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GM Dec 1st, Under a midday sun of surprising warmth and fury... The dusty town of Meddy, Arizona... Was indeed dusty and warm. It was in the low twenties, and the Saguaro of the Sonoran desert bathed in a clear light. Why anyone had tried to set up a settlement here was almost beyond comprehension, but the little town of Meddy, almost deserted, was still some how alive (if on life support). It seemed to live off old native Indians selling trinkets, biker gangs, and its central building "Wildheart", which could not quite decide if it was a gambling den or a strip joint, and had lurched around trying to be both. But the gun runner Flare was not at Wildheart. She was on a dusty road to the north of Meddy, a few miles out, in an open topped car. She had largely recovered from the beating she had received from Spitfire and Bird of Arms A month ago, although still had a plaster across her nose. Despite her red hair, she was deeply tanned, wearing mirrored black glasses, a black crop top (which was extremely conservative when it came to amount of textile, and extremely unconservative when it came to skin shown), and black jeans, barefoot, and listening to some strange jazz-metal fusion on loudspeaker. And despite the beating (and to her vexation), she was here to help Spitfire and Bird of Arms catch the Happy man. Her partner, Snowbird, had agreed to do so. Flare was not sure that was a good thing to do, but on the other hand, she was tight with Snowbird, and wouldn't let her partner down. She just didn't like it. She checked her watch again... How long do I have to wait for those idiots? she sighed to herself.

Following on from prologue 1 and 2 GM Liberty Park 16th September, near Midnight... The night had a tepid feel, a coolness that hang in the air like a slimy fish. It was not pleasant. However, the park itself was as beautiful as ever, the soft ground lights casting wonderful shadows amongst the gloom. It was hard to see clearly, but this was no problem for the Bird of Arms and his magnificent ocular sensory organs. Spitfire, however, could not see far in the gloom, just a vague crowd of shadows he could not determine. At least, without getting dangerously close. For the Bird of Arms, there were about eight of them, scrabbling around on all fours for the most part, although some interspaced this with standing. Just as the Freerunners had been impressive in their skill, so to, in a different way, were the Beastly Boys. The sound of some sub-par rap music, loaded with heavy electric guitars, screamed through the air, to the howling and clapping and stomping of feat of the Beastly Boys. Just to one side, a man sat on a bench, nodding appreciatively, eating a sandwich and drinking from a thermos. He was thoroughly pleased with himself and quite without fear, despite being on the older side, maybe fifty, and not in particularly good shape. He looked, as far as Jann could see, like a burnt out hippy. Long scruffy blonde hair, a scruffy beard, head band, and grungy cheap clothes.

November 7th, Morleys Pub, West End. The snow fell across Freedom City like a smothering blanket in a surprise Nor'easter which hammered the proud city with over 24 inches of snow in less than six hours. Across the city, old timers were reminiscing about the Megalopolitan Blizzard of 83 and telling anyone who would listen that this paltry bit of snow hardly counted. Emergency services were out in force and with the help of many of the cities more civil minded heroes, had most of the essential services running to most of the city. The gusting winds and blistering cold at least had the tendency to keep most of the citizens indoors and those few who ventured out, seemed to find solace and company in the many cozy pubs and taverns which mostly managed to stay open. Morley's pub, home to many of the cities finest, was one such place. Offering warmth and spirits even as the storm raged just outside the wood paneled walls. The crowd was sparse, but lively, with most of them relishing the chance to have a day off their normal schedules. Sean Morley wiped clean a few glasses before walking over to the fireplace to drop another log into the glowing warmth. While it didn't really put out a ton of heat, it just made the place seem more comforting and on a day like today, that's what people were looking for.

OOC thread for an alternate dimensional romp through Zemlya, an alternate Earth if Patton had invaded the USSR after WWII and lost.

OOC for these threads: Prologue 1 [More to come] Basically there will be two short prologue threads for Bird of Arms and Spitfire, which may (but may well not) need no rolls, but if needed, they go here. Then we will move on to the main thread which will certainly need rolls!

