Avenger Assembled

"S'me," said Riley, shooting a real smile at Robin upon her entrance. "Fake one prolly'd have this done already. Least the company's good." He wanted to get up and hug her, but he wasn't going to leave his weapon half-finished. So instead he knelt there and kept working, reassembling the bow, as the others arrived. "Sanderson, Fred," got their acknowledgements too, his best way of making sure everyone knew where everyone was and nobody got surprised. Between one thing and another, everyone in the Doom Room that night had a short temper. When his weapon was complete, he strapped it to his back and joined Robin by the wall, his hand in hers the closest thing they'd get to a PDA with everybody watching. Well, unless Archer ticked them off about it. When said teacher finally made his appearance, he was in the upper observation room as was his usual style - positioned directly above the Doom Room door. They caught a glimpse of him entering and turning down the control room lights, until all they could see in the dimly-lit room above them was the reflection of the monitors in front of Archer in his new round-rimmed glasses. When Archer spoke, it was with slow deliberation right into the audio pickup in the room. "This will be the final exam for students code-named Sparkler, Woodsman, Al-alkahest, and Nighthawk." Riley blinked, shooting a quick glance at Fred at that, but before any of them could comment the scenario had begun in earnest! They were somewhere he didn't recognize specifically but knew pretty well after hanging with Robin - a public housing apartment corridor, somewhere in Lincoln or the Fens. Probably the Fens, he judged - the graffiti on the walls and strong smell of mold was powerful in the air. Several of the doors were open and off their hinges, showing wrecked, empty apartments inside, others were bolted shut by multiple, high-security latches, odd sounds coming from inside. The writing on the wall, a lurid red in flickering incandescent bulbs above, read such cheerful things as THE END OF DAYS and THE LAST DAY IS AT HAND. Eyes hard and bow out, Riley looked for trees inside the building, glad to find none.

"Who has best legs?" asked Dimitri, sitting up with his hands on his knees. "Is it me? Damn." He was on his feet now and moving, scanning off the balcony carefully with his cold red eyes. He'd acquired along the way an empty champagne flute which he waved around for emphasis, making it look to any sharp-eyed observers below that he was simply drunkenly gesticulating. "Is not so bad, met all sorts of fancy people, made myself unwelcome in yet another bordello, waved a gun around, was honestly pretty interesting." He turned back to Ace and said seriously, "Danger, if you have anyone you need evacuated, you need to get them moving. This dimension is awash with more foul necromancy than most vampire Earths, and such things catch, especially with the three of you and your living bodies - this is not a place I intend to tarry."

Content note: transphobia, profanity June 2016 11PM The Doom Room In the Doom Room, Riley was on edge. The training room itself was empty, its holographic displays silent while he waited for the rest of the team. He had taken the opportunity to polish and clean his bow, its gears half-disassembled on the plastic floor, and was crouching there as he worked. He was going in without a plan. He hated going in without a plan. Late night training, no notice about the scenario (which was pretty common, especially in the last few months) and no notice about who he'd train with (which was pretty common too), described by Mr. Archer as "the final event for the year." Not one to complain about his education, especially about combat training, Riley silently went about his work, his ears open to his surroundings even as his eyes focused on the work before him. It wasn't the first time he'd had to refurbish his bow without being able to watch his back.

June 2016 Lincoln Riley was on his best behavior - which meant he was sitting out in plain sight in the middle of the park, dressed in a baggy plaid shirt and jean, the only concession to his costumed identity the duffel bag at his feet that held bow, hatchet, poncho, and other Woodsman gear. He'd expected to be the subject of the usual double-takes and angry glares that he associated with walking on the streets of Earth-Prime on the way here, but so far no one had done more than look his way twice on his way from Claremont to here. All the muscles he'd put in his wiry arms, and the tone his voice had dropped in the past year, had certainly paid off. He rather liked it. He had never actually been in Lincoln before - like most of south Freedom, it wasn't safe ground for Woodsmen except in daylight and large numbers. The trainee he'd been had been sent to safer ground in north Freedom, though even that was more a matter of degree...thoughts of his homeworld made him tense, enough to slide off the bench and began to pace it, back and forth and back and forth. This was a stupid idea.

