Sigil

The Other Guys: Heroes (almost)

"The Other Guys" highlights a smallish group of superheroes, just starting out. Potential for character development.

Imagine a setting in the style of "The Tick" or "Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog". Now imagine that all Hell breaks loose on a semi-constant basis, and it's up to a group of low to mid powered yahoos to set things right, at least locally. Let the big heroes handle the nationwide dilemmas. You have to handle the here and now. Considering that your setting is a stone's throw away from several classic Freudian maladies, teamwork and outside-the-box thinking are going to be your friends.

Anyone who's interested may have the opportunity to cross swords with Guerrilla Gorilla or assist The Masked Asshole, one of The City's most beloved figures (though we're not sure why, he's not very courteous). Perhaps you will get to the villain calling the shots, perhaps an unnamed figure will keep throwing hired hands and henchfolk at you.

I intend this to have a slightly edgier Saturday Morning Cartoon feel.

NOTE: This RP is in progress, but prior to any canon plot points. I need an additional couple of players to keep it going; we've had some unexpected backouts.

Origins (or How You Got Super):

Metahuman: Representing the next stage in human evolution, or some such claptrap. This is the easy way out for characters, or simply “I was born this way”. Most Metas begin to exhibit latent powers at puberty, though a rare few show their true colors much younger. It is almost certain that Metas will have Meta offspring, but spontaneous Metahuman expression still happens among normal people with normal parents. Though it is the most common occurrence, there is no guarantee that similar powers will be passed down from parent to child (the lady with mind control powers and an affinity for unarmed combat has a son that climbs walls and talks to spiders).

Metahumans have an odd penchant for giving themselves catchy birthday-clown nicknames and dressing up in strange clothes. Also, most Metas will have at least one natural feature that seems a little …off… though not all. Many pass as regular human to all but the closest inspection.

Altered: Altered Humans have a bit more of a backstory. Their powers came from somewhere, whether by accident or choice. Cosmic rays, cybernetic modification, exposure to secret formulae, gifts bestowed by powerful extradimensional beings, military experimentation, etc. are all classic, standby causes. These individuals have powers on par with Metas, and in some cases can pass their “Alter” down to the next generation or gift it to others. They are as varied as their origins, and often have codenames attached to their identity, most times by the powers that altered them or the media.

Technology: Tech Heroes, as the name implies, derive their abilities through amazing acts of engineering niftiness. Many use a series of gadgets, often one-of-a-kind devices to accomplish what normal humanity otherwise could not. Some of these Tech Heroes even go as far as to build their best work into a formidable battlesuit, enabling them to look like some manner of futuristic knight errant with laser-vision. The upside: Tech Heroes can freely give their persona to others they deem worthy, preferably after a period of training in its proper use. The downside: Some halfwit can steal it (or the blueprints thereof) and make life very interesting for the Hero.

Relic: Relic Heroes are the mystical equivalent to Tech Heroes, except that their equipment is magical or extradimensional in nature. Maybe they stumbled across a forgotten temple that still housed an item of power and intelligence, maybe they inherited a lucky somethingorother that, for whatever reason, chose to reveal its true power to them. Perhaps a set of golf clubs got caught in an electrical storm during the autumn equinox while a virgin used them as impromptu stress relief aids, thus giving them strange and unusual powers and the ability to share said powers with their wielder, so long as they first make a hole-in-one while wearing the appropriate checkered pants. Y’know, standard stuff.

Alien: If you abuse this, I will smite you. Aliens are sentient creatures that come from another planet, another reality, another dimension, whatever. Their powers commonly come from their different biology, resulting in any number of exotic (read: WEIRD) abilities. Also, they may still have access to bits of offworld tech or extradimensional energies. Well, sometimes. Unless they’ve been earthbound for a long frigging time, these guys will have the most difficult time blending in or accepting our cultural norms. This is a character type that you’re really going to have to work with your wise, humble, giving GM to flesh out. Again, you abuse, I smite.

Mystic: People with a talent for Magic. Yes, in my campaign world, Magic does exist, but it is very rare and difficult to wield. With the right training, anyone can use it. Of course, with the right training anyone can become a chainsaw-juggling spinal reconstructive neurosurgeon, but the training and natural talent as a prerequisite keeps all but the most serious far, far away. That, and when you open the door to a Mystic origin, other things can peek back through said door at you. Most practitioners of the Mystic Arts choose to specialize and work in a single area of magic, as every kind requires a somewhat different mindset. In all cases, the unlucky bastards that choose this as their calling find that their life is absorbed by it; it is notoriously hard to be an EX-magician. Further, the intellect, emotional openness, and pure force of will necessary to do more than “light as a feather, stiff as a board” keeps their numbers low.
But, if you can deal with the hassle without cracking (and sometimes even if you do), lots of cool stuff can come your way. Eventually. Sometimes.

