Raveled
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Miras breathed out slowly as she approached the horses in their illusory barn. Each of them had already chosen a 'stall' and one was even now trying to bend its head down and chomp on the 'hay' just in front of it. The mage quickly scanned the crowd and motioned a pair of beat cops to take the far animal; she stepped up to the nearby horse and did her best to sooth it, patting the side of its neck and stroking its mane, racking her brain to remember what the heck you were even supposed to do with horses. As she soothed the animal she stretched out her magical senses, trying to get a feel for the creature. These breaches seemed magical in nature, so she expected some of it to be hanging on them, but if they were created by the tears themselves or had long-term enchantments laid on them that would feel differently.
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Miras is going to use her magical senses on the horses. Are they actually real, or are they maybe enchanted somehow?
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Results 1d20+10: 21 [1d20=11] So it doesn't hurt, cool. Blue Jay's going to shoot back, of course. Results 1d20+15: 31 [1d20=16] DC 20 + Autofire.
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Can I get Blod's Initiative?
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Tona’s head whipped back and forth, trying to take in everything as another Lynn and a man came through the door, and suddenly Toni was in full extension and the man was flying back out onto the street. She only had time to take half a step forward and open her mouth to demand an explanation, when a yellow beam of energy shot into the store. The archer’s eyes narrowed and she spun on her heel, moving towards the door at a half-run. “I hate robots,” she muttered as she accelerated. She fixated on one and ran past it, shoulder-checking the robot at the last moment. It spun and she used the momentum to kick it in the back of its knee; no matter what kind of metal it was made of, the human body has certain points it bent at, and her blow forced it to one knee. That meant it was at the proper height for Tona to bring her heel around and slam it in the side of its head. The whole thing took half a second, and then the archer was standing over the robot. “I hate robots,” she muttered, glaring down at it.
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Blue Jay took deep breaths, filling her lungs with the scent of the jungle and her own sweat, as she watched the man appear from the underbrush. She held herself at the ready and the vestiges of her earlier, blind panic made her twitch, but she kept control of her instincts. Not to say that the man’s appearance or words put her at ease, but the archer didn’t want to come off as a rabbit to this stranger. She took another deep breath and spoke. “If you know where the AEGIS agents are,” she said, keeping her voice calm and level, “I would appreciate it if you could let me know where they are.” She paused and added, “I have people who are here with me. If it’s possible, I’d like to go back and find them so we could all find them together.”
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Chat client? Like a superhero MUD?
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Initiative 22 Nick -- Uninjured -- HPx4 17 Miras -- Uninjured -- HPx2 11 Cultist Group -- Uninjured -- GM 11 Cultist Group -- Uninjured -- GM 11 Cultist Group -- Uninjured -- GM Evil magician lady is on stage and singing. Nick is up.
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Oh my god! I sincerely hope she makes a full recovery, Sand.
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Blue Jay Dead Island Empty Mirror Graduation Proclamation: Absolution Miras Temporiad: Save on Time Corona GM Head of State
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His surface thoughts are mostly "I've been dealing with these Atlantis bureaucrats for days, now I have a princess on my doorstep? I need a drink. Maybe she can at leat get me my sub back."
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Whose mind are you reading? Jacob Harris's?
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The balding man grunted. "I never made it to Chief Petty Officer," he said. "Retired E-6. Well, I guess there's no use in keeping you on my doorstep. Come on in." He turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open to Thaelia and Miss Grue. Inside the house was handsomely appointed in pale wood, with polished brass furnishings -- it was sort of like being inside a very large ocean ship. Pictures on the wall showed the man when he had hair and less gut, in a white Naval uniform standing in front a submarine. Other pictures showed him older, in the same uniform, next to a dark-skinned woman in a white wedding dress. Another picture was the woman's portrait, with the dates January 4, 1968 - March 23rd, 2004 underneath it. Jacob led them into a sitting room with large, plush chairs. He went to a wet bar and poured something dark into a tall glass. "I'm afraid I don't get very many underage visitors," he grunted. "I've got bottled water and ice, if you want it."
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Thread Recruitment: Roll My Windows Down and Cruiiise
Raveled replied to Avenger Assembled's topic in Archives
I probably don't count as a newish player, but I'd like to put Brig on the reserved list for this. She's young and rich, just the sort of person a cruise line might want to plaster their latest boat all over social media. -
Results 2#1d10+3: 2 # 13 [1d10=10] 13 [1d10=10] Well they're running away, screaming. Of course now there's a whole bunch of new cultists! What we're dealing with here is three Squad level groups of cultist, each about a round away from melee combat. You can try a ranged attack against the stage, but the squad up ahead will sacrifice themselves to stop it. Cultists: Results 1d20: 11 [1d20=11] Miras: Results 1d20+6: 23 [1d20=17] Initiative for Nick, please.
