Ecalsneerg

Equinox felt more magic being thrown around as she floated through the corridors, trying hurriedly to locate and stop the source of it. This doesn't feel weak by any means. Maybe it's time to try and lure it out. She stood, holding her wand like a microphone, then spoke into the tip. The words reverberated around the entire building, her voice echoing through every room, every corridor, even up and out of the urinals. Every surface spat her booming words forth. "I SENSE EVERY SPELL YOU CAST, INTERLOPER. IF THEE THINKS THINE POWER IS GREAT, THEN STAND. FIGHT ME. OR ART THOU A COWARD?"

Is it so wrong to enjoy the feel of lace on my skin?

Siobhan sighed at her desk, as she added one more marked paper to the pile on her right. Then took another unmarked paper from the much bigger pile on her left. Dammit. She sipped from her mug of coffee, and rubbed at her eyes with one hand. Should have done these closer to the start than to the end of break... That was when she felt the blast. This is not my day. Calmly, she got up, and slid her window wide open to look like someone could potential have gained entrance through it. Pulling open a desk drawer, she pulled out a slender length of wood, and pointed it at herself. Instantly, her hair turned to black, her blouse and pants turned into plain white sweats with a symbol on the chest much like a yin-yang symbol. As her eyes glowed a brilliant white, and a black trenchcoat tumbled down her shoulders to the floor, Equinox turned and pointed her wand at her door. And used a telekinesis spell to hurl it wide open, the wood around the handle cracking ever so slightly from the sudden force.

To be fair, maybe he's just spoken to me enough to realize I crossdress with alarming frequency.

Arrowhawk 23 IC posts The Arrow and the Orb pt. IV (11) Die Me, Dichotomy (11) News (1) Equinox 1 IC post I Don't Drink Wine (1) Geckoman 6 IC posts Dog Fight (2) Last Minute (4) GM 4 Gm posts Hunter In The forest (1) I Don't Drink Wine (3) Ok, that brings Arrowhawk up to 25 posts.

Carson Smith awoke to a young man in a green t-shirt sitting over him, the straps on his arms loosened, but blood pressure monitors and the like wired up to him and by necessity holding him in place. "Sir?" asked the young man as he stirred, getting up from his chair. "How are you feeling?" Carson looked around groggily. "Feel like hell. Who the hell are you and what's going on?" He tried to get up, but felt a surprisingly strong hand pushing him back down on to the bed. "And why are you keeping me here?" "Because," said the young man softly. "If I don't the Grue bioweapon inside you will explode and ruin a lot of people's Christmases. Well, most of their lives. But let's start with Christmas. And I can't let it happen." His face was grim, jawline set. But he clearly wasn't expecting Carson Smith, a grown man, to start crying like a child. Over the next hour, he told him of how he had a wife, and a three-year-old daughter. He'd already missed Christmas morning due to having to work a shift, then got taken into hospital when he'd collapsed. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing his daughter again and making her grow up without a dad. By the end of it, Chris understood. "I'm going to fix this," he told the man. "Give me a few details, and then... you're going to spend Christmas 2010 with your daughter."

The three of them crashed down onto the hard metal floor of the Arborealair. Chris immediately went to grab Smith as he began wailing once more, picking him up and racing after Liz into her workshop. When there, he strapped the struggling man down to a table, and immediately grabbed a syringe on the counter, holding it up in the event the man was lucid enough to know what was going on. It was empty. Until he plunged it hard into his arm, drawing blood. "Ok, if what you say is true, my blood should stabilise the gene-bomb temporarily. Right?" Liz merely nodded, darting around, hooking Smith up to machines and turning them on. "So it's time to stick a needle in him!" And thus he did, plunging the blood into Smith's bloodstream, swiftly and adeptly pulling the point clear. "Right," he said, watching the green glow move across the man's body, concentrating into small clumps before splitting up and moving off again.

Carson Smith lay prostate on the bed, a sickly green light spreading over his skin. A doctor and a nurse stood at either side of him, trying to resuscitate him as machines screeched and beeped all around him. "Clear!" His whole body convulsed, the defibrillator doing nothing but somehow causing the green glow to become even brighter as Smith let loose a piercing roar of agony. "Woah!" shouted Chris, holding up a hand. "Nurse, doctor, get out of here!" He waved Liz in, even as she tried to silence the now-wailing scanner. "Sorry. Portable siren. We're specialists, just flown in." The doctor and nurse looked at him skeptically. "MOVE! This man's life is in danger!" Soon, Chris and Liz were left alone at either side of the bed over Smith's writhing body, Liz tossing Chris implements from her bag, before pulling a long metal object from her pocket. "OK, this is going to be a bumpy one, the energy build-up is causing some distortion." "Fantastic," said Chris, winding a cable around his waist, then pressing the pad on the end of it hard onto Smith's torso. "Not only do we deal with a horrible glare, the flight has turbulence!" Liz just rolled her eyes, and pressed a button on the slim rod, the three of them fading into blue light.

