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

No exact timeline. There are a few of us who are working on finishing up our season 2 stories. Also, if you are working on her season 3 opener you may want to chat me up in PMs, as we're going to be hitting the ground running with a major event, though, I'm pretty sure we've already talked a little bit about it

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

post is up. Be nice...battled through some writer's block and scrapped it and started over about 3 times...

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

As Icon soared through the skies above Taloseden, he soon realized that the situation on the ground was much more dire than he could have imagined. The capitol city was a disaster zone, the streets were littered with debris from blown out buildings as well as the bodies of the resistance fighters, as well as the forces loyal to the regime. He began his descent towards the city, flying just above the rooftops of the buildings within the city limits, most of which only stood a couple of stories high. From what he could see, the worst of the carnage had already come through the main square of Taloseden, as things had seemingly quieted in this section of town.
However, the quiet would not last.

Up ahead just several blocks, there was an explosion of activity. The two sides were locked in combat, the resistance fighters barricaded themselves behind parked vehicles on the street and fired on the regime forces, who returned fire. The firefight was fierce, with both sides taking losses. Icon lowered his head and accelerated towards the two opposing forces, determined to stop any more bloodshed. As he closed in on the two groups, there was a sudden explosion.

No... Icon thought to himself as a rocket that had been fired by a member of the regime's forces impacted one of the buildings directly behind the resistance fighters, sending a chunk of the building falling toward them.

Icon pushed himself, accelerating toward the falling debris that threatened to crush the resistance fighters beneath it. He knew that it was going to be close, but he was determined to stop anyone else from dying. So he dug down and pushed himself, and reached the resistance fighters just before the chunk of brick and mortar crushed them, catching the debris and setting it safely on the ground. Suddenly, Icon was hit by a barrage of gunfire from the regime forces. Icon turned to face the soldiers, and as bullets bounced harmlessly off of him he just shook his head.

“You do know who I am, don't you?” He said as he stepped toward them. Then, before they could react, he left his feet and rocketed toward them, and in only a matter of seconds disarmed the regime soldiers, before doing the same to the resistance fighters.
“Go home.” He said before taking to the skies again.

Icon continued toward the main square, where he once again encountered regime forces engaged with the resistance fighters. This time, the resistance fighters had the regime forces pinned down behind a stone wall while they unloaded their weapons on them. The fighting had clearly been intense, as bodies and debris littered the square.

Dammit. Icon thought to himself as he touched down in front of the regime forces, this time drawing the fire of the resistance fighters. Icon quickly sprang into action, leaping towards the resistance fighters. As he approached them, he fired of a volley of optic blasts, targeting the guns of several of the resistance fighters, causing them to either melt, or in some cases, explode in the fighters' hands. He then swooped in and disarmed the remaining fighters.

As Icon turned his attention on the regime forces, intent on disarming them as well in order to avoid any further bloodshed, he was rocked by a hard punch to his temple, which knocked him off his feet, crashing into a stone wall, much like the one that had been protecting the regime forces from the resistance fighters' assault. The sudden attack left Icon dazed for a moment, however, as he got back to his feet and regained his bearings, he laid his eyes on the man who had taken him by surprise. The man himself seemed unremarkable. An older man, who looked to be in his mid to late fifties who was sporting a shaved head and lightly graying scruff around his face. He also wore the same uniform as the regime soldiers, though he wore general stripes.

“You don't belong here, hero.” The man said angrily. “You are trespassing.” He finished before launching himself at an impossible speed.
Icon reacted, sidestepping the attacking general and countering with a right hand to the back of the man's head, which sent him face first into the ground. The attack seemed to do little to slow the older man down, as he immediately got back to his feet and resumed his attack, hitting Icon with a barrage of punches that forced the blue and silver clad hero backward. Icon fought back, hitting his attacker with several punches that knocked the older man back, then he followed up with an uppercut which dropped the man.

Icon stood over the man, and was about to tell him that he is not here to fight, but that he was only trying to help. However, before he was able to say anything, he was interrupted.