Automaton: You are an artificial construct. Maybe you have sentience, maybe you have really detailed programming. It’s quite possible that you’re a terracotta statue that got sick of standing there and decided to see what was outside of your particular burial shrine. Golem, robot, android, whatever; you are the non-living given animation and freedom of action (if not always freedom of will). If your creator is still around, they may have very opinionated views on how you should spend your time.

Dedicated: Normal humans, these characters have absolutely zero super powers. What they DO have is a massive amount of angst, inner turmoil, and/or reserves of mental fortitude necessary to make them lethal. At least useful. The Dedicated often have shadowed pasts, and their skills have put them in demand amongst more traditional Hero types. Sometimes this can lead into a grey area with Tech Heroes, but for the most part the two are very distinguishable. A Dedicated human may be a street savvy operator, an highly trained agent of some bureaucratic organization, well established cult, best of the best of the best military unit; they could be an unstoppable computer hacker, or maybe they just don’t care one whit about their personal safety and, against all odds, kept surviving (yeah, that’d be YOU, if you pick this origin). Such characters tend to have their own specialized gear, or at least a preference in recurring equipstuffs.

Character Sheet Template

Name: (Real name, or facsimile thereof)

Identity: (Superhero name)

Origin: (Origin of powers, described above)

Stats:

(This is for me to fill in, after we converse)

Fighting -
Agility -
Strength -
Endurance -
Reason -
Intuition -
Psyche -

Appearance:

(How your Hero is perceived)

Powers:

(Either the easiest or most difficult part to nail down. Keep it fairly modest, and work with me on this. B-list Heroes beginning careers, remember?)

Talents:

(Everyone starts with three. Non power related skills or background experience.)

Contacts:

(Everyone gets two. People you know that may be of use to you; friends, family, business contacts, former teachers, etc.)

Background:

(How you became the way you are, and why.)

Anyone interested?

Click HERE.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

Keystone locked eyes with his traveling companion, sighed, and said nothing. He quietly viewed all that Kaylee had to show him, and continued saying nothing. Unwilling to hold gaze with anyone else in the carriage, the large man recovered his pack, settled in, and tried to sleep in the relative safety of numbers and motion. Before nodding off, he spoke in the forefront of his mind, hoping his spiritual tagalong could understand, "I'll try to help you, Kaylee. But I have to know more. Rest now, talk later, I suppose..."

Upon reaching Telflamm, Keystone's first action was to look for Erepar, to see if he was part of the caravan survivors. If so, there was a dialogue that had to be opened. While he scanned the crowd, he made mental note of where he was and what he could do in the city. He had no illusions of being wholly safe; his adversary came back from the dead to fulfill his desires, a cross-country trip was a mere annoyance. But maybe in this time he could figure out a few things.

First on the list: There had to be someone in town more knowledgeable than himself about history and/or undead Knights. The temple of Tyr seemed a good place to make an appointment (they always seemed like the "make an appointment" types) to speak with a cleric or historian. If anyone could put names to the places in his visions, they likely could or could refer him to someone more learned about such things.

(Where the hell was Erepar?)

Second up: Money. After having been stiffed by one employer (his unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding), he was still near broke, on the run, and in a not-too-familiar setting. Two scrolls in his possession were taking up space. Perhaps some subtle inquiries as to where they could be unloaded for a more fluid asset would be useful. The food in his pack wouldn't hold out forever, free board at the Inn or not.

(I do hope the poor bugger's not dead, he could answer a LOT of questions...)

Third priority: The Xiang Temple. Maybe they have answers, maybe they don't. But their reputation as masterful unarmed fighters was enough to warrant his attention, dire emergency looming or not. His own skills very likely came, watered down and adapted to his culture over time, from these people. He felt it necessary to try to pay the place a visit, and his respect. Hell, he may even learn a thing or two, provided he could get past a possible language barrier.

(He probably had that naked guy run him out of there on his shoulders. ...wizards...)

