Ari
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Freedom City Guidebook
Freedom City PBP: A How-To Guide
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Everything posted by Ari
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For his part, Marceau's well-honed reflexes had sent him away from the grenade and towards cover the second his eyes lighted on the egg-like container of death. Jumping and rolling accurately is way harder than you'd think, however, and with Carl and his aching wound, he wasn't fast enough to escape the blast entirely. Crying out as a red-hot shard of metal sliced across his back, the King of Suits stumbled behind the counter, his groggy and rattled brain taking a few seconds to recognize what had happened to Deadshot and to understand why Carl's leg seemed so wrong. 'I shouldn't have done this' He thought, horror and regret welling up as he started to understand 'I should have gotten Carl to safety...oh God, what if he dies? He'll have been killed thanks to me!' self-pity and helpless anger surged through him, and gritting his teeth as he thought of the heartless scum outside waiting to kill them all, he was tempted with bright visions of roiling orange and black as he sent a deluge of explosive cards to smash them all into charred pieces of flesh, leave a crater where they'd stood... Glancing out at the voluminous cloud, his confused mind suddenly stopped as an idea struck. Drawing out a handful of tangle cards, he hastily slotted them together, bundling a single exploder with a sigh of resignation. Then, jumping up, he flung it through the broken window with a wild yell, following it up with a razor card as it started to vanish into the mist. In mere instants, a mass of thin metal strips lashed the air, winding around and consuming anything in reach like some otherworldly octopus! Smiling as he heard the shouts and howls of confusion, Marceau turned to Carl "I'm getting you out of here. There's...I know a clinic nearby. They can save you!" so saying, he began to limp out through the back door, wondering blearily if he really was going to be the first cape dead by King Cole's hands...
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DC15 Reflex save, with +7 from the Tactics roll, is automatically passed. DC18 Toughness save: 15. Another Bruise. Now, if Marcy was a real person, odds are good the shock, noise, pain and anger that'd be barreling through his veins right about now would have him throwing explosive cards like a fountain of gunpowder at the gunmen. But then the local constabulary would have to explain why the pieces of several well-armed men were mysteriously found in Freedom's poorest district. Even Precinct 23 wouldn't be able to ignore or be bought out of THAT. So to save on headaches, he'll Stunt an Area Snare to keep the boys outside busy. Stunting off the Armaments Belt Array, buying off the Fatigue with a Hero Point(now at 2HP) the following: Snare 9(Extras: Area(General, 90ft.); Feats: Progression(Area) 1(Area is 10ft. per rank))[28/29PP] Then flinging it at the outside assassins. DC19 Reflex save to halve the DC24 TOU save. Then Marcy grabs Carl and prepares to start getting him to cover so he can try again at the not making him die thing.
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GM Carpet shredded, glass shattered, and men went flying as the Stormbreaker's assault swept the evil den bare. Macabre paintings that lined the walls collapsed into massacred piles, a few of the throbbing engines of death blasted through drywalls in pieces, and Newman alone had remained untouched by the gale. Frozen beside a metal table on a windowless side of the room, staring in teeth-clenched and eye-bulged fury at this intrusion, the stocky, vicious man was in a black and white corporate uniform minus the jacket, sleeves rolled up and a trail of red going up the arms of his shirt. His eyes focused on Vector as she came streaming in, fixing his hatred on her from his small, cold eyes just before her fist struck him solidly, throwing the Omega of Crime straight through the wall behind him with a roar of surprise and pain! Smashing and rolling to a halt against a broken desk, Leigh snarled out "God**** capes...that bloody kid lied to me..." As he rose slowly and ungainly from his unceremonious couch of splintered wood, his guards' retreat from their terrifying adversaries left Vector plenty of time to feel the ache of her knuckles where they'd hit Newman. It was like punching iron. A manilla envelope could be seen where the boss of the Omega Mob's sleek black desk lay, solid and almost contemptuously unscathed by the lashing blades of air. The envelope and the white papers within were in tatters. Aside from it and the sparse chairs at the windows, not to mention the metal table topped with a large, oblong dark bundle, there weren't many amenities for Leigh or anyone else.
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Okay, to be clear, Newman is not affected by the air-storm for dramatic purposes. HP to Stormbreaker. Toughness save vs. DC25: 14. Failed by 11, so Bruised and Dazed. The Knockback sends him through the wall into an adjacent office, fortunately empty. At this ludicrous display, the goons panic and start to flee.
