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"I see." He looked out across the wasteland as he waited for a reply, and an endless expanse of desolation was all that greeted his eyes. No sign of any natives. He also didn't have the satellites he did back home, which meant no uplink, no map, no GPS, and no way of finding the locals. It was right about now that Arty was beginning to regret not learning more about geography and navigation. Even if he was pointed in the right direction, it would probably take him days to find the nearest town. Superpowered brain? Check. Genius IQ? Check. Designer of technology years ahead of its time? Check. Navigator? If only. And he didn't particularly fancy the idea of having to take an on the spot crash course. "So what's your little buddy down inside up to?" He turned his head to the right and watched Mr. Clockwork contemplate whatever it was he was contemplating. "My bet would be fixing this ship we're sitting on. Any chance a guy could catch a ride? I'd prefer the certainty of having a ship to the maybe of finding a portal that goes to a random somewhere else. You can understand that, right?"
Skallagrim said
Remember the effects that Mystique has on magic and tech since one does not exist with out the other.
Would it have those effects on Arty though? Because his armor is tech, but can't run without being powered by his ability. So I guess it comes down to whether his ability would be considered magic in that place.
Who said it was English? ;)
Well Arty's generally not one to self-sabotage, so his primary goal will be finding a way off mystique. And Clockwork Man happens to have a ship.
Mystique. Interesting choice of name for a place. Implies some sort of cryptic side that you won't see coming until it's too late. Figures. He jumped off the body of the craft to land on the wing, then took a seat next to the robotic sounding fellow. "I'm Greystoke. Any idea how I get out of here?" His own voice came out somewhat mechanized through his mask's filters, but the other man already somehow knew he was human, so that wouldn't be fooling anybody. He held his hand out in the typical human gesture of greeting, that being the "handshake", then lowered it again a few moments later regardless of whether the robot took it or not. Or at least Arty assumed he was a robot. His neural signature was off the charts for a human, so unless he was like Arty himself, he had to be some kind of robot. Same with the one below. Lots of electrical signals traveling to and fro.
The fact that they were also sitting on what appeared to be some kind of ship hadn't escaped the notice of the super-powered human, and solid deductive reasoning skills quickly made it apparent that this robot man was probably his best bet for getting out of this place. It wasn't as reassuring a thought as it probably should have been though, since he had no idea where he'd end up even if he did get out of here. Knowing his luck, probably some place worse.
The fact that they were also sitting on what appeared to be some kind of ship hadn't escaped the notice of the super-powered human, and solid deductive reasoning skills quickly made it apparent that this robot man was probably his best bet for getting out of this place. It wasn't as reassuring a thought as it probably should have been though, since he had no idea where he'd end up even if he did get out of here. Knowing his luck, probably some place worse.
In that case, my guess would be no. After all, you can stack an endless amount of zero-tier NPC's and they never add up to a low-tier.
Alright Melon, I've posted in Mystique. I left it vague and stuff because I wasn't sure about the specifics of the ship or crash site, but feel free to spot me and say hello. Or shoot me. Up to you.
"Well... That's no good." From where he stood on the roof of the first international bank, Arthur Greystoke, or as he was more commonly known in this particular outfit "The Watchman" (who the hell comes up with names like that?), could see that several pieces of the city below had gone missing. Not destroyed or vaporized or anything like that, but just gone. There one second, big round hole the next. And right in the center of it all, stood a boy who had to be no older than fifteen. A boy whose outstretched hands seemed to herald the impending nothingnessization of another fifty foot swath of city. Cops and their SWAT teams disappeared by the dozens, and the bullets they shot at the kid did the same by the hundreds. Half the time he wasn't even looking when the bullets disappeared. Which, Arty figured, meant that shooting the kid from up on the roof was out. "Yeah. No good at all."
At least he had his armor. Though it was more of a second skin really. Thanks to the synthetic muscle fibers, it moved flawlessly along with him, contracting and expanding to boost his own natural strength to superhuman levels, and that was what he relied on at the current moment as he leaned forward off the roof. He fell with the grace of an aerialist as his body pivoted on his toes, which barely still touched the corner of the roof. As soon as he hit horizontal, his legs contracted like coiled springs and sprung open an instant later, driving him through the air toward a spot of ground just behind the kid with the nothingness-generating hands. He landed hands first and tucked into a roll, both the armor and his nearly unbreakable bones absorbing the tremendous impact with no harm done as his right hand swept a sword free of its sheath. The blade came up, then down and back as it aimed to bisect the teen from shoulder to hip, but it never got the chance. Apparently, there was some danger sense involved, because the next thing Arty knew, he was being swallowed up by one of those bubbles of nothingness, and the kid hadn't even had the chance to twitch a muscle.
Three cheers for involuntary defenses.
Astoundingly enough, becoming nothing actually wasn't as final as it sounds. Instead of waking up to the great beyond or in the middle of a raging inferno or just not at all, Arty found himself skidding to a stop in front of what appeared to be at first glance some kind of wreckage. A second glance as the dust settled revealed no new revelations, and Arty was forced to conclude that it was indeed some kind of wreckage. The question now, was wreckage of what? And why the hell wasn't he dead? And where the hell is he, now that he's not dead? Turning slowly in a circle revealed only a diverse array of flora that he'd never seen before, and quite a lot of wasteland. "Huh..." He slid the sword back into the sheath on his back, and climbed up to a higher vantage point on the wreckage to see if he could see what a sailor would see. He couldn't. No oceans in sight.
At least he had his armor. Though it was more of a second skin really. Thanks to the synthetic muscle fibers, it moved flawlessly along with him, contracting and expanding to boost his own natural strength to superhuman levels, and that was what he relied on at the current moment as he leaned forward off the roof. He fell with the grace of an aerialist as his body pivoted on his toes, which barely still touched the corner of the roof. As soon as he hit horizontal, his legs contracted like coiled springs and sprung open an instant later, driving him through the air toward a spot of ground just behind the kid with the nothingness-generating hands. He landed hands first and tucked into a roll, both the armor and his nearly unbreakable bones absorbing the tremendous impact with no harm done as his right hand swept a sword free of its sheath. The blade came up, then down and back as it aimed to bisect the teen from shoulder to hip, but it never got the chance. Apparently, there was some danger sense involved, because the next thing Arty knew, he was being swallowed up by one of those bubbles of nothingness, and the kid hadn't even had the chance to twitch a muscle.
Three cheers for involuntary defenses.
Astoundingly enough, becoming nothing actually wasn't as final as it sounds. Instead of waking up to the great beyond or in the middle of a raging inferno or just not at all, Arty found himself skidding to a stop in front of what appeared to be at first glance some kind of wreckage. A second glance as the dust settled revealed no new revelations, and Arty was forced to conclude that it was indeed some kind of wreckage. The question now, was wreckage of what? And why the hell wasn't he dead? And where the hell is he, now that he's not dead? Turning slowly in a circle revealed only a diverse array of flora that he'd never seen before, and quite a lot of wasteland. "Huh..." He slid the sword back into the sheath on his back, and climbed up to a higher vantage point on the wreckage to see if he could see what a sailor would see. He couldn't. No oceans in sight.
MelonHead said
The thing is, I don't plan to leave the Clockwork Man in Mystique for long regardless, so I'm up for a brief scuffle or even just a conversation, someone could even tag along with him if they want.If you come for a fight, I'll have to murder you and move on, but I'm still fine with doing it.
I'm honestly up for whatever. If Arty dies I've got plenty more where he came from.
I could drop Arty into Mystique to get things going there if you'd like. I probably won't have a post up until tomorrow though.
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