Sophistemon

Wow, okay. How many Hero Points are we up to, at this point? Should be plenty to see me through the fight. And, yes; the ethereal chains should manifest once they enter the room and attempt to bind them. Hrmn. This might work out for Presto after all. Initiative: 1d20+3 19.

Servos whirred as Upgrade's enormous torso twisted, the vehicle turning to take in both Adept and Bonfire at once. "That's not okay," the pilot buzzed. "We're looking at reckless endangerment at least and probably a few illegal weapons possession charges to boot, not to mention the host of other laws being broken in this mess." A titanic metal hand reached up to gently palm the front of the sensory cluster in an unusual display of emotion made all the more stunning considering that it was all deliberately piloted from inside of the machine. "I hate to break it to you, kid, but you've gotten yourself involved in a mess with a capital M. I can't see this going smoothly for anyone." Ethan sighed, though it didn't transfer to the speakers. "Not that it's your fault, but man..." The sensory cluster turned towards Warne. "You're the expert at hunting people down. Where do we start in finding this Gas Man?"

I will be away for the weekend, from the 3rd to the 5th. I apologize to Heritage, Olopi, and Blarghy for any delays this may cause in their games.

Samuel watched Gretchen, first eagerly, and then with a growing pit in his stomach that threatened to swallow him whole. When she dropped the first journal, he gasped a bit and bent to pick it up. By the time that she turned to face him, apologizing for something that was decades beyond her control, he'd already leafed through page after page of incomprehensible writing. "It's in Hebrew," he said, and perhaps to her amazement there was the hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth. "Of course, it would be. Why make things easy on us? One more trick." He handed the red leather notebook back to Gretchen. "I even used to speak a little Hebrew," he said. "The way a Catholic might speak Latin. I haven't been to temple in years, though." He sighed. "No worry, though. There are ways around this. Spells we can cast to twist the words into something a little more... forgiving." He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. "My worry is if he wrote it in code, though. I can't think of much that would help us with that. With any luck, this will be the last trick that he plays on us, and we can get going to the meat of things."

Upgrade's sensory cluster swiveled to gaze at Adept. "It's not the first time that I've heard of a power company being above the law, but something like that seems a little too brazen, a little too extreme." Ethan wondered for a moment if it was Neutron Industries that had provided some of the technology that went into creating the miniaturized thorium reactor that powered the AMP, but then doubted it; some of the brightest minds in the country had come together to craft the vehicle -- corporate fatcats need not apply. "Anyway," he buzzing voice boomed. "If what you're saying is true and they really are dumping waste, something's got to be done about it. I don't care how useful their power is; they can't be allowed to put innocent people at risk like that, not to mention the environment." He looked back towards Bonfire. "Tell us more about the mercenary that you beat. Who is he, and where is he?"

Sam stared, wide-eyed, as Agent Warne inspected the shattered piece of himself. Finally, after a few long moments, the magician found himself able to speak. "I don't... what was this? Some kind of test?" His eyes hardened at the thought; the lack of trust was galling, even if it had a solid foundation to exist. "I told you, I don't do that anymore. I'm done with drugs, and... and being on that side of things. I'm done. I spent five long years getting done and I'm staying done, and your psychological bull-crap can't change that." He stepped towards the other man and sighed, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I'm almost glad, though. I thought... the whole thing was so strange that it's almost a relief that you were behind it." He tapped his head. "I'm still buzzing a little -- what did you do to me? Lower my inhibitions so I'd be more honest? That's... really devious, you know, even for you." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't ever do it again, okay? Or I'll turn you into something slimy, like a... toad." He blinked and trailed off into silence. There was something there, he could almost see it in the corner of his mind's eye, but he couldn't quite grasp it so that it made sense. "Or a newt," he concluded, shaking his head. "Hey, how long does this last, man? I need to be on the ball for the meeting. If I show up and I'm all rattled like this they're going to suspect something."

The words stung, deep inside, but the pain of it just made Samuel angrier and further roused the great black beast that was his ego. His eyes narrowed and he threw himself at the glass, pounding both fists against it in a fit of rage. "You think you know me? You think you know me?" He drew back his hands and slammed them, again, into the barrier. If this weren't a dream such an action might have broken his fingers. "You don't know anything about me! You look at me and you see a mark, someone you can drag around to do your dirty work!" He took a few great, heaving breaths and stepped back. "I'm going to change it. I'm going to change all of it and nothing's going to stop me -- not even you. You'll see. This time I'm going to be on the winning side. This time I won't miss." He spread his arms, like he had on stage, and his prison shirt parted to reveal the red vest underneath. "I'm going to get it back, you bastard! I'm going to have it all and there's nothing you can do about it!" He grinned that wide, white showman's grin. "I'm going to be the best, the best that they've ever seen, and they're going to love me as much as they ever did -- maybe more. I'm Presto the Preposterous! They won't have a choice by the time I'm done out there."