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Let's just say they fail that, being Minions. DC25 Toughness save: all but three fail. They are knocked out. horngeek, if you would.
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GM Luckily, most of the glass and steel not vaporized by the Ages Lost's cannons sailed far out into the water. Still, the riotous noise and cloud of smoke billowing up from the hole blasted into the office building meant that soon Newman's abruptly-raised voice was joined by others, and then the noise of hurrying feet and rumbles of inhuman power building up. As the smoke cleared, roughly a dozen or more figures burst into the excavated room, gleaming silver standing out from their dark suits, and inelegant weapons bristled in their hands. They couldn't very well stay in formation amid the wreckage of the sterile office, and the sight of a glittering space-galleon and two superheroes gave them notable pause. "Get those damned capes outta my soddin' air, ya €[}#wits!" barked Newman's voice, the man himself staying out of sight. With that, the men raised their weapons, and in a crackle of dark light the things came alive.
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GM Stronghold Mr. Bae considered that, smoothing back some of his ruffled black hair with a dubious look. "I see...that's a very good point. Not like there's whole civilizations of supers out there or anything" Sighing with resignation, he flung up his hands "Fine, so be it. I won't try anything like this again. I'll just call my psychiatrist and let him know he's in for the long haul on this one." Flashing a bright, if wry smile at the ochre ring-bearer, he tapped the construct with a well-shod foot "So, if that'll be everything, I'd appreciate a drop off, miss. I need to reassure some horrified employees in there!" Glancing around the sheer walls of polished glass and concrete that made up Midtown, he snapped his fingers as his eyes wandered north "Ah! And if you get the time, A.S.T.R.O. Labs is having a little expo in a convention hall nearby. One of my reps, Abby, can give you an in if you'd like. It's a dream-sharing setup, lovely tech, worth every penny that Dr. Faiur's insured on it!"
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GM Rene de Saens Arriving home, the ancient painter pottered around for a bit, fiddling with sketch lines and oil layers, strolling through an experimental historical novel a friend had sent him from France(not bad, and oddly thoughtful, though the anachronisms stood out like nails in a shoe) before preparing for a quick nap. Even before his gnarled head hit the pillow, a faint murmuring had started to trickle into his ears. A slow, monotonous drumbeat of cold despair. As he drifted into the Dream Dimension, stepping around the usual passel of cats scampering after imaginary mice, the words slid home like cold iron. "You can't do it. Look at yourself. See the gulf between you...and Them." The painter woman from earlier was sitting at a desk, watching her sketchbook turn into a butterfly-spider, a hand like oily smoke on her shoulder. Even in the psychedelic world of the Dream Dimension, they stood out as gauzy and unreal. At the word 'Them', the change began. The shifting colors under Rene's feet turned to a burnished mirror of silver, spires of gold arose around him thrumming with neon-lined technology, and in moments the air was full of beautiful, laughing, gamboling men and women in brilliant outfits. They flew, swung, beat the air with red-scaled wings or surfed by on rivers of iridescent rock. Hand in hand or alone, all of them seemed to pulse with life, while the woman standing in front of the painter Rene had met, in her plaid suit and square glasses, looked pallid and lifeless. "You see, sis?" she was saying with a helpless shrug "What place will we have?" Clutching her head in her hands, Marsha visibly struggled to wake up, fading in and out...and fading back in with a flicker of glee from the shadow standing behind her, man-high and bearing massive wings held aloft like cathedral walls.
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GM Amelyth "Uh...okay. If you think this'll work..." Kneeling uncertainly on the sidewalk and leaning gingerly against Amelyth's offered hand, Ted swallowed loudly and composed himself for the uncertain future. Opening one eye and looking up, he added "Uh...I'll keep the stuff with me 'n Stacy to myself then, if I can." The psychic's shimmering hand laid against the man's thin membrane between his mind-self and the draconic psionic's, and with a rush and flare of purple light, Amelyth broke the bounds of Ted and plunged into his mindscape. Even among the welling rush and swells of drifting thoughts, closing over and around her like gentle waves as she passed the confused muddle and crush of conscious thought, Amanda could feel something lurking behind it. Crossing into the deeper layers, the physical world fading away as older memories and heavier currents of imagination, Amelyth easily tracked her way to a small corner of Ted's ornate castle of insecurity, standing like a sullen banner on a hill of worn-out hopes. And on its fearful ramparts, looking out over the gray-cast world of Ted's heart, sat a demon. It wasn't made of anything, and shifted form like coiling smoke, but fire peeked out from the core of evil, and a heavy chain led from it to the unformed mass of thoughts above. Malice emanated from it, and it was impossible to look at the thing and think it meant any good. Suddenly, it seemed to notice Amelyth, and stared at her with bland curiosity. "Well" it commented, its voice like seeping oil and dull hate "you are new. Come to help? You cannot, of course. Better go. Give up."
