MelonHead

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Location: Lost Haven (French Quarter)

Sleep came slowly for Lekh, but once it came he stuck with it well enough. Enough to carry himself into the late morning and feel fairly well rested. His eyes cracked open naturally as a thin strip of light shone on his face through the crack in his curtain. He sat up immediately and went to his phone. However, it seemed Rook hadn’t run into any issues overnight because he hadn’t received any message on said phone, which he flicked through restlessly at the end of his bed. He casually threw it back onto the desk and allowed himself to fall back into bed, his dyed black hair tousled by uneasy sleep in stark contrast to the lightness of the sheets. His skin was paler now than it had been, the fake dye had worn out and his natural tone had returned. He slept in underwear alone, and in his somewhat compromising position the surprising muscularity of his body was more apparent than he usually let on. He was not absurdly built, but the strength was there, he had always found it strangely easy to exercise and lift weights and only had to train a little each day to maintain a powerful but more importantly functional build.

He rolled off the bed and fell into a press-up, beginning his morning routine. As his body worked through the motions his mind was free to wander, and as per usual, it wandered to all sorts of strange places. These thoughts and actions brought him into the early afternoon, when an altogether unexpected message came through his phone. An old contact had resurfaced, and his stomach was immediately filled with an uneasy feeling he recognised as worry. It wasn’t quite a premonition, but some part of Lekh recognised that if the Ambassador was involving herself in his life again, things were going to get complicated.

Are you free to have coffee with me soon?
I have some great news
~*~<3~*~

His eyes flicked back and forth as he read and re-read the message, innocent enough as it seemed that feeling in the core of his being had yet to abate. Still, there was also a degree of opportunity available to him here if he was to meet with the Ambassador. He had some very valuable information but only one person to sell it to. Now he had another, and that opened up new avenues, gave him options. He liked having options. Options were good.

Of course, are you planning to visit Lost Haven soon?
If it is of interest, I have some news about a mutual acquaintance of ours that left without saying goodbye a few months back.

He entered his reply and sent it off, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lekh knew it would be of more than just interest to the Ambassador. He had learned a fair amount about Ms Favre’s character, and from what he had heard about the encounter at the Ironworks, Ms Favre really wanted to find Miss Desdemona. That should lure her in, the sooner the better. The information he had would likely have a sale by date. Information was like that sometimes, it was a hard product to sell, but the profit margins were almost always sky high.

Rake

Location: Lost Haven (Chinatown)

Taut muscles put in one last effort, and she pulled herself up to the ledge where she knew Rook would be waiting, trying to keep quiet so she could surprise him. Of course, the moment she crested the lip she had a full on view of the kid’s bare ass as he mooned at her, Rook having heard her coming from a nautical mile away. His pale face was turned in a laughing grin as he took in her shock and annoyance.

“You’re such a fucking creep Rook.”

The boyish criminal laughed, but it was a cold laugh, marked with an edge of cruelty. Some people said it was the eyes that betrayed the real article, in Rook that little seed of darkness only really came through when he laughed. Rake regarded him with just a small touch of fear in her shrewd brown eyes. She was a couple years older and a little bigger as well, she had always regarded Rook as a little brother and an annoying one at that, but when she heard that laugh she couldn’t help but shiver. One day soon he’d be bigger than her, and a little tougher too. But not yet, thank god.

Rook pulled his trousers up and turned around. “Bout time you showed up Rake, can’t say much has happened though.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Weird guy walked over and chatted with the girl and the old lady, he looked like a bit of a poofter to be honest.”

“Don’t be a dick, Rook.” Rake spat at him, climbing up and sitting next to the younger boy. He shrugged, as if accepting he was being a bit of a dick. He looked down at the street below and then muttered something under his breath. It took him a few minutes to fill her in on everything that had happened. After which he let out another of those creepy chuckles of his, and Rake cuffed him on the head. “Get out of here kid, you’ve done your stint.”

“I’m going I’m going.” Rook grinned, the boy Rake knew returned to her in a flash after a departure so brief she always found herself second guessing what she’d heard and seen. She watched him saunter off down the street, after descending, and into the midst of early morning hustle and bustle where he promptly disappeared, something he had a gift for. She couldn’t help but admire it. Of course, when it came to hiding, Rake was a lot better than him. She couldn’t blend in with the crowd, despite efforts to the contrary she was too pretty, messy brown hair in a bob and a flawless Hispanic complexion made her stand out on the street. She was on the cusp of adulthood, and turned a few heads, the only thing she had going for her and her chosen profession of creeping around was her relatively short stature. She was a bit of a midget actually, just under five feet tall. Perfect for nesting in odd places, like a windowsill of an abandoned apartment room just across the street from where Racheli had last been spotted. Rook had even been kind enough to leave some potato chips.

