Gizmo

Jack could swing by as well, in his civilian identity. He'd be interested in a carnival, I'd say, especially if the tickets weren't to steep!

Sign Jack of all Blades up, absolutely! Sound epic!

"Man, Drama Star, who writes your material, Simon Furman?" Jack tossed the imposing cosmic hero a wry grin. "No worries, we'll take out the big-nasty, rescue the princess, whatever. I just hope I get a chance to call somebody a primitive screwhead." The swashbuckler was laying the unconcerned confidence on a little thick, but he didn't want the others to think he couldn't keep up."'Sooner that later' is a good call, though. I'll find you guys once I've talked to the registrar." With a sloppy salute, Jack jogged off towards the group signing up for the tournament. The lack of readily available energy sources in his technologically lacking surroundings worried the hero a bit; perhaps he could find someone to lend him a mundane sword just in case.

Well, if it's after September 22nd, Jack of all Blades and Leon should have theoretically already met in the West End. Jack's been looking to step up his game, so getting in some extra training would make sense. Maybe after 'West End Warriors' Leon invited him to the forest for some sparring?

Shall I just wait until we hear from a ref?

Do you want to bother with a Diplomacy check for dealing with the police, or just RP it? It'd probably be starting from Unfriendly, right?

Jack raised a placating hand. "Easy, Tex." The swashbuckler knew Colt was in need of accommodations, but he doubted a jail cell or a hospital bed was what the cowboy had in mind. He turned to the police officer and crossed his arms in fashion that made it clear his hands were empty. "Man, what are you thinking? The guy heroically turns an uncontrolled crash from orbit into something Doc Metropolis could fix by sneezing, and you're giving him the third degree? Orbit! I'm talking about space here. The least you could do is call a paramedic for the man. You know the laws for dealing with off-worlders?" Jack spread his hands. "I know I don't, but I'm betting there's more 'giving the clubhouse of super-folks over there a call' and less 'go all O.K. Corral', amirite?" The hero glanced up at Tarantula. "As for web-for-brains up there, she's like thirteen, cut her some slack."

Spending Jack of all Blades' 4 points from September on feats, 'cause he loves him some feats: Grappling Finesse Improved Sunder Power Attack Weapon Break [4pp] I'd also like to add this to the bottom of his sheet as clarification: The edits have crossed swords with Geez3r

"Man, five of whatever they use for currency around here says that we end up fighting in this thing whether we want to or not," Jack predicted. "I've had some experience with wacky tournaments, and participation doesn't tend to be up for debate. Somebody brought us here, or did this to the city, maybe, and they're gonna be ticked if we just decide to opt out, y'know?" The swashbuckler looked from Dark Star to Dr. Archeville. "You two should see if the guys in charge recognize you. Maybe you're like the Black Knight and Archmage of Awesome to them. I can go talk to the registration people and see what the specifics are." Jack paused in consideration. "Seriously, though, copper, gold, seashells, what?"

Jack hesitated as the police arrived. "So, uh, maybe not a great time to bring this up, but my PR's really not everything it could be." He gave the others a weak shrug. "What can I say, I'm just more of a night person." Strictly speaking, Jack was an unlawful vigilante, and he'd kept a low enough profile that it wasn't likely he'd be recognized by the authorities on sight, let alone trusted, particularly outside of the West End. Still, he couldn't very well leave Colt to fend for himself. "Good thing I'm so naturally charming, huh?" he smirked, turning to face the approaching officers.

Jack started when Colt pulled out his revolver, but the demonstration was over before he could protest. "Huh. Good coat," he commented as the cowboy handed him the flattened bullet. He examined it for a moment before tossing it up to the spider-themed heroine as Colt showily holstered his weapon. "Regular Alex J. Murphy over here. Just watch it, alright? Not everybody's bulletproof. Mostly we're, y'know, whatever the opposite of bulletproof is." Leaning back against the fountain, Jack placed his hands behind his head and considered. "Come to think of it, there's probably something set up for this kinda thing. Like, an orientation, 'welcome to the dimension' sort of deal. It happens enough, like even with the big guy." They were close enough to the water front that the massive Sentry Statue was visible over the tops of the nearby buildings. For someone who revered Golden Age heroes as much as Jack, mentioning the Centurion by name felt vaguely taboo.

Jack cocked a eyebrow and grinned as Colt locked eyes with him. "Ha! Fair enough." The swashbuckler listened to the newcomer describe his vehicle. "Stellar Cycle, huh? Well, I guess it'd pretty much have to be." Jack let out a long breath. "Replacement parts are going to be an issue. The good news is that you're in the right place for it; Freedom's lousy with technical geniuses, mad scientists, that sort of thing." He looked up when the red-suited teenager spoke. "Girl, don't joke. The number of accidental mutations we get around here, that sort of thing's just a matter of time." Jack shrugged. "Besides, space cowboy's not so weird. I mean, we're like a block away from where the living city and the Voodoo ocean goddess hang out. Besides, he's not the one walking around in a stylish bodysuit and mask, right?" He gestured to the young woman's costume, then his own. "S'all relative, I figure."

Ha, yeah, it's probably just as well that we took a bit of a break while everyone got that sorted out. Thanks for sticking with us anyway, quote! It'd be pretty dull without the Captain showing up eventually!