“Enough!” A booming voice called from the distance. Icon immediately stopped what he was doing and turned to face whoever this new threat was. To his surprise, it was a man who he recognized as someone that had, up to this point, been somewhat of a myth. Though there had been some news footage of this man, many people, Icon included had to this point, questioned whether he actually existed, or was a sort of boogeyman invented by the Charonian regime to keep its people in line.

The imposing man wore a black mask with crimson sections that came up from the sides of the forehead and the cheeks with came to points around his glowing blue eyes. His suit was made of black leather and crimson metal armor that protected the most vulnerable parts of the human body, but the piece that stuck out the most was the crimson chest plate, to which a partial cape, which consisted of two pieces of fabric which covered his shoulders and flowed all the way to his feet were attached. The man was also not alone. He was flanked on his right by something that Icon wasn't sure what to make of. It wasn't a man, it wasn't even human. It was a humanoid machine, it was a gray and black android almost completely devoid of facial features, with the exception of a glowing green ring of light which was located between what could only be described as its “eyes.” In fact, any resemblance to facial features was just an illusion created by the way that the android's face plate was attached to its head.

“Omnus, that is enough.” He said.

“Yes, Lord Forsaken.” The older man replied as he stepped away from Icon, joining the masked man and the android.

“You do not belong here.” Forsaken addressed Icon.

“I came here to help, and I was attacked.” Icon told the masked man.

“While I appreciate your...altruism, your interference is not needed. This is my country, these are my people, and this is my problem.” Forsaken said as he looked around at the destruction in the square. “Now I suggest that you leave my borders, before I take this violation of our nation's sovereignty as a personal slight.” Forsaken finished.

Icon was about to protest, however, he decided against it. The Charonian government was notoriously short tempered, and the slightest provocation could be seen as an act of war, and that was the last thing that Icon wanted. So instead he just nodded in acceptance.
“Very well.” Icon said before taking one last look around before rocketing skyward and away from the troubled nation.

From the ground, Forsaken seethed as he watched the hero vanish from sight. The truth was, he DID take Icon's interference in his nation's conflict as a personal slight, and one that would not go without retribution. After several long moments, Forsaken finally took his eyes off the sky.

“Helos.” He said, addressing the living android.

“Yes, my lord?” The android replied.

“Go to America. Watch him. Test him if you must, but his actions cannot go unpunished.”

“I understand.” Helos said.

“He needs to be taught a lesson, I want you to break him.” Forsaken demanded.

“It will be done.” Helos replied.

“But first, eliminate the rebels.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Helos replied as he turned to face the resistance fighter. The green ring of light in the center of his head flashed red, and there was a flash of light as Helos unleashed a barrage of energy at the resistance fighters. They cried out as the energy reached them, and then they suddenly fell silent as they were engulfed by the attack, and instantly incinerated.

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

got some stuff in the works.

Also, we should all start thinking about wrapping up our arcs in preparation for season 3

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

I'm not dead! Just swamped between the holidays and now the busy season at work. Things will calm down soon, so I expect to get back to it shortly.

@Eddie Brock

I hear that. I need to get a move on myself. I've got something about half written, I need to get back to work on that

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

Posts coming. Possibly tomorrow

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

Character you have created: Marcus Hardrada

Alias: Mephistopheles

Speech Color:Dark Red
Character Alignment: Walking The Line

Identity: Secret

@Corvus the Crow

Approved

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

been fighting off some major writer's block. Hope to have something to post soon.

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

Character you have created: Self-educating Robotic Assistant, software version 7.02

Alias: SERA

Speech Color: Lawn green

Character Alignment: TBD

Identity: No public presence as yet.

