Ever been to San Diego California-?

It just might have been the basis for Sundown City's general makeup and topography.

For the man called Cipher -- it was like pictures of how the world used to be.  Before the advent and prevalence of fusion energy.

For Sir Mordred of Camelot -- it was bewildering.    A surreal seeming mecca with spire-like, glass and stone structures -- vaulting to what should have been impossible heights...

And for Kid Hyperion, the Valkyrie, and the Specter -- it was a fair bit like the aforementioned San Diego.  Even if they'd only beheld it in pictures. And even if their San Diego had some differences.

Yes -- the gentleman who was approaching.

Perhaps middle twenties, average height, no remarkable build; sandy colored hair with a short, same-shade beard.  A pair of shades every bit as inscrutable as the Specter's own.

He was dressed in casual, comfortable clothes, the cut and color of which wouldn't likely impress on anyone's memory.   And he was carrying a cooler...
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:44, Mon 15 Aug 2022.

"Hey there folks -- I'm Dollar Bill, but I think you know that much --"   

Setting the cooler down, his sunglassed gaze caught on one particular member of the group.

"Holy damn --  Val?  I -- I didn't know, had no clue you were along!"    He paused, and there was that in his demeanor that suggested hesitancy, perhaps a bit of anxiety too.

"That's -- a different look for you!  Somehow kinda perfect, though."  He gestured toward the cooler.

"So. Anybody want a coke?  It's the good kind; glass bottles, and real sugar!"

Despite himself Cipher crouched low to steady himself. Once the worlds stopped spinning and his senses attuned themselves to his new environment, he gingerly rose to his feet and exhaled loudly, “Incredible.”

Dollar Bill’s arrival snapped him out of his reverie and his familiar wariness returned. When Bill addresses Valkyrie, Cipher merely turns to watch her reaction.

Mark's handlers had raised him with good manners. But they had also raised him without sugary drinks. There was a split second in which he nearly declined the offer, but then he graciously accepted the bottle of Coke.

"Thank you," he said, and popped the bottle cap off with a flick of his thumbnail. He looked around for a place to throw it away, and eventually settled for dropping it back into the cooler. "I've never had one of these before."

He took a swig, rolling the soda around on his tongue. He was amused by the fizziness. He was invulnerable to bazooka fire, but his nose was apparently ticklish. The taste, however, was... different. He couldn't describe what it tasted like, as it didn't really taste like anything else he'd ever had. It was sweeter than anything he'd ever had before, but the actual flavor was just cola, whatever that was. Mark wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but he was glad of the chance to find out.

Bill eyed the Kid for a moment - or appeared to; it was impossible to say for sure with the shades - and then remarked:

"Alright.  Well, you know, there's a first time for everything; I'd never had Dr. Zing before I ended up here.  Now I drink way too much.  My dentist just warned me to cut down." 

"Well.  Out the gate, let's do a little Orientation 101."  He indicated the general expanse of the place with a hand.

"Looks like you're on a planet, right?  But you're not.  The space here is finite, and recursive.  You travel a quarter mile out of the city, any direction - including out into the water - and you end up at the opposite side, at the same distance.  Upward is the exception to that rule --  for you fliers, you can get about four and a half miles altitude.  And past that point, it'll feel like you're still gaining, but when you look down, you'll see you're not."   

He procured a soda for himself, removed the lid, took a swig.

"Now, it may ease your mind to know you've arrived in a spot where folks typically come in. Five at once is unusual, for sure -- but doesn't break any records."    Bill had a second sip.

"And, it's normal for there to be a greeter.   Some of us - like yours truly - develop a kind of sense for impending arrivals, and actually get paid to do this, in fact.  It's one reason the Doc chose me, over a few others.   Nothing about this is too out of the ordinary for an Arrival."   
This message was last edited by the player at 19:03, Tue 16 Aug 2022.

"Does that mean that others might have sensed our arrival as well?" Mark asked. He had no idea who Doctor Zing was, but he figured he'd ask later. The safety of their arrival was paramount. And just because someone sensed their arrival, it didn't mean he'd necessarily show up with a warm welcome and cold soda. Someone else might see their arrival as a potential threat to be eliminated. "Such as the enemy we've been engaged to deal with?"

"You're pretty sharp," Bill nodded.  He gestured at the Kid's insignia, "Is the 'H' for hero?   I've always expected, one day, I'll meet someone who dispenses with the frills, and just calls themselves Hero."

"Anyway, yes, others may have sensed you.  Including, maybe, the person you mention.  I sure have no way of knowing.  But the idea is, how will they differentiate you from others?   Someone came in about a day and a half ago.  And, I think we may get more than one tomorrow.  Arrivals aren't common, exactly -- but we've been lucky to have others around the same time as you."   
This message was last edited by the player at 18:24, Tue 16 Aug 2022.

Despite the graveness of their mission, Valkyrie still smiled when she saw Dollar Bill. “Hey, Bill.” She thought back to a period of weeks the Defenders Motorcycle Club spent in New York City. A vigilante in greasepaint amped himself up on a super-form of Angel Dust, and attacked anyone he saw as violating the law. He’d focused on he Empire State University campus, attacking litterbugs, students smoking pot, and jaywalkers.

The Dollar Bill she knew boldly tracked the attacks, documenting them for his film project. He’d seen Valkyrie fend off the “Lunatik”, and immediately hit the Defenders up for their help. “Val”, as he called her, thought she and her fellow Defenders made fair bait as Bikers. Bill charmed her with his eccentric candor and effervescence. When they defeated the Lunatik, Val made Dollar Bill an honorary Defender, with his own leather jacket.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the soda. She dug her fingernail under the cap and popped it with a quick flick. She didn’t care where it fell. She listened to Bill chat up the clean-cut super-boy. “It’s not Wild Turkey, but I’ll wet my whistle anyway.”
This message was last edited by the player at 05:40, Wed 17 Aug 2022.

Bill appeared to experience some real relief, at the Valyrie's acknowledgement.

In the way someone does when they're holding their breath, anticipating someone might still be mad about something, and then learn they aren't.

He smiled. "You drink Wild Turkey?  That's uh...that's different too.  But not in a bad way."    He eyed her again, and his gaze shifted afterward toward the Specter.

"You know, we had something come in before you folks.  And I'm wagering, Val, that it's either yours or his," nodding toward Specter.

"A super-sleek, bad-ass chopper.  It's in the parking lot, over there," he pointed to the lot not far off.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:42, Tue 16 Aug 2022.

My goal is to not bog down in too much Q&A, after everyone has been able to ask the most important questions they have.

Nor do I want to do a gigantic data dump;  I'm endeavoring to summarize as much as possible.   But this next bit is rather relevant, so I'm going to go ahead and get this in:

Bill further remarked to the group:

"Did the Doc sort of bill this place as a utopia?   A lot of people who haven't been here yet do that.  Don't get me wrong; there's a lot of great things about it. But like all places, it has its good and bad;  its gummy politics, and dark underbelly."

"You know, powers are not uncommon here, though not too many have them at the real superhero level.   But to start, I think you need to know about a little group called the Super Friends. " Bill had another sip of coke.

"Usually, just the Friends, for brevity.   Don't let the name encourage you.   They're basically the top hero team --  a fair amount of the time, it works like that.   But really, these guys are glorified skullcrackers.   Law is strict in Sundown -- but most of the laws are very fair, easy to understand.  But we do get the so-called problematic personalities."   

"The Friends work with the sentinels -- Sundown's police force.   Since you're new and have powers, both will take interest, once you're on the radar.   But the Friends, especially -- you wanna stay off their radar."

"No thanks," Specter shook his head as the drinks were offered. "Soda's bad for you." He dug around in his jacket pockets as if he was looking for something, but when he withdrew his fist, it was empty. "Shit. Anyone got any cigarettes?"

At the rumor of his ride being in the nearby parking lot, he turned to the Valkyrie and smiled. "Dibs." Raising a hand aloft, it almost seemed like he was trying to summon the bike to him by force of concentration. But then he shook his arm and a key fob fell out of his jacket sleeve. He clicked the button on it, hoping to hear the familiar deet-deet that let him know it was indeed his own bike.

“Because cigarettes are good for your health,” Valkyrie said with a sneer, as she dug a lovingly used pack of Marlboros out of an inside jacket pocket. She held out a cigarette. “When you quit playing with that funky whistle, I’d love to see you try straddling Aragorn.”

Barbara pulled out her own keys. Nothing futuristic. Just silvered keys that dangled on a keychain with silver wings over a lightning bolt. “Almost as much as I’ll enjoy seeing Aragorn knock you on your ass when you try it!” She chuckled softly, a sound more fitting for a cozy bar, or a cozier bedroom, as she headed toward the mystery bike in question.

Cipher quietly declines with the soda with a shake of his head.

He frowns ever so slightly at the mention of Sentinels, "These Sentinels. They police people for what they do. Or who they are?"

"About like your police in many other places," he let Cipher know.  "More or less."

"Crime is different here.  See, no one goes homeless, or is left to starve, or anything.  Scarcity isn't nearly as much of a thing.  But, you want the goodies, you still have to work for a living, and be productive.  And some people just don't like to do that.  Or are bent around in other ways."   Bill sipped the coke, ran a hand through his hair.

"There's really no big reason to go yah, boo, the sentinels! One could argue the Friends need to be intimidating, 'cause they deal with the empowered.  But, sentinel brutality isn't really a thing.  And many of'em only work part time, 'cause there isn't that much for them to do.  But people who break the law, exhibit as potentially dangerous, will meet them."     
This message was last edited by the player at 01:48, Wed 17 Aug 2022.

Once the Valkyrie made it over to the adjacent parking lot, she would be delighted to see Aragorn properly and safely parked, shining and ready to ride.

She would also note that the design of the nearby autos wasn't entirely familiar; slightly futuristic looking perhaps, compared to what her 1970s sensibilities regarded as normal.

Not so to Specter, however.   In fact, if he looked closely at all, it would seem there were no designs more recent than late 90s Earth.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:58, Wed 17 Aug 2022.

Mordred's hand tightened even more around the Ebony Staff upon arrival in this Sundown City. It was an entirely alien and bewildering environment, clearly built for humans but assembled by builders who outstripped Arthur's most capable craftsmen. The crystal towers, the perfectly shaped stone, the glittering metal, all exceeded even the most detailed descriptions of lost Atlantis.

Mordred kept quiet as the others talked. All of this was more than he ever imagined to encounter. He accepted the drink offered by Dollar Bill, and was surprised to find it seemingly fermented yet sweet---like premature mead with the fizz of ale. It fit the environs-strange yet familiar.

"These 'Friends' and 'Sentinels,' they are the knights and guard of this city?" Mordred asked. "Which Lord or Lady do they serve, and are they fair or cruel? Given the plenty this city holds for its people I would wager the former, but your caution against crossing those upholding their law makes me wonder if that is true."

"Maybe standing out in the open isn't the best idea," Mark said, looking around. Super Friends? Sentinels? If these were things to be avoided, then they should endeavor to avoid them. "Since this is where people first arrive in this city, it would stand to reason that Bill here isn't the only one who knows we're here."

Cipher's unease doesn't recede with Bill's explanation. Where Doug was from, Sentinels were a very big deal, "If I understand correctly, then, we need to keep a low profile to avoid the Super Friends", he casts a wary eye at Kid Hyperion, "and the Sentinels will only be a problem if we break the law in an obvious way", his wary gaze shifts to Valkyrie.

Cipher shakes his head, "How much do you know about our mission, Bill?"

Bill eyed Mordred while he spoke, likely taking in a greater amount of detail about the man.

"Wow.  I'd say you're either a real big Ren fair enthusiast, or else from some kind of place most us of would compare to the distant past.  More so than anyone else I know who's landed here."   

"But yeah; your assessment of those two is correct, as I think you'd understand it.  Anyway, they're both beholden to the Counsel, who're the elected officials that govern the city.  No monarchy here," he assured, drawing another sip of cola.

"They're decent folks, pretty much."  He gestured toward the city.  "Running any place is hard, and we've got a packed population, in a small place. A fair number, like I said, with powers." 

Bill nodded at the white and blue clad teen's words. "You're right.  We don't want to camp here too long.  Though, I should emphasize, people knowing you're here is unavoidable, and the real thing is not to be known in a bad way.   Which means, be careful what you do with your powers.  Please."   

He then addressed that last question:  "Not a ton, exactly.  I was told you folks would know as much as I do.   Metaphysical heart thingy stolen --  cosmos in peril -- a real shit calamity if it isn't recovered -- and you five are the big hope for doing that.  No pressure?" he smiled ruefully.

"There's someone I think I want to connect you with. Goes by 'Sylph.'  She's the best networker I know, owes me a favor, and has met the Doc.  Like me, he helped her Arrive here.  Also -- she and her brother used to be with the Friends.   Not as heavy hitters, but in a recon position.  The so-called 'Wonder Twins.' She hates their guts, but knows plenty about their operations." 

Specter accepted the Valkyrie's cig, giving a playfully defensive shrug. "Hellfire lungs," he grinned. "What's your excuse?"

His face fell as he realized the nearby motorcycle wasn't his own, but hers. "Damn. Ah, fine, let's go have a look."

As he trudged over, he kept an ear tuned to the conversation. "Sentinels, huh?" he remarked to his companion. "Never heard of 'em. What about you?" While he was game to bring down whatever scum threatened this city, he didn't much care for the history lesson. He'd much rather hang with this intriguing "Valkyrie" than sit there playing class pet to that Shaggy Rogers look-alike, however nice he seemed.

“Stamina of the Gods.” Barbara’s prodigious strength also endowed her with prodigious appetites. She flicked open a Bettie Page lighter and lit her own. Barbara inhaled, letting out the smoke in one smooth blow.



“Right on.” While Dollar Bill answered questions, Valkyrie threw her denim-clad leg over her motorcycle. She inserted the key. Kick started the motorcycle, which resembled a dazzling fusion of Kawasaki performance with Harley Davidson aesthetic. Her bike growled to life.

“Nice to see you, too,” Barbara purred to her bike, as “Aragorn’s” engine seemingly purred in return. Soon, she sped off and left Specter standing there. Valkyrie drove toward her fellow exiles and Dollar Bill. She swerved at the last second, smoothly riding a donut around them before screeching to a halt. “Yep. You’ve still got it, boy.”

Then, Valkyrie looked at Bill. “I missed out while you guys jawed, so give me the Reader’s Digest version later. Tell me about your so-called ‘Friends’.”

Bill watched the Valkyrie's impressive cycle skills, wholly unaware of the man called Specter's silent tirade.

"That's just awesome," he enthused.

"The Friends. Right! Well, the current roster is Speed Demon, Skylark, Dr. Spectrum and Nighthawk. Plus, Hyperion, their leader."   He paused.

"And really, if we're gonna go into any detail, we should have this conversation inside a secure room."

Valkyrie visibly bristled when she heard the names. She flicked her cigarette on the street as her face darkened. “Yeah. We’d better talk someplace more private.”

"But... I'm Hyperion." Mark was confused. He was the leader of a super-hero team? What the heck? "That's what the 'H' stands for."

Though the bland figure of Cipher continued to cut a calm figure, to those who can see every fiber of his being screamed tension, "Do you have somewhere in mind?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:47, Wed 17 Aug 2022.

Dollar Bill's own deficit of calm was only too plain:

"Wh- what?  Seriously? Dude!  Not good.  You need to pick some other name -- like right now!" He waved his hands on the heels of that.

"Never mind.  We'll sort it.  But, Jesus balls!"    Bill pushed a hand through his hair, then said to Cipher-

"Yeah.  I think we should just go to my pad.  Anyone think that's a bad idea?  I can call a taxi, two if need be, and Val can follow us."    He pulled out what looked like a 90s style flip phone (or perhaps a Star Trek communicator, to the Valkyrie), but waited to hear other suggestions.

"My own car's in the shop, unfortunately," he added, with a slightly embarrassed look.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:28, Thu 18 Aug 2022.

"Distant past," Mordred repeated the phrase softly. The implication was hard to accept, but made the most sense. His today must be many tomorrows ahead of his last remembered yesterday. Wooden buildings and stone towers replaced by these perfectly shaped spires. Horses and carts replaced with snarling, smoldering mechanisms like the device this Valkyrie now rode. It was all quite overwhelming. However, he supposed that a future in a faraway city was not so terrible a location for self-exile.

The word "Ren" meant nothing to Mordred, but he recognized "Fair."

"My clothes were meant to let me move among the peasant folk without drawing unwanted attention," he said as he gestured to the common cut of his traveling cloak, "but I suspect they do make me stand out as a Londinium Legionnaire would in Arthur's Camelot. I shall strive to adapt to these surroundings as best I can." Mordred pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head and did his best to keep his sword concealed. There was nothing he could do to hide his staff, and he dared not let Merlin's parting gift slip out of his grasp for even a moment.

"Sweet ride," Specter nodded. He raised a finger to the cigarette hanging from his mouth, where the tips of both-- finger and tobacco-- each caught fire. Drawing a puff, he turned and called out to seemingly no-one: "Hey! Get the @#$& over here!"

He turned back to the Valkyrie. "Sometimes it takes a sec-- eh?" Suddenly, the blonde biker was speeding off back toward the group. "Hey! Party's this way!" He chuckled. "Alright. Later, then."

Off in the distance, an object wreathed in smoke and fire blazed toward him.

“Back home, we had a few run-ins with a rival gang. They called themselves the ‘The Supreme Power Motorcycle Club’. Nastiest pieces of shit I ever ran across.” Valkyrie stared at Kid Hyperion with narrowly slitted eyes. “Their handles were ‘Speed Demon’, ‘Dr. Spectrum’, and ‘Hyperion’. They ran an extortion racket in upstate New York, shaking down businesses in Watertown.”

She drove a little closer to Mark. “I had this feeling of Deja Vu when I saw you. Now I know why.”

Seriously, what the heck was going on? How many people were going around with the name 'Hyperion'? Mark was told by the people running the project that he was unique. Now he was one of at least three people going by that name, and one of them also had powers. So much for uniqueness.

"Don't look at me like that," he replied to Valkyrie. "It wasn't me."

“But someday, you could’ve be.” Valkyrie watched “Kid” Hyperion cautiously. “The Hyperion I met was a whiner, too.”


OOC:

I’m just doing the usual “Mighty Marvel Meet & Greet”. I won’t beat this into the ground.


This message was lightly edited by the player at 17:54, Thu 18 Aug 2022.

Mark glowered at the Valkyrie. Indeed, his eyes literally seemed to glow with anger. But he said nothing. She had made up her mind about him, and he wasn't going to change it. He flicked a hand in her general direction; a dismissive wave.