Finally: Keep an eye out for Dwarves, especially ones that are a bit long in the beard. His new Bracers still needed to be fully translated, and Keystone's grasp on the language just didn't cut it. If he came across anything promising while attending to other business, great.

(Well, don't see him. Maybe he's already inside the Inn.)

Looking to no one in particular, he said in a quiet baritone, "Up for talking, little Kay? Seems we have a breather." He slung on his pack, and for the meantime joined the rest of the refugees. In his mind, he formed the words, "I hope you don't go rooting around too deep in there, little miss. I've some dark and nasty spots, might make you rethink your accommodations."

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

@DMZ
So, to be clear: The Captain's sword fell on the road, he fell into our carriage, and until we get to Telflamm this ride isn't stopping. Posting tonight.

EDIT
Edited CS to account for the dagger, ring, and scrolls that we pulled from Reverin and his tower. Neglected to do so earlier.

Final Fantasy - The Red Mage Chronicles

Don't everybody rush to post at once. We've got time. Tell you what, though, as soon as this series of encounters are done, we can all go out for some Kentucky Fried Chocobo. Deal?

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

Huzzah!

Final Fantasy - The Red Mage Chronicles

@ReaptheMusic@RolePlayerRoxas@Pathfinder@Flamelord

First IC post is up, as is the first encounter. No special caveats for this one, just ease into it and make some Imps die. Something more interesting to follow.

Final Fantasy - The Red Mage Chronicles

“Pay close attention to the Orbs during the ceremony. If anything strange should happen, send for me at my Embassy. Ask for Red. They will find me.”

These words haunt you on what should have been one of the most joyous days of your life. A very rare few are asked by their community to represent them in the Ceremony of Light, and this was your year. The elders never said anything about a member of that crazy Society of Red Mages hijacking your holiday abroad and filling you with unsettling suspicions. And the Ambassador to Coneria no less, the center of the world! You’re not sure how these people even qualify to have ambassadors; they have no country, generally don’t get involved as a people in anything, and just seem to wander from place to place writing things down and getting into mischief.

No matter. He seemed harmless, even helpful, aside from being a little …weird… and his Embassy has been footing the bill for your partying and exploration since you’ve arrived. Maybe this was just how Red Mages acted during important historical holidays. Yeah, that must be it. It’s all in the spirit of the Festival.

And the Festival! Food, sights, sounds. Every kind of people from every corner of the world, filling the town to overflowing during the day, and filling every Inn for miles around at night. People setting up great tent cities outside of Coneria City proper, each canvas metropolis filled with as much wonder and celebration as the city itself. It was a great time for everyone, and it had lasted for a good week so far. The Ceremony of Light was set to occur at dusk; afterwards the whole city, including Coneria Castle, would be overtaken with splendorous lights fueled by delicate and scintillating magic, ever changing in color and intensity, including great starbursts over the city heralding the Bi-millennial anniversary of the Light Warriors triumphing over the Archdemon known as Chaos.

Other places around the world had their own celebrations, but none as grand as that of the Kingdom of Coneria. This was the place to be on this night, and you have been taking it all in for free. This is the experience of your young lives, one you are certain to carry with you until the end of your days.

The celebration reaches a thundering swell as the shadows grow longer with the coming night, streetlamps flare up with magical illumination vaguely styled as open flame. Streets fill with costumed partygoers, garbed in obviously parodied copies of the original Light Warriors. A hat here, a wooden sword there, the odd colored cloak of questionable pattern. Rooftops and balconies dotted with imbibing revelers raised cheers again and again. Children play-fighting in front of shops, their parents closing up their business so as not to miss the crescendo of the Festival. Through the center of all this, your group of “Light Warriors” part the throng of jubilated townsfolk and tourists, escorted by a detail of the King’s Guard to the sound of thunderous applause.

The procession made its way into the City Center, a large patch of parkland where the main roads of Coneria met, in clear view of the castle in the distance. Matching them step for step, a second procession moved to join them, originating from the palace gates. This one included four ornately shrouded carriages, several King’s Guard, and the King of Coneria himself. The good King was bedecked in very regal finery; nothing but the best when meeting the representative saviors of humanity.

As the two groups merged in the City Center, the Guard ringed everyone involved in the ceremony with practiced steps, and began walking outward in unison, controlling the crowd with firm but polite motion. The four carriages moved, seemingly of their own accord, to take up position behind the King. Alone in the circle of armed guards, the King openly greeted each of this year’s “Warriors of Light”, shaking hands and beaming warm, fatherly smiles to the young men and women assembled.

