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.