only criminal game left in Lost Haven, despite the extreme successes that the Cowl had managed to bring about, and the large number of rival factions he had either ruined or assimilated there were still some other players left on the board. Even before the Cowl had arrived on the scene in Lost Haven to begin with there had been a group, a loose confederation of various criminals most known for their success in extortion and robbery known as The Crew had existed. It had been a seemingly leaderless and ephemeral group run by a handful of fractious leaders when he arrived. One would have thought they would easily been absorbed or driven out, and yet there was something that had kept them from simply fading away. Conversations and negotiations with members of the organization had yielded little save that there was a leader and that he would return.

Interrogations and attempts at coercion had yielded slightly more information but even when threatened with death few were willing to join the Cowl and most seemed to regard death by his hand no matter how brutal to be less hellish than what would befall them when, and it was always when, their leader returned. Still there had only been so much a somewhat disorganized organization could do, it had faded back into the shadows and there had been little heard from it. At least there had been little heard from it until now.

One of the few who had dared to defect and join the Shroud Syndicate was a man who went by the label of Mr. Shrike. He'd always been a shrewd man, predatory, and not afraid to take risks for what he perceived to be personal gain.He'd been one of the first and only sellouts from the Crew to join the Shroud Syndicate and he'd been rewarded for his defection. There he'd been middle management, with the Shroud he was his own boss heading a lucrative piece of the city. At first he had worried that a grisly fate awaited him after his defection, but the years had passed and there had been no retaliation leading him to believe that he had certainly made the right choice for himself. At least he had believed that until recently.

Several members of his personal entourage who had defected alongside him had been found dead over the course of the last week. It wasn't just that they had been found dead that put him on edge though. No that privilege was reserved for the manner in which they had died. They'd been found as little more than puss and decaying flesh, something that Mr. Shrike had remembered well from the old days. He'd increased his own protective detail, stepped up patrols, and begun to consider reaching out to his new leader especially since he had heard the Cowl was coming back to Lost Haven, surely he would be able to gain protection there.

In fact he had planned to speak to the man at the very gathering taking place this evening, and he had been about to leave his base of operations to go there when the attack had come. He had been prepared for the slug, ready for the shade, he had not been ready for the girl who walked out of every reflective surface in the compound and took the entire place prisoner all at once.

And now he found himself kneeling as the glassy simulacra of a women held a gun to the back of his head, along with the rest of his men. Someone had switched on the intercom and through the static and slight distortion classical music played.There came another sound along with the music, the clicking of metal on the hard floor as footsteps sounded and slowly grew louder. The seemingly fearless and predatory Mr. Shrike went pale as the figure who was the source of the sound came into view. The man wasn't all that intimidating looking, he wore a suit of sorts, black gloves covered his hands, the right hand clutched an ornate cane with a sphere at the top as the handle, his face was hidden in shadows cast by the old fashioned bowler hat he wore, and a lone glowing ember stood out from that shadow, the tip of a long cigar seemingly clenched in the man's mouth.

Flanking the man on his right was a veritable giant who stood at substantially over 7 feet, likely closer to 8 feet tall. He was a massive hulk of a man with pale slimy skin, a suit that was stained and discolored, hair that was long, greasy, and tangled all at once, and a bloated face. To the left was another man, this one however was barely visible as a man at all, it was more like a pillar of shadows had congealed and formed themselves into the shape of a man. With these two imposing figures at his side the central one drew closer to where Shrike knelt.

"You should have known better." The man's voice was a horrid croak that was phlegmy and harsh at the same time. "You were a witness. You knew I would return eventually." The man took a long breath and inhaled through the cigar to draw in a thick cloud of smoke that he seemingly swallowed rather than exhaling. His right hand moved over to the left and pinched the tip of the middle finger to begin to slowly pull off the glove there.

Mr. Shrike was never above begging for his life and with his eyes wide with terror the man began to vomit forth a stream of information. "The Cowl's coming back... Spare me and I can tell you where he is... I can help you... Please god have mercy..." His babbling grew more and more desperate as the glove was slowly slid off all the way to reveal the horror that lurked beneath. The man's hand was diseased, the flesh was purple and swollen, ridden with weeping sores and blisters that oozed a steady stream of noxious puss. There were no fingernails and the tips of his fingers oozed pus from the places where the nails should have been.

"There is..." The man's voice stopped oddly for a moment and so did the motion of his hands before abruptly restarting again. "no mercy for traitors and turncoats." The man leaned over and tilted his hat back so that his face was clearly visible mere inches away from Shrike's. The sight was truly horrifying. His face was a twisted mass of growths and rancid flesh. Oozing sores leaked onto folds of necrotic flesh and sightless eyes stared straight at Shrike's. There was no way the man should have been able to see, the growths and milky coloration of his eyes should have guaranteed that, and yet somehow he did. "You will die and you will suffer Shrike. But I will offer you a chance to speed your death and suffer less."

