Raveled
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1d20+7: 17 [1d20=10] And the archer is going to go fleeing into the hills.
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Well in terms of team members, Miras has time magic and Blue Jay has Temporal Inertia so they both work out well. Blue Jay would probably operate better in pre-industrial eras than most PCs, while Miras would try to solve the social injustices of the time. On the flip side, I'm going to say two things against the team. 10 PCs is an awful lot to manage all at once; ask Thevshi how she's handling a thread with every single Praetorian in it. Second, teams should come together naturally because the PCs are all friends and like each other. Trying to bring the team together artifically could result in the sort of soap opera drama that turns Avengers into a tedious read.
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Metalcore is a very specific genre to build a character around. Why not the god of rock or the god of metal? Having looked over this a bit more closely, this is really a kind of weird concept you're rolling around. It feel more like something out of Unknown Armies or Nobilis, the physical avatar of a particular musical genre fighting for the soul of music, against nihilistic and commercial users. I feel like the concept needs a little massaging to work in a superhero context.
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I have no idea what Blue Jay should do. Uh, I guess she'll delay to see if anyone pops up on the roof of that building or if any cars drive away from it.
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The guards kept their stony expressions, but after a moment they started shooting quick glances between themselves. They had their orders, but this wasn't a surfacer peace officer or politician; this was a royal princess, related by half-blood to their king and on the other half to their gods. They had their orders, but her words had a weight beyond that. The guards were kept from deciding between two different kinds of treason by the appearance of another Atlantean, from inside one of the docked ships. He was older than all of them, his hair already going bald, dressed in the loose toga that some Atlanteans wore on formal occasions. Despite his age he moved swiftly down the docks, stepping between the soldiers and bowing deeply before Glamazon. "Princess Thaelia," he said. "You honor us with your presence here! Truly we, your humble servants, do not deserve to be in your presence. Please, tell me what your wishes are, your highness, and I shall see them carried out forthwith."
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Aya was put off her balance. She hadn't expected such a cordial reaction from a barbarian, and was feeling more than a little jumpy when she was allowed to leave without violence. She felt a tingling in her legs and fingers as she walked through the corridors back to her shuttle, unused adrenaline fizzling through her body and making her paranoid. When a Za'akis stepped out of the shadows with the heavy staff, she glowed gold an crimson for a moment. She quickly realized he wasn't a threat, though -- or at least not anymore of a threat than the other heavily muscled and armed warrior-lizards moving and working around her. The Lor quickly suppressed her powers, feeling her cheeks heat up at her mistake. She answered quickly, hoping to smooth things over. "He's very proud of his history," she said diplomatically, "an' expects everyone to be just as proud. But I need somethin' more than stories to hand over a valuable piece of tech." She gave the Za'akis a hard look. "I didn't realize Za'akis had diplomats. Don't seem in the temperament of most of your kind."
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1d20+15: 21 [1d20=6]
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This is an interesting idea, a superpowered first responder. I would love to read a series about the guys who show up while the F4 are battling Dr. Doom and make sure that civvies don't get crushed by falling rubble. However, I'm not convinced that this is a workable concept for a PC here. What would this character do if he was confronted by an armed robbery? Or a new super-drug on the streets? Or super-powered thugs running rampant, or an alien invasion, or a zombie uprising? A superpowered medic is an interesting idea, but I don't think such a person should be front and center in a superhero game.
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Let's go with the one that's almost taken out.
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"We're hunting for tree branches," Tona said, eying her friend's machete, "not wild boar." She picked up random sticks as they wandered through the woods; one was too small, one snapped too easily, one was too crooked, one too thick. Finally she found a particular branch, something that still had shreds of bark from the tree it came off hanging from the back edge. The archer sighted along it, and after a moment drew her knife and began trimming off spare twigs. She seemed engrossed in her task, but she did spare a glance or two for the Welsh ninja. "So, what do you mean you're not going to go by Cerys anymore? Isn't that your name?"
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Aya shook her head slowly. "Now you're sayin' that your folks were part of some mythical empire? Next you'll tell me that a Preserver appeared in your dream and told you ta' come here." She stood, stepping away from the chair and into the larger open space of the office. "If you can't show me some hard evidence that this used to be a Za'akis world, then we're finished jawin'. I think I'll be headin' back down to the planet." She held herself loose, feet shoulder-width apart, her forcefield charged. She knew Za'akis, and she fully expected him to attack her after this refusal.
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Corona's going to go up and punch some drones. 1d20+10: 13 [1d20=3] Ugh.