Jack accepted Colt's offered hand and shook it firmly. "Jack. Jack of all Blades if you're feeling formal. Welcome to Freedom City." The swashbuckler straightened his greatcoat a bit when the cowboy mentioned it. "Ditto. I'm not as big a fan of the guns, though," he said frankly, crossing his arms. "Doesn't sound like you were planning on starting anything, so just, y'know, don't." Jack's tone was cordial, but firm. As far as the swordsman was concerned, there was no such thing as a good gun, no matter who was wielding it. Looking from Colt to the crashed cycle, Jack leaned on the fountain and scratched his chin. "Well, you're pretty human-looking to be from space and a little, uh... eclectic for time travel. Alternate dimension?" He craned his neck to regard the young woman hanging upside down. "Thoughts?"

Jack of all Blades: A wisecracking, street-level swashbuckler who creates swords made of energy and operates out of the West End. He's trying to become better established in the superhuman community.

Jack of all Blades The Days of High Adventure (2) West End Warriors (3) Training in the Wharton State Forest (6) The Big Guns (6) Carnival in the Park (9) The Interceptors: Issue #0 (19) Invasion! - West End (1) Ghoulies and Ghosties and Long-Legged Beasties (5)

Erik Espadas' first though upon seeing the shape whistling towards the ground was a panicked, Gah! followed by the slightly more coherrant, Some idiot with super strength has tossed a motorcycle though the air! As the vehicle sped closer, however, he made out what looked like wings and reflected wryly that that would have been much too straightforward. Deciding that his errands in Riverside would have to wait, Erik quickly locked up his bicycle and ducked into an empty alley. In his place emerged Jack of all Blades, who hastily made his way to the fountain where the strange craft had landed, greatcoat flaring out behind him. He found what could only reasonably be described as a cowboy waiting for him when he arrived. From his leather boots to his theme-appropriate hat, the downed vehicle's pilot looked every bit like a contemporary of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. As he approached, ambling casually toward the man with one hand in his pocket, Jack noted the cowboy's weapons warily. The young swashbuckler didn't form an energy sword, but he palmed his lighter in his concealed hand just in case. Freedom City history suggested that there was about even odds of the new arrival declaring his intent to rule the planet at any moment, but Jack was inclined to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt. He was, after all, wearing a pretty nice coat. Jack stopped a several meters away from the cowboy and cleared his throat, though he knew he stood out from the bystanders without attracting any addition attention. "Engine trouble?" he drawled dryly just as a woman in a bright red jumpsuit swung in on some sort of line. Jack expected it was only a matter of time before the square was crawling with super-folk.

Well, Jack of all Blades isn't a "new hero," but he is a new hero, if you take my meaning, so I expect he'll pop in. He's got a bit of pirate-theme going on; with Colt they'd be one ninja away from an internet meme!

He's just that deadly! I know that I was waiting for Nyrath.

Jack glanced between Dark Star and Dr. Archeville. "Uh, yeah, what the space man said. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey." The swashbuckler gave a small wave. "I'm Jack, incidentally," he offered, "Jack of all Blades. No need to ask who you two are. Sort of a random selection, eh?" Jack felt like the odd man out among the better known heroes, particularly the world famous doctor, but remained affable. He'd never make it to the big-time if he couldn't act like he belonged there. Placing his hands behind his head casually, he considered. "Weird bit is that everything's still where it was, just with 'ye olde' tacked on front. Power-lines into clotheslines and warehouses into taverns, eh? Plus the renfaire-chique," he added, gesturing to their altered costumes. "I'm not the only one reading this tournament as 'Freedom League Try-Outs: Now With 50% More Jousting,' right?"

"Gah!" Jack started as a gust of air preceded something landing on the street behind him. Somersaulting forward, the hero twisted and sprung to his feet facing the newcomer, blade at the ready. The light of his sword and the nearby lamppost revealed a fairly unassuming girl, who's large, feathered wings were easily her most distinguishing feature. Somewhat embarrassed by his overreaction, Jack lowered his weapon with a cough. "Cripes, does everybody have wings these days?" he groused. "What are you, Twilight Gryphon's little sister, or something?"

September 22, 2009: A simple raid on a chop-shop gets very crowded, very quickly in West End Warriors.

Groovy! Let's get this show on the road, eh? Here's the OOC and the IC.

Alright, it's team-up night in the West End! Jack of all Blades, Leon Mighty and Mongrel Angel run into each other just in time for Captain Knievel and Zealot to crash the party! If anyone else is interested in joining in, just give a post here, and we'll see what we can work out. I figure the heroes can make a rout of the chop-shop, purely for storytelling purposes, then the villains can roll in and the real combat can begin. Work for everyone?

September 22, 2009 - 11:17 pm It had taken more than a week of detective work, interrogating some of the West End's usual suspects, surreptitiously following others as they went about their shady dealings, but Jack of all Blades had finally found another group of thugs with ties to Captain Knievel's growing 'workforce'. Perched in the shadows of a rooftop, the swashbuckler's eyes narrowed as he recalled the thrashing he'd received at the Captain's hands, or rather his adrenaline cannon. Jack doubted he was prepared for a rematch so soon, but he couldn't afford to let Knievel solidify his hold on the West End any more than he already had. The sharp whine of power tools and the light of sparks coming from the supposedly abandoned garage the hero watched suggested a chop-shop; if he could put an end to this operation, its participants might be able to point him in the direction of another, and so one from there. The crimson of Jack's bandanna-mask and the lines of his set jaw were briefly illuminated as he flicked open his lighter. A quick gesture and application of will transformed the tiny flicker into a pillar of white-hot flame, forming into a fiery rapier in his right hand. His greatcoat swept upward as a kick of his legs propelled him from the rooftop, a series of flips from a flagpole, then a streetlamp, seeing him to the ground. Touching down silently, Jack made his way swiftly towards the warehouse.