"We're done here," he said. It wasn't a question. "Let's go."

Valkyrie laughed. “See what I mean?”

"Honestly, I don't," Hyperion snapped, turning back to face Valkyrie again. Along with having a lack of patience, there was a short fuse on his temper, and she'd lit it with a blowtorch. "Why don't you spell it out for me? Or is it your super-power to make snide remarks?"

“Nah, smart-assing is just a natural talent.” Valkyrie stared back, unbothered by Hyperion’s emotional outburst. “I’ll spell it out for you, though.”

She dropped the facetious manner. “Back home, the Hyperion I met got off on lording his power over weak and helpless people. He played the victim, although he never let a chance for victimizing others pass him by. The man I fought was cruel, egotistical, and corrupt as hell.”

The Hellcycle roared as it skidded to a stop just a couple of feet away from Specter. "What took you?" he grumbled as he swung a leg over. Revving the engine, he looked out at the sprawling city that awaited him... and then, for reasons he couldn't understand, he glanced back in the direction of the group that Strange had assembled-- the one he was now leaving behind. Was that the sound of an argument now? For just a moment, he felt an odd, sudden impulse to go back and try to help sort out the conflict.

Where were you, Scott? We needed you.

A memory passed through his mind: old friends and teammates piled amongst each other on the floor of a ruined mansion, their blue-and-gold uniforms stained red. From all around, the furious screams of the mob grew louder and more frenzied: Get those muties! Kill 'em all!

"'S'better this way," he grunted, gunning the engine of his bike. He took off in the direction of the main street that led into the city. "For their sake."

Bill grabbed his head.  "Oh, good! He's gonna go tearin' off through downtown on a flaming bike!  Like he's the Punisher, or something! That'll keep us off the Friends' radar!  Beam me up, Scottie...please beam me up, now!"   

It wasn't the best of days for Dollar Bill; an honest nerd, in a tense situation, just managing the best he could...

Unless anyone has any other agendas to accomplish, I'm shortly going to scene-shift the group elsewhere, somewhere more private.

Val, having access to wheels, you can either go with the main group, or follow in the wake of the Specter, as you choose. 
This message was last edited by the player at 21:24, Thu 18 Aug 2022.

"I see human nature has stayed constant despite the passage of time," Mordred said wryly as he watched the scene unfold. "Ego oft takes precedence over discretion, especially when distinction is to be found."

Mordred watched Specter take off on his mechanical steed. He let out a soft sigh and turned to the remaining members of their party.

"If we are to succeed in our endeavor, I suspect it best we follow our host's counsel," he said to Val and Hyperion. "This place may not be so strange to you as it is to me, but we are still visitors to a foreign realm. Let us not make our task more difficult than it need be."

Despite himself Cipher met Kid Hyperion's frustration with a look of genuine sympathy, laced with personal pain, "You got a perfectly good name there, Mark. What someone else has done with it in another universe doesn't mean anything for you".

Looking up at his less than inconspicuous teammates, Cipher sighed heavily, "Well standing here gawking at our convoy won't get us anywhere. Let's go to Bill's place."

Cipher's image ripples and blurs and he becomes a totally different bland man in his 30s, "I'll trail behind and make sure that we're not followed".

"Thanks," Mark said to Cipher. The guy seemed nice enough. There seemed to be something weird about him, but who was Mark to cast that particular aspersion. Mark was weird. "Don't hang too far back. If these Super Friends and Sentinels are truly dangerous, they might be the type to pick off stragglers."

Valkyrie watched as Specter rode off. She understood his choice. Freedom. Just taking off on your bike when the urge struck.

However, the mission mattered the most. “I’ll find him after we settle into your place, Bill. Can’t be that hard to find a guy on a flaming motorcycle.”

Cipher's soft chuckle drifts off into the void as he vanishes into the shadows.

"Huh. Neat trick." Vanishing into the shadows was a useful ability, no doubt. With a shrug, Mark followed Dollar Bill.

As it happened, Dollar Bill was friends with the owner of the Cab company he called for service.

The sky-blue mini-van that showed up, promptly, to transport the group was newish, clean and seemed to be well maintained.

For Sir Mordred -- his very first ride in a horseless carriage.   For Cipher, an outdated but serviceable mode of transport.

And of course the Valkyrie rode her own vehicle in their wake, the shining Aragorn.

The city sights they viewed en route were the group's first real look at the place.   Few would refute, Sundown City was nice.   No one could fault the planning, architectural skill, and care that plainly had gone into and now sustained it.    It was the kind of place that would likely have a near back-breaking cost of living in most worlds.

But if the environment was yet normal to most eyes, it also became apparent the unusual had its, or their, place here.   Not everyone they glimpsed looked fully human.   Some were clad in what could be called superhero garb, or otherwise different, eccentric seeming styles.

The Cab's route took them through the city's west-side (based upon the sun's position, that was to say), and out toward a suburban area.

On that road, they approached and passed a trio of bikers, headed in the opposite direction.   One of whom was big, scaly and blue, but smiled, honked and thumbs-uped with the two human seeming men, when they spotted the Valkyrie. 
Though Bill might've been expected to be an apartment dweller, it turned out he had a house.  A pleasant if nothing-fancy bungalow home; the kind with a second, partial story, built into its sloped roof.

"Home sweet home!" proclaimed Bill.  "Let's go on inside," he added, as he tipped the cab's driver.

Post any reactions or thoughts, if you've got them.   Or wait until we move along a bit further, as you so choose...

Used to skulking unseen through cities' twilight, Cipher seems a little put out at having to ride in a taxi to Bill's house.

He exits the cab as quickly as possible and stares bemused at Bill's home, muttering to himself, "Like a museum..."

Mark hadn't ridden in cars much. His upbringing at Project: Hyperion hadn't involved much travel. He wondered how ordinary people could stand it. For someone who could fly, the conveyance was slow torture.

The house was nice, though. Not nearly as sterile as the Project's bunkers, there was an inviting warmth to it. It didn't seem large enough for six people to stay indefinitely, though, so finding Eternity's Heart would need to happen quickly.

Bill led the others up, and unlocked his front door.  He entered first;  possibly from wanting to assure it was safe, rather than any lack of manners.

As the exterior, the interior was pleasant, with a fair bit of natural wood paneling, and mid-tone sorts of colors.

Unsurprisingly, there was more than a little nerd memorabilia on display.   Including a faux lightsaber, designed to look like that of Qui Gon Jinn, mounted on a wall.   And, a poster of a grinning, moustached man with the proclamation Excelsior! beneath his smiling mug.  (As near to a Stan Lee cameo as you're going to get)

There were photos of him with others, all appearing to have been shot here in Sundown City. Several of them in more than one picture.

Bill led the group into the living room, calling out "Honey -- I'm home!" 

Now, Bill was a bachelor.  And those words were entirely in jest.

Thus his mouth dropped in sharp surprise, when he was answered:

"Fantastic!  I didn't feel like cooking.  Hope you don't mind I called out for a pizza?"   A woman's voice, her words were accented in French...

"Holy SHIT!   I -- I was gonna contact you, actually -- couldn't you have done me the courtesy?"   

Just a bit on the taller side of average, her hair was light brown, and her eyes -- wide with surprise on sighting Bill's company --  were grey.  She was clad in denim jeans and jacket, with a purple t-shirt beneath.    White, cursive letters adorned it, declaring:

Cherchez la femme

There was an almost elfin cast to her features, on any second look.

"I -- I thought about it!" she countered. "But...had my reasons for doing this instead.   Who are your friends-?"   Her eyes skated over the others, with an assessing kind of look.

If anyone knows a version of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, similar to 616 Aurora, you will recognize her, although her hair is a few shades lighter, and she's a few inches shorter.

Cipher's appearance ripples subtly, as close to a gasp of surprise as he's likely to give, "Well, merde. Jeanne-Marie. I haven't seen you, or my version of you at least, since we busted Puck out of AIM's lab."

A deep sadness wells up in his eyes, "You were a great leader for Alpha Flight."

"I did not expect to meet a child of the Fae in this place," Mordred murmured. At least someone seemed somewhat familiar in this new realm. He gave the woman a courtly bow.

"I am Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot," he said. "My mother and aunt are daughters of Avalon, so I am acquainted with tales of your kindred. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Probably prepared for less friendly reactions, she seemed taken off guard by that pair of responses.   Looking upon the masked Cipher, it took her a moment, before there was recognition of the voice:

"Doug?" she queried, though seeming to have already concluded so.    And then looked to the medieval-garbed Mordred, with slightly raised brows.

"Your manners are impeccable, sir.   Though, if you are seeking Fae, I'm afraid I only have part of a similar, but different, set of roots.  I'd suspect you were joking about your name, and family in Avalon. But I get the feeling you mean it."
Then to Doug again:

"I know of no Alpha Flight.  And Puck sounds like someone who belongs with Sir Mordred's Fae.   But like you say, version différente.  Sundown City is the great stew pot of the changed and varied."   
This message was last edited by the player at 17:35, Sun 21 Aug 2022.

"Yeah, well, I was probably gonna contact her anyway.   And it seems at least one of you knows her.  Kind of.   I guess that sort of works.  Jeanne-Marie, look, there's things to unpack, let's say.   But how much...that isn't my call to make.  But we're working on something that matters, let's get that much out of the way." 

Barbara looked the house over with mild interest. Comfortable enough, she’d slept in far worse places. However, Jeanne-Marie truly piqued her curiosity. She stared at the chestnut-haired beauty.

“You’re talking about Camelot & fairies, but I clearly smell the Ljosalfr on you.” Barbara looked back at Dollar Bill. “Yo, Bill. How’d you hook up with a Light Elf?”

"Jeanne-Marie, all this time I thought you were a mutant?"   Bill asked the newcomer.  Then more seriously to the Valkyrie:

"She and I share a hobby, you could say.  We're both networkers.  Although, she's better at it than me.  What a surprise, right?" he grinned.

"Yes, I am a mutant.   And yes, I also bare some blood of Asgard's elfkind.   Mind you, what I know of the place is about like what I know of Avalon;  I've read the myths.   Somebody else recognized the lineage, and told me, shortly before I got to Sundown."  She looked more closely at the Valkyrie.

Jeanne-Marie was more mortal than she, and appeared to recognize something, but wasn't able to articulate it.

"Well, I'm glad to meet you.  All of you -- welcome to Sundown City, whatever brings you here. Also, I run a clothing boutique -- you need threads?   I'm your woman! Sweet deal for newcomers."     

"I speak only of matters that I am familiar of," Mordred replied to Valkyrie, offering a shrug. "Much as you all seem to volunteer your past encounters and experiences, I sought to provide mine as well."

Mordred allowed himself to relax now that he was indoors. He drew back the hood of his traveling cloak, revealing his face. He looked young, but his deep-set dark eyes wore a weary expression. It was the face of someone who had seen much despite his age.

"I must admit," he said to Jeanne-Marie, "I had hope that you might provide more insight to our task. We were summoned by a Sorcerer, and tasked to retrieve an artifact of power. I, too, only have the tales of Avalon to go from, though they were told to me by survivors of that vestige of Atlantis. The Fae were practitioners of magic. I suppose your ancestors were as well.

"However that seems to be naught but happy coincidence," Mordred sighed. "Although I would welcome any aid in finding a tunic and breeches fitting of this era."

Mark waited until the others had finished introducing themselves, and then stepped over to Jeanne-Marie.

"I'm Mark," he said, taking her hand and shaking it lightly. "But I'm also known as Hyperion. Some people call me Kid Hyperion, but either way, I should probably find something to wear that doesn't have the big, red 'H' on the chest."

“We can’t buy threads without bread,” Barbara said, as she realized that they needed suitable street wear for half their crew. “How do we get that in Sundown City? Mordred and the Kid definitely need new looks.”

She regarded Sir Mordred as he spoke, nodded, then said, "It may be that they are workers of magic.  Some day, I'd love to learn more;  there's been no opportunity, since arriving here. Sundown City is purposefully veiled from places like Asgard and Avalon.  Gods and such beings -- they cannot come here.  Well, not unless they're mixed, blended, enough with mortality."  She glanced again toward the Valkyrie.

Her mouth fell open at Mark's announcement, after shaking his hand.  "What-?  Seriously?" 

Dollar Bill nodded.   "Uh yep.  I was gonna mention that, among other stuff. I told them some about the Friends, and Sundown's Hyperion. Specifically, that he ain't going to be pleased with Kid's name."

"Hell!  That's saying it lightly!"  She shook her head, grimaced.

"It shames me to admit now, but my brother and I joined them when first we came here.  The leadership was better then -- under someone who deserved to have it."   She frowned, reflecting some unhappy memory.

"Anyway," she told Mark, "having worked with him, I can tell you that you do not look like him.  Eh, aside from the physique, I mean.   But, the face -- no resemblance. Get rid of the H, no biggie, probably."   

Then again to Valkyrie, to answer her question:  "There is registration, for the Arrivals. On completing it, you get a prepaid debit card, to tide you, till you can begin making your own money."   She added:

"Registration is a light formality, not too heavily administrated. Because normally, no one gets into Sundown City who isn't supposed to be here. And doing so will help call less attention  But...if for some reason you think it's a bad idea, we can speak of other options, perhaps." 

“Registering means they can track us.” Valkyrie shrugged. “I think I’m better off working for my money. Tell me about the options, after you tell us a little more about the ‘Friends’.”

Sylph paused for just a moment;  perhaps considering what or how much to say.  There was hesitancy, till she met the Valkyrie's eyes directly, then began:

"Hyperion is a man named Simon Williams.  On the world he came from, he was some highly successful CEO and tycoon; his firm R&Ded technology to create super-men, and he underwent the process himself.  Most people with natural powers, so he tells it, we're evil.  So, this filled a void in defending against them.   But, they went too far, and things got ugly, and out of hand, with much damage to the world itself.   He's the kind of person that shows up here to have the rough edges smoothed off."   She shrugged.  "Sometimes that works."

"Dr. Spectrum's name is Bill Foster.  And of the five, he is the best.  Back home, his family was killed in some terrible accident.   And it has made him somewhat cold.  But not completely.  I believe he would heal, if he could change company.  He is the Friend's science guy, and if you ever must negotiate with them, then appeal to him.  Don't waste your time with the other four."

"The Speed Demon looks something like a demon; he is a mutant, and one whom was badly treated in his own world.   He learned, as some do, to live up to people's expectations of him.   He is bitter, and resolved to cling to that bitterness.  He can seem quite reasonable, personable, at times.  But do not trust that; it is when he is most dangerous."

"Skylark -- once Lady Lark -- is another broken soul," she sighed.  "Don't let those pretty names fool you.    Had a great life, back home, for a time, before it all went to hell.  As well as her sonic powers, she has a prosthetic arm, tipped with deadly talons.  And, she took the wings of the Blue Eagle -- the man who used to lead the Friends."  Again, Jeanne-Marie's expression went sad, mentioning this previous leader.

"Lastly, there is Nighthawk -- one who doesn't like to speak too much of themselves.  I know the least of her.   Her name is Narya. Just Narya -- and she claims to be mortal and divine. She is a metamorph, and an awful opponent.  As much because she is so cunning and collected, as for her powers."

Lol, I'll get to the monetary options as well -- but this was enough for one post...
This message was last edited by the player at 22:44, Mon 22 Aug 2022.

If anyone asks, 'why does Sundown City empower this bunch to dispense justice,' or something similar, Sylph will say:

"You must understand, this is a city, not a world.  And, a fair amount of the population has powers.  Those with great power must toe the required line -- or can you imagine the destruction, the casualties we'd have?    Most are happy to do so --  but there always comes someone who wants to push the boundaries.   The Counsel wants such people to have no doubt the smackdown is coming, if they do."   

"The Friends are not criminals or terrorists -- and they save their bullying and skull busting for those who've crossed the lines. With the occasional 'mistake', of course."

Re getting some money together:

She'll explain there is a website with listings of pay-per-gig type jobs that anyone can do.   Some are things only someone with powers might be able to do, (super strength is always in demand) and some of those are the ones which pay the best.

* * *

Sylph is naturally horrified, once she learns what's happened and what it will mean if it isn't fixed in time.   After she's convinced that it isn't a joke -- she becomes eager to offer other sorts of aid.

Including setting you up with debit cards out of her own finances, and offering additional lodging, in lieu of Bill's home.

She also spills what she originally came over here to talk to Dollar Bill, her fellow networker, about:

Ted Sallis has been in Sundown for some time -- he arrived here with a certain amount of LMDs (life model decoys) and not only received permission to keep them, but eventually got license to make more.

He is an entrepreneur, of sorts, and Jeanne-Marie describes Ted as "a strange man; eccentic and hard to know."   The LMDs staff his several businesses.

Just recently, she has gotten word that they are out in the city looking for something, or someone.   The rumor she picked up is that this is a contractual job for an unknown employer.   She further tells you that Dr. Sallis has never contracted in this manner, before...

Is it the characters who are being sought, perhaps?   Or is this about something else, altogether?
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Tue 23 Aug 2022.

“I don’t know Dr. Sallis. I’ve heard of Bill Foster, though.” Barbara thought back to the gang she’d left behind. “A badass I ride with told me about a throw down with a big dude named Bill Foster.” She chuckled at the memory of Luke’s colorful story about a fight with a giant over an ex-girlfriend.

Then,  Barbara accepted the debit card with a grateful smile. “Where I’m from, a woman can’t even get a credit card without a husband’s signature.” She grinned as she looked over the thin piece of plastic. “Sundown City might be a drag, but at least Women’s Lib caught on here!”

“So, if we keep our cool, the Friends won’t hassle us.” Her brow darkened at what Jeanne-Marie told her earlier about one in particular. “Although I’ve gotta admit that I wanna meet this Narya chick.” With a grin, she added, “I’ve fought gods—and goddesses—before.”

"I've heard some others say the same," regarding the credit card. "Most who Arrive are from what many would call the 20th and 21st centuries.  Time seems to run somewhat congruently between some realities.  Enough to make somebody like Sir Mordred very rare."   

"There is another part of the city you should know, if Bill didn't tell you.  The Underground. By which I don't mean the subway.  A system of tunnels, below -- made especially durable, so empowered people can resolve their disputes, without wrecking things up here.  Anyone who enters willingly...legally takes responsibility for what happens to them there.  But it could be a great place to hide...for anyone with the power to protect themselves."   

"And I would be happy to relate them to you, my lady," Mordred said to Jeanne-Marie. "They are one of the few memories of my aunt I can still look back on fondly." He grimaced as he mentioned his aunt. The revelation of her plans for Camelot's betrayal still stung, especially as she sought to use him as a pawn in her machinations.