The two teens, a guy and a girl, sprinted through the corridors of the hospital, snow bouncing off their boots and onto the polished floors. The guy was wearing a long brown trenchcoat, orange goggles around his neck, and a long streaming scarf in alternating stripes of dark and neon green. Messy brown hair flopped behind him as he went. The girl was lagging slightly behind, and wrapped up in a brown leather jacket with fur around its collar, a strange glowing blue device held in one mittened hand. Her long brown hair was lightly dusted with snow, and her pale forehead creased into a frown. The blue thing seemed to be pulsing into light and off again, rapidly in short bursts. It was also making a high-pitched "PINGpingPINGpingPINGpingPINGping" noise over and over. "The signal's getting stronger, we're heading the right way!" she shouted over the sound of pounding footsteps, slamming an unfortunate orderly into the wall as she ran past. "Sorry," mouthed the guy, momentarily turning back. "Well, maybe we should hurry!" He kept running side by side with the girl. "We need to have done this five minutes ago, Liz. Maybe ten. Depends, really..." "I know!" snapped the girl. "Dammit, Chris, can't we have a normal Christmas like everyone else?" She looked at Chris like this was a normal argument and not some high-speed investigation with a glowing blue sensor. She suddenly swore, and doubled back to a small private room door. "In here!" Chris skidded to a halt, and doubled back. "Sorry, but duty calls. Anyway, you built the Grue scanner, not me. Now, excuse me while I make a dramatic, heroic entrance and save the day."

"Well," said Mr Collins, in a voice curiously high-pitched for his age and gender. "Not a normal gathering, no. I must confess, we're usually a bit less..." He pondered for a second, swirling brandy round the glass held in his hand. "Tame." He grinned wolfishly. "And what is it you do, Mr... Cimitiere, was it?" "Not until they try anything. They're creepy, yes," said Siobhan in a low, low voice. "But other than that, we've no proof." Nonetheless, she produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, holding them up. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked, with a false smile. Garfield inclined his head. "By all means indulge your vice." He held up a hand, and a servant appeared from a small side door with a tray of cigars. "Would anyone else like any? Made from the finest... herbs." He looked at Kid Cthulhu inquiringly.

Be careful of wording here. Equipment explicitly NEVER gives a HP when the DM gets rid of it. That's why it's so cheap.

Arrowhawk grabbed his discarded armour and hood from the floor, and swiftly began clasping them on with practiced, precise movements. "Ok. But I'm going down there with the team," insisted Arrowhawk, pressing his domino mask to his face. Immediately, adhesive gum fastened it to his face and red eyes flared into dim light. "He could probably very easily wipe out an entire AEGIS squad." Arrowhawk grabbed a seat near Dok's in preparation for the conference call.

Then kill-kill-stab-death?

CLASSIFICATION: CRIMSON --- No unauthorised access. --- One copy, and one copy only to be kept in undisclosed storage location. --- Authorised access comes with knowledge of storage location, and access to key. Information should not be taken from storage location. ALPHA-CLASS SUPERHUMAN DISPOSAL --- Methods to neutralise superhumans on a significant power level. Doktor Viktor Archeville Doktor Archeville, a German immigrant to Freedom City, is the owner and head developer of ArcheTech. In brief, he is possibly the world's most brilliant mind, possessing expert-level knowledges in the disciplines he is least skilled in. He typically carries an assortment of gadgetry allowing him to defend himself from attack, in addition to providing an array of offensive and utility effects. I have first hand seen him produce medical scanners, radio jammers and laser cutters from his handheld screwdriver-like device. Testing has never proven him to possess a metagene, with only speculation on possible sources of metahuman powers. As such, he is most likely a human, albeit an exceptionally, exceptionally, intelligent one. One oddity is that he is apparently older than I am, but he doesn't particularly look it. While not to my knowledge an official Knight of Freedom, he nonetheless has a strong working relationship with nearly all of the remaining members of the group. Thus, he has a strong base of contacts and allies, including such powerful metahumans as the Scarab and Dark Star. The Doktor has no obvious weaknesses. His human form is augmented by gadgetry making him completely bulletproof, able to fly through space, and teleport in the blink of an eye. Thus, outmaneuvering or overpowering him is exceptionally difficult. Additionally, outthinking him in nigh-impossible, as he is one of the most intelligent men in human history. He has likely anticipated the ways in which it is possible to bring him down. Recommended method: He's human. He's smarter than anyone, possibly better protected than most, but when it comes down to it, he has to sleep eventually, he can't live in a force field bubble forever, and without them... he's very easy to take down. While a genius, he has never before me exhibited huge levels of combat prowess, so a surprise attack may prove highly effective. Should he have the timeframe and awareness in which to foreward plan, he could potentially accomplish anything. Should he be needed to be taken down, don't let him know until you do it. One resource which might work, and might not, is that he uses technological gadgetry. An electromagnetic pulse may disable any systems he has not had time to shield yet, and may level the playing field in these scenarios. Personal Life: The Doktor has a reputation as a bit of a party boy as well a scientist. His fondness for good foods and better drinks is well-known, and he's apparently a regular patron of Oktoberfest. He's also in a relationship with Mona Teymourian, a.k.a. Fulcrum. As she is a powerful superhuman nearly two and a half metres tall, any weakness deriving from this attachment will be highly circumstantial.