A raised hand from the King quieted the witnesses to the event, thousands of them, as a testament to the respect granted the stern but forthright ruler and the importance of the event, and he began speaking the first, ancient lines of the Ceremony of Light:

“A great darkness shrouded the world.
The wind died.
The sea raged.
The earth began to decay.
Only a prophecy kept hope alive in people's hearts.
"When darkness veils the world, four warriors of light shall come.”
And after journeying far, four young warriors did at last appear.
In the hands of each rested a mysterious crystal... “

The cloth barriers lifted from the four carriages behind the King, uncovering the ethereal beauty of four smallish, crystal Orbs, bathing the immediate area with soft, cool light. A collective gasp overtook the crowd. The fact that this ceremony took place every year did nothing to dull the impressive majesty of the Four Elemental Crystal Orbs. Believed to have been illuminated at the beginning of the world, these orbs were darkened once, just over two thousand years ago, by the Archdemon Chaos. Relit by the courageous actions of the Light Warriors, they have given off their dependable, unchanging radiance ever since.

Until today.

Before the King could continue speaking, one Orb flared more brilliantly than the others for a half second. The crowd exploded with confusion and fear. Guardsmen, trying hard not to join the townsfolk and visitors utterly losing their composure, held the crowd back and tried to calm matters. When the same Orb began flickering and expelling bursts of dissipating, liquid-seeming energy into the air, they realized they were going to fail.

The other three Orbs remained as they always were, but seemed slightly dimmer in comparison to the now erratic fourth.

It was precisely the distraction the Imps needed. They attacked from underneath, swarming up from sewers and storm drains, piling out of building basements and unused warehouses. Like rats crawling upon rats, bounding and snarling, the diminutive goblin-folk surged forward stabbing and clawing down anyone in their path. Gibbering growls preceded screams of pain and terror as the horde made the once jubilant partygoers into victims.

The King called to his people, issuing direct commands with the precision of a military commander. “King’s Guard to me! Protect the Orbs! Get them back to the castle!”

He looked to this year’s Light Warriors, and in softer tones, “Run, if you can. Fight if you must. This is a catastrophe, young ones. That strange man tried to warn me. If you are who he claims you are, it is time. Look for a tower of red light. Go!”

Turning his attention to the immediate emergency, he retook his martial persona. “Royal Mages! Ignite the Ceremony lights NOW! Give them no darkness under which to hide!” Grabbing the breastplate of a nearby Guard, he growled an order, “Go to the castle with the Orbs, tell the caregivers to ready the tower to receive casualties. RUN!”

The new night’s darkness retreats instantaneously when the Royal Mages finished their spells. Vibrant hues and illusory images of victory, peace, and hope made the night as day but in sharp contrast to the chaos erupting on the city streets. The King’s Guard lived up to their title, surrounding the King and Orbs, quickly escorting the procession back toward the castle. Before leaving the area, His Highness looks to the assembled Light Warriors one more time,

“Don’t stand around gawking!” He points toward a broad shaft of ruby color stabbing skyward a number of streets over. “Get moving!”

It would be a simple enough task, were it not for a detachment of surprisingly organized Imps armed with viciously curved shortswords (largish daggers in human hands) blocking your direct path. Some six of them, and they’ve taken hungry notice of you.

Everyone knows that a lone Imp poses little threat against a healthy adult human. Sometimes the only difference between an inconvenience and a threat is a matter of numbers. This is the largest massing of Imps anyone alive has ever witnessed. The City Guard has its hands full just trying to hold ground, let alone make a dent in the horde.

Game on.

The Other Guys

@Joegreenbeen
Maybe so. I'm going to give all parties another day to post, yourself excluded, before I begin re-recruiting.

Final Fantasy - The Red Mage Chronicles

@ReaptheMusic
Bunnying is taking control of someone else's character, even in the slightest way, without their permission.

Or dressing up in a bunny costume and posting pictures in the OOC. Totally not tolerated either way. Unless its tasteful. The costume, I mean. Character hijacking is still bad.

Final Fantasy - The Red Mage Chronicles

Ok, basic rules of play listed at the bottom of the first post, above. Will be working on setting up the IC opener presently.

Please let me know if you have any questions or have any comments about the rule set, or anything else so far.

To tide you over until this is completed, he's a gif of dancing bacon. Thank you for your patience.