The debit card was enough to distract Mordred from his momentary broodings. He held the flimsy, colorful card as one might do with a brittle leaf.

"'This' is what your people use for coin and barter?" he remarked, his face full of confusion. "It seems...rather odd. Although, I suppose not any less bizarre than what else I have encountered." He slipped the card carefully into a belt pouch.

When the conversation returned to the subject of time, Mordred offered a potential explanation.

"When the Sorcerer Supreme first summoned us, he mentioned that Sundown City favors those who are 'unnecessary.' I suspect the ill-omen of my birth has permitted my entrance. Merlin foresaw that Arthur's son born on May Day would slay him and cause Camelot's fall. Arthur sought to defy prophecy by killing all sons born that day, but my aunt Morgan Le Fay rescued me to use as her vengeance against Merlin and Arthur. Upon learning of that prophecy, I swore an oath that I would neither draw my sword nor set foot in Arthur's realm until I have found a way to defy such a fate." Mordred drew back his cloak, revealing the sword. A green cord tied the hilt to the scabbard, preventing it from being drawn. The cord was faded except for where the edges where the knot shielded it from the sun, showing that it had never been untied.

"If self-exile to this place outside space and time spares Britain's people from my curse, then I gladly accept it. However, the one you call Dr. Strange mentioned that this city has the power to alter those who cross its borders. And so I hold out hope that it might cleanse me of so dark a destiny."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:41, Tue 23 Aug 2022.

Barbara touched Mordred‘a arm gently. “Choose your own destiny, Mordred. You have the right to live your life on your own terms. To hell with what the Fates or gods or whoever tells you.”

Then, she looked at Jeanne-Marie again. “The Underground sounds interesting. Is it a fight ring?” Despite her efforts, Valkyrie sounded thrilled at that prospect. As if the possibility answered a deeply held urge she couldn’t suppress.

Oh sure. Mordred can live life on his own terms, but Mark is tarred with the same brush as some other Hyperion. Mark sighed and walked away before he said anything he might come to regret.

Jeanne-Marie listened raptly while Mordred elaborated.

"So you really are that Mordred, then.   In the legend I am familiar with, you swore no such oath, and seemed to swallow a great deal of your aunt's poison.  Emotionally speaking, I mean."    She paused.

"But, that kind of thing is not too uncommon here; and I urge you all to remember, friend may be foe, and foe may be friend.  Judge by the actions, and not so much the face."  She watched as Mark reacted, and seemed to guess something of his mood:

"Mark, it is not so much other people you must worry about.  Feelings about him are mixed; and no few respect him as a hero.   It is the man himself you must be careful of.  If you are open in using the name, word will spread. His great ego won't tolerate somebody else using his name, you see."      Then back to Mordred --

"I would love to speak further with you; I'm sure it'd be a fascinating conversation.  In fact, there are many here who would, I am sure.  Novelty is always prized, in a small place. And there are scholars. But for you, the customs here will be the most odd.  Be cautious in whom you trust."

Sylph answered the Valkyrie, nodding -- "Yes, calling it a fight ring would not be wrong.  Maps of the place are available.  And best to look at one, take it with you, if at some point you plan to go down there.  Otherwise, it can be most confusing for the new."


She clapped her hands. "Well; how 'bout we get the hell out of here, and go visit my shop, for some new duds, hey?   Maybe we can stop somewhere else too, while we decide what to do next?"

Lastly she turned to regard the most silent one.  Jeanne-Marie had already deduced this wasn't the Doug Ramsey she had known.   No;  something had befallen this one.   Something painful, she surmised...

"That sound okay to you, Doug?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:59, Tue 23 Aug 2022.

"I appreciate your words, my lady," Mordred said to Val as she offered her advice. "And I shall strive to do just that, in accordance with the vows I swore to my king and his people."

Mordred's mouth pulled into a dark frown when Jeanne-Marie told him of her world's Mordred.

"I know not whether to be ashamed of that Mordred's failure or fear a change in my own heart," he sighed. "It is a strange thing, is it not? To wonder whether the cloth you are cut from is constant across possibilities or able to be shaped by strength of character and will. Whether your hopes and ideals are held common by your counterparts, or if you are but an aberration in fate's weave.

"But such doubt might yet serve a purpose. It might stoke the flames of caution to ensure that we take care as we forge our futures with the metal of choices and the hammer of action. Perhaps that is a trial we can undertake together, friend Mark, and support one another as brothers in arms."

Mordred listened in silence as Jeanne-Marie and Val discussed the Underground. It seemed to be the best option to avoid the notice of the Friends and the Counsel. He nodded in agreement when Jeanne-Marie offered to take them to her shop, but waited for Cipher to assent.

"We should also seek out the fifth of our number. I know little Specter, but he seems willing and eager to provoke out of jest. Given the nature of our quest, I would rather not see a moment of folly condemn existence to permanent consequence."

"Sounds good to me, pal." Mark clapped Mordred on the shoulder. The earliest Arthurian texts had Mordred as a heroic figure. It was later ones that recast him as a villain. This guy, however, seemed pretty cool. "As Shakespeare said, 'What's in a name?'"

He paused. Frowned.

"You have no idea who Shakespeare is, do you?"

"He probably does not," she concurred with a smile; both at the remark, and the budding comradeship between the two.

"But he speaks far more like the people from Asgard that I have met, except for you," glancing at and addressing Barbara, "who sounds much more at home in - what do they call Earth? - Midgard, yes?"  she smiled again, before her expression became serious.

"One thing I have learned, in living here, is that comparing ourselves to other versions is healthy only when we learn from it. As you suggest doing. There is no point, in feeling guilt over things we haven't truly done, when there is no lesson to go along with it."

"So, you have someone else with you, do you?  Out wandering the city by himself?  Um, hm.."    She plainly didn't think that was for the best.

I have word from Specter's player that we should get a post in the nearish future.

Shortly, I'll move the group to the shop.   I doubt Cipher's player will object;  it's kind of segue for where the group goes next.   And it's in the city's heart, if anyone's determined to exercise other options.   

“My powers and fighting skill…and a few new memories—come from Brunnhilde. I’m an Earth Girl by birth,” Barbara said with a grin. “I’m a Valkyrie by choice. It beat the hell out of the alternative.”

When Sylph brought up Specter, Barbara lost the smile. “Yeah. He took off on a joyride. I’ll fetch him after we see your boutique.” Barbara forced another smile. “I’d dig seeing what people are wearing in the Future.” Her smile wasn’t entirely forced.

Of course, in order to get there, transport had to be again worked out.

The Valkyrie had her own means.

As did Kid Hyperion;  and Jeanne-Marie  advised Mark that flying wasn't that unusual within the city, or tightly policed, so long as one refrained from erratic flight paths.   Anyone who appeared to be FUI (flying under the influence) pretty quickly got confronted and fined, or otherwise disciplined.

Sylph was familiar with the applicable laws because, as her name implied, she too was a flier. But, for a short list of reasons, had in fact driven out to Dollar Bill's home.  In the driveway was parked a '98 style Eclipse GSX; the convertible model, painted in pearl silver.

"Okay...we can actually fit everyone in here, though it's not going to be roomy!   Wow -- that's quite a bike!" she remarked on spotting Barb's chopper.   And then said to Mark:

"You know, if you'd prefer to fly, you could.  It may be better that you start to get familiar with the airspace, here anyway.   And as long you're not screaming out your name, unlikely anyone will care about the H.   Our Hyperion has a different crest.  If you are like him, then you can see good enough to follow the car, right?" 

(Mark can fly or go by car, whichever is his preference) (Valkyrie taking a passenger is also an option, if she offers)

That decided, the small group made its way from the suburbs into the city's heart.  (For general info, please see post #2 in 'Streets of Sundown')    Until Jeanne-Marie pulled her car into a small, restricted lot, behind a particular building, and got out, pointing to a space where the Valkyrie could park her bike.

The back door she proceeded to open for them was emblazoned with:


"Come on in, gang...don't worry, my staff are friendly!"

Note:  Dollar Bill did not accompany the group;  however Val was provided with a card bearing his number and email address, and told he'd be around if needed, once he got his car out of the shop.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:31, Fri 26 Aug 2022.

Within, C'est Chic's interior was a somewhat Boho kind of look, that appeared  to have been professionally done.    The Gin Blossom's 'Found Out About You' played on the shop's stereo.

Sylph waved a hand at the surrounds; "In the original location, it was women's clothes only.  Now, we have a full section for the men, too.  Just pick out whatever you need, with reason.  We'll do this on the house."    She approached an auburn haired girl, running the counter, and briefly explained that the four were Priority customers.

Anyone can assume they find whatever they're seeking;  ask only for more unusual things.  There are good quality but plain pants, jeans, shirts etc., for anyone who eschews anything fancier.   But, the opportunity to be far more style conscious is there, as well.

In particular, Jeanne-Marie will assist Sir Mordred to find something suitable, and not too jarring for his medieval sensibilities.  She also advises the group:

"Hey, I've also got a small number of garments made by Octopus Inc.   They make the unstable molecules, you know?  Not every fashionable, but durable.  Suitable for superheroing, and other rough stuff."   

This would be an opportunity for Kid Hyperion to ditch the 'H', if he wants to.  Is the player/character's choice.   

If the Valkyrie doesn't seem otherwise motivated, Jeanne-Marie will at some point say:   "C'mon, fellow Earth girl!   Let's at least get you an accessory, or something?  We have a wonderful scarf collection I can show you, for example."   
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Fri 26 Aug 2022.

Mark wasn't hard to fit, but he was difficult to please. He had worn variations on the jumpsuit every day for as long as he could remember. The Project rarely put him in street clothes.

Eventually, he found a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that suited his underdeveloped sense of fashion, which he could wear over the jumpsuit. The ensemble, such as it was, was completed with a well-worn leather jacket.

Mark still wasn't sure what to do about the name issue, but he didn't need to advertise his name, at least. With the H covered, nobody would be asking about it. If he needed to display his powers, though... he might have to come up with a new name, or defend the one he already had.

Cipher casually peruses the clothes, but really affords them little attention, "This is most generous, ma chérie." Though he doesn't pick anything out, those with sharp eyes notice that his nondescript outfit shifts colours and changes forms subtly to match some items as he lays eyes on them, almost as though he were collecting their appearance.

Cipher casts an appraising eye over Mark's new outfit, "Looking good, Hyperion." Cipher, too, is suddenly wearing a flannel shirt.

"Thanks. But you probably should just call me 'Mark' for now." Mark eyed Cipher with some curiosity. The trick with the shirt was interesting. Could his clothes just manifest any way he wanted them to? Mark had never met anyone else with powers until he was gathered with these others by Doctor Strange. He was trying to take it all in stride, but it was just... weird. "Neat trick."

She shrugged, smiled, though it was an altogether serious expression. "It sounds like you bunch are most generous, in volunteering for this, Doug.  And on very short notice, I would guess."

"Okay, then, over this way," she said to the Valkyrie, showing her out of the men's section, into the ladies; specifically the accessories.

Silk and satin scarves, and a number of alternate materials, in the standard sizes, adorned a nearby rack.   If Val was interested, there was an array of color options; everything from single-shade to elaborate patterns.

"Or do you ponytail your hair, much?" she asked, indicating a case with hair cuffs, holders and ties, made of various quality materials.

There were also bracelets and armbands.    "Hmm," she said looking at one, "here is one even called a Viking bracelet.   See, it has the world-tree, the Yggdrasil, engraved on it."   

She noted Mark and Doug were about done; once concluded with Barbara, she would return to assisting Mordred make sense of modern-day breeches and tunics, and endeavor to get this wrapped up.

The auburn haired girl, working the counter, overheard, and laughed, her speech French-accented like Jeanne-Marie's.  "Oh, haha, he is built just like him, right?" obviously believing it was a joke.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:13, Mon 29 Aug 2022.

“Yep. He’s a chip off the old block.” Barbara stared at Mark for several seconds. “The jacket looks good. See if Jeanne-Marie has a sweater you like. You seem like a sweater kind of guy.”

When their hostess escorted her into the ample Women’s section, Barbara curiously examined the boutique’s offerings. She felt the soft silk of a blouse colored like cornflower. “I like Blue,” she said softly. “We both like it.”

More than a few of the Bohemian aesthetic raised an eyebrow. “This stuff looks like Haight Asbury or Greenwich Village, Man. I thought clothes in the Future would look, y’know, more futuristic. Like silver chrome bodysuits and space helmets or whatever.”

She accepted the Viking bracelet, eyeing it with appreciation. “In my time, the ethnic looks are all about Indian or African styles. Is the World Tree the stuff of everyday conversation here…?”

"Uh..." Mark opened his mouth to reply to the girl at the counter, but stopped. Whatever he said could just dig the hole deeper. Fortunately, Barbara stepped in and blew off the comment like a joke. Then she was telling him to get a sweater, before the girl could further the conversation. He wasn't sure if he was a 'sweater kind of guy' or not, having never actually worn one. He never got cold, so dressing in layers wasn't a necessity. (And, of course, he was almost always in the jumpsuit.) But maybe the added bulk of the sweater would disguise his Hyperion-esque physique. So, he wandered over to where a selection of men's sweaters was displayed and began to pick through them.

Most of them were ugly. A few were not. But after a few tries, Mark gave up. While the sweaters hid the toned definition of his muscles, they just made him seem even more top-heavy than without. He looked like the Titan he was named for, and was sure to catch attention.

"...maybe not."

Mordred's mouth scrunched to the side as he looked over the clothing options. Everything seemed so...impractical. Some of the innovations were impressive, such as the metallic ribbons that could be opened and closed with the pull of a tab. However, they were not made with armor in mind. Even the bulkiest looked as if they might be rubbed threadbare by his coat of mail.

"I shall defer to you on what is most appropriate for this era and our quest, my lady," he said to Jeanne-Marie. "I confess I am partial to function over fashion, although this shade of forest green is quite pleasing..." He trailed off as he looked at dark green leather jacket.

Jeanne-Marie slightly arched an already slightly arched elfin brow, at the last remark, but didn't inquire.  She did agree that:  "Yes...navy especially looks great with your coloring.  Contrasts your hair, and makes the eyes look even more blue."


She laughed a little.   "Oh, you want that kind of thing, do you?   They sell it over at Kirby's, down on Marvel and 3rd!"   



"Well, there is a lot of esoteric knowledge here, to be sure.   But, the Yggdrasil? I just learned about it in community college, when I took intro to mythology," she said with a wink.

Once the Valkyrie was taken care of, she made her way over toward Mordred, passing by Mark en route.    The sweaters caught her eye as well.

"Sapristi!" she exclaimed, looking nearly outraged  "Sasha," she called out to the clerk,  "Why in hell's name did we order these?   Ils sont de la merde !"

"Um, they are the ones your brother's friend designed.   Remember?  You said you would sell them in the shop?"   

"Oh. Right.  Ugh.  Well, that's what I get for trusting him, hey?"  she threw up her hands in exasperation.    Once she was with Mordred:

"Yes, take the jacket. A good look for you, I think."   She indicated pants that to the others were plainly jeans.

"These are denims," she said, gesturing at her own.  "Very common to wear here, guys and gals both. Very durable, too. Though, some people more from the future have big holes in theirs, and claim it is the style.   Some designer, somewhere, is laughing his butt off, I am sure."

She handed him a pair of shirts, one collared, the other a long sleeve t-shirt, both black.

"Here.  Black will look good with the jacket.   Try this stuff on, make sure it fits," she guided him toward the dressing room.

Soon, the apparel acquisition was done, and everyone had whatever they wanted.

It was time to get down to business. There was a cosmic mcguffin to be found, somewhere out in the sprawling cityscape.   And, Sylph had a suggestion as to where the heroes might start...

Jeanne-Marie offered two options where the group might speak:

The upstairs office of the shop; which ensured privacy, but wouldn't be the most comfortable.

Or, a cafe down the street called merely The Place. She described it as having the kind of large booths that were well ensconced by wood, as well as enough music and activity that they could talk, as long as things didn't perhaps get too specific.

(Whoever wants to choose one of those options, feel free to specify in your post) 

"I have a friend named Cali," she explained. "A fellow mutant, with unusual sensory ability.   Strong enough that maybe she could feel the vibes of the thing you're seeking, or those of the thief, depending on what sort of being they are, and how well masked."  She bit her lip.

"Based on all you've told me, it would be a long shot, almost for sure. But if you want a shortcut to finding it, this would be the quickest, if it works."  She frowned.  "Of course...Cali's living arrangement is a little unusual."

Barbara chose the blue silk blouse with a lovely Trellis print and a soft white maxi skirt. She also grabbed distressed bell bottom flares, a peasant top, and a kimono top. “I’ll take these. Can I also have the armband, the suede ankle boots, the fringed purse, aaand…that long bandana. I’d groove on that as a head wrap.” She gathered the clothes and accessories in her powerful arms and dropped them at the cash register.

“The cafe sounds good. I’m getting hungry, and the boys could probably use a bite, too. We can rendezvous with your friend there or later.”

Cipher bristles at Val's suggestion of the cafe, but remains silent. Instead, he merely nods his (obviously reluctant) agreement.

"Are there any additional leads?"

She nodded.  "Let's say, I know a guy.  He vanished off the scene some time ago.   I know he's still around. I'm just not sure where, exactly.  But, I'm betting I can find him.   And also, there are the newly Arrived, to think about.   Assuming the one you seek came into the city like anyone else."     She paused to refold a cashmere sweater some previous customer had tossed haphazardly back on the shelf.

"But, according to Bill, the Doc thinks it is more likely they did not."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:02, Sun 04 Sept 2022.

Once the group had walked down the street, to the cafe named (imaginatively) The Place, Jeanne-Marie awaited anyone who wished to order a snack or beverage, or helped them with that, before herself getting and nursing a honey latte.

As promised, the booth was large and oaken, and along with the music, enough to conceal from eyes and ears.

"Okay, so here's the deal:  after my brother and I parted ways with the Friends, he started a religion."   Judging by expression, it pained her to say it.

"Église de la vie. it is called.  It focuses on living the high life, on finding the spiritual through the material. Some of his former acolytes got fed up, and formed a reactionary sect, Le Modeste, The Modest."   She rolled her eyes, sipped the latte.

"So, the Modest live in a place called the Village, which is just a renovated warehouse.  They are funny; decent sorts, but kind of like Amish, only with a punkier sensibility, if you can imagine?  So my friend, Cali, is with them, and doesn't have a f--king phone!  We've got to go to the Village, and bring her out, to speak with her."

There was nothing for it:   If the group wished to consult the Seer of Sundown, as some called Cali, the trip was necessary.   And after wrapping up at the cafe, they traveled to the place, which wasn't too far.

