Avenger Assembled

"Hmm. Let me tell you old Russian joke in reply. 'In accordance with the interests of the people and in order to strengthen and develop the socialist system, citizens of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics are guaranteed freedom of speech, of the press, and of assembly, meetings, street processions and demonstrations.' That is from the 1936 constitution of Soviet Union, and there proved to be some small difficulties between words on page and actions of great men of the day." Frost hmmed, then went on, "But porheps I speak too much in riddles. I admire your intent - and I believe I will lend my support to what you do, given a chance to see what words you have on page. But be aware that immortals are _men_, Murk, men and women who may survive long past the days when they lived. Even a small man who has become great still remembers the comforts of being small."

"Nothin' so big as that," said Keith with a hard smile. "Yer friends are runnin' into a bunch a'holier-than-thou fanatics - which is pretty funny to me given how often they break the Commandments, but ain't that usually how it goes?" He took out a cigarette, lit it with a snap of his fingers, and sketched a building in the air - perhaps a warehouse? "Head for the Fens, you'll feel the place when you see it. Just don't get what's catchin' around there. Cancer'll kill demons and pretty ice maidens too," he finished, drawing a line across his throat with his cigarette. "People worked hard and spent a lot to make sure it all happened tonight. They're expectin' quite a party."

The subsequent arrival of the Freedom League changed the nature of the encounter entirely. They didn't go back to Claremont or back to the DuTemps Building, or even back to the Project Freedom site - the trio wound up in Freedom Hall, where members of the Freedom League and their civilian staff gently but firmly asked them questions about the museum robbery, Sea Devil and Singularity's consultation with SFX, the subsequent fight with Devil Ray, and everything they knew about his transformation. It was clear that whatever had happened to Carl Mattus (aka Devil Ray) had deeply unsettled the various members of the League, perhaps because the nature of his transformation was so mysterious, and so gruesome. If proximity to Deep Ones led to such a transformation, many people might be under threat. But this was a friendly interrogation; with a Claremont representative arriving for SFX's conversation with Bowman and one from Project Freedom for Singularity's conversation with Pseudo - who she knew as the 'uncle' of her friend Daphne. Aquaria, for her part, chose to speak to Siren alone - a conversation that dragged on and made her the last person to step out into the lobby where SFX and Singularity were waiting. Neither of them had any answers - but the last of their number to arrive did. - It wasn't that Phantom had no idea what had happened to Devil Ray; the problem was that first glance gave her too many ideas. From contaminated water flowing through the remains of lost Lemuria to cursed artifacts passed through black market antique dealers, there were too many culprits for her to sort through at first, and too many possible cures. In a humid, heavily moisturized room in Freedom Hall's medical bay, it was clear Mattus wasn't going anywhere any time soon. "The young one's a private school student," Siren was saying to Phantom as they passed through the halls of Freedom Hall, using the usual emphasis for Claremont around prying ears. "And I know you've met Singularity and Sea Devil." The sea goddess frowned, and admitted, "I know some people here would love to pin this one on Aquaria, but I just don't see that as likely. I don't think she's ever even met Devil Ray before today." Phantom had heard about Devil Ray and the Deep Ones, of course; for all that she and Avenger had barely been living on Prime at the time. Given the way people had thought about Deep Ones in the aftermath of the Archevil invasion, some people had thought it was funny.

