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The Parkhurst July 12, 2018 The Parkhurst had been a hotel, at one point. Between being a family home and being a haunted wreck, and long before it was a dwelling place for some of Freedom's occult community. It made perfect sense that it would serve as a gathering place for travelers tonight. Outside, in the distance, Nick Cimitiere watched the great fires lick up from Liberty Park. He had done what he could, where he could. But after the first day, he knew there was a chance this would not end as anyone hoped. He remembered the stories of the first Invasion, remembered being dragged out of school as grim angels with steel wings flew through the air and the scent of oblivion spread through the city. Now, death walked through the city again, hungry and rabid, with a taste for destruction that would make Ammut herself cringe. If there was a time for a miracle - or an infernal bargain - it would be tonight. And he could only hope for the former, but prepare for the latter. Nick stubbed out his cigarette and returned to the manor, ready to make preparations for his guests. Corporeal and otherwise.

OOC for >this thread in which Miss Grue and Rene de Saëns are drawn into a dimension spanning kidnapping plot.

GM Various points around Midtown, Freedom City 9.45 AM, Tuesday, July 1st, 2014 A new month dawned. Despite the chaos in their lives, Freedom's millions mostly stuck to their routine, working to get through the day, to deal with their small problems and enjoy their small pleasures. In a lot of ways life hadn't changed much since the last century, except for one crucial shift... On top of the Surland Insurance building on Liberty, ten stories up, Bae looked down at the street. Behind his fogged-up glasses he couldn't see it clearly, but he could make out the people below. A part of him regretted that anyone would have to see him hit the ground, but a darker, colder part of him was glad to have an audience. 'Maybe now,' he thought, arms spreading as he stepped into the abyss 'I'll be worth noticing. Not just some nobody' By sheer chance, Stronghold saw the jumper start his plummet. There wasn't much time, but she could save him! Abby hit the ground hard, howling in pain and clutching her elbow. Sitting up awkwardly, the young woman just dodged the follow-up kick, rolling ungainly away and slamming against the alley wall. Her crisp office-wear was useless in this kind of situation. Looking up at her tormentor, she mumbled out "Y'won't get me that ea-augh!" a second kick from the masked young man hit home, sending her sprawling and croaking back to the ground. In mid-flight, she caught a glimpse of her would-be rescuee, the younger girl with the short black hair, silent and terrified thanks to the powerful hand clamped over her mouth and the knife at her throat. Catching a glimpse of her as she passed on Allen St., she'd dropped everything and charged to the rescue. "Jesus, woman," drawled the masked tough, taking out a much-used nightstick from his belt "you oughta leave this stuff to the real heroes, yaknowwhatim sayin'?" 'Maybe I can be...' thought Abigail furiously, scrabbling into a crouch and blowing the red hair out of her eyes as she focused on her attacker as he drew near 'I don't have to be worthless...' No thought goes unheard, especially not when Miss Grue is around. The door of the Go-Mart on the corner 40th and Foster burst open, letting in the gun-wielding middle-aged woman. "Alright, everyone down!" she hollered, firing a shot into the air for effect, one that sent the shocked passel of Freedonians inside obediently to the floor. Marching up to the teller, she gestured with the Beretta "You, call the cops, tell them I..." she glanced around, eyes wild before an idea struck "tell them I have hostages! And I won't give them up until the government releases the Patriot formula!" The teller stared at her blankly, nodded very slowly, and picked up the phone to relay the message as the graying woman's gun trembled near his heart. Riff heard it all clear as day. The gunshot was a pretty clear giveaway, though. Really, no need to listen further after that. Ted slumped onto the concrete bench on Allen St., clasping his head of tousled red hair in his hands as it dropped to his knees. 'I'm worthless, useless, can't do anything, I always screw up' He looked up just in time to catch sight of Amelyth flying overhead...and his head slumped down again 'I'm nothing, I'm no good, I'm weak, I'm stupid, I'm nothing next to them...' You didn't need to be a telepath to know the guy had a problem, but being made it easier to guess what the problem was. Marsha stared at the painting on her easel. It was technically precise, a masterpiece. A glorious mimicry of the cityscape on Liberty, but forecast into some glorious future, metal and glass spires reaching for the heavens. Around them flew, walked or ricocheted a myriad of costumed characters, laughing at the silver paradise they were in. They burned with power, shone with health and youth. And were completely alone. Adjusting her round glasses, she sighed and relaxed into her fold-up chair, the lines on her face crinkling glumly. "This isn't our world anymore. It's theirs. I'm sure they'll be glad when we're all gone" she said aloud, the words catching the attention and raised eyebrows of a few passing Freedonians, but not getting any comment. Rene de Saens was passing by, though, and art always wants critique.

Wednsday, July 30th 2014. Silberman's Books. 10:00am Maybe she should have waited until next week for the grand opening, but Lynn just couldn't imagine making it through the weekend on pins and needles, so she just took a deep breath and opened the store in the middle of the week. Things would be a bit bumpy, of course, but that was to be expected with any new endeavor. Just to be on the safe side, she decided to have >her full staff for the opening, on the off-chance there were any actual crowds; back in the day, her grandfather's store had been something of a local fixture, and that was before Lynn's decision to add a full espresso bar and food. There was a good chance she was deluding herself, but better safe than sorry; she could always send some folks home early if it came to that. She turned a gaze over her team; they were all wearing brand-new brown aprons with the 'Silberman's Books' right across the front, and they all looked eager and ready to go. Well, except Cred0, but that was to be expected. For herself, Lynn was trying to look as relaxed as possible in a pretty summer print dress and well-worn pair of cowboy boots. "You guys ready?" There were nods all around; the brand-new proprietor lifted the dark ring up on its lanyard, kissed it for luck and dropped it back down her dress before turning the bolt and swinging the door open. "Good morning, and welcome to Silberman's Books!"