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Aya K'zan couldn't help but look around as she followed first Commander E'tten and then the reptilian Praetorian through the ship. She could see obvious pieces of Lor technology throughout the vessel, but most of it was of a type she was unfamiliar with. She wanted to stop and talk to one of the techs about how all the systems interfaced, but she was here to do a job. Aya K'zan, dressed in a dark gold jumpsuit with the starburst of the Lor Republic over her breast, came to a halt at the side of E'tten. She had been briefed on what the Lor knew of the Praetorians; she recognized Elite and the one who was only called 'the Traveler' from those briefings, and any school child could recognize a Star Knight. She also knew roughly what the rank of Imperatrix meant, and so when she stepped forward she addressed the orange woman. "Th' Lor Republic would request th' Praetorians' assistance with'a security matter," she said. "During th' war with th' Communion, we lost track of a number of prison transports. We assumed they were lost in th' black, but recently a few of 'em have turned up, running with their old gangs." She swept her gaze over the other assembled Praetorians and the Star Knight. "These people are Reavers, Black Holes, and Maw. Scum by definition, murderers by trade, monsters by inclination." She put her eyes on Paradigm again. "Th' Republic doesn't have th' forces at its disposal, yet, to go after them. However, if fights with th' Communion are any measure, th' Praetorians could do it without breaking a sweat."
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Aya took the water in her gauntleted hand with a nod, sipping it once to be polite and then setting it aside. "I can't rightly say," she said, her words slow and carefully chosen. "Before all this I was part of... part of Outback Overwatch Patrol & Survey, assigned to th' sector with Earth in it." She didn't know if either the Terran or Sharl knew the different branches of the Lor government, but she didn't linger. "Now, though, I've been approached with an offer for a different job. This fight with th' Communion has revealed a lot of forces in th' galaxy that aren't Lor, or Grue, or Khanate. Folks that aren't like the Gorgon or the Curator, that are fightin' the good fight but aren't part of anythin' bigger. Apparently someone's been thinkin' about how to keep an eye on those folks, and they want me on-board with them." She shook her head softly. "They're callin' it ALIENS."
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Aya started despite herself. "Th' Communion?" If she hadn’t been sitting on the edge of that ghastly bone chair, she would have been now. “You think your people’s empire was brought down by an invasion from th’ Communion. That’s a hard idea to sell. I mean, th’ Communion are here now, and two galactic powers have them at a stalemate. How did the Za’akis empire, all by itself, not get destroyed?” A muscle twitched at the corner of jaw, but she suppressed the smile. “Plenty of Za’akis mercs have come up short against th’ Communion, after all. How come there are any of you left at all?”
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Aya called up a control screen on her gauntlet, and after a moment of work the armor over her right arm unsealed with a barely-audible hiss. She took off her gauntlet first, then carefully disengaged each section of armor in turn and laid them on a convenient table. Underneath was a navy blue fabric that looked and felt like some kind of embroidered wool; she opened the skinsuit by pressing her thumbnail into a notch at the base of her hand, then peeled it off her hand and peeled the fabric back along a seam that opened along the underside of her arm. The skin underneath was brown and smooth and unscarred, and when she formed a fist her muscles stood out clearly. "I'm not lookin' for a friend," she said as she went through the motions. "I came here because Terran scientists have spent more time pokin' at folks with weird powers than Lor scientists. End'a sentence. I didn't expect t' get a psychoanalysis thrown in with my check-up," she added sarcastically.
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GM Cline froze, staring at the suddenly-revealed Nevermore. After a minute she broke out in a sunny smile, her dragonfly wings buzzing as she alighted in front of the superhero. "Raven! My love! I knew you would find me here. Look at everything I've achieved!" She fluttered away, showing off the entire room; the large screen 4G TV, the high-fi speakers set into the wall, the leather couches and brushed-metal finishings. All sorts of things that spoke of money, and the power that came with it. "Look at it all, lover. And now, we can be together and have it all!" She landed in front of Nevermore, holding her arms out. It was obvious she was expecting him to rush toward her.
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"I'm stocked on grub," Aya said truthfully, not mentioning that most of it was ration bars and reclaimed sweat. "I'm mighty interested in how you reckon this is a Za'akis world, though. There aren't records of a Za'akis empire of any sort. An' the Za'akis aren't really known for technical innovation, pardon my Lor. So how did your old 'empire' come up with these gizmos?" She perched on the edge of her chair; she was putting a lot of energy into keeping her expression neutral, but she had some idea that she was baiting a bull. A Za'akis who parked a warship over a Lor world must have courage and pride and certainty in his actions. If she pushed him too far, she'd have to fight her way back to her shuttle.