Backstory: Jaycee Cahill was born in 2002 in Guymon, Oklahoma. She's the middle of three girls, all of them named after their father J.T. (who she still calls 'Daddy', especially when she wants something from him). Her family has deep roots in rural Texas County; her late grandfather's savvy business sense made him a millionaire (and the richest man in Texas County, at least for a while) when he sold his failing cattle lands to invest in the natural gas boom of the 1930s. Her daddy met her momma Rachel twenty years ago, when he was fresh out of Harvard and a graduate student at the University of Oklahoma and she was just finishing up her BA in nursing. Rachel left her family in Muskogee behind to settle in her husband's hometown and work as a school nurse; Jaycee looks a lot like her mom, with her mother's skin tone, petite build and dark hair. Jaycee knows there was a time when her daddy wasn't a politician, but she can't really remember it. She wasn't yet in elementary school when her daddy ran for the Oklahoma State Legislature, a position he held for only a few years before deciding legislative service wasn't for him. The former political science professor at OPSU wasn't a man for legislative negotiations and dickering - he wanted to be the man in charge. Friendly to the oil industry, married to a Comanche woman, projecting a folksy-but-informed manner that let him speak cordially to both Tulsa suburbanites and farmers in the Panhandle, JT Cahill ran first as an outsider in the Republican primary, then was elected Governor of Oklahoma in 2010. Jaycee found that she liked being a governor's daughter. She was one of the most popular kids in her tony private schools in Oklahoma City, getting her attention she'd hardly ever won as a middle child back home, and living in Oklahoma City was a lot better than living in Guymon. It meant changes at home - she saw a lot less of her daddy and her momma, but she was reaching an age where that wasn't so bad. She got to travel too; out to DC and down to Austin, getting to know the children of other politicians and rich friends of her daddy's, and even got to visit. She wasn't old enough to be interested in boys the way her older sister Jaybee was, but she was sure that when she did, she'd have her pick of the best ones. She had a lot of plans. Jaycee was old enough to have some idea of what they were getting into when her daddy and momma sat her and her two sisters down in December of 2014 to tell them something very serious. Her daddy had thought hard, he'd prayed hard, and he'd talked to their mom and his friends - and Governor Cahill was going to run for President in the next election. Freshly 13, Jaycee rolled her eyes but didn't actually backsass her daddy - her daddy had just been re-elected Governor earlier that year and she figured the campaign for President couldn't be _that_ different from the campaign for Governor. And besides, it probably wasn't going to amount to anything. She had to admit she loved her dad (privately, anyway), but the country wasn't going to elect her dad, with his corny jokes and his Sooner ties and cheerful belly, President, right? The headaches started around the time of Jaycee's fourteenth birthday, just a short time after her father had been elected President of the United States. They were small at first and she got aspirin for them, then stronger stuff - stuff the White House doctors had to prescribe, then hospital visits to get her on a new type of painkillers. Her daddy's people kept it out of the media, which made her feel a little better - running for President was _not_ like running for Governor at all, and the campaign had turned her life completely upside-down. She knew how important this job was to her family, to her sisters, to America; she decided not to tell anyone when the headaches came back after a few months of treatment - or when she started hearing whispers in empty rooms in the White House, and then seeing things she knew weren't there - strange colors and patterns that she blocked out by sheer force of will. She wasn't going to ruin everything for her family by being a freak! And then came D-Day. Judith Claudia Cahill Metahuman Abilities: Subject's metahuman abilities reflect a biological connection to the lower end of the electromagnetic spectrum - particularly the VHF frequencies just above one meter. Her neurological and skeletal systems have a unique chemical composition that makes her a natural transmitter and receiver of these frequencies. In a 'resting' state, she has the ability to send and receive signals along these frequencies, visual data being transmitted to her optic nerve and auditory to her ear canal. However, subject's abilities are 'overpowered' (as is common among younger metahumans). When in an environment with sufficient VHF energy (such as that found in any major metropolitan area), her body begins to act as a natural 'sponge' - absorbing and storing these energies throughout her cellular structure. Sufficient accumulation of these energies results in so-far uncontrolled discharges of energies cascading 'above' the VHF range into microwaves and infrared radiation. These discharges are extremely hazardous to her environment and others within it. Unless her abilities can be reliably controlled, there will be further D-Day events. Subject is not recommended for inhibitor technology for multiple reasons - in addition to the hazard her abilities pose to the sensitive environment where she lives, her neurological functions have become dependent on the VHF radiation she absorbs unconsciously. Without regular exposure to VHF radiation, her brain will begin to shut down and she will enter a persistent comatose state.

APPROVED

Good luck, SC!

My pre-fight die rolls.. Skill Mastery 30 on Intimidate. Master Plan check: 26

Having started his descent from nearly a mile up, Caradoc landed in front of the main door of the enemy compound at speed. This meant a variety of things. It meant he hit the concrete faster than a speeding sports car, his sheer mass combined with his speed making the ground shake and breaking the concrete beneath his armored feet. It meant he came down loud; the shriek of even his disguised armor howling shrilly like a damned soul in its eternal torment. He snapped open his blade, energy crackling up the length of what to any normal eye was a cybernetic zweihander. It was all intimidating enough - and of course if their enemies did see him for what he was, they saw an Omegadrone outside their door. Omegadrones could be stealthy but Steve typically did not bother with such, and indeed to radio, to infrared, to other advanced senses, he radiated like a dark and malignant star. As the echoes of his landing died away, he turned, keeping his back to the main door, indeed, nearly flush against it. He cocked his head, activating his internal radio, and spoke to every transmitter within a mile. "Run."