The Future Is A Foreign Country Fast-Forward Providence Asylum – Hospital Ward June 2016 In the wee small hours of the morning, Richard kept talking, even as he listened to his father's steady breathing. Bryant was supposed to be sleeping – but sleep meant nightmares brought by the powerful painkillers that kept him comfortable in the day, nightmarish claustrophobia in a man who had spent the past forty years in and out of institutions. Paige and Will had helped when they were there – but the problem was organic, not mental, the brain itself under siege from fast-spreading cancer. “So, like, the future's pretty rad, ya know? Pretty girls in tight suits as far as I can see – and super-tech everywhere. Future types almost picked me up last time I went jogging, but it turns out I'm the fastest thing in 2500.” He snorted. “Good thing that worked out. Don't need to call Ma to tell her she needs to get Paige to come get me out of future jail...” “Eighth of December,” said Bryant Haliday, his voice almost a whisper. “You should have gone on the eighth of December. That's Pretend To Be A Time Traveler Day...is there water?” Richard brought him a cup, holding to his father's lips, almost before the old man had finished speaking. “Maybe next time, Pops....” He smiled, hard, his face half-visible in the darkened room. “I mean, as I look at it, as long as I'm not messing around with my future, or my wife or my kids', nothing I'm doing is actionable.” “Bet on the ponies, boy...make a million dollars overnight...” The two men held hands, Bryant's covered in bruises from the IVs sunk into the back of his hand and the effects of his medication. “Ma and me tried that when I was ten, it didn't work out so well,” said Richard, squeezing his father's hand lightly. “It's not the same future every time – that's why there's no Centurion with the Legion anymore.” He sighed, putting aside the thoughts of a man dead when his own father had only weeks remaining. “Should pick one and move there. Get yourself a pretty future girl with no morals...” Richard caught the smile on Bryant's face. “I already got a pretty girl, Pops.” Richard thought about what he'd seen of the future, in all its ups and down, in his occasional visits into the future of humanity. “Besides, the future's not for people like us – it's for the kids. They don't need a lot of time travelers crowding it out. Can you imagine if every steam punk showed up here with some time traveling gizmo and tried to settle down?” “Mmm. People better?” “They're still people. They still screw up, they still have stupid grudges...” Richard thought about standing on the streets of Freedom City, watching the Legion flying overhead, hearing a multi-species crowd screaming its joy. “But they've lost a lot of them. Everybody eating, and having medicine for when the kids get sick, having a good place to live, really does make people treat each other better. The future's a good place to live.” “Why you not good enough?” Bryant squeezed his son's hand again, turning to look at him with eyes gone a brilliant sky-blue. “You take care of your wife, your kids. Good father.” The two men, the long-absent father and the long-absent son, shared a long, silent look at that. “I'm not that good,” said Richard, shaking his head. “But I try and take care of my family, and keep anything bad from happening to people who don't have it coming. That's not being a hero, that's just...being worth something. Future belongs to the young. That's not me anymore. You know I'm past fifty, Dad? I see some of these immortal types running around like they were born twenty years ago, and...I dunno. Not my style.” “That why you dress like that?” “Hey, this is a perfectly fashionable outfit, Dad,” said Richard as he touched the broad lapels of his leather jacket, “not my fault the kids don't wear it anymore.” He smiled slightly. “I can run around in the future all I want, but I guess I can't ever know enough about it – same reason I can't know everything about the past just because I run around there. The only way the past will be there when we're gone is if we show the kids what it was like – and if no one else wants to remember the past, it's our job to make sure somebody does.” Bryant fell silent, still breathing, and for several minutes Richard thought his father had finally fallen asleep. When he finally spoke in a dry, scratchy voice, it struck him to his core. “How you gonna remember me?” Richard squeezed his father's hand and thought about abandonment driven by a broken brain, by his mother's anger transmuted to grief, about life without his male parent in his life. “As my dad.”

APPROVED

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Okay, this has been a pretty long gap. Can we go ahead and close towards the action of the thread, TV? I'd be happy to handle that part if you like.

Can you go ahead and edit your initial post with this one, Shockwave? And also clean up your formatting so it matches the sample sheets.

This looks great, olopi - can you clean up the formatting on the powers so it looks more like the sample sheet?