Character Personality: Simulated personality is...difficult. While Dr. Anderson did what he could, a lot of pieces of personality from the program are missing. Much of this is due to the fact that SERA, while possessing an incredibly powerful mind and an bility to learn things at speeds almost unimaginable to humans, has no life experience, and thus has nothing to base a personality on. The previous models had pre-programmed personalities meant to be servile to humans, and this was part of the problem in their creation. To avoid this, SERA mk 7 has no pre-programmed facets except her one directive to help the Doctor.

Uniform/costume: Whatever she wants to wear.

Origin Info/Details: SERA is the seventh version of her operating system, and the first successful model. Her creator, Gerry Anderson, thought it was a good idea to design an android capable of independent thought and creativity, housed in a shell that could be used for anything from protecting people during combat to search and rescue, research assistance to companionship. To this end, he not only designed an artificial intelligence from scratch, but pushed computer hardware and software well beyond limits his contemporaries thought impossible to overcome. SERA is programmed around a composite imaging of several brainwave patterns, and housed in one of the most advanced autonomous robotic bodies in the world.

The original six versions never made it out of the software stage, their programming becoming unstable and bug-ridden well before then. Number seven, however , while showing errors, also managed to self-correct those errors. The number of knowledge bases Dr. Anderson had added to the memory system had contained enough skill to do so, but that same capability had terrified Anderson. He installed the system in the body, then shut it down and locked it away, adding a key that would activate the thing only in case of extreme emergency.

SERA woke up to find the Doctor's body, one hand still clutching at the keyboard he had used to activate her, having died from a rapid series of strokes at the age of eighty-five. And now she is loose, with no one knowing anything about her.

Hero Type: Other: Android

Power Level: World/City

Powers:

Multi-processor – SERA runs on a eighty-three core quantum computing processing unit, with superconducting materials and supercooling to prevent problems, stored in her chest. This CPU allows her to think and process things faster than most people can imagine, and gives her plenty of room to devote to subroutines and programs if she needs to.

Internet access - While she doesn't have an internal ISP, she has a state-of-the-art wifi receiver and can brute force her way into most civilian networks in seconds from a considerable distance.

Knowledge base – With upgradeable storage and a link to her server in the lab, she can pretty much learn whatever she wants in the amount of time it takes to download and/or install it. While this doesn't give her access to some things, like expertise in any skill or improvisational abilities, it is a considerable resource, and getting better as more people upload lessons on things around the world.

High power – SERA has an internal generator tied to the actuators in her body, constantly generating small amounts power through regenerative friction capture. This means heat energy generated through friction of her moving parts is recaptured and funneled to a pair of ultrahigh capacity lithium ion batteries. In addition, there is a tiny fusion generator powered by air intake. This generates small amounts of radioactive waste which much be disposed of every seventy-two hours.

Semi-realistic body – The android's skin is made of millions of hexagonal plates. These plates are mounted on multipurpose sensors tied to pressure, heat, and air pressure, allowing SERA to have a relatively similar sensory input to normal humans. These can be adjusted in her software to give her superhuman senses, as well. A small amount of photo-voltaic storage in these plates allows her to simulate body heat, but any sort of examination more than a cursory brushing or touch will reveal their nature.

Rescue systems – The alloyed bones of the body are capable of holding up several tons without a problem, and small mechanisms in the hands can allow them to telescope out to help support an area of around ten feet. An internal tank of oxygen is attached to two stored breath masks in the abdominal area, which also has a small tank of fire-retardant chemicals. The right thigh is equipped with a small heater and stores a thermal blanket. The left forearm has a gas-propelled grappling hook with a thin one-hundred and fifty foot cable and powered winch.

Combat systems – The right forearm is equipped with a small flamethrower and a three million volt rechargeable taser system. Right shoulder can open to expose a small, high-powered plasma cannon that can fire three bolts before needing recharging. The recharging system is a series of pressurized air intake valves along the upper arms capable of generating plasma, which can also be discharged out of the palms in a very short range blast. The taser can also be redirected across the skin. The eyes are capable of generating small laser beams, but cannot see while doing so as it requires reversing the direction of the internal lenses. All joints can be unlocked ,reducing structural capacity but allowing them to rotate freely in almost any direction. The skin plates are capable of stopping anything short of anti-armour rounds.