Jeanne-Maria spent some time answering questions, at the front door.  An unfamiliar herbal scent wafted out from inside.

Until a short, pale complexioned, young woman with her dark hair in dreads, a denim top, and a black maxi skirt stepped out to look at the strangers...

Her eyes were large; amber hued, and didn't blink a great deal, it became apparent after a time.    She didn't need to look at anyone long, to make them feel under scrutiny.  Uncomfortable for some, perhaps.

Jeanne-Marie kept it simple; telling Cali only that they needed to know if she'd picked up on anything unusual, in terms of vibes, auras, emanations and such things she could apparently sense.  "These are good people,"  she assured Cali, meaning the party, "And please, this is important, if you have felt anything at all."   

Her eyes moved over the party again, and she seemed to draw her own conclusion, before saying:

"I did.  A day and a half ago, I picked up on something a little...different. Not in any bad way. It was vague, soft; not troublesome.  I felt it for maybe ten minutes, before it went Below."     

"You are certain-?"

Cali nodded. "For sure. The Underground.  I can tell when something drops, and cuts out completely like that, after the door closes." She shrugged. "Nothing passes adamantium."

The Underground, that Jeanne-Marie had earlier told the group about:   a system of tunnels and chambers beneath Sundown, designed so the Powerful could have a place to vent, clash, and settle disputes, without imperiling the structures and common folk above.

Mark had opted to blend in with the rest of the patrons of 'The Place' by ordering food. He didn't need to eat, but had been raised to do so anyway, to look more human. Now he swallowed and looked at Cali.

"What's adamantium?" he asked. It wasn't the only thing he hadn't understood, but it somehow stood out as important.

Earlier…

Barbara relaxed at The Place. She couldn’t hide an amused smile when she learned the name of the cafe. “Are you sure it’s not still 1974?” Barbara ordered chicken pesto  panini and a Chai latte. “It reminds me of this coffeehouse my ex-husband always took me to,” she told Jeanne-Marie pensively. “I’ve got fonder memories of the coffee.”

As Jeanne-Marie shared her story about her brother, Barbara’s face darkened with unpleasant memories. “It looks like we’ve got something in common, Sister. Men in our lives hooking up with cults.” She sipped her latte. “Your brother’s sounds nicer than the one Jack lured me into, though.”

Eventually, the small group of exiles left the cafe. They ventured to a “Village” that looked long on “Industrial”, and bereft of “Quaintness”. Barbara looked up at the warehouse. “Hmm. Looks more ‘Bowery’ to me.”

Jeanne-Marie negotiated their contact at the door. It reminded Barbara of a particularly seedy bar they’d visited in Chicago. Luke & Namor had spent a good deal of time haggling with that doorman for entry, too.

Eventually, they met Cali. The petite woman stared at each of them as if looking through them. Barbara never flinched under that unwavering stare. In her life, and the memories of Brunnhilde, she’d been looked over by much scarier things. Barbara stared back with dispassionate eyes. They soon had their information.

Mark’s question was relevant. “Is that like Diamond or that stuff they use on clocks? We might as well know, since we’re going Underground.””

"Virtually indestructible...a man-made alloy of steel.  In many worlds where it is known, it's composition is a classified secret.  Its properties don't qualify for any entry on the Table of Elements.   The Underground tunnels are made from it, as are the girder structures of some buildings.   Down below, it ensures extreme uses of power don't harm what lies above."   

"Eh, Jean-Paul didn't hook up, he is the hooker."    Then laughed when she realized how that sounded.

"Escusez-moi, Anglaise is of course the second tongue.  But, formal religion - conventional or no - is sure not my thing.   Nor Jean-Paul's;  he founded it, but he is no pastor, but rather an entrepreneur.  Of sorts," she scowled, shrugged.

"Was Jack an asshole?   If yes, then you are better off free."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:16, Mon 05 Sept 2022.

“Not when we met,” Barbara said with an initial pensiveness that shifted to a quiet anger as she spoke. “Until he insisted that we give Van Nyburg’s cult a chance. Until he refused to understand why I wanted nothing to do with him after my near miss with becoming a bride of The Nameless One.” Barbara closed her eyes as she picked up a floral wrap dress, fighting a particularly painful memory.

Then, she put the dress back on the rack. “He eventually took ‘No’ for an amswer when I tossed him out of a window.” Barbara chuckled mirthlessly. “Don’t worry. He lived. It was on the first floor.”

Mordred listened quietly as the others spoke. He seemed unfazed by Cali's scrutinous gaze. She appeared cautious, and Mordred saw caution as a virtue.

He broke his silence at the mention of adamantium.

"I wonder if this metal you speak of is similar to that used to forge my staff," he said, offering the staff up for investigation. "It was crafted from a Starstone, the remains of a rock that fell from the heavens. Arthur's best smiths could not solve the puzzle of its mysterious blend of steel, but perhaps your time's craftsmen have better tools to uncover its secrets.

"If it is made of the same metal, then perhaps it will serve well as a shield should we venture to this realm of peril."

The petite mutant regarded Mordred with the same sort of gaze, taking in his words.   Then her eyes fell on the staff.

"I don't think it's the same," she offered. "Adamantium is the work of mortals...and that, I don't think so.  But, it may well be a shield, as you say," she concluded a little cryptically.

"Jeez, wow!  And I thought I had a reason to be pissed, when my boyfriend wanted to do a threesome!"   She shook her head.



"Oh, good, there is even a funny word for that! Défenestrer...defenestrate, in Anglais, I think!"   Jeanne-Marie appeared to approve of the action wholeheartedly.

"Yes, yes, very well," commented Cipher, after listening to the conversation with Cali.

"Shall we get on with this, then?"  His demeanor almost suggested a cat, too long pent up in doors, and eager to get outside. "Jeanne-Marie, didn't you say a map of the Underground is available?"   

To which she nodded. "Uh huh, yes.  Very available." 

Mark wasn't really thrilled with the idea of going underground. It wasn't that he was afraid of enclosed spaces or anything like that. He was virtually fearless, really, believing himself to be virtually indestructible as well. But going underground meant that the chances of doing harm to others would skyrocket. Collapsing a tunnel accidentally with his super-strength was a real risk that he would need to watch out for.

But then this 'adamantium' made it sound like less of a risk... if you believed in that sort of thing. At the moment, he wasn't buying it. He could bend steel like putty in his bare hands. How strong could this 'adamantium' really be?

Oh, well. If the locals believed in its strength, he'd buy into the story for now. But he'd still be extra careful while underground.

"When do we go?" he asked. "Are we going now?"

"Given the consequence of failure it would be wise not to tarry," Mordred said. He looked over at Jeanne-Marie and Cali.

"Will you be joining us in our quest?" he asked them. "I understand if you will stay behind. The Sorcerer Supreme charged us to retrieve the item, and it is not your burden to shoulder. However, you would be welcome to accompany us."

"Oh no," put in Cali, wide eyes going even wider. "I'm no fighter, especially not against the sorts you find down there!  You couldn't pay me enough to go Underground, but I wish you all the best."   

"I am going," nodded Jeanne-Marie.  "It won't be my first trip, I know the place.   I'm pretty sure my offense power is not on a par with you people. But I have very good defense.  I can take care of myself, and am used to working with a group.   Even with me along, though, I want you guys to have a map.  Just in case."

It turned out someone Cali knew had one, and she was willing to go get it, and let the heroes take it.   Glancing at it, the winding labyrinth depicted would have been confusing without foreknowledge.

"There are rest stations down there," Jeanne-Marie advised, pointing to several spots on the map, "with clean water, and even latrines. Of course, not so often used.  Nobody wants to be caught with their pants down."

She also assured the place was well lit, and had air recirculated from the surface.

The Underground's two entry/exit doors were well known and unguarded.   One at the city's eastern edge, and the other toward its west side.   Based on what Cali sensed, it was likely the one they sought had entered to the east.

Unless anyone wanted to get anything before heading down, then there was no reason to delay.

If there is anything anybody wanted, in preparation for going down into this place, you can make a note of how it was acquired en route.  Any common items would be easily gotten, one way or the next.  If there are any unusual requests, then hit me up PM or OOC. 

Some time later:

The east entrance to Sundown City's so-named Underground wasn't without aesthetics or advisements.

A large doorway --  seemingly made of the previously discussed adamantium -- was set into an almost Gothic looking structure, made of stone, about the size of a large shed.

The door was smooth, featureless save for its single handle -- at variance with the embellished structure about it.    Including a pair of pedestaled statues on either side, one male, one female. Iconic figures of obvious power, who fixed one another with determined, contentious gazes.

And to the left of the door, was a small standing stone, bearing a plaque.  Engraved upon it was what seemed to be the Underground's fine print, for any who took a moment to peruse it.

The writing went on first about the virtue of 'Prime Adamantium,' and its indestructible nature to anything short of fully divine power.   Followed by legal verbiage, stressing that, for any who entered here, neither the city nor your insurance carrier was liable for any injury incurred.

It concluded with these words: 'Through conflict let accord be reached.   Let the Empowered be not restricted from the full of their god-given or self-made might.  Remember that honor and mercy are amongst the highest of strengths.'   

"Yeah, yeah," commented Jeanne-Marie.  "Sounds all poetic, doesn't it?   But make no mistake; some who roam down here crack heads with less regard than they have for eggs at breakfast."

“Yeah. Why would they sweat it when the fine print says that the Law always looks the other way?” Valkyrie grinned. “At least I won’t deal with some cop who’s pissed off that I’m making him irrelevant.”

She stared at the statues flanking the door. Then, Val stepped toward the entrance. “Time to shit or get off the pot, boys.”

"Through conflict let accord be reached?" Mordred repeated, softly scoffing at the thought. "Words oft chosen by petty lords who seek to expand at the cost of both their subjects' and their neighbor's blood."

Mordred watched Val step forward. While he was unfamiliar with the idiom, he managed to decipher the intent.

"Agreed. This is our best lead, and we have no time to waste." He grasped his Ebony Staff and lightly struck the butt of it against the ground to emphasize his point.

"So... do we knock, or do we just go in?" Mark stood in front of the gate, and couldn't help but think of it, however slightly, as the gate to the Underworld. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here might as well be part of the inscription.

With a shrug, he gripped the handle and pulled.

"Well," Jeanne-Marie answered Sir Mordred, "the Underground is very old, dating back to the city's creation, in fact.  Even from the beginning, there were those who wished for combat as a means to settle dispute.   And the idea was to let them do so, without endangering the common Jane or Joe.  Nobody needs to come down here.  And it is on them, if they do.   Of course, sometimes people act on the words of things, but ignore their intent." 

When Mark opened the doorway, the heroes were presented with a spiral stairway, a very long descending one.  As Jeanne-Marie had earlier said, illumination wasn't lacking, and everyone was able to see, whether they had any special visual faculty or no.

The stairwell had no inscriptions or markings, and there were no issues in making it all the way to the bottom.

Once there, a long, featureless hall ran some 150' to the west, where it became a large, hexagonal chamber -- the first of the Underground's so-called mini-arenas.

The hall was wide enough for four to walk abreast -- but it was more a matter of how much room to maneuver was desired.   According to the map, the size was usual for the main hallways, though some passages were narrower.  (Time to establish a marching order, probably...)

More than one in the group possessed exceptional senses, but Mark's were super-humanly so.

And, he was sure he heard someone belch from the chamber up ahead...
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:36, Mon 26 Sept 2022.

"Someone is up ahead," Mark said quietly. He took point in the group, relying on his nearly impenetrable skin to protect him and the others behind him. "And I don't think he cares if we know he's here or not."

“Good.” Valkyrie let Mark lead the marching order. She didn’t know how durable Cipher or Mordred were. “Because I want him to know that we’re here, and we’re coming around him or through him!” Barbara said the last part loudly, hoping her voice carried.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:03, Tue 27 Sept 2022.

"Ah, I see," Mordred said after hearing Jeanne-Marie's explanation. "That is a much more noble justification, and deserves my respect. Forgive my prior disdain. I have encountered many a feudal lord who use such claims to defend their aggression while answering King Arthur's call for errantry. Many would watch the carnage of battle from afar while their subjects lost limb and life for their liege's ambitions. This defied the spirit of Arthur's rule, and as Knights we would seek to prevent such pointlessly cruel wars."

As the group passed the threshold of the Underground, Mordred allowed Val and Mark to take the lead. They seemed a bit more...audacious in their approach to adventuring. Mordred could appreciate boldness, but he also saw the wisdom of stealth. While they had the advantages of a map and a guide, each of the Sorcerer Supreme's chosen were strangers to this realm. Mordred preferred to study his adversaries before engaging them. It was a point of contention that he had with some of his fellow Knights---especially Sir Kay. However, such caution had always served Mordred well.

"If you wish to serve as vanguard I shall perform the role of rearguard," Mordred said softly. As he spoke, he formed a mystic gesture with his free hand. Placing his index and middle fingers together and holding his other two fingers down with his thumb, Mordred brought the extended fingers to his forehead. He whispered an incantation taught to him by Morgan Le Fay, a spell meant to protect him from harm. Emerald green tongues of flame flickered into existence and outlined him. The flames rippled across Mordred before fading from sight.

"I may be without my mail but I am not without armor."

Scene Distinction:  Impervious mini-arena

It didn't take the heroes long to reach the chamber ahead.

At which point they were confronted by a juggernaut figure, who in fact went by that very name in no few realities.   Although not here.   The blue and yellow color scheme of his costume would be different to some, but that was trivial.

He glowered at them as they entered, seeming most unimpressed, though not unwary.

"Well huh.   Who the f--k are you people?   I don't think I've seen any of ya before."  He scrutinized them a bit.   "I'm lookin' for a theme, and I don't see one.     You're like, what, just a bunch a random thrill seekers? I'm Mr. Sluggo, by the way,"      he smiled.

Outnumbered though he might be, he was yet easily big enough to block the only other passageway out of the chamber.    Which was exactly what he was doing...

Had Dollar Bill been present, he'd have assured the group that Mr. Sluggo was mean. Really, really mean...

Up first:  Valkyrie.   You don't necessarily have to attack, yet, though naturally that's one option.

Mr. Sluggo is more massive and brawned out than the figure in the image, which I used just because the colors are right.

And if Val (or anyone else) can answer what silly, 70s skit is being spoofed here, you can take +1 PP!

“Are you such a big thrill, Sluggo?” Valkyrie looked him over with a smirk. “Let me guess. You’re a Saturday Night Live fan? Well, we might look random, but we’re a little tougher than Mr. Bill.”

Valkyrie drew her jacket aside so “Mr. Sluggo” saw Dragonfang. “How about you let us by, or we see how indestructible you really are.”

OOC:

Solo D8
Warrior Woman On Wheels 1d4 (gain 1PP)
Superhuman Strength 1d10
Dragonfang 1d8
Menace Expert 1d8


23:37, Today: Valkyrie rolled 6,4,5,6,3 using 1d8,1d4,1d10,1d8,1d8.  Psych Mr. Sluggo out.

14:56, Today: Secret Roll: Valkyrie rolled 1 using 1d10.  Replacing Solo die.

I’m attempting to impose Emotional Stress and psych Mr. Sluggo out, make him step aside.

Total: 15
Effect: 1d10


PP: 1 (+1 from using 1d4 for Distinction)


Next: Mordred


This message was last edited by the player at 18:58, Fri 30 Sept 2022.

Mordred stifled a smirk upon seeing Mr. Sluggo. Finding a troll in a cave---albeit a well illuminated one---was at least something familiar in this alien realm. He was surprised when it spoke rather than simply attack. That was unexpected, but perhaps allowed for a diplomatic resolution to this obstacle.

Mordred watched as Val stepped forward to address the surprisingly human-like troll named Mr. Sluggo. Her references were unfamiliar, but her actions were instantly recognizable. She was attempting to get the creature to step aside. It was a cunning gambit, and one he endeavored to aid.

"My companion speaks wisely, Sir Sluggo," Mordred said as he walked into view. "A theme among us you will not see, but we are united in our purpose. We seek only to continue our sojourn through these caverns. Let us pass and part as friends. Block our path, and well..."

Mordred trailed off and gestured at Val and Mark with one hand.

"You shall see the strength of our fellowship's resolve," he finished. He struck the ground of the tunnel with the butt of his Ebony Staff. The starmetal staff caused the adamantium of the tunnels to reverberate with a low and ominous hum.

OOC:

Team D10
Knight Out of Time D4   (gains you 1 PP)
Menace Expert  D8
Psych Master  D8,D8  (two dice; derived from its D10 rating) (costs you 1 PP to add this second specialty)
The Ebony Staff: Weapon  D8

19:16, Today: Mordred rolled 4,2,8,7,4,4 using 1d10,1d4,1d8,1d8,1d8,1d8 with rolls of 4,2,8,7,4,4.  Psych Mr. Sluggo out.

Total: 15
Effect: d10

Next: Mark

Mr. Sluggo reactions

Doom pool = 2d6 + D8    (after Val's opportunity)
Sluggo :
Solo D8
Unstoppable D8
Godlike Duability D12
Menace Master D10 (or D8,D8)

"Aw, well, ten points for you, sweet cakes!"    Delivered with all the expected bravado, toward Valkyrie.   However, Mr. Sluggo's eyes flicked toward Dragonfang;   and with some amount of recognition, perhaps?   Or did the steel in the Valkyrie's voice eyes and voice have more to do with it?

Mr. Sluggo rolled 3,3,2,2,6 using d8,d8,d12,d8,d8.  Reaction 1.
Total = 9
Sluggo takes D8 emotional stress

The bravado returned, nevertheless:  "Pencil necks like Mr. Bill always get propped up by the freakin' establihsment!    All ya have to do is get shit on, and then wallow in it, and suddenly you're gold!   The Sluggos of the world are always made to look bad, just for havin' some balls!"     

Sir Mordred, with his eldritch lineage and unique place in history(s) was not a man to be taken lightly.   Sluggo's eyes narrowed at the knight, following his admonishment; but this time he was determined not to be intimidated any further...

Mr. Sluggo rolled 6,1,9,4 using d8,d8,d12,d10.  Reaction 2.
Total = 15;  Pay a die from the Doom pool to add a third die to the total
Total = 19    DP = D6 + D8

"Huh!  Fellowship, is it?     Then where the f--k is Bilbo?    I don 't see no f--kin' hobbit, buddy!"   
This message was last edited by the player at 20:02, Mon 03 Oct 2022.

Down the hallway from where the group had come in, crimson and violet colored energies flared and played briefly, before resolving into the form of a man.

Specifically, Scott Summers, aka Specter, returned via the contingency spell Dr. Strange had set.