If you have posted your sheet in the Bank for 24 hours, it is OK to start bugging Refs to take a look at it. We will not bite off your head - but we don't know the sheets are there/we forget unless we are told. -From AA's Invincible Mountain Fortress

This is absolutely wonderful (and I'm sorry it took this long to look at it) - the one thing you need to do is fix the math on his powers - I think that's supposed to be a rank 3 device? And how much Protection is he supposed to get, and how much Impervious

Okay, no evident issues. APPROVED

APPROVED

Dimitri chuckled. "Child, if I wished to see your wrath, I would say far worse things than that," said Comrade Frost, a warm smile on his face despite that distinct chill in the air. Turning his head, he winked at Fred. "And you, you sound just as many an Englishwoman I have known! How delightful you have kept the Victorian soul in these times." When the elevator reached its destination, he led the way out into a small series of rooms adorned with a wide variety of monuments, icons, and other treasures that the girls recognized from their superhero history class. An image of the old Freedom League, its bright colors faded now by time and acid paper, greeted them under glass from the far wall of the anteroom. "Welcome to the Richard Milhouse Lucas Memorial Exheebit Hall of Heroes!" Comrade Frost was stretching his accent as far as he was stretching his arms, there in the middle of the room by a statue of the Centurion. "Is private museum of Freedom League artifacts of some seexty years of heestory!" All fancy devices are replicas," he confessed, gesturing at an Egyptian bronze ankh that looked to be dipped in black, sooty ash. "No use causing trouble, eh?"

Phalanx's job proved to be an easy one, all things considered. The upper floors of the hospice were empty save for the frantic scenes left behind by evacuation; you didn't have to be an empath like his fiancee to imagine the terror and fear of the patients and staff here when everything had started to go haywire. There was no sign of the grey gathering power below, but the air still smelled of bodily fluids and what smelled distinctly like ash - despite the lack of fire so far. His senses told him that the building itself was getting shaky, the foundation being put under enormous pressure as the lower floors were breached by those growing magical energies. Luckily, it proved a simple matter to find the elevator shaft he'd been looking for and to open the doors - the car was just a single floor beneath him. - Down below, the group of heroes entered the lobby of the hospice, an eerie place where the air was thick with the stink of ash and death, the grey, swirling tendrils of necromantic, infernal, and divine energy all tangling together in the ceiling and worming their way upstairs to where August Roman lay. "No name here," said Fast-Forward, returning from a search of the abandoned front nurse's station, which luckily had paper records to go with its computer. "Mustof checkedin under a pseudonym." With a moment to think, Richard took one look at the questionable stability of the building and lay his hand on Paige's arm, never minding entropic radiation at a moment like this. He was much faster than a falling ceiling. And then - - "I'm sure I can arrange something for you, Arthur, the girl is pretty enough and there have to be some eligible young meta out there who want to father a child without the bother of raising it." Paige had been in this corridor before, listening to the conversation between her father and August Roman about the latter's plans to find a suitable mating partner for his youngest daughter. But this time she was suddenly standing in the open door - her father was looking down at the notes on his desk but August Roman had turned in his chair to give her a deep, penetrating stare. "It's too late." - "August, no, not with Dickie right in the next room." Richard watched through the crack in the door, his heart in his throat, as his mother pushed herself out of August Roman's embrace. Normally he knew to clear out when his mother had a man around, especially the powerful supervillain who had taken them into his mansion, but there was only so many places to go in the small bungalow that was their temporary hideaway. "Very well," said Roman, giving his mother an ugly sneer as he stepped away. "I trust you'll make it up to me with interest once we're back in Freedom City." He turned and suddenly stared at Richard, right through the crack in the door. "It's too late.." - Behind a church, an old man was getting a quiet, vigorous beating. As Renegade turned his head down the alley to look, a young man with the unmistakeable features of August Roman stood over the old man - no, the old priest. "I hate to strike a holy man," he said in an unconvincing British accent, "but when you try to drive out the moneychangers, you should be wary of their whips." He kicked the priest in the ribs. "There's an empire to be built in these streets, old man." He raised his head and looked at Renegade, fixing a cold stare at him. "It's too late.." - "Ah, my beautiful Theodoras!" Ensconced in his office, Roman smiled at the nervous-looking men in cheap suit across his desk, but there was little humor in it - little kindly humor, anyway. "I thought we had such a good relationship, ladies. The drinks are cold, the attic and basement are yours to do with as you wish, and you needn't worry about any troublesome Irishmen in blue ruining your tea parties. But if you're tired of the rent I charge you, perhaps the paddywagon will be cheaper." He swiveled in his chair and looked up at Nick, a frown on his face. "It's too late."