Arena Chat Thread

I'm going to be gone on vacation for a little over a week with likely no internet, starting tomorrow. I'll get going on stuff afterwards.

@ImportantNobody

I strongly suspect absolutely nothing will have changed upon your return, have fun on vacation.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

On Hunting

Hunter had been on the surface of the planet of Earth for just a month and had visited half the major cities in the U.S. Impressive, for a man on foot. Less impressive for an alien in advanced power armour. He was drifting, sending out feelers wherever he went. His encounters had been minimal and mostly inconclusive for those involved were of little interest to him or his mission. After all, his role was not one of an ambassador. He was a living scalpel, cutting out the dead tissue from a larger whole to ensure its survival. But the scalpel could also be used in exploratory surgery, and that was what he was initially tasked with. Whatever was causing the unchecked evolution in the primitives on Earth was likely to lead to extinction if it continued. The so called ‘meta-humans’ as they were referred to manifested abilities unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was not that the ability to breathe fire or turn one’s skin to metal was unheard of across the galaxy, but for so many individuals of the same species to suddenly be capable of such varied feats? That was a problem.

More problematic however was that these changes, accelerated growth, powers, chaos and devastation, had attracted others. Others from beyond the stars. It was these forces acting upon Earth that Hunter was duty bound to combat above all other threats. One of the most formidable currently active called for his presence in the city of Los Angeles. The creature was a powerful psionic of unknown origin that had not avoided notice in the Republic. In fact, it had an entry in the most wanted books. It was named Parasite, and it was ranked third. The third most wanted monstrosity in the Republic had found its way to Terra and had begun to sow destruction, it was all it knew. Perhaps some would see it as foolish to punish one for their nature, but for Hunter, that was his true purpose. The Hunter does not blame the Bear for killing his kind out of fear, or hunger, but he slays it none-the-less.

Los Angeles

The Hunter had followed the Parasite across the country, tracing its kills, but it was a difficult process. That process had brought him to L.A, the city with a bridge. Also fine weather and unpredictable ground, it could be said. But mostly a bridge, and a damn fine one at that. Shame Hunter had no time for architecture, and would have no doubt found it paled in comparison to some more functional but far less creative structure he’d seen on some other planet even if he did. Practicality could be useful in keeping one alive when their job is incredibly dangerous, but it could be as much a curse in making that life almost empty, without meaning would be too strong, but certainly lacking in colour. Hunter had adopted a profession as his name though, so evidently he was not overly concerned with creativity, nor in bettering his soul. He in fact seemed determined to take the opposite route, burying whatever spark remained until he was the most efficient weapon he could be. The GRP’s specialist psychiatrists would be proud of the work they’d done. The thing they had created. That thing stood cloaked in darkness, a transparent haze marked only by a small patch of unpainted fence behind him that betrayed his faint outline. Though it did not betray him to anyone with the skill to read the signs that he offered. Few on Earth would have had that capacity, and he saw none of them here on this deserted street.

So much for America’s heroes

The house was deserted, hard indeed to tell it had been a crime scene half a week earlier but Hunter was not one to follow traditional signs. Almost as soon as the message had come through that sweep teams had picked up large intense bursts of psionic energy he’d requisitioned two new pieces of equipment. The first was an interface for his armour, attached to the back of his helmet. It allowed him to track and perceive psionic energy, or residue as it was sometimes referred as. This substance marked the use of powerful psionics within a specific timeframe equivalent to a half-life. Some referred to it as psionic residue. Hunter preferred to think of it as more of a memory of power torn like a scar in the real world, but he would think that for he hated psionic powers with a passion seldom seen in such as him. It was this device that lit the Esper’s home up light a beacon in the night sky, though to him it seemed a humble abode like those around it. As for his second piece of equipment, that was a far more combat orientated device known as Sarastor, roughly translating to ‘Singer’ in English. It resembled little more than a small mega-phone in the style of a handgun, and it was a useful tool in dealing with psionics. For now, it was all he had access to. But the fabricator was working hard somewhere up there in the sky to materialise what he really wanted, if it came to it.