Well, at least this time I rolled the average. Will Save: 1d20+4 14.

The inmate flinched backwards, but then his face hardened and he stared through the glass at Warne. If there was one thing that the fog in his brain couldn't addle, couldn't dull, couldn't blunt, it was the one thing that had driven Samuel Steiner forward since his very first show: his ego, his arrogance, his single-minded obsession with respect. His lips curled back away from his teeth in an angry, snarling sneer. "Screw you," he growled. "Screw you, you sanctimonious prick. You came to me! I never asked for this! I served my time! I have a job!" Flickers, images of two young women and the smell of coffee. He slammed a gloved fist into the glass and was gratified by the sound it made. "I just wanted to help!" More flickers, an image of himself, once more clothed in his performance outfit but with a cape streaming behind him while an angelic choir sang his praises. "Damn you," he shouted. "Damn you, I almost... I almost caught her." Flickers, a skip, and for the briefest moment they were back on stage before the prison reappeared around them. "It wasn't my fault, and even if it was, should I suffer forever for a single lousy mistake?" His head started to pound as the fog reasserted itself. "I can't... I can't not make it right. I have to make it right again!"

I did have some hope about Adept leaving this partnership with some respect for Presto, but that's unlikely now.

The scene shifted, as dreams are wont to do, to Blackstone Prison. Samuel Steiner had spent five years of his life there following a humiliating defeat at the hands of a hero called Fast-Forward. The fuzziness in his head intensified, and it was though his brain filled up with cotton. Focusing became more difficult and he found himself wandering from thought to thought in a daze. Blackstone. Yes. Yes, he remembered Blackstone. How could he forget it? He'd died and been reborn there; broken and rebuilt. The surroundings fuzzed and skipped like static. So much had happened between the girl and his arrival at Blackstone... but he couldn't focus on it, and so it didn't matter. Knickknack's words echoed in his head: 'What you are... what you are... what you are...' The words buzzed through the fog in his head like a hornet and stung him on the brain. What was he? That was an easy one. Befuddled as he was, he could answer even that. When he was in Blackstone Prison, he was... nothing. Samuel Steiner, when stripped of his wealth, his audience, and his bag of tricks... was nothing. His suit dissolved into a fine mist and reappeared as a prison uniform. His hair, perfectly done, fell from his head in waves to reveal a buzz-cut that made him indistinguishable from the other prisoners. There were only two things that were unique about him here: the first was the number stitched once on his chest and again across his back, between his shoulders. The second was the black eye that marred his features and blurred his vision. He was unpopular here, as a former celebrity. Everyone with a chip on their shoulder and an axe to grind with the world outside their cells took it out on his face and he, without his money or his magic, was powerless to do anything about it. He was nothing, and they treated him like nothing. He looked down at his hands and saw that they still wore their white gloves. His hands. Those hands had worked wonders both magical and mundane, but in here they were worthless.

4... 3... 2... Guys, I think that I can see the bottom! Will Save: 1d20+4 6.

My having bad luck should not in any way be taken as a negative on your part. You're telling a good story and I'm enjoying myself. If you're also enjoying yourself then this thread is a success.

Samuel felt... funny. His mind was fuzzy, like it might have been during a fever or a bout of the flu but he didn't feel sick, really; just mildly detached. The audience faded into obscurity and then disappeared entirely, but he didn't notice -- he was fixated on the strange woman striding towards him, knife in hand and a mouthful of fangs. She looked familiar, which was impossible because he'd never met her before in his life and she was so (it would be most polite to say) unique that he didn't think that he could have ever forgotten her if he had. He swallowed, hard, and backed away from her. "Wait," he said. "There's... there's a girl. She... I almost caught her." He tried to think, but he couldn't focus on anything for very long. "Party?" he asked. "Dance? What are you talking about? Please, I think there's something wrong. I think I might be sick. The girl... have you seen the girl? I almost caught her." He looked past Knickknack, into the audience... but there was no audience. There wasn't much of anything. "Where'd everyone go?" He looked at the woman, and then again, more closely, at her teeth. "What's going on?" And then, suddenly, it clicked. "Wait." His voice, previously wavering, uncertain, scared, strengthened. "Wait. Knickknack. What are you doing here? I don't meet you until... until after prison. I don't meet you until after I go back to Blackstone." He raised a white-gloved hand and pointed a finger at her. "You shouldn't be here, Knickknack! What's going on?"

Will Save: 1d20+7 10. This wasn't ever going to go any other way.