(note: The plasma bolt system can be overcharged, generating massive blasts of plasma and coating the body in a cloud of burning gas. This can damage the body if pushed too high, but is sustainable for short periods. It does, however, require a software override to accomplish, and severely taxes the cooling system.)

Sensory Equipment – Sera's eyes are capable of picking up visual traces of chemical residue, ultraviolet, infrared, nightvision, 400x magnification, light filtering, and electromagnetic waves. The microphones in the ears are sensitive enough to pick up clothing ruffling at over a hundred yards, but are usually tuned far below this level for safety reasons. Chemical receptors in the nose are superfluous, most receptors are along the skin, and are as sensitive as a canine's.

Phoenix Protocol – To protect such an extremely important investment, SERA is equipped with a periodic satellite uplink module. This system will upload to a specially designed satellite system and save the current program record once per day. If for any reason the storage system in her body is wiped, this system will enable her to download back in. If the uplink fails more than twice in a row, the system will automatically instead download her to the lab, and a safety system will delete the current copy in the body to prevent any sort of clever workarounds. In addition, tampering with any internal systems without the correct encryption key put into the I/O port in her chestor in the event of the safety system deleting the AI, a self-destruct sequence will cause the body to ignite a bundle of thermite and slag itself immediately.

Attributes (Select one at each category):

Height: 165 cm (5'5”)
Weight: 635 kg (1400 lbs)
Strength Level: maximum lift over head of 50 metric tons
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Can move at nearly the speed of sound, and reacts much faster
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: undefined
Agility: Can literally bend all limbs any way she wishes.
Intelligence: Smarter than you. Yes, even you.
Fighting Skill: undefined
Resources:

No financial resources, but has access to all materials necessary for repairs and the lab itself.

Weaknesses:
-The weight of her body, moving at the speeds she's capable of, make turning difficult. As such, at high velocity she is more like a wrecking ball.
-While an EMP won't wipe out her central storage unit where the AI is stored, it will completely disable all of the external systems, essentially turning Sera into a giant thinking paperweight until she can be repaired. This would also disable her upload link for at least a few minutes while it reboots.
-If trapped without a satellite uplink, the current version of Sera will die in two days
-While her program is built around human brainwave patterns, Sera is not human, and cannot follow things like sentiment. While aware of these sorts of things and able to plan around them, the computer is still a computer. Appealing to anything but logic is likely to fail.
-This system is notAasimovian, and does not have a lawset like people expect. This will most likely cause many to be terrified of it, given its nature.

Supporting Characters:
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?: Nyet, in Soviet Russia, RPG board posts picture on you.

@Indy Cooper

approved

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

Character you have created: The Saint

Alias: Jimmy Desantos/Jimmy the Saint

Speech Color: Normal

Theme:


^{"It takes a whole lotta hurt
Therein lies one of life's biggest lessons
Ain't got nothin' to do with deserve
Just pray to the Saint of Lost Causes"
-- Justin Townes Earle}

Character Alignment: Walking the Line... ish.

Identity: Secret

Uniform/costume: No uniform or costume.

Origin Info/Details:

The Saint's true origin is mysterious and unknown. His early life is a mystery. After dropping out of high school, he enlisted in the Army and was soon drafted into special forces where he excelled. He joined special forces just as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were started and worked in the Middle East as a solider, eventually becoming a contract employee of the CIA. It was during his time with the CIA did he receive the codename Saint.

After a redacted incident in Northeast Afghanistan, The Saint's employment was terminated and the event was silently covered up by US authorities. Returning back to the US, The Saint didn't have to wait long until he was contacted by the shadowy criminal underworld that was desperate for his services. Now he works as a gun for hire. If it absolutely, positively needs to be killed as soon as possible, accept no substitutes.

Power Level: Street

Powers: No powers.