The Hunter moved across the street, passing over the road with no incident. There was no one around to see him seemingly materialise out of thin air, and even if they had they might have mistook his blurred form for some trick of the night or their weary eyes. He relied on that, and he had confidence that they could rely only on their eyes to watch him even then, devices would be of no use. His footfalls were surprisingly quiet as he stepped onto the sidewalk on the other side of the road and briefly across the grassy lawn, a few strides more than enough to see him to the exterior of the building. There was little cause for a more indirect route into the building, seeing as how the windows had been quite literally blown away and were guarded by little more than police tape. He ducked underneath it like a crime scene investigator on TV and stepped inside.

The house was a mess. Flicking through vision filters offered up new insight into the damage that had been done to the interior of the building, night vision revealed the deep gouges in the walls and the blown out glass. His psi-vision gave him an impression of exactly what had caused the damage, residue was everywhere. The place was coated with it, almost as if it had been saturated in mental energy. That made sense. So far, all the victims had been lesser psionics, and he knew full well what the killer was. Evidently the humans who had been living here were psionics as well, but of far greater potential than any before them. That meant the creature had grown ambitious, or greedy. It also meant its power was increasing exponentially. If the GRP could see it now, could see exactly what it was capable of… it’d easily make the top spot on the most wanted list. This… Parasite, had to die. If the same proclaimed heroes he had become slowly aware of were incapable of such, and he believed to his very core they were very much incapable savages despite their evolution, then he would deal with Parasite himself.

“Keia salaisa.” He spoke within his helmet to his supervisor up above, pardoning the religious metaphor. “Concentrate sweep teams on this region, the Parasite grows in power, he will be visible.”

“Confirmed, Hunter. Satellite, drone and database monitors will concentrate their efforts using your current location as a focal point.” Keia almost seemed shaken, she was seeing what Hunter was seeing as she watched through his perspective directly, something she did only rarely. “Be careful. We need more intelligence before you confront this entity, you are not currently outfitted for the hunt.”

“Confirmed. That will be rectified soon. I will remain here and continue my investigation.”

For a moment, cloud covered the moon above and the darkness grew all encompassing. The Hunter stood in the ruins of the Esper household, a stranger from beyond the stars, yet seemingly the only one who cared about the deaths of the people whose home had become their grave. His face set with a terrible focus beneath his helm.

“Shea ossa sinrinsa.”

The hunt begins.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Pieces on the Board

Rook
Location: Lost Haven, Chinatown

One set of prying eyes was not so easily dissuaded by the sleepy retreat of an old woman. The boy was barely into his teens, was little Rook. They picked em’ up early in the Syndicate, because sometimes it was the young-uns that were called for. They were quick, they were innocent and they had the energy to run for days. All good qualities in a marking man, someone who tailed people wanted by the gang. Rook was a marking boy really, but he was a damned good one, and when he got the call from one of his many cousins that Racheli had been spotted on the streets by a couple druggies he’d been up in a flash and out there. Didn’t matter that he was out after bedtime, not that he had any parents capable of enforcing it, his nervous excitement was more than enough to keep his peepers open.

It wasn’t hard for someone like him to blend into the background, even in the dead of night with no one innocent abound. He was a slumped figure in the gutter, an early morning sweeper, a nobody wandering the streets with a bottle in his hand. He’d actually been half-way up a scaffold when things kicked off in Triad territory, watching the girl get the shit kicked out of her by a gang. Well, that’s what it had looked like, she was doing an awful lot of flailing as far as he could tell. Right up until she casually punched a man’s leg out and pummelled the ground, flashing in the light of a street lamp with a steely glint. Rook swallowed. Meta-humans scared him, and he was following one. Ironic perhaps that he was one himself, unknowingly, his abilities were the weak and subtle kind. For some reason, people just tended not to notice him. He had no idea that Silence had recognised that trait in him and that was why he was out here earning a thousand dollars for a night’s work. If he had, he might have charged a little more.

He watched the duo wander off and took stock of the battered group fleeing the other direction. It looked like things had quieted down for a while. He heard the old’un shouting about little Thailand being off limits, seemed like she was some sort of ‘figure’ of sorts in the sub-district. It was unlikely someone like that wouldn’t be well known, he didn’t really have to take any further risk and follow them to their destination. He could just find out where the woman lived tomorrow. Of course, it was hard to say for sure if Rach and the oldie would be sticking together for any length of time. So, against his better judgement, he hopped off the scaffolding and dropped to the ground, creeping after the two of them, muttering under his breath, his phone out and his thumb pressing the buttons casually.