The magician ran a hand through his hair -- it was perfect already, almost artificially so, but it never hurt to make sure -- and scoffed. "Of course they're going to love me; I'm Presto the Preposterous! They won't have a choice by the time I'm done out there." Then, he cast his eyes about the room and leaned in, towards his agent. "You have the stuff, right? For the after-party? I've got something big planned for tonight and I'm going to need to unwind when I'm done." When the agent started to answer, Sam raised a finger. "Hold that thought; my audience awaits!" The agent ducked out of sight as the curtain rose, shooting him a thumbs up as he did, and Sam faced the audience with a dazzling smile, his theme music booming as a cheer that was thousands of voices in the making reached his ears. He switched on his microphone and responded. "Please!" he called back, his voice jovial and his spirits high. "Please, you're all too kind. I have to say it's a wonder being back in Las Vegas. An absolute delight -- there's no other city like it in the world, and I would know!" He paced from one end of the stage to the other as his audience cheered. "It's a pleasure to be back in the City of Lights, a man-made oasis in the middle of the desert. Why, if that isn't a kind of magic then I don't know what is!" The audience laughed, and he grinned back at them. "Speaking of which, what did you all come here tonight to see?" The audience responded, voices booming: magic. Sam raised a hand to his ear. "What was that?" he asked. "I couldn't hear you." The audience repeated, louder, laughing: magic! The magician laughed with them and spread his arms wide, revealing the crimson vest that he wore beneath the tailcoat. "Excellent!" he crowed. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road!" What followed was nearly three hours of some of the best entertainment that Vegas had to offer. He hit all of the old classics -- the Disappearing Act, the Box of Swords, the Flock of Doves... and some tricks of his own invention: the Whirligig, the Flaming Queen, the Drowning Banker. The audience loved it -- they clapped, they cheered, they demanded more and more and more of him and what he had to offer. He obliged, until the clock ran down on the grand finale. The lights dimmed to almost nothing, and the audience hushed as a spotlight shown down and illuminated the performer, who knelt in the circle of light like a descended angel. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, almost whispering into the mic. "I'm afraid that we're out of time for this evening -- the hour's grown late and the show's about to end." The audience groaned; they wanted more! He raised a hand. "My friends," he consoled them. "We have time for one more trick. But to do it, and do it right, I'll need a volunteer from the audience. Is there anyone out there that would like to join me on stage?" The audience exploded. They stood, as one, and waved at him like a single organism desperate that he take particular notice of only one of its cells. Normally, for something like this, there would be a plant in the audience, someone who knew ahead of time what to expect. But there was no expecting what Samuel had planned tonight. He'd practiced at home for over a month, and had developed this particular talent to the point where he could levitate a car with no real trouble at all. And it was no trick -- it was magic. Real magic! He'd studied, and practiced, and it had finally paid off: he wasn't just a magician anymore: he'd stoked the spark inside him to a flame and it was finally paying off. A car. He'd lifted cars before, so when he chose the petite young woman in the red dress he thought that he'd have no trouble flying her above the audience. No wires, no platforms, no tricks at all: magic. Real magic! It would be something that they'd never forget. When she fell, he almost caught her. That's what stuck with him later. When he was being kicked out of his apartment on the strip, he thought: I almost caught her. When he was running from the police, he thought: I almost caught her. When Fast-Forward's fist struck him in the face and shattered his nose, he thought: I almost caught her. When he was sitting in jail, counting the days as they went by, he thought: I almost caught her. But to this day he didn't know why she'd slipped. It had gone perfectly, like something out of a dream: he'd lifted her effortlessly and floated her across the stage as the audience gasped. She had looked at him, enraptured, as though she'd fallen in love with not just him but with the idea of him and he'd asked her if she'd ever thought of flying. He'd swooped her out, above the audience, her dress fluttering behind her like the tail of a comet. He did it again, and again. And then, on the fourth swoop... she'd slipped. He'd tried to tighten his 'grip,' to force the magic to hold her until he brought her back to the safety of the stage, but the audience had noticed. Their gasp -- of fear, not awe -- sent a quake down his spine and caused his forehead to break out in a sweat. She slipped, again, and screamed. He'd held both hands out to her and willed the magic to work. He'd begged, pleaded in his mind that it bring her back, safely, to the stage where he could play it off as a bit of dramatic tension... but she fell. The sound that she made when she hit the ground ended his career.

And, surprising absolutely nobody, I rolled terribly. Will Save: 1d20+7 11.