January 2018 Freedom City Great Bay Aquaria was alone tonight, resting on the shores of Great Bay as she looked up at the silent stars overhead. It was a holy night, a night of great alignments and portents - a night that in old days would have meant a hunt for a pod of dolphins or perhaps a great whale, and then a great feast to follow among all of the tribe. Given the time of year and her age, she'd have probably killed a beast herself, bathed in its guts beneath the light of the Moon, and fed scraps to the healthiest of her children. But instead she was alone tonight, several days swimming or more from the nearest Deep Ones, with the promise of her rubber and plastic bed at home when the morning came. She had a special mission tonight, a mission that required solitude. The alignments of this day would give power to all who sang the Names of the Gods Below or the creatures who dwelt in Sea of Stars - a power that on the Surface was usually taken by madmen and cultists, twisted creatures whose plans to summon avatars of Dagon and Hydra would only bring pain and suffering to gods and creatures alike. The blasphemers would take the names of the gods and use them in vain, and do nothing but bring contempt to every being like her. She was waiting in this sacred spot on the beach, a spot sanctified during the Archevil invasion before she'd even set foot on Freedom City's shores, for Surfacer cultists to arrive. If one did come, she had big plans, oh yes. Her armor was stored safely beneath her on the beach, cunningly buried beneath the sand - she squatted on her haunches before a fire she'd kindled, the light reflected in her great dark eyes, and began to sing in a bellowing, resonate bass, just loud enough that any creature on the beach would be sure to hear her.

Singularity evaded the bonds just in time as they swept up to ensnare the battered Devil Ray, who despite his injuries was still clearly trying to struggle as Aquaria advanced on him. He bellowed an obscene suggestion at the three women who'd beaten him, a remark that earned him nothing but scorn from his Deep One antagonist. "Your mind is full of voidings, Surface-Man," she croaked with contempt. "I know you. They have told me of you." Igniting her trident again, she shoved it under Devil Ray's chin and began slicing through his armored helm. "New armor or not, behind that you are nothing but a puny-" Aquaria gave a startled croak and actually leaped backwards as the broken parts of Devil Ray's helmet fell aside to reveal - something else! The left side of his face and neck were normal enough, albeit his rugged movie-star jaw and darkly-complected features set in a look of murderous rage. Around the midline of his face, though, a transformation was visible - skin shading from brown to green and even white, looking smooth and moist to the touch. His mouth was longer on that side too, pulled upwards like half a Glasgow smile to expose triangular teeth in his bleeding gums. Down that side of his neck, cut across the skin, was a slice of three slits that could only be gills. His eye, his eye on that side, was changed too - big and bulging, green and black inside a socket that seemed too small for it. The transition was an ugly one, the skin on that side bleeding and dry, the skin on the edge looking swollen and infected. When he breathed, the green side of his throat bulged alarmingly outward - and his gills rippled noticeably. Studying the man, halfway between Deep One and man, Aquaria's huge eyes were wide, her three-fingered hands over her mouth. "Look what you did to me!"Devil Ray bellowed, his voice somewhere between a shout and a croak, his armor still firing somewhere under the covering SFX had wrapped him in. "You bastards! All of you, you misbegotten bastards!"

If it's good for you, it's APPROVED by me!

Okay, lots of tweaking! She's now a solid PL 7 offensively with her venom Blast. She still has her extra limbs - she just can only use one extra in combat at a time. Something to buy up mechanically with more PP!

I took the liberty of fixing things up here. You have 1 PP to spend still, Jack.

http://orokos.com/roll/584174 = 27! He is well and truly grappled. SFX is up.

Okay - tell me what you think, and ask any questions you've got.

APPROVED Just remember, he can't have his Transformation as a Complication if he has it as a drawback.

Thematic 2 [Humanoids Only] - tell me more about this flaw.

APPROVED

Jack - I love this concept! Do you mind if I take a hacksaw to the mechanical side of things?

Drakka - I love this concept! Do you mind if I take something of a hacksaw to the mechanics, to get things to fit how you like?

"Consensus, eh?" Frost considered that one, then said, "A hard one to sell the young ones on, no? You have been man of the world for quite some time, so I pose you thought experiment. I tell my friend's young son the seer that his laws are to be decided by, hmm - blind homo neaderthalis, Russian centenarian, and oh, Egyptian priest with god complex. You see where he might raise questions? Audience of immortals will always be behind times - to our mutual discredit. The future generally gleams brighter than the past - or at least its people have such a glimmer."

Formatting should look more like this as far as notations. http://www.freedomplaybypost.com/start/sample-characters/sample-character-4-battlesuit-r18/ You need to do something to make her actually good at fighting - a PL 10 character should average 10 when you average Defense + Toughness. Wisdom and Charisma are lower than a character described like this should be. Rage is not really a useful feat as written, but you can keep it if you like.

Aquaria was waiting for Leviathan on the beach when it was done. It was the wee small hours of the next morning, hours after the two of them had guided the Deep One tribe through the depths of the bay and out to the deeper waters of the continental shelf. The tribe had left singing a song that echoed deep in the cavities of Leviathan's chest, a booming vibration that would pass for a strange sort of whalesong for all but the most sensitive ears. But then those were usually listening elsewhere, not this close to such a major city. Crouching quadrapedally on the beach, Aquaria sat before a fire that she'd triggered with the energy from her suit, now folded up neatly on the sand behind her like a gleaming white-and-green cube. With the firelight reflected in her eyes and off her glossy, green-and-white skin, free from her armor, her amphibious, inhuman nature was obvious - she looked rather more frog than fish from what Leviathan had seen of the other Deep Ones, but she was obviously no less comfortable in salt water. "Thank you for your help," she croaked softly, her voice sounding particularly inhuman out of the water. "You must have questions. I will sing answers for you if I can."