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As soon as I post, to the next-most likely place for Captain Blood to try his sinkery tricks(which in this case would be 'forward of the engine room'). And asking Temperance and Glamazon along, since Tsunami seems to have things pretty well in hand in the engine room.
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Sure. His special blend of snarling, obscene growls and snickers is pretty distinctive. And I'll just say that works. He's not expecting anyone to hear him or be this close already. Stormbreaker hears him rambling to himself on the top floor of the building.
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Ani-Earth Newman shudders, understanding beyond knowledge that his secret is revealed. Okay, MacGruther tells them about how Newman is distributing alien guns to foreign markets. His vacillating explanations about who and where the boss is has Stormbreaker thinking the guy's just making stuff up, especially since Leigh doesn't sound half smart enough to snag otherworldly weapons. Vector has more experience with the Omega of Crime and his tendency for the confusing, and to her his suddenly having Terminus weapons, plus his moniker and theme, indicates that there's more to it than mere fanboying. Both of them work out pretty squarely that Leigh's at his Darwin offices, and most likely well-protected. All things considered there might be enough evidence to put him behind bars for good this time. SCENE CUT: above a stately office building overlooking the Timor Sea.
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As a visiting Jotun?!
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Yes, roll then write up posts based off what they manage to find out. Different results on the same subject just means they interpret the information more or less accurately.
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Awesome. Now that he's free, Wave-Eye will Move Over to Sammy and break the barnacles keeping him down. Power Attack Roll: 16. That should do it. DC25 Toughness save for the Barnacles. After that, moving off with Sammy to find the next weak spot in the ship.
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No secret escape tunnel used tonight. But that Readied Action does go off, further desecrating the sacred hall of local criminal revelries and further harassing the solemn advocates. No harm done besides some sprained joints and a few banged heads and shins, as these people aren't any threat. With MacGruther in custody, the heroes can make some Streetwise and Gather Information rolls about the Omega Mob and it's infamous leader, Neigh Newman. Coming in on the endgame now.
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GM The press of ill-favored humanity currently patronizing Marsha's took a little while to make good their escape. Though naturally to them it seemed only a few moments, getting some kind of orderly retreat was on nobody's priority list, and in that kind of everyone-for-themself environment getting anything done, like moving out through a door, was naturally and fiercely opposed by the other odd-dozen souls determined to be out of it first. So for a wearying minute Captain Silvia, the Stormbreaker, endured the riot of nonsense, insane hostility and pure inanity that characterized the dash to freedom of the beleaguered bar veterans. After that eternity, the crash as the door fell open to reveal five brawny and heavily-tattooed young men was a downright relief. Partly-entangled and yelling a fascinating cross-section of Australian cuss-talk, they all fell silent as they beheld Silvia. For a fraction of the instant before the blast of air cannoned into them and the other five hollering behind them, they managed to look outright ashamed. As the cacophony of fresh howls of pain, confusion and breaking wood and glass echoed into the heavy air, MacGruther flinched at Vector's touch and quailed before the sight of one of his nation's mightiest heroes. Meekly nodding his surrender, the crook muttered "Yeah, fine, okay...ask whatever. After tonight I'm ****ed anyway, the Omega'll have my head for this sorta failure." Glancing up hopefully as Vector started hurtling them back to the Ages Lost, the smuggler added "Say, don't suppose you supers go in for witness protection? 'Least as far as making sure I don't die of the 'Mega Mob?"
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Valcili, BabyBrawler is totally up next. Lay it on us. What's the plan?
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[]. She, Grimalkin, Maelstrom and Mind-Set will be in the next update.