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GM Samantha Cline, a supervillain with fifty years of experience in her, revitalized and returned to face a new generation of heroes, who had enthralled some of the richest men in the city and gathered a small army to her side, was sitting on a couch watching TMZ and spraying crumbs. The network was showing coverage of a score of celebrity parents; Samantha took vicious, ruthless glee in ripping into the women's appearance, pointing out stretch lines and sagging breasts. "That fat cow looks forty years older," she crowed. "She had better find a surgeon fast, and pay for his next yacht, before she can't even get sitcom work!" As she watched she was eating whole handfuls of popcorn out of a bowl sitting next to her. Sprawled out on the coffee table in front of her was stacks of bills and loose jewelry; the show had evidently interrupted the woman's literal counting of her wealth. Of course, this new Luna Moth wouldn't be someone that celebrity fashion show would be covering anytime soon. Once she had been blonde, voluptuous, and beautiful. Time incarcerated at eaten away at her hair, leaving it stark white and hanging straight to her shoulders. Her heart-shaped face bulged now, with the many-faceted and iridescent eyes of a fly or beetle pushing out of her skull. Her arms and legs were jointed oddly and moved stiffly, and when Nevermore spoke she jumped to her feet, diaphanous wings folding out of flaps in the skin of her back. "What! Who is there? Someone... Someone came here? Did the someone bring the Raven... bring my Raven to me?" Cline stalked around the room, peering questioningly behind couches and under tables, ineptly trying to find the source of the voice.
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Roooooll for it.
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Saturday, May 20th, 2015 Frankfort, Michigan, United States Late afternoon Frankfort was a small town of barely a thousand souls, full of picturesque buildings, sandy beaches, and a startlingly white lighthouse out on the point. Families walked or ran up and down main street, people on vacation enjoying the warm spring weather and the cool breezes that blew off the lake. It would be a perfect image, if not for an air of tension that hung over the town. You didn’t have to go far to find the source of the tension. The town’s docks had been interdicted, with Atlantean troops standing on the boardwalk and stopping anyone who tried to get to their moored boats. Tourists stared at them; police talked at them; angry citizens and protesters yelled at them; but the soldiers of the underwater kingdom were impassive in their verdigrised armor and lightning-staffs. For three days and three nights they had kept up a silent presence, not intruding further into town or attacking any of the surfacers (well, except for one guy who showed up at the ER with a broken arm and an electrical burn, but he should’ve known better than to throw a brick) but not allowing anyone to reach their vessels, either.
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Hm. Okay, so buddy cop means they have to be playing off a dissonance. How about Corona has respect for Lor govt and procedures, and Kharag doesn't. Corona's a cop, after all, she wants to track down evidence and have a suspect. Kharag's a gladiator and a warrior-king, and his response to most threats and most problems is to find someone to punch. So let's say the Praetorians need something from a Lor space habitat or Lor colony world, and the bureaucrats are being obstructive. Corona goes to sort it out, and for some reason Kharag comes along. This turns from massaging a functionary's ego and filling out paperwork, into a proper criminal investigation and Corona has to restrain Kharag from just ripping off heads until the problem goes away.
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Ho-kay. Took a point from Intimidate to add to Climbing to keep it +15, and I added Grappling Finesse and updated her Grapple score. I also change a heck of a lot of stuff on that new Device, filling out all the 30 PP it has.
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He's a kung-fu demigod that's been asleep for a million years. She's a racist space-cop who saw everyone she loved die in a war. Together fight crime!! ... So the ad copy needs some work, but the idea is solid.
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Aya swallowed again, glancing after Sharl. Her heart was still thumping like she’d just ran a marathon, but she did her best to keep a calm face on for the scientist. “If you haven’t heard,” she said, her voice harsh, “planets are gettin’ burned. People are dyin’, all over th’ galaxy. I have… special skills. I can help stop th’ damned Communion, push ‘em back into th’ black and maybe save some lives.” She took a deep breath. “An’ now it’s been done. Th’ Communion’s been dealt with, even if we do still have to burn out some drones here and there. So now I’m tryin’ to catch up with my life. Th’ first step of that is findin’ out why my spacesuit keeps channelin’ my powers. I’d rather not be out in space an’ have my suit blow up around me. If I… If I start bawlin’ out in space, I’d like to know that I’m not gonna die, too.”