The terrible hand began to stretch out towards Shrike's face as the man spoke again, the long cigar still clutched in his teeth as he did so. "Tell me where the Cowl..." There was another of the pauses, more pronounced this time as the man completely froze before resuming motion again. "is and deliver my message, and I will let you die swiftly. If you do not I will let you linger in agony for days."

Surprisingly Mr. Shrike nodded and quickly spoke, telling about the place where the party was to be held, and then begging again for his life. But the man's hand simply drew closer again and the oozing fingers gently traced a line down Shrike's cheek. "Go to your new master. Tell him I have returned." As the man drew his fingers away Shrike's face began to blister, pustules growing and spreading like wildfire across his face and then spreading down over his body. "Tell him the Cancer is back." And at those words the many copies of the girl all pulled triggers in unison and all save Mr. Shrike lay dead. The Cancer and his entourage then departed, leaving the dying man gagging and struggling to his feet as his body was slowly consuming itself.

It was several hours later when the decaying husk that had been Mr. Shrike staggered into the Cowl's party. His body had largely putrefied and reeked at the same time as pieces of flesh were sloughing off of his bones. What remained was twisted and malformed, barely recognizable as the man he had once been. He staggered into the center of the room as guests, even hardened criminals drew back in horror and drew a final breath. "He's back." The dying man wheezed out. "The Cancer has come back" And then he collapsed dead as his body continued to consume itself, melting into a sludge upon the floor.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Randall

As the mercenary stood to leave his contact simply nodded and gave a thin lipped smile. "I'll inform our employers of your confidence and expect that they will not be disappointed." As War Pulse nodded the seemingly emotionless man waved him off and with that the mercenary had departed. Randall lingered by the table for several long moments as the waiter finally brought out the drink that War Pulse had ordered previously. A single tilt back of the glass downed the drink and there was no sign of discomfort or really any reaction at all. His gloved hand slipped into a pocket and pulled out a phone.

He dialed a number and midway through the second ring someone picked up. "It is done sir." Randall spoke. "The mercenary will be tested and the girl brought before you." A moment later. "No sir I don't anticipate any problems and you should have the answers you seek soon. Of course I will keep you informed. There should be nothing here to threaten the projects."

---

Within an unused warehouse, not the same one that had been so incompetently assaulted by a band of fools, an unusual woman worked. One of the walls had been practically covered with a branching series of images and notes, some of which were date stamped in ways that had to be mistakes. It was this wall that the woman was currently staring at. Her strangely canted orange eyes moving over the network of images and notes that she had assembled. It had been unfortunate that those fools had stumbled across her previous workplace, she had been forced to dispatch them, not that it had been difficult in the least but it had meant she needed to relocate quickly again and finding a new building had taken time.

She had briefly considered consuming the human Eric and using his dwelling as a base of operations but the thought had been repulsive for several reasons. Alsia had been conditioned not to see humans as a food source, and there was an odd emotional attachment that made her dislike the thought despite the inconvenience that operating out of another location while still residing in his residence caused her.

Her eyes had once again swept over the wall to fix on a particular image. A flag that had not flown in many years with two sets of three red diagonal lines around a strange hooked symbol flew above.... Her attention was suddenly drawn away as the security system she had upgraded alerted her to a presence in the vicinity. Another crop of foolish disgraces for bounty hunters rushing to the slaughter?

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Looks good ded

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

That is where he exits the station yes.

You are more than welcome to throw a plasma spear at nightmare. I'd advise you to say it had not noticeable effect in the cloud of darkness for this one.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

The fight wasn't inside the station. It is taking place outside on the street. Within the false day light Archangel's device makes. Just a minor thing to fix.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

The man's lips curled upwards into a barely perceptible smile as Trent joked about surprise fireballs up the ass. However this momentary show of emotion and humor quickly faded away. Once again Randall reached into the briefcase, this time taking out a second folder that he examined himself for a moment before speaking in reply. "We are uncertain as to her full capabilities. However she has dispatched 4 known metahuman operatives to date." Randall passed over the second folder, this one was noticeably thicker than the first and contained a small headset. An inquiring glance was met with a nod before the mercenary was to put it on. "One the previous teams were kind enough to provide us with an audio transcript of their failure. They believed they had cornered her in a warehouse. Unfortunately they did not contact us prior to engaging and were outmatched."

When War Pulse donned the headset it would begin to play the records from the failed attempt. The words of dead men echoing in his ears as the audio record played. Notably it was incomplete and several parts seemed spliced together.

V1- "This was easy. You'd think with all the money they were paying us she would have been harder to track down."

V2- "Heh, well I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Besides it isn't over yet."

V1- "It's a freaking retrieval mission on a girl. She's probably some bigshot's whore who ran off and now's threatening to blackmail them. Did you see those pictures? Damn."

V2- "And a bureaucrat's woman somehow managed to kill two other operatives?"