"Oh, well, that was a lot of vodka, pardon me, ladies, gentlemen! I know I should not comport myself so but here I am doing such comporting!" Comrade Frost walked right up to the bottom of the dias and took a knee, a gesture that actually cost him nothing given his own preternatural abilities. "Your pardon, great sir, it seems I am at your feet. Just a moment to gather my composure and I will be gone." Catching sight of Ace, he shot the familiar face in the brand-new disguise a wink. There was no use alarming Ace, who knew trouble when he saw it. "Oh, I love this country, but it has so many troubles. Do you know there is crime among peasants even in fancy estate like this? What a calamity! And things here looked so nice." Sliding off his knee, he stretched his legs out beneath him and cracked his back, looking as though he was settling down for a casual sit.

http://orokos.com/roll/410523 I don't think I've spent any HP, so I'll spend one now and get there automatically.

Catching the Atlantean's intent, Sea Devil hastily interposed herself between Glamazon and the remaining Deep Ones, glowing tridents at the ready. "No!" she bellowed, "Leave them alone!" Raising her voice, she bellowed - a tremendous sound, made louder as the speakers on her armored suit projected her bass shout throughout the square. There were Surfacers who were hurt, but there were heroes on the scene for that. No one was going to save the Deep Ones but her. What she said sounded to most Surfacer ears like "Ia! Kathulu Fthagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nfah Kathulu Rlayh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" But to those who spoke Lemurian, it sounded like "Your Chosen One was the pawn of a Surfacer game! The stars are wrong! There is no invasion today! Run back to your rivers while you can!" At her shout, at the site of glowing tridents in her hand, the Deep Ones in the square fell to their knees - or rather, crouched on four legs and began chanting. The deep, basso and decidedly amphibious song was clear enough for those who spoke Aquaria's language. "CHOSEN ONE! CHOSEN ONE!" - A compounding pharmacy, its occupants eager to take in someone who certainly looked to be a superhero, provided Fred with the resources, and lab equipment, she needed for her chemical engineering; after all, the maddened humans were still out there! The violence proper seemed to be settling down, though not for lack of madness; the people outside had begun to slump to the ground, or the street, muttering feebly amid smashed glass and spilled blood. There was only so much a human being could do before adrenaline ran out - even one driven crazy by Deep One venom. "They're crazy out there," the pharmacist was muttering as Fred went about her work. He and his clients, an older couple who looked to be about seventy years Fred's junior, had been in the back room when she arrived. The latter were still there - but when she looked back, the pharmacist was behind her, his bald head gleaming in the artificial light above his head, a shotgun gripped in his fingers. "Just so crazy," he muttered, peering through the window. - "Oh my god!" Back at the wrecked apartment building, a middle-aged woman, clutching her bloodied head, had staggered out the door. "It's Linc Stebbins! Oh my god, is he all right?" she asked, running to the fallen boy's side. "We heard he disappeared right out of that foster home, that poor boy!" She looked up at Phantom. "He used to live here, he and his mother were my neighbors!"