Attributes (Select one at each category):

Height: 6'0
Weight: 190
Strength Level: Normal Human
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Genius
Fighting Skill: Mastered
Resources: Large

Weaknesses: Bullets.

Supporting Characters:

Hyde -- The Saint's go-between with the criminal underworld. For a fee, Hyde sets The Saint up with people in need of his help.

Alex Stone -- FBI agent investigating The Saint.

Mack the Knife -- Current killer for hire and ex-special forces operative.

Percy Fitzwaller -- A criminal lawyer who moonlights as a criminal lawyer. The Saint's legal representative.

Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?: Yeah

Sample Post:

Yuba City, California
1:14 AM

The Saint walked through the smoke filled casino floor. Old ladies chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes while they worked clattering slot machines with dead eyes. A half dozen dolled up ex-strippers wobbled across casino floors on too tall heels while they dished out chips and cigarettes. The heavy make-up did a bad job of hiding the miles and the years. The Saint figured for the right price a man could take one of them home. Drunk businessmen played blackjack while geeks in Hawaiian shirts and Shriners in fez hats played roulette.

The Gold Rush Casino got its name from Califronia's past. The city sprung up in the wake of the old Gold Rush of the 19th century. Someone found a bunch of shiny rocks in a creekbed and it became a boomtown overnight because of it. Like a lot of boomtowns, a primarily male populace needed a place to spend their money. Saloons and brothels popped up across the town to serve the thousands of rough prospectors passing through to find their fortune. The gold rush dried up and the boom years faded like they always do, but Yuba City pushed on. Its origins in human desire explained a lot about the current state of the area. How could the city be asked to clean up when vice was in its DNA?

The Saint found a pit boss walking around the craps table. He had his eye on a pair of hot hands rolling eight the hard way for the third consecutive time. The man seemed mildly annoyed when The Saint got his attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"Here to see Milligan. Hyde sent me."

Annoyance quickly turned to deference. The pit boss pulled out a walkie-talkie and radioed some unseen party. A moment later, a security guard in a red blazer and slacks was escorted The Saint off the casino floor and into the back. They passed a room crammed with monitors. Every inch of the casino seemed to be under surveillance. Another room down from the monitors had its door open. He saw soundproof padding and a single metal chair bolted to the floor. That was where cheaters went, and he was almost sure there would be no cameras in that room. Based on the pit boss' look, the lucky craps shooter would soon find himself in that little room.

"Mr. Milligan? He's the guy."

The security guard led The Saint into a sprawling office. It was decorated in a very gaudy fashion, leopard print wallpaper and a faux fur carpet. Fake Venus De Milo statues flanked a walnut desk big enough to hold an orgy on. A long glass window behind the desk looked down on the casino floor. Behind the desk, his leopard fur slippers up on the hardwood surface, was Joey Milligan. Milligan looked like an extra from a bad disco movie. He wore a bright pink shirt with half of it unbuttoned, a large gold necklace and medallion caught in the steely gray fur on his chest. He also wore a white pair of pants that would have looked embarrassing on a man half his age, but made Milligan look that much more clownish.

"The Saint," said Milligan. "The man, the myth, the legend."

The Saint took a chair, a plush leopard print wingback, and nodded as Milligan took his feet down off the desk.

"So why am I being paid so handsomely to come to this... casino?"

Milligan rooted through his desk. He came up with a remote control and pointed it at a television mounted on a table to his right. The thing clicked on and, after a few button presses, security camera footage rolled on the monitor. Four minutes worth of footage, all of it taken at different parts of the casino at different times over the past month. The Saint noticed the pattern before Milligan even opened his mouth.

"Notice something?"

"It's the same two guys in every shot," said The Saint. "They're always dressed differently and on different nights, but always at the casino and never together. Casing the place?"

"That's what my security guys think," said Milligan. "They've been here a long time, well long for case job. That's got me nervous. Something may be coming very soon. I want you to case the casers. Find them and make them pay for even fucking thinking of trying to rob my joint."