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GM The first shots froze the crowd, the rest galvanized it into action, the patrons scrambling to their feet amid the dust and smoke and ringing explosions, mingled screams, oaths and useless attempts to coordinate their efforts filling the air below. The cannon blasts laid open the bar to the elements, and to full inspection by the two heroines, revealing a panicked throng shoving and yelling and spilling beer(to screams of dismay) as they tried to escape into the night. Most of them didn't even bother looking to see what was attacking, they just wanted away from the horrible light, flying splinters of glass and ear-piercing booms. A man jumped up from his chair the second the first blast streaked through the roof, whirling around to find the front door blocked. Then he lunged into the melee. MacGruther did great honor in his part of the shoving and cursing, fighting his way savagely out of the general mob, managing to elbow-drop a patron barring the back door and leap to freedom without missing a beat. Running pell-mell, he glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the women on the deck. His eyes widened at the sight of the space galleon, but he paled at the familiar white-blue costume of Vector. Stormbreaker, for her part, heard with great clarity his desperate stream of epithets and curses, evidently employed in the hope they would banish this awful vision to the depths it sailed from. His shock was so great, his face was kept straight at his hunters, clearly marking him.
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GM At first the ship specs looked like several tons of intricate gibberish. Every company in the galaxy seemed to be void-bent on making things as confusing as possible to neophytes(to the point where Lor engineers were known to sneak off to pray when ordered to work on certain classes, and the Senate was rumored to be investigating the relationship between technical schools and shipyards), and experimental crafts, not to mention custom-built, personally-funded experimental crafts, were the worst of them all. Luckily, amid the maze of reaction types, obtuse numbering systems and pure damned vagueness, Kyle's instincts hit pay dirt. A slight flaw in the Celestia's engines meant they had a tendency to overheat, which for a stealth ship was an impressive oversight. To compensate, periodic checks were made to keep things running at a relatively safe level. A small increase over the limit was massaged into the other systems, but a really large jolt, something really deadly, had a risk of simply overpowering the security check. A safeguard was in place for that, too. It shut the entire vessel down and vented the energy buildup into space until the crew could work out a solution on the backup power cells. Of course, there were many ways one could accomplish that, but the surest bet was the magic crystal hovering intangibly close by. It was already giving Zanvir's ship trouble, and it wouldn't take much to push it over the edge.
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Notice roll: 24.
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GM The scene was about what the trio expected. A tall, lean man with purple skin made even more so by the light emanating from a ring on one gloved hand, was standing in front of a semi-circle made up of the three Spaniards sitting on the floor. He was dusty and streaked, from his matted silver hair to his remarkably intact boots. His other clothes, a sleeveless shirt under a vest and rugged pants, were of an odd cut and material, faded and patched though they were, and the face that whipped around to face his assailants was pierced in the blade-like ears with a metal that shone stark-blue despite the indigo ambience. Drawing back with wide eyes from the fire and steel confronting him, the alien reached hastily up to touch the one thing he wore that was clean: an oblong, many-faced gem on a leather cord around his neck. As soon as his fingers met the dark jewel, a flood of darkness swept around him. His hoarse voice brimming with frustration, the host barked "Guz't, not more of you! Look, I had no plans to harm them, simply to remove their memories of me so I can't be tracked. They've told me what I needed. The place is close. Just let me go, then I disappear, no harm done. Please?" Even behind the shield, the Indigo Ring gleamed. His instinctive turtling might mean something, or it could just be the cringing of a stag when the hounds show up.
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May this day be a happy one, Heritage. May you return to it again.
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His momentary relief at how simple things were going cut short, the King of Suits rolled desperately away from the hail of metal and glass, grunting in stifled agony that made the normally graceful man clumsy. Crouching, he hid behind a sofa as he fought the urge to just leap over the counter and run. The sharp sound of Carl's voice as he wailed in pain certainly played a part in that, along with the stab of guilt as the King recalled just who'd brought him there to get hurt some more. But regrets could wait until later. For now, as he slipped an 8 of Diamonds from his sleeve and hefted it, he listened closely to the rhythm of the firearms. His mind raced as he struggled to remember the tell-tale pauses, the depth of each retort, and how each *THUD* signaled what the gun was and who might have acquired them. Guns were status symbols even to the most efficiency-minded crime boss, and if this was who he suspected, they'd be pretty well equipped. Waiting for a brief lull, he ducked out from behind the sofa, slinging the card with a jerk of his wrist out the window. Slicing the air, it hit the ground with a bang, and exploded into a fine white smoke that quickly filled much of the sidewalk and the bar, hiding the gunmen and their victims from each other. Bent low and running as quietly as he could while his throbbing ribs fought against every step, the King of Suits scrabbled over to Carl, hoisting him back onto his shoulder with a flood of whispered apologies and encouragements. "I'm sorry, I should have watched if we were followed" he breathed as the caped vigilante began sliding back towards the bar "Just hold on, Carl, I'll get us and Deadshot out of here, and them outside...they'll pay for this. All of them."