John frowned, leaning against a nearby work bench. Is he enjoying this? He tried not to look jealous while also trying not to stare, but succeeded only in looking grumpier than he usually did. Ditching the cold compress, John wrapped his arms around Vivian, and kissed her on the head as he held her. "It's OK. We're out of there now." He looked up at the Doktor. "What do we do now?" As he said it, he found himself holding Vivian a little more firmly and protectively. "Because if we're looking into this further, we'll need backup."

"Dear lord, will you both shut the goddamn Hell up?" grumbled Arrowhawk, surging upwards even as he nocked the arrow. Then he rolled backwards off his feet, coming up some feet away with the arrowhead levelled at Ragnarok's chest. His feet hadn't even planted on the ground before the arrow had flown, straight and true, exploding with a muffled thoom into the huge Norseman's muscled chest. The sound of Arrowhawk's boots thupming into the floor couldn't even be heard above it.

In your face! Exploding Arrow, PA for 5, DC 27 (1d20+12=13) ... well, buggery. HP time nao? RAGE (1d20+12=22) And, with the +10 to make that a roll of 20... well, it doesn't crit according to Shaen, but at least it hits! Move action to roll away from him.

You do know that we're not a Silver Age comic site, right? Our setting is definitely a mix of Bronze and Modern Age sensibilities, with the Silver Age silliness happening, but called out as silly.

Arrowhawk gritted his teeth as he reeled back, his whole system feeling a brief burst of nausea and dizziness. Urgh. Reeling, he staggered back on his heels, swiftly digging them in to prevent himself being overwhelmed by the light-headededness. While he couldn't bring himself to strike the giant of a man pummeling him, Arrowhawk nonetheless managed to drop into a crouching defensive stance, weaving and swaying gently to try and duck the next strike.

Arrowhawk is on 1HP, and will be Fatigued after this roll. Yeouch. DC 30 Fortitude save (1d20+10=27) And he's dazed for the round!

John stroked his stubble meditatively, glancing down for a second. When he looked back up, his movements seemed immediately sharper, his eyes harsher. "So, dangerous. He did seem very strong." He continued ignoring the throbbing bruise on his temple. "But I fired a load of explosives into him. I don't think it's quite as big an issue as you're making out." "Last I saw of him, he was still in that base, and it was put on self-destruct. Maybe send a team down there." Arrowhawk's sharp senses did pick up on movement, and John Fraser worriedly turned back to the tank, frowning. "Dok, I think I saw movement. She's awake." He looked at the German. "Can we get her out of the tank?"

Archeville's words didn't comfort John, who continued pacing back and forwards in spite of the pain it was clearly causing him. "I don't really know," he told the Doktor. "But there was this very powerful metahuman, Ragnarok. He had some weird obsession with Vivian. And his mother. I'm not entirely sure what was going on," he admitted. "I just got in, got her out, and now we're here. You'd need to ask her."

That was when Arrowhawk recognised his cue, spinning around to bring his cape up in an attempt to disguise his attack. But it was a clumsy attempt, as one hand was occupied removing a few clips from an explosive arrowhead, defusing the safety on it. Which would make it hurt like hell. "Ah, Freud!" he said with some relish, letting the improvised explosive fly at the huge Norseman's head. "Makes your head hurt, doesn't it?"

And Stunning inflicts an extra -2 penalty to Defence. Doesn't change the result though. OK, on 2 HP. Arrowhawk will use Extra Effort to boost up his Explosive Blast rank to 5 (Mighty 4), so DC 24 blast. Then, he'll feint as a move action at a -5 penalty to simply use a move action. Das feint! (1d20+5=11) Eh. Standard action is fer shootin' : Explosive Power Attack for 5, DC 29 attack (1d20+12=17) Dammit, I'll burn a HP to make it count. Stupid low rolls... (1d20+12=27) BOOM

Siobhan's fingers were white on the strap of her bag, and she had to stop herself from pulling out the pentacle and driving the creepy undead things away. But, summoning up some self-control, she forced a smile. "No, I'm fine." She was painfully aware of the man in the red robe ogling her. "Ah, discuss what you will!" laughed Mark Lancea, strolling over to a small cabinet beside the wall, pouring a glass of deep brown liquid into a glass and raising it to his lips. "Dinner is not for a half hour or so, have a drink and a chat while you wait?" His brother gestured to the creepy guy in the red robes. "For example, have you met Mr Collins? He's a renowned scholar of the Greco-Roman deities." Mr Collins inclined his head in greeting. "These two men," Garfield inclined his head to the two men in matching brown robes. " Are friends of his, members of a... study group."