Scott found himself in a hall constructed of seamless, glinting adamantium, that led forward to a large chamber, wherein he was sure he heard some familiar voices...

Specter has rejoined the group, coming up from behind. 

"I regret to inform you that I lack the requisite subtlety to try to talk you out of a fight," Mark said politely, looking 'Sluggo' in the eyes. He'd been raised to fight the things that needed to be fought, although those things had been more like tanks and warships and less like... whatever Sluggo was. "Instead, I have laser vision."

Attempt to inflict Blindness complication on Sluggo
Team d10
Truth, Justice and a Better Tomorrow d8
Heat Vision d10
Combat Expert d8

Kid Hyperion rolled 6,1,1,4 using d10,d8,d10,d8 ((6,1,1,4)).

Total: 12
Effect: d4

Opps: 2

Next: Specter
This message was last edited by the player at 21:33, Mon 03 Oct 2022.

Specter wandered the tunnels, unsure of where Strange's contingency spell had brought him. Worse, his bike had been left behind at the establishment, and by another stroke of bad luck, the Spirit was having trouble getting a lock on its location. Perhaps the bike was even trying to reach him, but just wasn't able to find him down here. In any case, here he was, plodding along- on foot- like some schmuck. And then, suddenly, he heard voices up ahead.

"Eh? Who's that?"

Scott raced ahead without thinking, emerging into a semi-circle of (semi-)familiar faces. One of them was that kid in the corny-looking jumpsuit from earlier, who was mouthing off to a tall, broad-shouldered giant. The big guy was the one Scott focused his attention on as he gave a small gasp. Suddenly, his mind wasn't in this strange new universe, but back in his own, where mutants and their lot were all but extinct. A place where he would have been brought to joyful tears just to lay eyes on any other living mutant- or, well, mutant-adjacent person- aside from himself. Even the mother-flippin' Juggernaut.

"Cain? Is that you? But you're dea-?"

And then Jumpsuit Kid was lasering the crap out of Cain Marko, and Scott lashed out in protective fury. He whipped his glasses off.

"NO!"

Shooting Mark with an optic blast.

Solo d10
Avenging the X-Men d4 (+1 PP) (Reacting with misplaced anger)
Optic Blast d6

02:59, Today: Specter rolled 4,2,2 using 1d10,1d4,1d6.  Shooting an optic blast at Kid Hyperion.

Total: 6
Effect: d6
Opportunities: 0
PP's: 2

Next: Kid Hyperion
This message was last edited by the player at 10:08, Wed 05 Oct 2022.

"What the heck?!" This was the closest Kid Hyperion ever came to swearing. It was how the Project raised him, so that he might 'better relate to Middle-American values.' He was taken by surprise by the eye-blast, otherwise he might not have even gone this far.

The blast pinged harmlessly off his chest.

"Seriously?" he demanded.

Team d10
Last Son of Argon d8
Superhuman Durability d10
Combat Expert d8

Kid Hyperion rolled 6,8,5,6 using d10,d8,d10,d8 ((6,8,5,6)).

Total: 14
This message was last edited by the player at 14:48, Wed 05 Oct 2022.

Mr. Sluggo rolled 7,2,6,8 using d8,d8,d12,d8.  Reaction for laser vision attack.   Total = 13   

On the instant that Mark's eyes flared, Sluggo seemed to anticipate what was about to happen; turning his head to the side, with the attack striking his helm to no effect.

He then laughed uproariously at the entrance and action of the new arrival.

"Hah!  Summers!   Or at least, some Summers.  Yeah; we muties got the might and the right! We should all stick together!"   

Marko and Scott were not the only mutants present, however.

And Douglas Ramsey, aka Cipher, had an entirely different reaction toward this nemesis:

"No!  What are you doing?" he yelled at Scott.    "We have a critical task to do, and this bludgeoning blowhard is in our way!" he gestured at Sluggo.

Whereupon Cipher fixed his gaze on Sluggo, eyes smoldering beyond his metal mask. "Marko, you filth!  You served the Imperium in my world! Like a slavering dog on a leash! The blood of innocents is on your hands, murderer!"   

About Cipher's gauntlets, gleaming blades suddenly snapped into place.

And nearby, Jeanne-Marie knew what he was about to do.  "Doug!  Wait, please, don't!"  But it was a waste of breath.

Cipher hurled himself at Sluggo, an agile and swift assault, plainly intended to push those blades into vital organs.

For better or worse, Mr. Sluggo was faster than he looked and managed to catch his incoming adversary by the neck. "Freak!  Ya tried to gut me!  Here's what you get, mutie or no mutie!"   

There was a sound like sticks breaking, and Cipher went limp.   Sluggo sneered.   And then hurled the unmoving hero at the Valkyrie, with no little force.

Val, reaction --  just narrate (you don't have to roll dice) as to how you deal with the injured Cipher being used as a missile weapon against you.

And then we'll start a new round.

Mordred's confusion at Mr. Sluggo's throwaway line disappeared the moment Mark attacked the brute. His lips pulled into a tight grimace, seeing their chance at diplomacy evaporate under the burning intensity of the strange light searing from Mark's eyes. No matter the age, no matter the era, no matter the group of knights, it seemed there would always be a Sir Kay to instigate an avoidable conflict.

Before he could put thought to words, Specter's reappearance distracted Mordred. His shock at their erstwhile companion's return was magnified when Specter in turn attacked Mark.

"Traitor," was all Mordred could manage to hiss at Specter before Cipher leaped into action. The knight tried to reach out and restrain him, but it was too late. Sluggo reacted faster, and Mordred was well acquainted with the sound of bones snapping. Cipher was no more...

“Specter, you treacherous sonofabitch!” Before Valkyrie could help Mordred, Sluggo viciously broke Cipher. Despite her Asgardian nerve, she still blanched at the sickening noise. Then, the human juggernaut hurled her teammate at her!

While Valkyrie could easily sidestep the crude attack, she knew Cipher would die for certain if he hit the Tunnel’s Adamatium walls! The intrepid Warrior Woman braced herself. She attempted to catch Cipher in a way that minimized damage on them both…


OOC:

16:22, Today: Valkyrie rolled 5,4,2,10 using D10,d8,d10,d10.  Reaction: Catch Cipher.

Reaction:

Team d10, Dynamic Defender d8, Superhuman Strength d10, Combat Master d10


Total: 19
Effect: d10 (the 2)
Opportunity: 0

PP: 2



 

"Seriously," Scott said evenly. "I don't care if you are a kid. Pull another stunt like that and next time I'll- Oh, hang on one second."

He stopped suddenly and looked past Mark as Cipher moved to attack Cain next, spouting off some sort of personal grievances. Who was this guy, anyway?


Mutie?!

Summers, you fool! He may look different here, but yes, he's that Cipher.

As Specter tried to knock Cipher back with another optic blast, he panicked and his eyebeam fizzled out. Instead, Doug followed through with his attack... and Cain grabbed the mutant and wrung his neck.

"Oh, shit."

Brilliant work. You may not have meant to betray them, but the end result is the same, now, isn't it? You know, I can fix this if you let me drive...

The Valkyrie's bid was successful; and the felled Cipher received about as gentle an impact as  possible.   Not that that meant a great deal...for Barbara was able to tap Brunnhilde's instincts, her millennia worth of experience, and those told her that she held a quadriplegic in her arms.   One whom would likely expire soon, if he didn't receive medical care.

Jeanne-Marie was instantly by her side, her face pale with horror, but able to act notwithstanding; "Give him to me!  I can get him out of here quickest!  He might have a chance!" 

(assuming Val has no reason to contest that)  When she took him, it was only with effort that at first she held him.   But that changed, as both she and Cipher abruptly grew translucent, and weightless   And one reason that Jeanne-Marie was called Sylph became apparent.

They rose swiftly to the ceiling, and both intangible, passed straight through it and were gone.

Whereupon Mr. Sluggo laughed unpleasantly:  "Well, assholes, what you got next for me?  What else is on the f--king menu?"   

Next:  Kid Hyperion

"Don't threaten me," Mark said to Specter, not even turning to look at him. He stepped up to Sluggo, and added, "And you, watch your language."

He'd just witnessed the man murder someone. (Or very nearly so, as there was a slim chance that Cipher would survive.) It was odd, then, that he'd focus on Sluggo's language. But he'd been raised with very strict rules about how one talked to others, especially in front of a lady. It was reflex, nothing more.

Similarly reflexive was the punch to Sluggo's oversized helmet, intended to rattle his brains a bit.

Team d10
Truth, Justice & a Better Tomorrow d8
Superhuman Strength 2d10
SFX: World Made of Cardboard – Step up or double any Argonian power for one action. If the action fails, add the highest die in the roll to the Doom Pool.
Combat Expert d8

Kid Hyperion rolled 4,2,6,9,8 using d10,d8,d10,d10,d8 ((4,2,6,9,8)).

Total: 17
Effect: d10

Next: Specter
This message was last edited by the player at 19:46, Fri 14 Oct 2022.

Reaction--

Sluggo:
Solo D8
Boisterous Bruiser D8
Godlike Durability D12
Combat Expert D8
Doom Pool die D8

Mr. Sluggo rolled 7,1,6,4,5 using d8,d8,d12,d8,d8.
Total = 13
Doom Pool = D8 + D6, after +1 die for pool
Sluggo takes D10 physical stress, but:

SFX: Invulnerable. Spend 1 doom die to ignore physical stress/trauma results
Doom Pool = D8

Kid Hyperion's crushing blow struck home -- slamming into his adversary's domed helm, and the brutish head beneath, with force that would pulverize most skulls.

But, Mr. Sluggo was possessed of ridiculous resilience, even against a teenage titan the likes of Mark Milton.

The punch slammed his head to the side, but he recovered swiftly, grinning: "Ha! That's right, punk, bring it on!  Gimme your best!  I can take it!"   

1 Opportunity available for whoever claims it, on your turn
This was a Reaction, so Specter still up, as per Mark's post

"Nice try, kid," Specter snorted. "But pounding on that helmet isn't gonna do anything. If you plan on taking him down, you'll need to get it off his head first."

He stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.

"Watch and learn."

At his command, twin chains burst out of the ground around Sluggo's heels, forming an "X" across the giant's midsection. With them, Scott attempted not to restrain the human juggernaut, but rather remove the helmet that guarded him from what the mutant Spirit of Vengeance planned to serve up next. The chains slithered along Sluggo's torse like snakes, searching out whatever means held that helmet in place and seeking to undo them.

Oh, this ought to be good, laughed the Spirit in Scott's mind.

Attempt to put a complication on Sluggo, "Heisted Helmet."

Team d6
Avenging the X-Men d8
Chains d6

06:02, Today: Specter rolled 3,6,1 using 1d6,1d8,1d6 ((3,6,1)).  Specter goes for the old helmet removal trick.

Total: 9
Effect: d4 (default)
Opportunities: 1
PP's: *2

If possible I'd like to activate one or more Limits on this turn, as both Gear and Tragic Past seem to be affecting Specter in this scene.

Next: Mordred

Reaction --

Sluggo
Solo D8
Unstoppable D8
Godlike Strength D12
Combat Expert D8

Doom pool 2D8  (after taking Specter's Opportunity)

Mr. Sluggo rolled 7,1,8,7 using d8,d8,d12,d8.  Reaction, helm removal trick.
Total 14, D12 effect

Sluggo grabbed the chains, pulling them from himself, rending them apart with little effort while he laughed jovially.

"We're both kinda old to be playing with slinkies, aren't we Summers?"

Mordred's turn is still next, per Specter.

2 Opportunities are now available to players. 

Frustration stoked the fires of fury burning within Mordred at this moment. Not only did one of their number just fall to the Sluggo, but now two were bickering. Words would be had, but they would have to wait. Mordred was a Knight of Camelot, and there was a monster to slay. Duty must always come first.

Mordred brought the Ebony Staff before him with a fluid gesture. He held the staff at one end, choosing to keep his distance while engaging the hulking brute. Mark and Specter targeted the helmet, but Mordred sought out the flaws of such armor. He advanced with a flurry of swipes and jabs Sluggo's face, seeking to gouge an eye, smash a nose, shatter a tooth, or strike him down with a fortunate blow...

OOC:

I'm not sure how opportunities work (and I think the MHR pdf I have has a bunch of images covering up explanations of it), but if possible I'd like to use one.

Team d10
Knight out of Time d8
Combat Master d10
Transmutation d8
SFX - Transmutative Strike. Step up or double the die when using Transmutation to attack a foe, or sunder an object.
Weapon d8

21:23, Today: Mordred rolled 2,3,9,4,7 using 1d10,1d8,1d10,1d8,1d8 ((2,3,9,4,7)).

Total: 16
Effect: d10

Next: Valkyrie

OOC:

Let’s see if I’m doing this correctly. I’m starting by spending 1 PP for SFX: Mighty Smite, stepping my d8 for Dragonfang up to a d10.

14:39, Today: Valkyrie rolled 10,8,5,1,2 using d10,d8,d10,d10,d10.  Dragonfang Vs. Sluggo, using 1 PP.

Team d10 + Born Again Asgardian Goddess d8 + Superhuman Strength d10 + Dragonfang d10 (from d8) + Combat Master d10.

Total: 23.
Effect: d12 (stepped up from d10).
Opportunity: 1 for Doom Pool.

I’m also spending 1 PP to use my own Opportunity to step up the Effect to d12.

PP: 0



Valkyrie watched her companions flail at Sluggo. The juggernaut’s impervious skin seemingly turned all their attacks. Barbara didn’t wait for the results of Mordred’s attack. Cipher was gravely hurt, and they couldn’t afford any further waste of time with the foe before them.

“You’ve faced the powers of Hell & Avalon, Brute.” Valkyrie held Dragonfang with the intent of a Master Warrior. “Now, face the Power of ASGARD!” The Viking Vixen charged Sluggo, aiming the point of her blade toward his exposed flesh between his armpit and upper rib cage!

OOC2:

Next: Kid Hyperion.

 

Note:  Cipher has been removed from the Underground. (By Sylph;  see msg #124 )   While his fate is definitely in question, it's now out of the group's hands.)     

As Sir Mordred closed for his attack, Sluggo didn't look particularly impressed or concerned.  The knight-out-of-time was nobody he recognized, and -- dressed now in contemporary apparel -- there was nothing overtly remarkable about him. At least, not to someone possessed of Sluggo's ridiculous strength and durability.

And, compared to the blade Valkyrie brandished, a staff was hardly the most intimidating of weapons.  Perhaps, if he'd known he faced a man  straight out of Arthurian myth, he'd have been a bit more concerned about defending himself...

Mordred's first blow was a feint...followed by one that struck the villain's jaw, then bashed his nose, and lastly targeted a vulnerable eye, driving straight into it.

Sluggo roared in pain...and, unless his powers included regeneration, it was possible he'd never see with that eye again.

And, it was right then that a woman who was nothing less than a real Valkyrior -- well experienced in seeking weak points in armor and hides --  perceived a vulnerability and exploited it.

Dragonfang struck true, and Sluggo screamed a second time. Perhaps not unlike the Mr. Bills of the world...those too weak to defend themselves, that he felt entitled to ridicule and look down upon.

Note:   Sluggo (as per Juggernaut datafile) has an SFX that lets him eliminate any physical stress, so long as I've got doom dice to spend on it.   But, in thinking about this, I don't want this to stretch on & on.    Nor did I want to short change Mordred and Val for their RP work.

So, again, I'm narrating, but net result is that Sluggo is left with a D10 of physical stress he can't erase, after spending a D8 from the doom pool...   

But, the scream swiftly turned to a bellow of outrage and hate.   

Bleeding, his injured eye oozing, he laced his massive hands together to strike a sweeping, pendulum style blow...one intended to take first Valkyrie, and then carry on through to Mordred!

Mr. Sluggo rolled 6,1,12,5,6 using d8,d8,d12,d8,d8.    Sluggo retaliates!
Total = 18;   effect = D8
Doom pool = presently empty, after all the above

There is an Opportunity available for whoever grabs it next.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:31, Mon 24 Oct 2022.

Mr. Sluggo's screams caused Mordred to crack the hint of a satisfied grin. There was always a sense of accomplishment in landing a blow, especially to a braggart blocking the path forward. Seeing Valkyrie follow up with a successful strike caused the grin to grow wider. Should Sluggo survive the encounter, Mordred hoped the wound might teach him some humility.

However, it still seemed as though the brute had life and strength in him. Mordred brandished the Ebony Staff before him, hoping to use it to shield and deflect Sluggo's double-fisted attack. Despite his best efforts, the blow caught Mordred full-forced...

OOC:
I hope I'm doing this right. If not, please knock off the appropriate die/dice in the order I listed them in the roller.

Team d10
Knight Out of Time d8
Combat Master d10
The Ebony Staff-Superhuman Durability d10
Knight of Eld-Enhanced Stamina d8

19:24, Today: Mordred rolled 5,3,5,4,6 using 1d10,1d8,1d10,1d10,1d8.  Reaction-Defense vs. Sluggo.

Total: I'll spend my 1 PP so that I don't fail by more than 5, and leave the Opportunity for Val just in case she needs it for defense. 16, still fails.

0PP left

Valkyrie attempted to roll with Sluggo’s attack, riding it out to blunt the worst of the damage…


OOC:

12:14, Today: Valkyrie rolled 3,4,2,8 using 1d10,1d4,1d10,1d10.  Reaction.

Total: 14
Effect: d10
Opportunity: 0

PP: +1 from rolling the d4.

Team d10 + Dynamic Defender d4 (+1 PP) + Superhuman Durability d10 + Combat Master d10

Can I use the Opportunity to use my SFX: Invulnerability, and ignore the Stress? If not, I’ll spend the PP for it.

If my understanding is right, you can only activate SFX with an Opp (without paying a PP) when the description specifically says so.   So in this case, it would cost the PP.   

New Turn ::

Mr. Sluggo was possessed of titanic strength. But, the Valkyrie and Mordred were veterans of battles with ogres, trolls, giants and other blood-lusting behemoths.  Neither was taken out by the assault, and in the Valkyrie's case, her skill combined with her Asgardian physiology was enough to spare her from any real harm.

Sluggo roared, clenching his massive fists, glaring at them all with his single, uninjured eye, "Mother f--kers!  I'm not through yet!  I'll pound ya all like railroad spikes!" 

He was, however, no where near as fast as Argon's last son...

Next: Kid Hyperion

He really didn't want to be fighting Sluggo at all, of course. Mark had actually wanted to get past him without bloodshed. But trying to blind him had failed, and things had devolved from there. Now it was time to put Sluggo on the ground and make sure he stayed there.

Stepping in, Mark threw his best punch. He'd tried hitting Sluggo before, to no avail, but Sluggo was injured now, and probably not at the top of his game any longer.