OOC thread for this. thread. Heroes inspire hope, and destroy evil dreams. Edit: It was super-late at night when I posted this.

GM Thursday, March 15 10:15am Tracey Feldman glanced down and reached for the dial on her car radio as a particularly annoying song started to play. She turned the volume down, then looked up in time to see traffic screeching to a halt in front of her. Panicked, she jammed her foot down on the brake, but the wheels of her Toyota just locked up. Unable to stop, she crashed solidly into the back of a Peugeot sedan. The accident started a chain reaction in moments the mid-morning traffic in the North End district turned to gridlock behind a 6-car pileup. As drivers climbed out of their cars to argue, yell and fuss over the damage the cause of the accident became clear. A little further down the road a white Courier's van on its side, the front section of the vehicle a smouldering ruin with tendrils of black fire still writhing around the engine bay. Hovering above the wrecked van floated a robed figure, wreathed in similar black fire. With his arms folded across his chest he surveyed the carnage impassively. Atop the rolled van stood another robed and hooded figure. Holding the injured Courier driver by the scruff of his neck in an impressive display of strength the villain cut an imposing figure and stood with a menacing posture that seemed to dare any of the onlookers to intervene. The back door of the van was also open and a third robed figure was inside rummaging through the the packages and boxes, obviously searching for something in particular.

“Oh no…not again!†mumbled Rene to himself. Around him, a horde of armed Frenchman were assailing a grand Chateux. Musketfire, shouting, and the smell of burning buildings (lit by the horde’s flaming torches) assailed his senses. The day had started off so pleasantly. Rene had been taking a stroll in the park, the weather was good, the birds had been singing, and even the city air had seemed cleaner and fresher than was its normal, acceptable but flawed, nature. And then, wham! He didn’t even know what had hit him. Nothing that his extraordinary visions detected anyway. The next thing he knew, he was stumbling across a pebbled pavement to the tune of an enraged rabble. It was all so familiar. The French Revolution. He had fought in it himself, as a young man. And now he had been catapaulted through time to relive the horror. With a cold feeling, Rene looked down at his clothes. 21st century, flecked with some antiquarian taste, and all good quality. He looked up, into the eyes of an angry mob, armed with pitchforks, flintlocks, and torches. This wasn’t good. He wasn’t technically dressed as an aristocrat. But his clothes were odd and well made. That was probably good enough for a rabble with blood on their minds – and on their hands too, he suspected. “Good friends†he started. “I can explain everything!†he started. Could he? Could he?. No. But he could try. “Long live the revolution!†he continued, waving his fist in the air. “Long live France!†Forcing his beating heart to slow down, he started his gambit. Perhaps too fast, and perhaps too gabbled. “I have come here today, dear friends, to fight the glorious fight. All day yesterday, I have spied on the vile aristocrats, hiding in their midst! And now I come to you, the brave people of France, to lead you to the final victory against the…errr…†He stumbled. The crowd glared back at him. “…the Baron…the Baron Le *cough cough splutter* he finished, forcing a series of coughs and gasped breathing. He raised one eye. The crowd glared back at him. “Non?†he asked rhetrorically. His answer was a surge of people, waving makeshift weapons and screaming for revenge and blood. “Non†he conceded to himself, bringing out his magic paintbrush. He had better not screw this one up. The adrenaline both helped and hindered. With a magnificent sweep of his arm, ending with a flourish of his fingers, the brush erupted with invisible magic and a wave of complete darkness washed over both the Crowd and the Magician, enveloping them. Darkness was no problem for Rene. His eyes weren’t much good these days anyway, and he relied more and more on his mystic senses. Scuttling away, he sidestepped the mob and darted into a ramshackle burnt out building. At some point it had been a stable, and some agitated horses still loitered in confusion inside it. "Horses heh?" Said Rene, stroking his beard. “Its been quite a while…†he muttered to himself as he approached what looked like the most virile specimen. “But I think I can remember…†He groaned as he mounted the steed. It would play havoc with his back and rear (he remembered) but it felt rather exciting to ride again. As the darkness ebbed away, Rene pointed his horse to the hills, and recalled the old lessons he had had, and the times he had ridden. It was a bit foggy, but he thought he could say the art of Equestrianism had returned. With a gallop and a shout of exhilaration, Rene sped off to the hills, as far away, and as fast away, as possible from the mindless Rabble who had threatened him. “Magnificent†he yelled to himself, oblivious to his aching muscles. Despite the danger, he was enjoying himself. As he rode, he spied another shimmering in the distance. A rip in the landscape that could not be natural. Shaking his head, the memory came back. That rip had thrown him back to this time – and now, he swore, it would return him. “Stay there!†he yelled at the time tunnel. “I have a bone to pick with you!†he swore, as the horse charged at full pace towards the anomaly. It surely did not hear or understand Rene – and surely was no more sentient than the rocks it floated over, but it seemed to obey the venerable mystics command, for it remained quite still as Rene rode straight into it... ...and into modern day Freedom City. The birds still sang, the sun still shone, and the air was still clean. But, to make a picture even more dramatic, Rene was now trotting across the Park on top of a magnificent stallion. “Good day†said Rene to an amazed couple he passed, doffing his beret at them. Good day indeed.