“He better pay sharpish yeah…”

------------

Silence carefully placed the phone back down and stepped away from it, his legs catching on the end of his bed. He let his weight carry him down, his back supported by the mattress while his feet remained firmly planted on the carpet. It was against his instincts, but he couldn’t stand right next to the phone and wait for more news. Nor could he sleep, for that matter. So he chose some hybrid middle ground between the two and attempted to meditate while his ears remained open for the tell-tale buzz of a received message. Meditation was not something he found easy, his Father was a great believer in it, always saying it helped him master the debilitating aura. That was what they called it, his family, ‘The Aura.’ Strange that they had no definitive ideas surrounding its origin, only a rough scientific understanding of its effect and an unofficial book recounting the experiences of generations of Antols. They knew it came from the mind, or the brain if you were. They knew that it moved through the air like a wave, continuous waves if you like, pulses of debilitation that in the early days were found to profoundly weaken other humans. As technology advanced, it too fell before the aura, leading some intrepid Antol to discover the true nature of the ability. It destabilised electric currents, or the passage of electrons. Electrical synapses, electrical circuits, machinery and man, both were vulnerable to the aura.

But despite all that, few Antols had discovered any way to better it, master it if you will. For many, it became as much a curse as a blessing. Loved ones suffered and friends were few among those most gifted, as their presence became almost toxic. His Father had lamented at ever finding a bride, he had confessed, until Lekh’s mother had come into the picture. She too had ‘abilities’ and it were these that protected her from the aura. The consequence of the mingling of those two's genes was only felt many years after. Lekh still fretted over it now. Biology, meta-human DNA, it could all be incredibly cruel. While he was gifted with great power, not the greatest his family had known but not far off either, others had been born with nothing, or worse.

Like his abilities, he reined in his thoughts viciously. It was so very like him to allow his mind to wander down dark roads even as he was supposed to be clearing it of negativity in order to try to relax. Still, he supposed it was this trait of his that made his effective at what he did. Allowed him to carve out a small outfit of his own inside that of a larger whole, not unlike a parasite feasting off the life-blood of the Syndicate. He wondered how long it would be before the host took steps to remove that parasite. A challenge for another day, he supposed. For now, he needed pieces. Chess pieces, he likened it too. Material. The more he gathered, the more material he could afford to lose. At the moment, he was down too many pieces, likely to lose the game if he traded down to his last piece. But for now, he had funding from the Syndicate for jobs he completed with ease. He had the blood of a meta-human which showed great promise in achieving his goals. He had a cursed mark on his hand that hopefully at least did what the Ambassador said it did, although likely among other less favourable things. He had some of her magic salve, though it was of little use to him in the end. And he had the girl, or at least, he had her location. He could sell it cheaply, or he could sell it dearly, or he could choose not to sell it at all. Decisions, decisions.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

3.43 A.M – North Maine Woods

Far from prying eyes, farther still from sharp ears. That was a motto of sorts for transport of personnel to a mid-tier planet. It did no one any good if a strange object falling from space was spotted slamming into the earth with the brief glow of thrusters lighting up the night sky. The landing was always a little harsh, not as bad as you’d have expected though considering the speeds involved. The Drop Pod that contained the Earth’s new and most violent alien visitor was equipped with high intensity short jets to rapidly slow its descent and prevent its occupant being rendered into red (or in his case, blue-ish red) paste. The occupant, Hunter, adorned for the mission at hand. Fastened securely to the back of the pod he remained at ease throughout, even when his balance organ alerted him to the extreme change in speed upon entering the atmosphere, screaming at him that something very serious was wrong. Even when that speed was suddenly arrested, only for the metallic structure to shake and bellow and everything to very briefly grow dark as he touched down.

His armour protected him from an impact that would have killed even him ordinarily. It took him barely a second to gain his bearings as his HUD lit up and the front of the pod opened with the sound of escaping air-pressure, but only starlight greeted him. The Hunter switched casually over to a night vision function, the interior of the pod having no interior lights for obvious reasons. When he was out and up onto solid ground he realised the pod had buried itself almost three feet into the soft earth of the forest, having narrowly avoided setting fire to a nearby tree. That wouldn’t matter though, in a moment it would be buried further still. He took stock of his position, his seven feet of height in the smooth dark-blue armour he wore allowing him to easily peer over the top of the pod and around the surrounding area. He flicked through vision filters like a couch-potato skipping through TV channels, spotting numerous forms of small organic life through thermal sensors, but nothing that seemed to be capable of detecting him. Eventually satisfied, he turned to the pod, and activated something using the computerised function of his suit.