Group 1: Grimalkin, Spitfire, Red Moon, Scion Your IC Thread Group 2: Erebo, Gauss, Salvo, Scion (there will be a reason) Your IC Thread @Ari @Azuth65 @EviscerusNox @Glass Clown @Heritage @Zeitgeist Blue Tag here please

Morley's Pub September 16th, 2017, Saturday @ 2100 Maxie walked into Morley's and smiled at the already gathering crowd. He needed this, needed some time to relax, even if he was being forced into his superhero get up. He remembered thinking idly that He was rarely ever in it when doing actual heroing, as it always seemed to catch him by surprise, but he had to admit he cut a dashing figure in an all leather black biker outfit with flames stitched into them up the arms and legs. It was early still, around 9 PM and so the place hadn't quite filled out yet. The entertainment on the docket today was billed as Super Hero Appreciation Karaoke Night. Apparently the heroes of the city were supposed to show up in their digs and sing some for the crowd and their fellow do gooders. This sounded like an excellent idea to Maxie, aka: Spitfire. He had spent most of his life as a performer, a carnival fire breather to be exact but crowds were all the same. They just wanted a good show and Maxie knew just the song to give them that good show. Seeing that the crowd wasn't quite big enough yet, though, he decided to wait. He walked up to the bar, greeting the patrons as he went. Most did not recognize him personally, he was relatively new in town, again. But they recognized a hero get up when they saw one and offered praise and claps on the back as he made his way to the bar. "Laphroaig Triple Wood, if ya got it please. If not, any Scotch of 12 years or older should do. As long as it's single malt! That blended stuff is atrocious." Max smiled as the drink was handed to him and took a long deep sniff of the alcohol. Drinking scotch was a lot like drinking wine, you had to do it right. You had to acclimate your senses to the smell so the alcohol wouldn't overwhelm the flavors. Recognizing the peaty aroma of the triple wood, Max closed his eyes and let out a slow happy sigh. This was gonna be a good night.

GM Rusty Spike's Tattoo Parlour The Theatre District 16th September Spike Head was a tall thin man with a bald head and a long beard. He had a rather messy and wonderful scar running across his forehead, which he gave various conflicting stories about. A gang of ninja's, a jealous ex-wife, a radioactive pineapple. He had a wicked laugh and plenty of wicked tattoo's that varied from saucy to x-rated. They showed off his skill, he said. He was an advertisement for his shop. Right now he was finishing off a tattoo on the shoulder of an attractive blond woman who was leaning on a bench, topless, but wearing the most almighty hefty boots and leather trousers. Her spine was a terrifically wild line of angels and demons locked in some epic war. "Finished in a moment, Carmen..." mumbled Spike, taking pride and care over his work. There were a couple of other tattoo artists doing their trade, but Spike was clearly the boss. Spike looked up as Mr. Compton walked in, quickly recognising him. "Come to see how its done, have you, Mr. Compton?" he laughed his cackling laugh.

GM The Totality. The Solar Eclipse. Happens all the time, but why focus on it now? It has some magical significance for the Yellow Sign. Something about the Pact being weaker? Who knows, those guys are nuts. While they're being dealt with by other heroes, we focus on our daily life in Freedom City. Heroes with equally important tasks. Grimalkin, fae hero of great power. Spitfire, twisted firestarter. Red Moon, 'vampire'. Scion, former Olympian goddess. Going about their days as usual. Maybe they're fighting crime. Maybe they're trying to watch the eclipse (Good luck, only 70ish percent in New Jersey!)

Ah, summer. Moira loved the warmth of the sun. Apollo's gaze upon her was delightful. But for every good, thing that she had, a little rain must fall. Not rain in the physical since. A giant divine-mechanical bull was giving her the chase. Not that she was running from it or it was running from her. They collided head on in the West End. Eris and Hephaestus had stepped up their antagony. This being the most blatant of it. As they clashed, it was clear more than brute strength was needed. "Would any of you great gods want to lend a hand? Apollo, your heat? Ares, you great fury? Dionysus, your zeal? Aphrodite, your..." -Alright, one crazy trip comin up!- It was Dionysus answering the call. Something sparked in her. A dark explosion, disintegrating the bull, but that wasn't the last of it. She felt a bit overloaded like there was something extra on it...