Team d10
Last Son of Argon d8
Superhuman Strength d10
Combat Expert d8
Sluggo's Physical Stress d10

Kid Hyperion rolled 2,5,8,7,5 using d10,d8,d10,d8,d10 ((2,5,8,7,5)).

Total: 15
Effect: d10

Mark's surmise as to that was correct;  bleeding, blinded in one eye, the blue and yellow clad juggernaut was in no shape to deflect or receive a blow from someone with Kid Hyperion's strength.

Mr. Sluggo rolled 3,7,7,1 using d8,d8,d12,d8.  Sluggo reaction .

The massive thug staggered back with the force of the punch, to slam into the wall behind him, and then topple forward.    Where he pushed himself up slightly, to say:

"Ok -- okay!  Enough!  I give!  Jus' get on with your business --  leave me the hell alone!"

End of combat -- unless wants to wail on the beaten baddie...

Mordred pushed himself up from the wall that Sluggo's strike had slammed him into, using the Ebony Staff to support himself. The force of the blow had rattled the knight, reminding him of boar hunts gone wrong during his days as a squire. However, he was used to shrugging off pain in the heat of battle.

Mordred was about to deliver another flurry of strikes at the behemoth of a man when Sluggo spoke. Part of the Knight wanted to bring an end to Sluggo right then and there for what he did to Cypher. And yet he felt some small modicum of sympathy for the man. Sluggo did not make the first act of aggression.

"Leave," commanded Mordred, "and never block our path again." He then turned his attention to the party.

"This fight was avoidable," Mordred hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at Kid Hyperion and Specter. "We were talking to him. Valkyrie's parley appeared to be working. But thanks to impetuousness our numbers and chances are now greatly diminished. Is pride more important to the knights of your age than protecting their realms?"

"Never mind," he continued as he started off in the direction Sylph had been leading them. "Speak your defense as we press forward as we've tarried too long already. Or don't. T'would not be the first time I've seen a quest through alone when others fell to fear or flaws."

Mark sighed.

"First off," he said, sticking out his index finger, "I deeply regret any influence my actions may have had on Cypher's. He charged into a battle he clearly wasn't equipped to handle, and paid the price. Still, I hope for his speedy recovery.

"However, second," he ticked off a second finger, "If you think that fight was avoidable, you're out of your mind. Sluggo was just looking for an excuse. He wasn't going to debate matters with us. He was about to attack.

"Third," a third finger joined the first two, ""this had nothing to do with pride or impetuousness. Ironically, my training is that attacking first will generally minimize casualties on my side, rather than waiting for the enemy to come to us. Today, that training was probably incorrect.

"Fourth," a fourth finger, "I've answered your charges out of courtesy, but you aren't in charge here."

His fingers curled down into a fist.

"Any questions?"

"If anyone was looking for a fight," Mordred replied to Kid Hyperion, "it was you. He simply bandied about insults in an inebriated state. You struck first, not him. And worse, you missed.

"You are right, I am not in charge," he added, "but we are to act as one. And based on your actions, I question whether your training taught you how to act as part of a team."

"And worse, I missed?" Mark couldn't help but laugh a little as Mordred torpedoed his own argument. "So you'd have been fine with it if I had blinded Sluggo as intended? I'm sorry. I've never actually seen anyone capable of dodging lasers before.

"In my world, I'm the only one with powers. There are rumors of others, but no real proof. I've never fought with them, though, as allies or as enemies. Perhaps this requires a change in tactics. Now I know."

“Kid, take the cotton out of your ears, and stick it in your mouth. It doesn’t matter who started what. Sluggo crippled our teammate, and Mordred’s right. We need numbers.” Valkyrie approached Sluggo and held Dragonfang’s edge an inch or two from his good eye. “Remember Dragonfang’s bite the next time you think about rolling anyone passing through here.”

Then, she turned a withering glare toward Specter. “You and I will talk later.” She motioned the group to continue down the passage. “For now, we need to keep moving.”

As Specter clutched his head, it may have seemed he wasn't all there during that moment. There was little else but his strange posture to indicate that the entity who shared his body was talking to him again.

Ah, how fortunate, Summers. Seems your little meltdown didn't doom this team after all. Good thing the child is so strong, because you were positively pathetic.

"Sorry, kid," Specter muttered to Mark, as his headache subsided. "I was out of line. And that punch wasn't bad. I mean, I had it all under control, but still..."

Whether that was true or not, he strode over to take a look at "Mr Sluggo". Satisfied Marko would eventually recover, Scott just gave him a small wave. "Well, good seeing you, Cain."

As the group argued and accusations flew, though, Scott couldn't resist putting in his two cents. Their infighting caused cloudy memories to resurface suddenly in his mind. Past trauma mingled with the present reality in front of him, as it often did.

"Hank-- I mean, Mordred-- is right. The kid struck first. Don't know about all of you, but where I come from, that's just called being smart."

He looked around at them all.

"So. You all want to keep throwing crap at the wall and seeing what sticks? Or do you want a real leader calling the shots here, so we at least have a prayer of completing this mission? Better pick someone..."

He walked away from the group as his bike came screeching down the tunnel and skidded to a stop next to him. He swung a leg over.

"... 'Cause it isn't me. And as for talking later,"-- he looked at the Valkyrie-- " Don't bet on it, lady."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:33, Thu 10 Nov 2022.

"Don't worry about it," Mark told Specter. The eye beams hadn't hurt him, and the attack seemed to have been just a misunderstanding. "I believe the expression is 'No harm, no foul'? Besides, us guys with the laser vision need to stick together."

"Heh. I appreciate the sentiment..." Specter revved the engine of his bike. "But I work better alone."

I don't actually intend to break off again, but I want to see how the group reacts. I want Specter's solo tendency to be a humorously vexing character trait, not an utterly exasperating one.

“Is running away all you’re good for?”

"Running away? Nah. As soon as I put too much distance between us, that damned spell would just dump me back with you lot again. No, I was thinking I'd ride just far enough ahead that I don't have to deal with you anymore." With that, the mutant motorcyclist popped a wheelie, jumped his bike over Sluggo, and rode ahead toward the chamber's exit passage.

"There's a saying in my time," Mordred replied pointedly to the naive Kid Hyperion. "'If you covet the King's throne, let your killing blow strike home or else find yourself flayed in the morning.' I'm not above subterfuge if it will save lives. If a slit throat will spare a kingdom, so be it. But if you fail expect to suffer the consequences of your treachery."

Mordred narrowed his eyes in a scowl when Specter scoffed at their progress.

"We had a lead and a guide until you attacked us," he retorted. "And if you side with our adversaries, then I wonder how wise your age's Sorcerer Supreme truly is. Farewell, betrayer."

And with that sentiment uttered, the rebellious rider sped down the hall past the exit, with the flames of Hell flickering in his wake.

Thus it would be who'd encounter the lone man traversing said hall.

Whereas Sluggo had been an intimidating figure (well, not so much to those who handed him his ass), there was nothing at all so about the one Specter saw in the beam of his headlight.

His clothes -- the remnants of a maroon and teal costume, that was kind of familiar --  were disheveled, as was his hair.  He was smiling -- grimacing? Something betwixt the two.  And as Specter drew closer, his wild eyes suggested he wasn't perhaps all there.

"Hey yo, hey yo, hey yo!" he called out.  "Guess who's coming to the party?"

If anyone has reason to recognize John Jameson III (Man Wolf, Stargod, and J. Jonah's son), this is identifiably him.

Specter will reach him first, but closing the distance isn't a big a deal for the rest, especially Mark.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:14, Wed 16 Nov 2022.

“Men.” Valkyrie scoffed at the tantrums, especially Specter’s. She shook her head, and proceeded down the Tunnel. In time, she saw an unfamiliar man in the ghost-rider’s path. “Who the hell are you?”

Mordred let out a heavy sigh.

"We've lost our guide, our comrade, and any opportunity at stealth," he muttered to no one in particular. "I can at least take action to rectify one of those issues."

The knight closed his eyes and recited a series of words of power, unintelligible to those uninitiated in Avalonian sorcery. Wisps of emerald flames flickered into existence around his hand that gripped the Ebony Staff. The flames spiraled down the heft and toward the butt of the staff touching the ground. Mordred then followed after Specter and Valkyrie, using the staff as a walking stick. Each time the staff struck the adamantium ground, a small circle of emerald fire danced around the staff before fading from view. However, they left behind a trail visible to those whose sight could pierce the veil of the mundane and see into the arcane world beyond.

"That spell will let us find our way back here. And, should Fortune favor us, our way back to the surface."

"Lon Chaney?" Mark wondered aloud. Wolf-men weren't real, were they? That was just so unlikely. He could process mutants, and he himself was an alien... but the wolf-man thing felt unreal somehow. "What's going on now?"

He's in human form, atm... 

His grin only got bigger, as the quartet drew nearer to him.   He burst into verse, eyes shifting from one member of the group to the next:

"Flowing out my nightmares
Rivers run in my bed
Swimming in my dreaming
Plugging holes in my head
My mattress is floating
My soul is sinking slow
Down the river drowning
and in my dreams, I row...row...row..." He made the motions of doing so.

And then chuckled.  "To dream, perchance to websling!"   And indeed, the ruined costume he wore was vaguely Spider-Man like, to anyone familiar with that hero, who had a presence in so many realities.

"Do you wish to meet the purveyor?  He's coming, you know."   It didn't take a psychology degree to understand Jameson's mind was affected by some shock. Or else had some more deep seated and lingering issue.

There was something in the atmosphere that felt different, of a sudden.

The light dimming just a smidge?   A minuscule change in temperature?  The currents from the vents, that fed clean air into the Underground?

It was none of those. But, the rational mind tried to construe the ultra-elusive as something familiar...
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:41, Fri 18 Nov 2022.

Mordred hung a bit behind the others as they approached the madman in the tunnels. He had agreed to serve as rearguard, after all. He also had no intention of being caught in the crossfire of any other reckless advances made by his companions.

The change in the aura of the area immediately concerned Mordred. He drew on Morgan's teachings to look past the veil of the mundane, and see if the insidious changes came from arcane origin...

"He's here, he's here!"  the man exclaimed, pivoting, pointing back the way he'd arrived and running a hand through already disheveled hair.

It took a moment, before someone rounded the corner from up that direction.

This new figure was tall, and seemed lean, though it was a bit hard to tell beneath a dark, velvet, Victorian looking trench coat.   The features were somewhat obscured beneath  a matching top hat, with the head tilted forward.  But they were quite pale, to the degree of seeming albino.

As the fellow drew closer, he smiled, his lips a deep emerald green.   It was the smile of someone who'd just heard a truly hilarious jest.

Who was this odd person -- just some joker, perhaps? 

"Well, well, well; more participants!  That's always a good thing. This last wasn't too interesting," he glanced to Jameson. "But you lot, you stink of Strange.   Let's have some fun!"

A gloved hand raised, and the world suddenly blurred, and was turned upside down.

Dr. Strange could've said a lot about this entity, who was called Nightmare in nearly all realities he had access to.   Though it would've shocked him that Nightmare's powers worked differently here.  His victims didn't have to be asleep...

"Unexpected," Mordred murmured, his voice a hint above a whisper. With the abundance of strange devices and mechanical marvels, he allowed his guard against the mystic to slip. It was a moment of overconfidence, and gave Mordred pause over the wisdom of casting his tracking spell. However, it was too late to dispel it. The entity had already arrived, and it reeked of dark magics.

"And unwelcome."

As the entity raised its hand toward them, Mordred brought the Ebony Staff into middle guard. He knew nothing about this new adversary, but he resolved not to be caught unaware again...

Yet in spite of the mutant mage's resolve, remaining aware was nigh impossible, when caught in the web of an almost singular power. One that had ensnared sorcerer supremes and demi-gods alike, down through the millennia.

It was a funny thing about dreams, even the waking and lucid variety.   They seemed perfectly plausible while enmeshed in them...

Nobody realizes there's been any shift, yet.  Start the following scenarios as though they are your current reality.   

:: Valkyrie had traversed the world-tree, Yggdrasil, down to its very roots, on a particular quest.  Those roots spread out and took her to the gloomy gates of Helheim, resting place of most of the dead, those whose valor was insufficient to earn them a chair inside great Valhalla.

Taking up residency in Helheim was generally a forever proposition. But there were exceptions; some few had escaped, or been rescued from its darksome halls.  And the Valkyrie was resolute that she would effect such a rescue.

Or rather Barbara Norris was.  Because it was she, and not Brunnhilde, whose heart bade her to come here and liberate Celeste Denton.

The car accident had been so shocking and sudden, leaving so very much unsaid between mother and only-child.   It couldn’t end this way!   And it needn’t;  not when the knowledge and mettle of the greatest of Valkyriors was Barbara’s to tap into and wield.

She approached the massive gate, the chilling mists seeming to recoil from one so filled with vitality and life.   She would do this, correct this injustice, and none would stop her…

But it seemed that Helheim did have a lone sentinel.   Off toward her right, from the shadows a figure approached.   One that swiftly grew recognizable.

Val recognized the distinctive, emerald-green armor and sweeping cloak; the elaborately antlered helm, that was as much a crown for the very queen of Helheim herself!

“So, you’ve come to me.  Just as I planned.  I’ve been waiting for you, you know; we have so very much to catch up on.”     That voice was not Hela’s…

”And, we’ll have forever to do it, after I kill you, and you become one of my subjects.   My darling girl...”   

Stepping fully into the greyish light, a gauntleted hand swept the helm from her head, and cast it aside.    Revealing the face of none other than...Celeste Denton.

:: Sir Mordred had been in Cornwall, with two fellow knights, to put an end to the depredations of an especially wicked Firbolg shaman, and its servants.  Upon completing that work, a mystically-guided carrier bird brought word from Arthur’s court:    he was to route two leagues to the west, to join a small troop led by Sir Gawain, and aid them in their effort.

Though the journey was uneventful, almost pleasant, toward its end Mordred found that he couldn’t shake a nagging sense of fate.    A knight without his depth of understanding might’ve ascribed it to road-weariness, perhaps, but Modred knew better.  And it stole his peace, in that last part of the ride.

Upon arriving at the grove that was his destination, something was plainly amiss.  For there was no Gawain, no troop here.   A group of crows took flight from a tree overhead, but aside from those, and his steed, Mordred found himself quite alone.

Until he wasn’t.    A Veil dropped suddenly, and there she was, some half dozen yards from him.

“Hello to you, nephew,” hailed Morgan Le Fay.    “My deep apologies for this small deception, but I wanted to ensure you’d arrive. You and I are overdue for this particular meeting.”

Morgan turned, looking away from him, seeming to cast her gaze at random over the landscape.

“I’ve been thinking, for some time, you see.  And I’ve come to a conclusion.” She turned to face him again, and her eyes held that utterly obdurate look she got when set upon some particular end.

“It’s most disappointing...but, the truth is you’ve been poisoned by Arthur’s sophistries past my ability to purge.   I raised you as though you were my own, and in return?  You have betrayed me, rejected the glorious destiny I did my best to prepare you for.    More, my divinations have shown me you will become worse than just a thorn in my side.”     As Mordred was armed with the black staff, so too did she gesture, and arm herself with her own, in a flare of blue and purple light.   She leveled the weapon straight at him, and declared:

“You must die, Mordred!  By my own hand, so that the satisfaction of avenging your betrayal shall be mine!”   

:: Specter found himself having one of those rare good days.   The weather was perfect, as was the country road his bike carried him down.    His demon copilot was for the time being quiescent, seemingly out of fuel for the usual quips and comments.

Best of all, Scott was looking forward to spending time with one he regarded as a true friend.  He had few enough of those, and that fact made those few all the more precious to him.    It’d been near to a year since he last saw Logan, and there would be plenty of stories to share, over good cold beer and barbecue.   It was going to be something of a party, according to Logan, albeit a small one, and with just a few other friends they both shared.    Two of them female and very attractive, which didn’t hurt.

The destination was a ranch property Logan had acquired and Scott hadn’t visited before.   Way out in the middle of f--king nowhere, which seemed to suit Logan pretty perfectly.

Once Scott pulled onto the premises, he saw that it had lots of character, complete with a steer’s skull adorning the top of the gate.   He used the box there to buzz his host, and heard:

“Hey bub!  Glad ya could make it.   C’mon in, and just gimme a sec...I’m on my way out.”

In due time, after Scott parked his bike and got off it, Logan emerged from inside, with a stogie clenched in his teeth.

"Yeah...real glad you could make it!   You look good, bub.   Livin’ the life, ain't ya?   Heh.  Well, first things first.   I wanna tell you all about my new job."   He took the stogie and snuffed it out, on the side of a nearby garbage can, then dropped it within.

"Landed me a good one, I did!   I’m in collections now.    Workin’ for a dude named...Mephisto." 

:: Kid Hyperion had finally arrived. Become the well regarded protector and hero he’d been planned and intended to be.     Crisis after crisis he’d dealt with and averted, proving his powers as well as his ingenuity in applying them.

The populace of his home city adored him, as did the prominent media outlets.   Now as Mark was relaxing and enjoying himself amidst all this, there came an interesting invitation, created by a prominent charity and a well known business tycoon.   The essence of it was to have Kid Hyperion face an unnamed competitor at an undisclosed location.    The hints suggested it was all for fun, and that he’d likely just be pretending to compete for televised fun and entertainment.

On the day of the engagement, Mark arrived at the stadium, to the thundering applause of the adoring crowd.   Naturally curious as to who this mysterious, just-for-fun, competitor was, and how the two of them would put on any show long enough to be worth the price of admission.

The last man he expected to walk out onto the field was Troy Smith.

Smith...the ever-mocking, condescending, trainer at the Facility who never gave up on trying to punch holes in Mark’s confidence and self esteem.

In fact, it was Smith who’d christened him Kid Hyperion, when the original alias was simply the latter name.  He grinned broadly.

“Well, well.  Little Marky Milsap!   How’s it going, kiddo?   You’re really riding the wave lately, aren’t you?    Got’em all fooled.  They think you’re a real hero.    But we know the truth… don’t we Marky?”  Troy shrugged off his field coat.

He’d always been buff, and in excellent condition.   But plainly, something had changed,  His physique had become every bit as Herculean as Mark’s own.

“Amazing what some delta rays and ionic augmentation can do for a guy, isn’t it?    I’m more powerful than you now, Marky!   Not to mention a grownup man. Something I’m not sure you’ll ever be.    And after I plant you in the dirt, I’ll be the true hero the world deserves!”   
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:44, Sun 27 Nov 2022.