Peyton's eyes narrowed, but as Woundmaker ordered his people to stand down, she listened, putting her hand on Riley's shoulder. "Put it down, son." With a look of great reluctance on his face, Riley slowly began to stow his crossbow (obviously drawing the process out) as Woundmaker began his spiel, half-listening even so to Raina's blow-up with her parents. It was hard for him to miss things. "I work for the League of Caine, an organization with a reach that goes across the multiverse. We have scientists, mystics, and sages doing work that none of the underwear perverts dare do. One of our purposes is giving human beings the power to control their own destiny, instead of handing it over to so-called gods in masks. They tell you that you need them, that they're the only ones protecting you from space gods and sea monsters, but think about it, boy. All the superheroes on your world died screaming twenty years ago - and did aliens ever come for you? Did Omega ever show up and eat your soul?" Riley considered that, blinking hard, and said, "...no. We always thought ev'ryone was dead - the Forest is so crazy, it made it seem like the whole universe had broken." "There are other worlds like yours - worlds where the metahumans tried to rule the normal people, or breed them into extinction, or just hunt them down and kill them all. We've done our best to help those people - and we want to help your people too. We've given them food, we've given them medicine, we've helped hunt down your monsters and rid you of them. Now that we know we can safely open a gateway from your world to this one, we can start sending over real help - and we can send you home, boy. Doesn't that mean anything?" Riley licked his lips, then said, "It...no! You sent people to my school! You put things in a man and turned him into a monster; and I'm pretty goddamned sure you're the ones who let the Ferals into the Goodman Building! What kind of people say they're defending human beings and let them kill their way through twenty-three people. Nighthawk and I had to take them down with our bare hands!" "The Goodman Building people opened the portal themselves. It's not our fault they couldn't control what they found. If you could have stopped Ferals with an implant, wouldn't you have?" replied Woundmaker reasonably. "And of course we spied on your school - your school is full of teenage would-be gods and goddesses, ready to rule over the rest of us and keep us from our destiny. I know you have friends there; and I'm not stupid, I'm not going to ask you to turn on your allies in front of your girlfriend here. I'm just asking you to-what the hell?" He stepped aside suddenly, raising a hand dismissively, and seemed to be listening to a distant conversation from elsewhere. Before Riley could speak up, Peyton said to the two teens. "Listen, honey, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I don't know you, but if Riley trusts you, you must be somebody special. But living where we live is no place for somebody with powers, not having to spend every day of your life behind a fence with a gun on your neck. Just stay here and do your, uh, supering, and we'll be out of here before you know it. I'm not going to let my son stay in a place like this, not when I can give him something better." "Are things really that much better?" Riley asked his mom, not taking his eyes off Woundmaker as they spoke. "Things are...things are really great here! Why can't we just take the town and move people here?" - Raina's parents, red-faced, looked around as if to see if anyone was staring at them - much the same way they might have if she'd thrown a temper tantrum as a junior high student. "We will talk about this later," said Raina's mother firmly. "What we need to do right now is close that portal. If we can't use your virginity, we can use something else. Come along now, you remember the chants. Claude januam inferis; claude januam inferis..." She stepped to one side of the portal, raising her hands, and nodded for Raina to do the same. Meanwhile, Raina's father had disappeared to one of the nearby crates - a big one, more of a large, open-sided shipping container, and somewhat irritably had called over one of Woundmaker's guards to help him manage...a cow?! "Listen, honey," he said, obviously trying to be reasonable, "Raina has every right to be upset with us. Sweetness, we have to do some deep-level magic here - after that, we can get out of here and you can call us out for going to jail all you want. Believe me, it wasn't our intention," he said as the masked goon with the cow's lead pulled out a large hunting knife and handed it to him. "This is a little gory, darling," he said apologetically, "so you may want to look away. After this, things will get better. I promise."

"The undead with eldritch powers, eh?" commented Frost wryly. "Imagine such a thing!" He took a few puffs of the cigar, then held his fingers close to its burning end for a while. "Judge men by their deeds - and some are placed beyond the pale by them." He hmphed, and put the free end of the cigar back in his mouth - sitting still like this, he could exert inhalation by a conscious effort and allow the heat of the burning ash to permeate much of his body. "I agree with your words, about the need for law to bind the actions of men. That a bad man will not follow law is no guide for actions of good men. But what when world changes and law does not, eh? Will we tell peddler with donkey where he may sell, when men from space fly over our heads?"