The Saint nodded his head and started to stand.

"I'll be on the floor if you need me."

---

"Twenty-two. Bust."

The dealer slid the chips across the green felt of the blackjack table with one long, lanky arm. The fat man at the table let out a sigh as he watched a few hundred dollars in chips disappear down a slot to the dealer's right. Two chairs away, The Saint stood firm on eighteen and waited for the dealer to flip his card over. It was already showing a queen of diamonds, so it came as no surprise when the dealer revealed an ace of spades.

"Twenty-one. House wins."

His chips disappeared down the chute. That made a even grand he lost at the tables since he'd hit the floor earlier this morning. That was okay. After all, he was playing with house money. He took the chips he had left in his hand and stood, throwing a small token of appreciation to the dealer as a tip, and walked the casino floor. Despite being there for over nine hours, The Saint still recognized plenty of faces from this morning. He would stake the chips he had left that plenty of people had been here for nearly twenty-four hours.

They all had the same look, as if they were slightly unhinged. Their eyes were too wide, they radiated something he knew was dangerous: Hope. Hope had no place in a joint like this. This was where hope came to die, but still suckers lined up around the block to let the house take their money. That was because they all believed in that dream that this country sold wholesale. They all played games rigged in the house's favor, but as long as that small glint of hope remained they would keep coming to the tables until they had nothing left take. In many ways, this dingy little casino with its clouds of cigarette smoke and people looking to score easy money was America in a nutshell. The games in these walls were just as rigged as the big game outside, but as long as people ate it up the house would always take and it would always win.

The Saint walked the floor, glancing up to the long glass pane above the casino. Joe Milligan's god's eye view of the casino he lorded over like a king with horrible taste. Out the corner of his eye he saw the man he first noticed two hours ago. He was a redhead with a thick ginger beard and a navy blue suit and white shirt, no tie. He was groomed but The Saint saw the tattoos from a mile away. They were on his knuckles, a single letter on each, that spelled out LOVE on his right hand, HATE on his left. He was one of the men in the security footage Milligan showed him. While the security footage helped, he had made him as a caser right off the bat. He wasn't too obvious with the way he watched everything going on around the casino floor, but he wasn't subtle enough to elude The Saint.

He slid up to the roulette table where the man was putting a bet on 28 Black. The Saint laid down a bet on 17 Red just before the little ball went into the spinning roulette. He stared at the table and only discretely glanced at the man out the corner of his eye. His hair was recently cut, the tanlines around the back of his neck made it obvious. They both lost money when the ball clattered into 22 Black. He stayed and played a few more spins while his target took his money to the blackjack table.

After a few more hours of playing, the man left. He spent all his chips, nothing to cash out at the teller's cage. The Saint waited a few minutes before leaving behind him. He was leaving the casino parking lot in a red sedan as The Saint stepped out into the evening. He got in his rental car and caught up with the sedan on the parkway, speeding east away from the coast and towards the interior of the state. The Saint lit up a cigarette and kept a long leash on the car, especially as traffic began to thin and the city disappeared into the distance. The car took an off ramp at a town called Nelson, some thirty miles outside of the city. He followed and kept going as the sedan pulled into a dilapidated gas station.

The Saint doubled back and parked the car down the block, the lights off, and watched the sedan idling at the gas station. A few minutes later, a roar filled the air and six motorcycles raced down the street and pulled into the gas station. Six burly bikers dismounted their bikes and walked over to the sedan as the caser got out. He talked with the bikers about something. In the dim light, The Saint caught a glimpse of the leather cut one of the bikers wore. Horde MC stood out on the top of the jacket.

"Shit."

The Horde was among the baddest biker gangs in America, especially out west. They cooked and sold crystal meth to rednecks, sold guns to Mexican cartels and LA gangbangers, massacred rival MCs, and terrorized the communities were their chapters formed. And now, it appeared to The Saint, casino robbery was about to be added to that list.

@Byrd Man

Approved