Troy was a bully and had always tried to destroy Mark's confidence. But he'd always managed to stop short of anything that would get him written up by the project's supervisors. Mark had been told once that Troy was 'well-connected' but Mark had never known to whom he was connected, or how. It had never really mattered to him, as there was little he could do about it. Now he really wondered, though, who the heck Troy knew. Because someone had set him up with super-powers.

Mark had never faced a super-powered opponent before today. Taking down Sluggo had been a team effort. Was he going to have to face Troy by himself?

It looked that way.

"You've always been jealous of me," Mark said plainly, just stating the fact. "Even when I was a child, I was stronger than you, faster than you. You want to try your luck now? That's fine. I've never been scared of you."

Mordred's eyes went wide when Morgan Le Fay appeared before him. He had not seen his aunt in some time, not since she shared the details of Arthur's sins and her intended revenge. The revelation had left him shaken to his very core. It left with two unpalatable choices: continue to serve the king who tried to kill him in infancy or risk dooming all of Camelot by joining Morgan in her quest to topple Arthur. Mordred still felt chills when he recalled her icy response to his rejection of vengeance. It was the one time Mordred truly felt afraid.

For no being in all of Mordred's wanderings, from wizards to witches, possessed the power of Morgan Le Fay and the cunning to creatively use it to devastate those who displeased her.

Mordred stumbled back as Morgan conjured her own Ebony Staff. He looked at the staff clutched in his own hand, needing to reassure himself that the weapon---perhaps the ONLY tool that could shield him from Morgan's wrath---was still with him. He brandished his own staff before him into a guard position.

"Aunt Morgan," he said as tears began to well in his eyes as the realization that the woman he considered his mother---who raised him to be the person he was today---wanted him dead as well.

"Do not do this. Please."

Le Fay observed her nephew for a moment, taking in the signs of his distress, as a mild breeze stirred the fallen leaves about them, as well as her long, raven tresses.

"You've always been jealous of me," she said finally. "Even as a child, perhaps.  And why shouldn't you be?   I'm stronger than you, and see things far more clearly. I'm one of very few to see through Arthur, and plan a reckoning with him.    You could aid me, as you were destined to.  But you have chosen to defy and oppose me instead."   She smiled coldly, and whirled the staff, causing a flare of darksome energies.

"You want to try your luck now? That's fine.  I'll teach you to be properly scared of me."

Morgan sped at him to close the distance, feinting with her first blow, then sweeping a second one straight at Mordred's neck...

* * * * * * *

Troy shook his head, tsking in a contemptful manner.   "Don't do this, Marky.  Please." 

"I mean, for your own sake.  Instead, just admit I'm right about you." He waved a hand at the crowd surrounding them.  "Admit it to them.  You'll feel tons better.  Honesty is so cleansing, such a relief!  Even when it hurts, you know?"   He smirked.

"'Course, it hurts less than this."     He swung a crude but super-swift and super-powerful haymaker punch straight at Kid Hyperion...

Mark had grown up with a lot of instructors, including literature, mathematics, history, and any other subject that one might expect from a good school system. But he was also trained in various methods of combat. Given his powers, he didn't strictly need to learn how to fight — he was infinitely faster and stronger than any opponent he was expected to fight — but he was trained in hand-to-hand combat in order to make it look good. One never knew when a camera might be present.

So despite the fact that he didn't truly expect Troy to have super-powers, Mark reflexively blocked the punch.

Or he tried to, anyway. It seemed that Troy was faster than he'd ever been before. Superhumanly so.

"Jealous?" Mordred repeated, taken aback by his aunt's revelation. Aside from momentary frustrations at the limits of his own abilities, Mordred never felt jealous of his Morgan. Save for one key difference.

"Aunt Morgan, the only thing I envy from you is that Fate gave you leave to forge your own destiny while I am bound to a Doom I may never escape from."

Mordred tried his best to parry Morgan's attack. He knew full well he could never best her. While he might be more skilled at the staff, her magic could more than compensate for her lack of prowess. This was not a fight he could win through combat. If he was to survive, he would have to suffer her wrath while appealing to whatever feelings she had left for him and his late mother, Morgause.

"If Arthur was merely a man, I would join your quest for revenge," Mordred said. "I hate him for what he did to my mother and those innocent children. But he is not simply a man. He is the King of Camelot, and no matter how justified your vengeance is, his fall would shatter the fragile peace of all Britain. And it would not be the petty kings who suffer, it would be their subjects, from the humble farmers drafted to fight such wars to their consorts who are seized by the victors.

"I could not bear such sins on my conscience, Aunt Morgan. And I know the woman who raised me to be the knight I am today would feel the same."

Scott admired the plot of land, hands jammed in his jean pockets as he listened to what Logan had to say. At the word Mephisto, though, he turned suddenly.

Wait... Something's not right... I didn't sign on with the demon until after Logan--

But he didn't want to think about that. Not on such a good day as this. While the doubt gnawed at the back of his mind, he tried to shrug it off and focus on the conversation.

"Heh. Always a kidder. So where'd you really get the cash for a place like this? Xavier's School finally start paying its babysitters?"

It was a friendly jab, only meant to poke fun at the old friend he'd lived and fought beside all those years. He'd certainly done his own share of "babysitting" when he'd served as the X-Men's field leader. It seemed so long ago. Before his friends had all--

No. Logan's right here in front of me. Maybe it was all just some kind of dream. Maybe I never failed them... Maybe they're all alive!

"Tich," sneered Le Fay, with another whirl of her flaring staff. "Such a pity that being a knight has ever been your priority, when it should've been secondary to the esoteric teachings I've tried to impress on you.  Apparently without much success!   The rabble ever think in terms of weal and woe, in the context of a pitifully small picture!   But the universe is concerned only with its larger, inviolable laws!"     She stopped the staff abruptly, leveling and pointing it at Mordred.

"And one of the chiefest of those is the Law of sacrifice!   Whenever something significant is gained, something else is lost."  She sneered again. "It's the tragedy of so many that they cannot make peace with that.   And so stunt or squander their potentials in the name of compassion.  Frequently specious compassion, I might add."  Her eyes narrowed.

"Your unwillingness to sacrifice is your weakness, nephew. And being weak, you will die here!"   

* * * * * * *

Kid Hyperion successfully blocked the massively powerful blow of his attacker.

"Not bad, not bad!   And just as well.  I don't think my patriotic conscience could've born it if I'd busted your rib cage on my first swing!" Troy grinned unpleasantly.

"But it's not you who's gonna suffer if you don't step up your game here, Marky!   It's them!"  His hand swept out toward the seated spectators.

And Troy's eyes flared crimson with swiftly building power.  Power that would be unleashed in a searing, deadly arc across the hapless audience, if Kid Hyperion didn't stop him now...

* * * * * * *

Logan grinned. "You're thinkin' Scotty, I can tell!   You do a lot of that, I know.   Too much. That's what's kinda great 'bout havin' a job, you know?   Doesn't leave ya time for rearrangin' all those mental deck chairs!  And, like I said, I got me a great ol' job now!"

Logan's grin broadened and he raised a fist.   With a familiar 'snikt' his claws extended instantly from his knuckle bones.

They were not forged of the familiar, gleaming adamantium. Instead they were deepest black -- not metal, not stone -- but the utter and soul-chilling darkness of absolute void.

"Mephisto says it's time to pay up, Bub!  Here's the end o' the line for you!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:59, Sat 31 Dec 2022.

Troy having laser vision was as much of a surprise as his having super-strength. He'd gotten himself super-powers somehow, but they seemed to be the same powers as Mark's. Was this a lack of imagination, or what?

Regardless, he needed to be kept from incinerating the bystanders. Protecting the innocent was one of Mark's primary directives. His eyes widened, glowing a bright red, and then he fired his own laser vision at Troy, hopefully interrupting him from his lethal brand of mayhem.

Solo: d8
Truth, Justice & a Better Tomorrow: d8
Heat Vision: d10
Combat Expert: d8

Kid Hyperion rolled 2,3,5,5 using d8,d8,d10,d8 ((2,3,5,5)).

Total: 10
Effect: d8

Barbara watched the woman shrouded by the mists of Niflheim approach her. Battle instincts took over, as the Valkyrie withdrew Dragonfang. She knew the fearsome figure who approached—Hela, Queen  of Hel, the Goddess of Death dreaded by Asgardian, Vanir, & mortal alike. Though it likely meant her own death, Barbara would fight with all the fury of the Valkyrie.

Then, Barbara’s jaw dropped when she saw the fearsome woman pull back the horned cowl. “It can’t be…!” Her voice stammered haltingly. “You died, but you shouldn’t be here.” But wasn’t Niflheim where all the souls who died of illness, old age, or misfortune dwelled? Celeste died in a car crash. The result of careless mortal error.

Of course her mother would be there. “Mother, I won’t let this wretched place keep either of us.” Valkyrie charged the intimidating foe who wore her mother’s face. She feinted with Dragonfang, then thrust an elbow toward Celeste’s face!

OOC:

02:41, Today: Valkyrie rolled 8,3,3,5,9 using 1d8,1d8,1d10,1d8,1d10.  Overpower Celeste.

Solo: d8
Born Again Asgardian Goddess: d8
Superhuman Strength: d8
Dragonfang: D8
Combat Master: d10

Total: 17
Effect: d8
Opportunity: 0

PP: 1





This message was last edited by the player at 07:50, Wed 11 Jan 2023.

One mention of Mephisto could be dismissed as a joke. Two-- accompanied by an obvious threat, no less-- was asking for trouble. Scott's easy smile vanished as he took a step back from Logan's claws. One hand reflexively gripped the red sunglasses, ready to pull them from his face and unleash his power at any moment.

"What you've done was reckless, even for you. Don't make me do this, Logan."

Inflict Emotional Stress on Logan.

Solo d10
Avenging the X-Men d4 (+1 PP) (He's my fallen friend)
Menace Expert 2d6

19:08, Today: Specter rolled 5,3,6,3 using d10,d4,1d6,1d6.  Try to talk Logan down.

Total: 14 (-1 PP for 3rd die)
Effect: d6
Opportunities: 0
PP's: 2 (from Msg #127) +/- 1 = 2

Next: Mordred

Mordred furrowed his brow as Morgan le Fay continued to speak. He was perplexed by how she ignored his reference to her deceased sister and his own mother, Morgause. That seemed uncharacteristic of his aunt. However, given the dark dabblings she had taken up as of late, it was possible that the Morgan he considered his surrogate mother was buried beneath whatever had spurred her to move against him.

However, it also offered an opportunity to cheat prophecy.

Mordred took a breath through his nose and let it out in a long, soft, sad sigh.

"Perhaps I have learned such a lesson, Aunt Morgan," Mordred said as he knelt on the ground and rested the Ebony Staff on his legs. "Perhaps it is my death here by your hands that spares Camelot from the doom Fate saw fit to place on me."

OOC:

I don't know if there are any dice I should roll. This is more a roleplaying choice of leaning into "Morgan's" Law of Sacrifice. Mordred's loss is Camelot's great gain.

"Aye, perhaps it's so, stripling!" replied Le Fey to Mordred.    "I'm done with you and I say let's find out, shall we?" Morgan too rested her staff.   But her nephew should take no comfort from that --  as her eyes widened, glowing bright crimson, and twin lances of hellfire shot at him.

Mordred, Reaction:  (free to be taken out of the normal turn sequence)   You must defend (or not) against Kid Hypersion's laser vision attack:
Total - 10
Effect - d8

Mordred, to answer your question:   You would roll dice only if you were attempting to stress or psych your target out in someway.     If you do want to try, it will be reinterpreted at Kid as baiting by his foe.

Kid Hyperion:   Mordred's reaction will be reinterpreted (by me) as your opponent's defense, or lack of same.   So hang tight till he does his post.

Val & Specter, you two are next, hold on there...

This message was last edited by the GM at 00:18, Wed 01 Feb 2023.

"What you're doing is reckless, even for you!  Don't make me do this, daughter!" she said with a condescending sneer, even as she was forced to defend herself.

The figure the Vakyrie faced possessed the darksome power of Hela, combined with the identity of the mother with whom she'd had such a conflicted, confusing relationship.    And the words bore the gravity of that unholy twinning:

Val, Reaction,  to resist Specter's stress attack:
Total - 14
Effect - d6

* * * * * * * * *

“Scotty, this wretched ol' world was never any good for any o' us! Maybe Hell is better? Let me help ya get there, and ya can tell me how ya like it!”

Logan thrust at Specter with the void-black claws.   But it was just a feint, and he came in with an elbow intended to incapacitate...

Specter, Reaction to defend against Val's elbow attack:

Total - 17
Effect - d8

* * * * * * * * *

As with the other pair, the Reactions here will determine how your foe handles your attack.

Alone and accepting his death, Mordred bowed his head and let the hellfire strike him. Despite his melancholic acceptance of his death, he was spared by two things. First, training and surviving as a Knight of Camelot had forged him into stronger stuff than the average human. Second, the Ebony Staff---Merlin's gift to Arthur's unfortunate son---still touched him. Morgan's hellfire felt hot against Mordred's skin, but left him unsinged.

Mordred opened his eyes as the spell failed to end him. He sized up Morgan and his eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Aunt Morgan, do you toy with your nephew? I thought your magic to be stronger than that..."

OOC:

Reaction-Defense
Solo d8
Knight out of Time d4 (+1PP)
Combat Master d10
Ebony Staff-Superhuman Durability d10

20:48, Today: Mordred rolled 5,3,10,6 using 1d8,1d4,1d10,1d10 with rolls of 5,3,10,6.  Defense.

Total: 16

Troy laughed unpleasantly, unconcerned, but making a show of being caught off guard, as Mark's laser vision struck him and failed to have much effect.

"Marky boy, what, you just screwing around here?  I thought you had better than that in you!"

The audience sitting in the stadium around them started to boo and jeer.   Apparently thinking that Kid Hyperion had tried to sort of sucker punch his adversary.

Troy smacked a fist into a palm and grinned.  "Heh. Guess they're not fans. And I got that in common with them.  But I'm fair, I'll give you one more shot, before I really cut lose!"   

Mordred gripped the Ebony Staff once more and slowly rose to his feet. As he did, he sized up his adversary. Mordred had never tried to openly defy his aunt, seeing the suffering she inflicted on those who crossed her as reason enough never to try. However, he had never had to test himself against her sorcery---and certainly never with the Ebony Staff at his side.

The Ebony Staff. It was a unique artifact, from a set of four forged by Merlin from the mysterious starmetal. And yet Morgan now possessed one, a perfect twin to the one in his possession. Perhaps his aunt had finally bested her former mentor and betrothed, and wrested the Blade, Chalice, and Shield from the wizard's grip to create her own weapon. Or perhaps this was an illusion, an act of guile to rattle his own certainty that the Staff still was in his possession. Still, such trickery seemed half-complete if Mordred could still see, feel, and use the Ebony Staff against her. The Morgan he remembered would never overlook such a glaring flaw in her scheme.

"I wonder," Mordred mused softly as he used his own magical prowess to reconnoiter his predicament. "Is my Doom so certain that even your magic cannot prevent it, or is something else at play..."

OOC:

Solo d8
Suspicious d4 (+1PP)
Mystic Expert d8
Mutant Mage-Mystic Senses d6

14:28, Today: Mordred rolled 3,3,3,3 using 1d8,1d4,1d8,1d6 with rolls of 3,3,3,3.  Surmount the Nightmare.

I'll spend the PP from Suspicious to add another die for a total of 9 and use one of the d8s as my effect (if necessary).

Scott grabbed Logan's elbow before the blow connected.

"I'll do you one better than that," Specter growled. "How's this, Logan? Feeling the heat?"

Searing hellfire flared around his hand as he gripped onto Logan. With the other hand, he whipped the sunglasses off his face and levelled an optic blast right at his attacker's chest. The eyebeams were unreliable these days-- and much weaker than they used to be-- but Scott figured he had enough juice to knock a bit of sense into his old friend.

Blocking Logan's attack.

Solo d10
Avenging the X-Men d8
Hellfire d8
Optic Blast d6

21:28, Today: Specter rolled 1,7,8,6 using 1d10,1d8,1d8,1d6.  Scott grapples with Logan.

I'll spend 1 of my 2 PP's to add a 3rd die to the total.

Total: 21
Effect: d4 (default)
Opportunities: 1
PP's: 1

This was just a reaction, so I figure Logan/Val takes no stress.

Edit: Adding my Penance attack.

As Scott tried to let go of Logan and let the blast carry him away, the Spirit of Vengeance inside his head laughed. Refusing to let go of Logan's arm, Zarathos gripped tighter and whispered:

"I have a better idea. Why don't we take a peek inside his soul... with our Penance Touch?"

Using the Penance Touch against Logan.

Solo d10
Avenging the X-Men d4 (+1 PP, Scott fears hurting Logan)
Hellfire 2d8 (doubled from SFX)
Menace Expert 2d6

SFX: Penance Touch. Against a single target, step up or double Hellfire Blast. Remove the highest-rolling die and add a third die to your total.

21:51, Today: Specter rolled 3,4,4,5,2,6 using 1d10,1d4,1d8,1d8,1d6,1d6.  Scott uses the Penance Touch on Logan.

Total: 13
Effect: d10
Opportunities: 0
PP's: 1 + 1 - 1 = 1
This message was last edited by the player at 04:58, Thu 30 Mar 2023.

Barbara felt a nausea as her “mother’s” words stung her. Not so much what she said, but the crisp Patrician tone that always elicited shame when Celeste chided Barbara, and elicited an equally desperate yearning for her approval. A multilayered barrage of Guilt, Shame, & Sorrow struck Barbara, but still she stood strong. “Your threat won’t stay my hand, Mother!” The Daughter had spoken, but it was time for the Valkyrie to answer the taunts…


OOC:

14:57, Today: Secret Roll: Valkyrie rolled 5,8,1,8 using d8,d8,d10,d8.  Reaction Vs. Penance Stare.

Total: 16.
Effect: d8.
Opportunity: 1



 

Though something felt wrong to Sir Mordred, his effort to attain clarity didn't bear the fruits he'd hoped.    His senses continued to assert that his situation was tangibly real...

Morgan le Fay's features twisted into a sneer at the knight's attempt.

"Well, I don't know, nephew.   What do you think might be at play, hm?    Do you think this all some elaborate glamer, spun by dear Mab, perhaps?   Or just some bent dream, brought on by month after wearing month of serving causes that serve others far more than they do you?"   She shrugged. "Maybe you've slipped at last, could it be?"

Morgan's expression abrubtly changed then, and she looked at him differently.  Seeming to peer within, perhaps..."Wait... what is that I see?"  She frowned, repeated, "What is that?"  Her eyes narrowed.