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The guards drew and aimed at Miras and Nick, but before either one could pull the trigger the necromancer's wave of terror swept over them. Flashes of their own deaths, of tragedy and misfortune, of a lifetime's worth of bad luck and tragedy, were channeled into their brains all at once. The suits dropped their weapons, turned, and ran deeper into the building. The magos nodded at Nick and opened the double doors leading into the main auditorium. The setting was Spartan, a simple purple curtain drawn over the length of the stage. The only things up there were an old-fashioned gramophone with a polished jade speaker, and an older woman in a dark dress. As the heroes entered the woman's vocalizations climbed higher and high, matching the dissonant music emanating from the speaker horn. The seats were entirely full of men in suits and women in long dresses, and their eyes were fixed on the stage and the spinning record. Even as they watched, the air above the recordplayer began to shimmer like a heat mirage. What Miras felt wasn't heat, though; it was cold, cold so deep it burned her, cold that was slimy and grasping and hungry. Before the mages could rush the stage, though, toughs in suits appeared from every corner and began rushing towards them. The layout funneled them somewhat, but the heroes were still facing three large groups coming from stage right, stage left, and straight ahead.
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So now there's robo-dogs; if you want to hide from them, you can try Stealth but you'll have to justify hiding from their noses, too. Otherwise it's time for Initiative.
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The three heroines gathered next to the building, discussing the situation before them. As they conferred, a pack of creatures rounded the corner of the building and started coming towards them. At first glance the beasts looked sort of like Rottweilers, but there were boxy, metal contraptions strapped to their heads, and as they turned into a patch of shadows the dogs' eyes began glowing like flashlights. One opened its mouth and began panting, and where the drool fell on the grass it began to smoke and bubble. The heroes only had moments before the pack of dog-things ran directly into them.
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Miras is going to use her Illusion power on the three horses. That'll be DC15 Will for them to not think they're in a barn.
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Miras let the rope uncoil, but when it began to burn her hands she dropped it and stepped back. She had half-expected a reaction like that, and had no desire to be pulled into wherever the portal was going. She eyed the new tears, snorting with irritation. "Okay," she said over her shoulder to Grimalkin, still facing the nearest tear. "Why don't you hand over the pole?" Before the magus could try whatever her new plan was, though, three armored chargers leapt out of one of the portals and started charging a group of civillians! Miras raced over as fast as her legs could carry her, gathering the power of mists and fog in her hands as she went. "Almwqd walbyt, alhzyrة walsh‘yr!" she shouted as she moved, casting her power out onto the animals. "Be calm and be at peace, before you crush someone!" She cast her illusion over the chargers and tried to imagine a situation that horses would find calming. She wove images of a barn around them and injected the smells of fresh hay and oats, of clean water, of warmth and safety.
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Oh-kay, Blue Jay is always up for punching robots so let's punch some robots. Favored Enemy doesn't come into it because she's already hitting attack caps; let's use full Power Attack, shall we? Results 1d20+10: 30 [1d20=20] Lets do a lot of f---ing damage to some robots, shall we? That's DC 30 Toughness, and if they're mooks her Takedown Attack come into play.
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Miras took the rope from Grimalkin, coiling it through her hands. Her fingers tingled with the feeling of cool, clammy air, and for a moment she smelled green growing things and undergrowth. The moment passed, though, and she just gave the other hero a sideways look. “I hope no one’s going to be climbing out of the portal,” she said, “but just in case we should be prepared.” She stepped close to the portal, holding the end of the rope in one hand and swinging the other around lazily. She tossed the free end towards the portal and took a firm grip on the coiled end of the rope.
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The two heroines followed the road as it curved along the lakeside, their appearance causing no little stir. Especially Thaelia; with Neriad in Atlantis, she was probably the most well-known Atlantean active on the Surface, and it was only natural that the townsfolk would be suspicious of yet another individual from that watery kingdom appearing in their town. A police officer with wide-brimmed hats stopped writing tickets long enough to stare at her, but no one made a move to intercept Thaelia. The Harris household was hard to miss. It was easily the biggest one on the block, a red-brick structure with a bleached wooden dock jutting out into the lake. There were large news vans parked out front, proclaiming them to be from Action News 7 and Local At 4. The Atlantean knew enough to avoid them and instead made a beeline for the front door. A knock on the door was quickly answered by a balding, middle-aged man in a thick sweater and slacks chewing on a pipe. “Yes? Hello? What do you want?” He squinted at Thaelia for a moment before drawing back in shock. “I know you. You’re that Atlantean living in Freedom City! What, did you decide to come here and tear up my SCUBA tanks, too?”
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Ami was having a great time. The weather was fantastic, with just the right sort of cool breeze coming off the water to cut the heat of the day and keep it from being baking and stilted. The booths around her rang with lights and the promise of worthless trinkets. She was wearing a brand-new sundress and flats, too, and was greatly enjoying her day out with Perry. She just couldn’t say that she was. Her jaw worked industriously and discretely, but the pink ball of taffy refused to yield between her molars. She couldn’t speak without mumbling around the mouthful of candy, and so her conversation with boyfriend was rather one-sided. Perry didn’t seem to mind, though; he was in the middle of some rambling story about going to Las Vegas to see his father and how things were backstage at the casinos. Ami was limited to short grunts -- interrogative “mmh?”s and exclamatory “mmmph!”s and ever so often complementary “mmm, hms,”s. It was frustrating not to be able to talk, but Ami forced herself to focus on the positive. It was a beautiful day out, she was walking with a cute boy, and she would eventually vanquish the taffy.
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Brigandine is a junior, with no stated roommate yet.