PRESTO CHANGE-O Hey, all. Presto needs to spend his points. I've got six to go through, so please bear with me. I hope that I'm doing this correctly. Presto Skills: 2pp 4 ranks to Craft: Artistic (+15). 4 ranks to Knowledge: Arcane Lore (+15). Powers: 4pp I'm adding a rank to Presto's costume. Revised, it should look like this: Edit Blarghy has reminded me that I had forgotten to mention that I need to clarify the Defense System feature of Presto's apartment. If possible, I'd like for the sheet to state that it takes the form of a PL-equivalent Snare effect.

Samuel paused, his smile wavering. When he spoke, his voice was slightly monotonous. "Nobody's perfect," he said. "And if the good that we do can't outweigh the bad, then there's no hope for anyone." He cleared his throat, shook his head, and his excitement returned just as Gretchen began to discuss Al-Kazar's activities during the post-war era. "I've read up on the Thule Society," he commented. "Undeniably brilliant, but twisted and deeply disturbed. A shame, really. They could have put their minds and talents to much better things. I guess that's a trap that too many people fall into." When he noticed her change in attitude following his mention of the notebooks, he blushed. "I didn't mean it like that," he explained. "I mean, not really. There's just so much that I don't know that I should. My magic is slapdash at best, cobbled together from dozens of different and disagreeing sources. I'm not like you two; my magic doesn't come to me as easily. If I knew how Al-Kazar did what he did, I could patch the holes in my knowledge and be... safer. More like you guys." He moved closer when she started to fiddle with the cabinet, and his eyebrows shot up when he noticed the discrepancy in the measurements. "A secret compartment?" he wondered aloud. "Of course, that makes sense! A sort of disappearing act for whatever he wanted to keep safe. The most secure hiding place is the one that's right there in plain sight." He thought to himself that he didn't really need all of that closet space, and considered creating his own hidden nook to put things in.

"Caffeine. Right," Samuel intoned, speaking into the silent receiver. It was better the coffee than the cocaine, he thought, and set down the phone. His new employer wasn't much for stimulating conversation, anyway. The magician stood, stretched, and checked his wall-mounted security system -- it seemed to be working properly -- and then putzed around a bit with his magical defenses. Properly armed, they would attempt to capture an intruder with ethereal chains and hold them helpless until he could deal with them. "Probably overkill," he murmured. "I shouldn't be half as nervous as I am. I've fought actual super-heroes before; the day that I can't handle a few drug-pushing punks is the day that I hang up my wand and start up a hot-dog cart." Speaking of which, he then took his wand and slipped it carefully beneath his pillow the way that one might a gun or a particularly threatening kitchen knife. "There," he said. "All set." With that done, he stepped into the shower and started prepping for bed.

Looking at just how long Rituals take to cast, we're going to forgo it this time. I'll rely on the Security and Defense Systems already in place to handle the intruder.

Actually, Presto's apartment comes equipped with a Defense System. I could try a Ritual, though, yes, if we're going with the idea that Sam feels as though he'd like extra protection. From the looks of that bird, he actually might.

The sensory cluster nodded, servos chirping lightly with the movement. "Adept's right," the AMP opined. "But a being a member of a team isn't just about getting help with the physical aspects of a fight. You've heard the expression 'two heads are better than one,' right? When you're part of a team, and things start to go sour, you can help each other out so that cooler heads prevail and this sort of thing doesn't happen." The machine arced a hefty thumb towards its partner. "And, like my partner said, you could do worse than joining AEGIS. Even if you didn't sign up for permanent duty, I'd suggest taking advantage of some of the options that they have available. If you like what you see, maybe it's the place for you."

"Good luck with that," scoffed Samuel. "I've read that the last time the Outsiders broke through the Weave, they started to eat time itself before they were banished. We lost over a thousand years of development -- poof!" After that, he thought a moment. "No, don't bother the local police. If my wards can't repel a group of drug-pushing magicians then I probably deserve to die. Not that I want to. Anyway, was there anything else on your mind? My eyes are burning and I feel like I haven't slept in a month."

Samuel nodded along with Gretchen's condemnations of King's work, but he looked slightly bashful by the end of it. "Those are pretty valid points," he conceded. "But I guess that I'm guilty of liking happy endings. Most of King's novels end with his heroes winning over whatever evil stuff gets thrown their way, and I like that sort of thing. Anything else would be a grim way to end a thousand-page read. That's a pretty big investment to make, only for things to end unhappily." When she went on to describe the case files, he brightened up considerably. "So... you mean that this is Al-Kazar's history? The story of his career, written out in newspaper clippings and magazine articles? Everything that he deemed worth looking into..." His smile rivaled hers. "That's incredible. That's absolutely amazing!" He cast his eyes around. "Where are the journals and notebooks? I want to see the science behind his act and the magic behind the science. Al-Kazar was a genius and I want to know how he did it all."