Slowly, the object sank into the earth. At the bottom of the pod there was some form of mechanism that ate away at the ground beneath it, somehow carrying that same dirt up and over to fill the hole it had left behind. There was still a noticeable dip when its work was finished, but in a forest, such a mark would not be seen. Certainly not before Hunter was finished with his mission here and the recovery crews had removed all signs of his presence. There was a reason he chose a forest, in a state of the U.S known for being covered mostly in trees. No one had the time, nor the energy, to go looking for alien technology in a forest that big, and they couldn’t see jack shit from up above, the canopy was good for that at least.

Hunter, for his part, had gone in light. He was only equipped with his basics, his pistol, baton, and a couple standard gadgets. If the need arose, he’d requisition more equipment, to either be dropped from space in degradable containers or if the situation was exceedingly dire, fabricated by a materializer in some quiet spot. There was no need to assume the worst already though. For now he was just looking around, until a smooth voice came through his headset.

“Hunter, report.”

“Keia salaisa, ornassa saorplaas, sinarsoora.”

Keia Hail, transport complete, undetected.

“Speak English, Hunter, you might need it sooner than you think.”

Hunter was nothing if not patient, but Keia tried his patience like no one he had ever met. The silence that followed that remark persisted for some time, but as usual, he lost.

“Understood. Proceeding towards co-ordinates now. E.T.A is 4.56 A.M, local time.”

“Good. Familiarise yourself with this world’s measurement systems, they are competent enough and will better serve you on the surface.”

"Understood.” He sprinted away into the forest, leaving little trace behind him.

4.57 A.M

“Co-ordinates reached, I have secured a vantage point from which I can survey the settlement.”

“Understood, you are a minute off schedule, any problems?”

“Just a run in with an indigenous creature, I am informed it is referred to as a black bear.”

“Not like you to be waylaid by wildlife, Hunter.” She almost sounded amused, if Hunter had been anyone else he’d have felt sheepish. “No matter, your mission parameters remain unchanged, infiltrate the city. We have initiated Infil-01*, so you should be safe from recording devices.”

“Understood, I will move into the settlement and await the report of sweep teams, acting at my own discretion.” He paused a moment. “The animal was stuck in a trap of sorts, the creature was too young to be a threat to these humans, I rectified the situation.”

“Oh.”

Infil-01 is a prelim step before an operative goes surface side on a planet of sufficient technological sophistication, such as Earth, to record or otherwise capture images of Hunter or alien technology and share it across a virtual space. All devices in a region around Hunter are infected with a subtle, yet exceedingly advanced, computer virus which wipes their memory and hard-drives during any period where Hunter is within range of their recording software. The only data wiped pertains to recordings within this radius, nothing else is affected. The virus is nearly undetectable, only an individual with extensive technological expertise would be likely to detect it, and even then, discovering its origins or its purpose would be a step too far for most. The virus is one that originates from a collection of societies many, many times more advanced than Earth. Norton isn’t going to cut it.

Ruinous Conflict: Old Foes

@MelonHead Just remember I quit for IRL reasons, not cause I'm a pussy or a coward. :P

Once I settle my work shit, I'll duel you again proper.

@DJAtomika

Well, I wasn't thinking it until you said it...

YOU COWAAAAAAAAAAAAAD

Ruinous Conflict: Old Foes

@MelonHead Thanks man.

I apologise profusely for, like, not replying and stuff. Again.

I'm so sorry. ><

@DJAtomika

No worries, I'm used to most of my opponents quitting. I think I just invest more of myself into this hobby than other people do, personal preference and all that.

Ruinous Conflict: Old Foes

Alrighty.

Ruinous Conflict: Old Foes

@MelonHead Work dude. Been on a writing slump because I've been so tired. Geez. No need to be so patronising.

@DJAtomika

Well, mute silence had no real effect, so I figured being a douche might rile you up enough to want to fight me.

If you'd rather just quit, that's fine. It's being in limbo that I dislike.

Ruinous Conflict: Old Foes

Flying elbows are incredibly complex and powerful melee attacks, but I didn't think it'd take half a month to come up with a response, I must say.