Sea Devil Precious Lord Temple Ben David West End Aquaria listened as the Surfacer shaman spoke, closing her eyes as she listened to the man's tale – remembering stories of the ancient Deep One past passed down through untold generations and the whispers of Dagon and Hydra from below, trying to place the Surfacer tale against the ancient hymns and prayers of her people. “Yes,” she finally croaked softly, opening her eyes and looking at the rabbi. “We tell that story, of the days before the Journey West, when we sought homes in the rivers of the Surface. But there is more.” When she spoke again, she spoke with the slow, resonant tones of a woman translating from one language to another. The Lemurian of her youth often wrapped poorly around English – it was hard to turn a song into a story. The shaman coughed – and even Jessie, Aquaria realized, was giving her an odd look. “Well, that's...interesting,” said the rabbi, scribbling away on his paper with his ink-filled pen. “Your memory is excellent. You say you learned that all from oral history?” “We had some writing,” said Aquaria, “but not as many as those who lived in cities. It was mostly memory aids for the shamans to remember our songs – and what they meant.” “And what did that song mean?” “It meant to never trust a Surfacer,” said Aquaria, casting her eyes downward awkwardly. “That even those who seemed to be our friends would turn on us eventually – and so we should stick to our own kind.” She gave Jessie an apologetic look, massive shoulders rising in her best imitation of a Surfacer shrug. “The story of the Sea Peoples is a story about the sins of mixing blood and the abomination of the desolation above...But I think it means to be wary of false friends – and false leaders. Those who would lead their people to war without finishing it – or without a reason.” “Are there other Deep Ones who believe as you do?” asked the rabbi, whose investigations into comparative religions were going far beyond what he'd learned in his training. “Yes,” said Aquaria immediately, “there are others who know the true teachings of Dagon and Hydra. But as far as I know, I am the only one who has walked Above. The shamans were wrong – the gods are not too far Below to hear here. I hear them beneath the stars and in the waves, and even in the songs of your people.” She reached over and squeezed Jessie's hand. “And wherever I have a friend.”

"It was pleasant drive, really! We listened to surf music on cassette tape, which was all fun and games until tape finished and we were still stuck in car." Dimitri hung close to Leilani as they both entered, having caught her cue earlier about proximity as they stepped out of the car together. He seemed very pleased with himself - which of course was no unusual thing. "Hello, Kimber!" He gave her air kisses in his usual Continental style, then made introductions. "Leilani Keli'i, this is Kimber Storm, finest Canadian ghost I have ever met, and one of many guardians of this place. I have been fortunate enough to give her some guidance. Primarily in fashion, which she ignores as a sensible young woman would. Kimber, Leilani is a mistress of the volcanic arts - and quite the champion surfer! She comes all the way from Hawaii. I have had good fortune to work with her for some time."

"We will be well," croaked Aquaria, though what she meant was that they were back on Earth and Jessie was with her people again. She hopped over to crouch alongside Jessie, looking up at the friends they'd made in space. "I never thought I would have a pod in the sea of stars," she said to the Voidrunners, meaning every word. "But you swam with us when the waters were thin. We are forever grateful." She smiled with those too-wide lips, exposing that mouth big enough to swallow a small child, and spoke in a booming voice that made the sacs on the side of her throat bulge and swell. She croaked in Lemurian - Ia! Ia! Fhtagn! but what Ruby heard was clear enough. "When the stars are right!"

"Oh-hoh!" Frost clapped his hands together and seemed to chortle in his joy. "Well, I shall be mindful, then. For as the sage says, when ladies confer in whispers, gentlemen must beware!" He winked at Phaedra and Fred as he led them inside Freedom Hall, his personal keycard winning them space in the private elevator. It wasn't that many floors down - but he found he got to know people better within confined spaces. Within seconds, it was distinctly cold within the elevator, substantially more than it had been outside even in the air-conditioned corridors. "So, tell me about yourselves," he said, still cheerful. "I understand that you are great young chemist, and you...well, your file was full of horrible supernatural complaints like 'godless abomination' and 'hideous freak'! Wait, no, that was me!" He laughed and looked at Phaedra expectantly.

Lacking Nevermore's budget or Nighthawk's powers, Woodsman ascended by all-too-human muscle power. He didn't even bother with a grapple line on the simple surface, instead slowly picking his way to the roof with the cool, methodical grace that came from long experience and an intimate awareness of the consequences of a fall. Climbing in a city like this was a trifle harder than on his own world, with fewer broken ledges, tree roots, and other surfaces to grip, but at least the landscape was less likely to crumble under his feet. Or produce monsters. Once on the roof, he signaled by pressing a button on his headset (better that than speaking) and began the way forward, picking his way forward to a corner and dropping prone, peering forward with his binoculars to keep track of their targets before the latter could spot him.

Okay, so it looks like no DA - why don't we have Giz post and move down the initiative order?