GM Disclaimer: this thread will have politically incorrect white 'nationalist' villains that get punched in the face. No one writing here agrees with the very few things these idiots will be spouting. DJ Eclectic's concert was in need of a venue and Moira loved the idea of live music. Especially when it helped the local talent out! So posters were plastered all over the city. Every pole had at least one. Friday, June 16th. 9PM. Morley's pub. West End. Free admission." Below that was in a smaller font was the address. Blow that in the same sized font was Two Drink Minimum. White Knight II (Aidan Miller) looked at the poster with a sigh, letting out some curse word when he saw the poster with DJ Eclectic's face on it. "Like why do they even let people like her even work here?" His bodyguard, Big Girl (Mary Forth), and his yes man, Southern Charm (George Kent), nodded in agreement. "I don't know about you two," Aidan said scratching his chin, "but maybe we should make an appearance." George beamed, "like our constituents did with the park play. We could reach a lot of people." Mary grinned and nodded silently. "So, all for one and one for all then," Aidan checked his watch, "we have about four hours. Let's go plan out speech." Later That Evening, 15 minutes before the show DJ Eclectic's crew was setting up the equipment, and there was quite a crowd coming to see her! Moira was tending bar. DJ Eclectic was tending to set up, rehearsing while doing a sound check. Spitfire was conversing with folks in the crowd, being part of the crowd himself.

@EviscerusNox and @Raveled The only thing I didn't get answered is where do you want this to be? I suggest in the park. But if you have other ideas. I'm gonna start the whole shebang as soon as I get that answered. The New White Knights (inspired by the old White Knight) rush Miras' concert. The ringleader is all "this is racist against white people!" and is at first doing nothing but spouting stupid ideology, but it turns physical when his 'bodyguards' have to protect him. That's where Spitfire and Miras (and maybe Scion) jump in to take the three bozos down. Simple! Suggestions and corrections if you have em!

Demonic rats and wererats and their demonic wererat king have somehow got a foothold in this realm. Why? They know. We don't. But this is taking place at Morley's. And Moira will not have rats of any kind invading, much less her own pub. @EviscerusNox and @Heritage have spots if they wish. Anyone else interested?

October 16 Late at night Spitfire Max closed the door to his trailer and looked himself in the face in the mirror. He hated looking too long in the mirror, afraid the facade will crack, showing what he truly was. The bravado, the devil may care attitude, the crazy stunts, and even the tattoos; they were all thin, eggshell masks over a scared and lonely boy of seventeen. This was a truth he hid away, even himself from, and though unhealthy, it was the only way he knew to stay sane and not fall apart. Max grew up with no family, oh sure the carnival provided plenty of interesting friends, but even his adopted mother, Deedra, was more friend than mother, she never even called him son. The only person in the world who knew this, knew the real Max Compton, was Bertram. Maxie scoffed a laugh at himself in the mirror. "What does that say about you, huh? Only man in the world knows the real you eats fire fer a livin'". Maxie tried to laugh it off, but his voice cracked in his throat and he almost found himself crying. True, Bertram was a fire-eater, but he was also a good man. What one chooses for a vocation does not define them; it merely shows you one aspect of them. Maxie had taken that concept to the extreme; he had made his stage persona his only outward persona. He was a fire eater, a carnival sideshow attraction, and to the rest of the world, that’s all he was. More and more often, Max had found himself afraid of his own mask, the play he put on for the world. He'd been doing the show so long he'd started to forget which Max was the act. Maxie knew he needed friends, and he needed to be more than just some attraction, or he'd be consumed by his own false face. Maxie just didn' know if he had the strength to let anyone in. Maxie realized something then, looking in the mirror, fretting over whether to be consumed by his loneliness or risk letting a person in, he realized he was a coward. All the stunts he does, every life endangering flip and hair singeing fire show may look cool, but it didn't make him brave, it made him reckless at best, or perhaps suicidal at worst. Real bravery could be seen in elderly couples, holding hands walking in Liberty Park. It could be seen in movie theaters, where couples sat together watching a love story unfold while held in each other's arms. It was on golf courses, in bars, in shopping centers, and in airport terminals. Anywhere friends met to share stories and make memories, anywhere that families met or began. Real bravery was exhibited when one had the strength to open oneself to another, fully and completely, despite the dangers of rejection and failure. Real bravery was being vulnerable, not building a stone mask and cage for your heart. Maxie hung his head as a silent sob racked his body. Max had no qualms about risking his life to save another, or even just for a good laugh, but did he have the nerve to risk living to save his own life, or would he die alone, forever remembered for a masquerade, and not remembered for who he truly was?