V1- "Shut it, they were clearly inept if someone like that too...."

V3- "The target's presence is confirmed, cut the chatter."

V1- "Fuck you man. Or better yet, let's hit that before we bring her..."

V4- (With clear annoyance) "He said cut the chatter, and seriously think with your brain not your dick for once."

V1- (Inaudible words of grudging ascent.)

V3- "Move in like we planned it. Remember, stun settings only and switch to team only signals it is possible she could listen in on this one."

(Several minutes of silence)

V1- (Laughing) "Got her! That was damn easy. Just took one shot from the stunner too."

V3- "What's your location?"

V2- "About halfway back, near the stacks of pipes. I'm about to restrain heugh"(Cuts off abruptly.)

V1- "What the fuck!?" (Sounds of weapons fire and a high pitched shriek that sounded inhuman.)

V3- "Report! What is happening?"

V1- "She killed ----" (More shots fired and disjointed words) "too ... fast... can't..."

V3- "We've got this. In position now." (Additional fire from multiple weapons) "Damn she's fast."

V1 "She fucking killed him man."

V4- "Shut u" (Voice cuts out abruptly with a heavy thud)

V3- "Direct hit." (Several more shots follow) "Target down."

V1- "We should kill her for this. She fucking killed --- and ---"

V3- "We are getting paid for this now restrain her and let's get out of here."

V1- "I'm not going near her."

V3- (Inaudible mutterings followed by a scream.)

V1 "Fuck this shit. Die!" (Harsher weapons fire and repeated shrieks mingled with curses) "Hah! Eat that!" (Heavy breathing) "How do you like that!?" (Hysterical laughing) "Your fucking dead n" (Gagging)

Unknown Voice- "Three times I play dead and three times you fall for it? You are disgraces to your profession and your....."(The voice was clearly female but odd as if with clicking undertones and a strange buzz to it.)

V1- (Faintly) "What the fuck are you?"

---End

"As you can see, this was not the most competant band of operatives. However our employers trust you will prove more capable." Randall spoke once more after the headphones were removed.

Such Haukes, Such Hounds

I'll hopefully be getting my next post up within the next day or two.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

As Trent described his work experience and attempted to defend his method of doing business Randall remained seemingly impassive, simply maintaining a level stare directed at the mercenary. "The present task does not require particular levels of discretion. However our employers do not frequently incorporate new elements and we must be certain you are compatible." The man stated this rather matter of factly as he picked up the briefcase and placed it on his lap. "You have done a number of bounty hunting jobs in the past, and your present task is simple. To retrieve a troublesome individual and bring her to a specified location alive. It is imperative that she be brought back alive"

Randall opened the briefcase and from within it removed a folder. He fanned through it as if to ensure it was the correct one and then passed it to Trent. "This woman" the picture was grainy and not of particularly high quality, but it showed a woman with long platinum blonde hair, exotic features, and oddly canted eyes, "has become a person of interest to our employers and they require that she be brought in for questioning." Other information in the folder included several locations at which the woman had been sighted and a number of other grainy photos that looked to have been pulled from various security cameras.

The man continued as War Pulse perused the folder. "Several previous operatives have entirely failed to even report back to us with information. You are to consider this woman extremely dangerous and proceed accordingly. As our employers would prefer this to be the start of a lucrative partnership your fee will be payed if you either retrieve the woman for us, or provide us with further information from an encounter. Your handler has instructions to contact us when you have retrieved or engaged this woman."

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

As War Pulse settled into the overly soft and supportive cushions on the chair and the waiter left there would be nothing save the faint chatter of several other customers and the sound of the band playing in the distance. The place he had been instructed to sit in was well out of the way even in this upper class lounge of luxury and as such it took a moment after the waiter had vanished for anything to change. A few minutes passed in the stillness of the luxury lounge in High Spire before they were at last broken as a man approached the chairs in which War Pulse now sat.

He was a tall man with sandy blonde hair, pale skin and faint blue eyes. His face had a slight irregularity to it as if it had been the subject of a few too many procedures designed to alter it. He wore a formal suit that put the mercenary's ratty clothing to shame though his eyes did not seem to hold any disdain, or in fact much at all. They were blank and so was his face, utterly lacking expressiveness as the pale blue eyes took in War Pulse. The man's right hand was covered by a black glove and it gripped the handle of a briefcase as he walked over to the chairs and sat down in the one directly across from the mercenary soldier for hire. The briefcase was set down on the floor.

The man leaned forwards and extended his right hand to shake. War Pulse would likely notice that the grip was abnormally hard and unyielding. "I am Randall Weims." The man began as he pulled his hand away. "And I represent our mutual employers. They are pleased that you agreed to this meeting." The tall man cracked his fingers and gave a somewhat predatory smile. "Your track record is quite impressive."

"But on the whole your work has been done alone and has been less than discreet. Our employers require appropriate discretion in many situations. How well prepared are you to act in less public ways?"