"Tell me all about this shard, I command you!"

She means the Shard of Eternity, that Strange tasked you all to find.
Sundown Scribe rolled 9,11,5,4,3,4 using d12,d12,d12,d10,d10,d8.  Nightmare mind sifting v. Mordred.          Total = 25  Effect = D10

Make a dice pool, beat the 25 total, or reveal in detail about the shard to Nightmare.    (I realize it's been awhile, if you need me to refresh your memory, PM me)   

* * * * * * * * *

Still facing Mark, the bravado-filled Troy seemed to hesitate.    And something seemed off to the paragon hero for a second.   It was hard to put a finger on, and for all his training and might, Mark wasn't psychically sensitive.    Yet, maybe it was enough to notice...

If you want to, make a dice pool relevant to piercing this false reality.   You need a pretty high total to pull it off.

* * * * * * * * *

Results for Val & Specter coming up next...

During her young life, Barbara had endured all manner of withering, belittling looks from her mother when she was in one of her moods.  Though now far from the child who'd had to endure them, the impression of it was still there.    Perhaps she'd even likened her mother to a demon, on occasion...but there was something about this gaze that made that an almost palpable reality.

Surely, it was from Hela's infernal power, that had somehow been conferred to Celeste.  Didn't that explain it-?

Demon...a thought, buried deep down in her mind, jingled and glinted faintly.   Was there something she should remember?

Val, you can try a dice pool roll to remember your ally who is host to a demon, and possibly see though the matrix.   (again, we need high rolls, here)   

* * * * * * * * *

At first, Scott thought that Zarathos' ploy might just work.  He could feel Logan's soul react almost like flesh exposed to naked flame, as a toxic cocktail of Guilt, Shame, & Sorrow was served up by some combination of emotional scars and wounds.

But that soul rallied and asserted itself, fending off the harrowing assault that would've disabled one of lesser mettle.

"Your threats won't stop me, bub!"   yelled Logan.

"Ha!  Ain't this a blast?  C'mon, c'mon!   Gimme your worst, quick, before I do what you'll regret for eternity!"   

"No!" Mark shouted. He was tired of Troy's game, and he wasn't going to play it. And the crowd meant nothing to him, so he ignored their jeers.
 "You want me, you come at me!"

"What shard?" Mordred began to ask, before flickers of foggy memories began to flit toward the forefront of his mind. Something instinctive told him to resist, but whatever compulsion Morgan cast upon him was too strong.

Still, Mordred tried to resist. But his attempts resulted in sharp, blinding pain searing into his head. The knight let out a scream of fury, anguish, and shame as he succumbed to his aunt's command...

OOC:

Pool:
Team D10
Sorcerer's Apprentice D8
Psych Master D10
Mystic Senses d6

15:35, Today: Mordred rolled 6,5,8,4 using d10,d8,d10,d6: Total of 14, fails

Infernal…Mother may have been a witch at her worst, even the Devil…but she was no true Demon of Muspelheim…!

Barbara stared quizzically at “Celeste”. The patrician woman who wore Hela’s raiment elicited a churning mix of guilt, shame, and rage at first. However, the longer she stared at her maternal tormentor, the more doubt stirred within her. “Mother is dead…and whatever her faults, she didn’t end up in Hel.”

Valkyrie spoke with the beginning of defiance, though she wasn’t still wasn’t entirely certain yet.

OOC:

Solo d8

Born Again Asgardian Goddess d8

Enhanced Senses d8

Mystical Expert d8

16:20, Today: Valkyrie rolled 8,6,5,2 using d8,d8,d8,d8.  See through the illusion.

Total: 14

Effect: d8 (vs. Nightmare’s illusion?)

Opportunity: 0


 

What happened next was almost like glass shattering, but felt within the psyche rather than seen and heard.

Nightmare's matrix fractured and suddenly ceased to exist.  Certainly the heroes' perception of its flaws and their subsequent refutation of it were part of why that happened.

But the other part was the knowledge he'd plucked from Mordred's mind.   Which filled even him with horror.

The fantastic foursome found themselves back in the gleaming, adamantium hall of the Underground, which they'd never physically left.   Facing the real face and form of the being who'd psychically waylaid them.

Nightmare's chalk-white features grimaced, his emerald lips pulled back from his teeth in an almost feral expression.

"I know...I know why Strange sent you all here!  And by all the Demons of Denak, such a thing is..." he shook his head almost frantically, "..beyond comprehension!   That anyone, mortal or immortal, would think of going that far!" He snarled.

"This universe is my playing field!  Its slumbering masses my sustenance, my unwitting audience!"  His eyes narrowed.

"There is little direct aid I can offer.  My presence in Sundown City is only due to a loophole, my powers not at their peak. But I can point you toward one who should help you in your objective."   

Well, well...to believe this evil entity or not?    A simple decision, but not necessarily an easy one...
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 03:44, Tue 02 May 2023.

"Understand this," Mark said, his eyes literally glowing with his anger at this chalk-faced creep. "If you steer us wrong, we will come seeking retribution."

In the ecosystem of the multiverse, the being presently before them was a parasite, no two ways about it.  But one that apparently wanted to survive as much as most others.

Nightmare grinned at Mark's words, but the expression faded swiftly.  "Steering people wrong is something of a specialty.   And also a luxury I can't afford here.   So, listen because time is of the essence:  there is one whose abode is accessible down here, if you know the trick of getting in.  He goes by the name of the Brimstone Cowboy, but don't let that put you off.  His moral compass is much nearer to you lot." 

"No one knows better the secrets of this city's upper echelons, its eclectic underbelly, and the hidden repositories of magic that aren't supposed to exist here at all.  Probably, if anyone can, he can tell you the most probable hidey holes for the shard of Eternity, and the one who pilfered it."  He paused, looking toward the one party had met before Nightmare, who was yet milling about.

John Jameson, in his tattered, Spider-Man like outfit, who himself was looking more sober since Nightmare's matrix was broken. "You crafty, rotten son of a bitch..."

"Never mind the complements.  I've no more interest in toying with anyone, right now. Make yourself useful, for once! Escort this quartet to the Cowboy's den, if they're so willing to meet with him."   

The illusion faded like predawn’s mist before the first light of day. Valkyrie strode up beside Kid Hyperion with Dragonfang displayed in hand. She watched Nightmare through narrowed eyes, aware of the demon’s reputation even in her world. “Any tricks, and I’m mounting your head on my bike.” Val gave a moment to let her warning sink in.

“We’ll go with this ‘Brimstone Cowboy’, but first…what was that crack about Stephen? What did you mean about him ‘going that far’?”

Nightmare grinned again, "Ah, that's good!  You're a dreamer, aren't you?   But," he waved his hand negatingly, "it was not Strange that I meant.  Rather, the one who stole Eternity's 'heart,' and is willing to go to oblivion with this universe, when it collapses."  Nightmare grimaced. "That kind of insanity baffles even me."

Mordred, still reeling from "Morgan"'s mental attack, was still on his knees. His head drooped, and spittle dripped from the sides of his mouth. The knight groaned before raising himself to his feet with the help of his staff. His eyes locked onto Nightmare, his glare full of white hot fury at the indignity of being bested.

"I've known villains to parley with the valiant to save their own skins," he growled. "And I suspect this one speaks true when offering his aid.

"I am not so naive to expect our accord to extend beyond the scope of what benefits you, Master of Nightmares," Mordred added. "But now that you know the severity of our task and what is at stake should we fail, let that grim knowledge curb any temptation to cut short this truce."

Nightmare spread his hands magnanimously. "Fair enough, sir knight. Fair enough!  And please, don't begrudge me my pastimes.   Immortality is quite unbearable without a good hobby!"

It was probably safe to say no one in any corner of any universe had anything nice to say about Nightmare...

Pausing for any last concerns, quips or questions, after which I'll move this thing forward.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:21, Fri 05 May 2023.

Scott hung back, listening to the others interrogate and chastise the demon. He was more rattled by Nightmare's visions than he cared to let on, and worse than that, annoyed with himself for not being of greater use in breaking the illusion. Who knew what the others had been forced to suffer through while he wrestled with his capricious powers?

But he could stew on it later. Trusting that the others' questions and threats had been sufficient, he chose to simply ignore Nightmare.

"If you're all okay after that little nap we took," he said, injecting a little more warmth into his voice than had been there before, "I think we're ready to move on."

Regret sat in his stomach as certain images stirred up by the vision played through his mind again-- a burning mansion, a wheelchair lying on its side, a heap of bodies in blue and gold uniforms. He clutched at his head, clearing his throat as he added:

"And, um... Sorry. For being a jerk earlier."

What followed afterward was a bit more trekking.

Certainly, losing Nightmare only served to lighten the atmosphere, at least a little.   But John Jameson, who was now leading them per the latter's request, wasn't the most chipper company.   He was more lucid and focused, yet seemed almost disconsolate, initiating no real conversation on his own.

He led them on through the labyrinth of the Underground, past several intersections and down a pair of side passages.   Until coming to a halt at a particular spot in a short hallway.  At which point he did speak:

"The Cowboy's easy going enough, just don't go out of your way to annoy him.  We know each other, but we're not friends, let's say.   I'll make this introduction, and then I've got other places to be."   

So said, Jameson raised his fist -- and knocked six times over a barely visible scuff mark on the wall.   Nothing happened for a moment.

And then a door-sized portion of the wall vanished.   He waved everyone in, whereupon the group found themselves standing in a stairwell with a spiral case.   They walked it up to its top -- the distance suggesting they were still below ground.

Facing them was a large, mahogany door, carved with a set of sigils.  In its center, a brass, gargoyle-style doorknocker that Jameson proceeded to grasp and rap with.

Some delay followed, but not too long.   Soon enough the door opened...

Tall, red haired, the man definitely had on cowboy-esque attire; including a suede-leather vest, a western-style belt with a red carnelian stone set in the buckle, and a pair of Lucchese boots even John Wayne might covet.

He looked mildly surprised, but not alarmed.   His gaze took in those before him, but stopped in particular on the party's warrior woman.

"Valkyrie? Well, this is unexpected.  I've not seen any of version of you here before."

And Hellstrom wasn't the only redhead to confront the group.    The other being a fit, vivacious looking woman, who likewise took in the party with open curiosity.

And likewise focused initially on the same member, "Oh, wow!  Barb?"

“Yeah, it’s me. Barbara,” Valkyrie said with a tentative half-smile. She recognized the man and woman who greeted them. At least, their faces looked familiar. Val thought of a vibrant young woman with red hair and an easy laugh. The Patsy she knew had just started riding with the Defenders after foiling the cult of the Red Rajah.

“You know Daimon? That’s new.” In her world, Patsy and Daimon were not lovers, or even acquainted. The man she’d met busting up the Sons of The Serpent remained back East, splitting his time between teaching Theology courses and exorcising demons of the Biblical variety from innocent victims. Her lips twitched in a slight grin at the thought of these two crossing paths.

“Speaking of surprises, what you doing here, Hellstrom?”

"Yeah, you know, I didn't know him, back where I originally came from," she supplied. "But I ran into him here, and found out we were partners in his world, where I went by the alias Blazing Belle." Pasty laughed, "Can you imagine?"    She looked at the Valkyrie again -- most specifically, the weapon she bore, this time.

"Daimon told you me you had a sword when he knew you, and that it was 'Valkyrie.'  Which is kind of funny, 'cause in my world, you and I were both agents of BLADE.  And that's an acronym. We had guns."

Hellstrom gestured a bit helplessly when she laughed at her pseudonym in his world, "Well, what can I say?  It's good to have a motif."   Then addressing Val's question:

"I've been in Sundown City for some time, now.  Something of a long story. But basically you could say it was a recareering move, and a means to foil one of my dear father's plans."

He'd already noted Jameson, who'd brought the group in, but his gaze swept the other three -- and there might have been some recognition when he looked at Mark, and even Mordred, but it was Specter that he stopped on.

"Ah. And you're in the company of one of those, no less?"  The levity was gone from his tone. "Something serious must be afoot, then."

"Oh yeah, for sure," Jameson spoke up. "Enough that even ol' Bad-dreams Bob got scared, and told me to bring them here.  They need help finding something, quickly, and he thought you might be that help."   

"Well?" Scott grunted after a pause, looking at the Brimstone Cowboy. "Are you? We don't have all day."

He gestured to the group with him. "We're looking for a Shard of Eternity. Heard of it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:51, Fri 26 May 2023.

Mordred raised an eyebrow when Specter apologized. The turn of phrase was unfamiliar, but he recognized the sentiment. It caught him by surprise.

"We are all struggling in this new reality," Mordred said as he acknowledged Specter's gesture, "but we are strongest when we stand together."

---

"Specter speaks true," Mordred added. "We have been sent by the Sorcerer Supreme to retrieve that shard from the villain who purloined it, and each moment we tarry places all existence at risk of annihilation."

Hellstrom in fact wasn't familiar specifically.   At least, not by that name alone.  He knew who Eternity was, but not the shard aspect.  Until one or more of the heroes explained that it was, apparently, analogous to Eternity's heart, and then it sparked a memory.

He grimaced, shook his head, started to speak but hesitated.  Then: "So.  Is that it?" He shook his head again. "So that's truly possible? I thought it no more than some nihilist's gruesome wet dream." He paused again, then said "Come inside," beckoning the group from the threshold of his home into its interior.

They were led into a comfortable den, consistent with the old west motif this version of the man seemed to identify with.

"Please, sit if you wish," he indicated the available furniture."I'll be concise as possible.  But first..."  The Cowboy performed a short spell whose purpose was to expose deceit, he explained, before casting.    "It applies to Patsy and myself as well," he added, assuring all would be on the same footing here.

Hellstrom had a trio of particulars for them:

"The first is where you are now, the Underground. Because most of Sundown City's laws are suspended here, and the kind of people that tend to tread it, most of the population won't come down here.  But the presence of the dangerous, trouble-seeking sorts it does attract make it less than ideal as a hideaway."

"The second that comes to mind is the Hall of Equity.  You've heard of the Super Friends, the loosely heroic team that steward Sundown City?  It's their headquarters.   Don't get me wrong; this is unlikely, and I'm not suggesting any of the Friends are complicit.   They all have issues, but death wishes aren't on the list. Still, the Hall is so secure from so many things it would be effective, were it done subtly enough."

"And the third...is the one I really recommend considering.  The Obscura Sanctum.   Not only because it'd be an ideal environment to hide something like that, but also because its proprietor is jaded, full of ennui, with an ego that could make her vulnerable to manipulation by someone as clever as this thief must be." 
This message was last edited by the player at 20:02, Thu 01 June 2023.

"Who is this proprietor?" Mark asked. Hellstrom seemed to be skirting the subject, but Mark wasn't having any of that. If Hellstrom knew who it was, he'd just have to tell them, too.

“Tell him,” Val said, gesturing to Mark. “Then tell us how we find the Sanctum. I think the last scenario is the likeliest one, and time is running out.”

Hellstrom smiled thinly in response.  "Is anyone here not familiar with Doom? Not the kind the cosmos is apparently threatened by.  I mean von Doom, who seems to be one of those omnipresent personas in so many realities.    This particular version shares some of the traits you might expect, yet is rather different in other ways."  He glanced toward his companion.    "Patsy is more personally acquainted than I am."   

Patsy's demeanor had changed since the revelation of why the group was here. "Victoria von Drede," she supplied, nodding, pronouncing that surname like von Dread.

"Like so many other von D's, she was into all these grandiose, big scale plots, before she wound up here.   I mean some really intense shit, this one.  But, she got good and burned out and all that stuff, and settled here to much quieter, if maybe no less eccentric, pastimes."  Patsy shrugged.

"I worked for her, for awhile, after I first got here.  And still visit, now and then.  She throws killer parties.  A lot of people jump through hoops, to get on the guest list.   Anyway, the Obscura Sanctum is easy to find.  Right at the end of Astral Lane, in the arts and district, about three miles north of here." 

"I don't know of a Von Doom or a Von Drede," Mark said, puzzled. If this person was such a universal constant, then why was Mark's world an exception? "There's a Van Damme... but he's harmless, unless you watch one of his movies.

"But anyway, we should probably try that Sanctum."

“Where I’m from, Von Doom is a Third World dictator who makes Nicolae Ceausescu look like John F. Kennedy.” Valkyrie pondered a female version of a villain infamous in a vast array of other-dimensional worlds. “Is she as big a Wizard with technology as she seems to be with Magic?”

Mordred had tensed up when Hellstrom described the third possibility. He visibly relaxed when Hellstrom and Patsy revealed her identity.

"I have yet to meet or hear of such a name," Mordred replied, "though I suspect that is a consequence of my hailing from a present you would consider the past. I am, however, quite familiar with that combination of ambition and ego. If this Victoria von Drede comes close to Aunt Morgan's potential, then I agree that we should choose this path first."

In spite of the dire situation just revealed, Patsy laughed when Mark mentioned Van Damme, "As in Jean Claude Van Damme? I hope he didn't become governor of Florida, like he did in my world!  I've always felt actors - especially schlocky ones - should be barred from holding office!"   

"No, Vicky's not much of a techie herself," she assured Val. "She has people on her payroll who take care of that.  She did once conquer a small world in the negative zone, as I understand. But I mean, not like by herself.  And as I said, she burned out on that kind of stuff."     

Hellstrom glanced at the knight once he mentioned 'Aunt Morgan.'

"Ah, so you are Mordred, then.  I glimpsed you once in a vision of my own world's past."  He seemed to consider something, but said no more.

"Well, then.   Normally, I'd insist on accompanying you," addressing the group again.  "But, my lineage could stand out like a sore thumb to some people's perceptions.   And that could be bad." He glanced to his companion.

"I am, however, tempted to suggest that Pasty go with you.  At least to help you devise a strategy, since she knows von Drede, as well as the general layout of the sanctum."

"One of an ominous nature, no doubt," Mordred replied to Hellstrom. His voice carried a hint of sad resignation. "Ill portent oft serves as harbinger for my arrival. However, I have pledged my service as a Knight of Camelot to the Sorcerer Supreme in retrieving the shard, and intend to show my dedication to our cause through action.

"I will admit to feel some relief in knowing that we face a stranger rather than another realm's version of my Aunt and adopted Mother," he admitted, the momentary sorrow no longer audible in his tone. "From what you've shared, it sounds as though this Victoria Von Drede bears similarity to the worst of the craven feudal lords forced disavow their unjust dealings thanks to King Arthur's reign."

Mordred rubbed his chin as he considered the information shared by Hellstrom and Patsy.

"So this Von Drede employs seconds to do her bidding? Does she have mages who cast spells in exchange for coin, or avaricious engineers who design her tools of conquest?"