Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Finale Chapter 3 Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 23:09:30 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012837 >On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 05:24:46 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012836 > > Tiny for the Stardragon meant something on the scale of universe >to an empath of Zia's ability - or in this case, sensitivity. Her >mind had already been pushed well past the usual limits. Now, even >the Lens' additional help proved inadequate, as the wave of fury met >and melded seamlessly with her own. Something slipped in the balance, >and the struggle suddenly was lost. The UnPattern welled through her, >as her consciousness warped and frayed apart, only dimly feeling >terror as the wildshifting tore at her no-longer-solid flesh. [Oh, bloody...] is all the time Roland has to spare for this new, um, wrinkle (Wrinkle immediately objects to being dragged into it, but that's neither now nor then). Eric carves through the gospog faster. >On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 18:58:42 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012829 > > James gives her the urbane chuckle that all his arch-foes can >attest is maddeningly smug, as he utterly _ignores_ her attempt to >kill him. He didn't stop her Life Mastery magics, but all the same >these find no purpose nor purchase within the dapper Englishman. It >takes even Jodi Blake a moment of shock to realize she has just >attempted to kill a vampire - albeit one like none on her own world - >with Life magics. His very nature absorbs her efforts, which serve >only to strengthen him. With a supernaturally quick step and grip, he >has a tentacle and forcibly whips her mount out from under her as if >the flying cephlapod were no more than a tablecloth and he the >magician. Jodi curses. No joke; it's not just swearing, but words that would make an orc quiver in terror. If it didn't have a literal heart attack from the Life/Entropy side effects. [I just fed blood to a vampire. Joy.] > She flies off, managing to land somewhat ungracefully as she >regains her feet. James uses those few seconds of her distraction to >batter the octopus to goo Bam-bam style with a few casual flicks of >his wrist on like it was a large, heavy whip. The Nephandus stares in horror. > "You've been a very naughty girl." He comments as psionic bolts of >serious power strafe and shatter her entropic defenses with the skill >and precision of a sniper who loves his deadly art. He has already >recast her own energies, making his shielding - after so thorough a >tasting of her magic - impregnable to her efforts. He drops the >tentacle and calmly advances on her, lowering the Walther to point >directly between her eyes. [Dark Gods, he really thinks he's James Bond. I hate Malkavians. I hate combat. Most of all, though, I hate Al-Aswad. If I live through this...] She changes tactics the instant she realizes her mistake, switching her Life magick to defense. Her organs flow like water through her body. Bloody runes that moan with bound souls carve themselves into her body, granting her phenomenal regenerative powers. Muscles bulge and neurons flare with alacrity, and her fingernails harden and sharpen. She doesn't just move, she flows, though her defensive posture makes it clear that she'd run like hell if she thought she could. The fingernails ripple at the merest hint of the edge with Oblivion. She springs, planning to rake James enough times that the...whatever it is...on her nails boils away enough of his blood to make him sufficiently tempting prey for a bigger, badder player on the field. Ironically, that doesn't seem likely, the queen of betrayal herself betrayed... >>Rio has been attempting to keep on the edges of the battle, but the >>constant flow of combat makes that impossible. /Thanks,/ she sends >>prosaically. > > "Pleasure. You're a dancer? Name one, so we can combine motion as >they seek to overwhelm. I'll take the close ones. You try not to >shoot me. Please." The voice is so much like Zia's Rio has to ponder >it a moment to decide this one just sounds a trifle older - or at >least, the delivery seems a bit more formal. > > The lady samurai continues to glide past, teasing in a few more >enemy to cut down as they press her even as she shouts her words to >be heard in the din of combat. Rio not having been around the CAoL as long as some others (though she had kept up with the comics before joining the team), her first inclination is to think of the chromatic Zia's from earlier in the invasion. But which Zia doesn't really make much difference at the moment, at least to her. The mage briefly considers the Time Warp before her better instincts stomp the idea like a level 10 DDR sequence. In a fight like this, you stick with the basics. "School of Whatever Works," she quips, "And I've got you on the IFF so you're safe from friendly fire." Meanwhile, for those who can make it out over the din, her namesake MP3 player seems to have one song on a loop. Anime fans might even recognize "Both of you, Dance Like You Want to Win!" from Neon Genesis Evangelion. >>On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:41:29 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012827 > > The pile of Deep Ones bulges upwards as Eric nears it. Most of the >Deep Ones here appear to be dead or in the process of dying, without >a mark on them. In one step, he crosses a boundary. The feeling of >the revealed Elder Sign - and four more of equally impressive power - >sings through his senses. The next step, however, brings such a wave >of palpable anger he can taste it in the back of his throat. It >buffets against him like a poisoned ocean's wave as a demonic beast >pulls free of the pile of dead Deep Ones in a grotesque parody of >birth. [...Gaia...] Eric pulls the chain in tighter, the circle of death shrinking lest he hit Zia accidentally. Morgan, noticing his plight, has just enough of a mental track to spare to conjure a sling for Priscilla to carry her weight. The glow still surrounds the child, but shapes itself more to her form as the sling pulls her more tightly (and safely) to his body. > His eyes can't seem to decide what he is seeing; something like a >tiger, but scaled in black oil-slick shiny barbed nastiness at first, >but then it moves with a twisty four-legged gait like a horse as it >picks its way down. Eric notices those are not hooves, but three >taloned, blunt toes, rather like a wolverine's. A wickedly sharp >obsidian-gleaming horn curls up from between its eyes, and tusks - >like whiskers - droop a fearsome length from its elongated muzzle. [As if a unicorn mated with a dragon-cat...wait...unicorn...no, _Unicorn_...] Eric examines the...form...carefully. Is it Zia? Is she all right? Even with the Lens, he can't be entirely sure. His research on Amber describes nothing like this, but the Courts of Chaos...there was something about a battle form. A defensive form. A Demon Form. The Chaos Form. > The twistiness of its power - even against a background of >Lovecraftian beasts - makes analyzing its nature difficult. A demon - >no, the power level is more substantial. Not even demon lords have >quite this feeling of chaotic aura, as if reality itself cannot bear >this beast's very existence. It stops at the edge of the body pile, >lifting the fanged muzzle and scenting with a snuffle and a cat-like >grimace - revealing the flash of far too many ivory fangs. Eric extends the chain again, out to its fullest length. The Deep Ones are pressing. [Is this...is this what she meant, about the Chaos and the Pattern?] A wraith gets too close, and while even Eric cannot kill it with his scything wave of destruction, it recoils missing half an arm. > The buffeting anger-wave comes again, this time with enough force >it - for a split-second - drowns out Eric's dread of the horror above >in red-eyed, berserker rage. It is only as the creature lowers the >horn and charges like some thunderingly bad combination of rhino and >saber-tooth cat that the glint of the purple stone on the solid metal >torc around its neck shows. Zia had a necklace - much smaller - from >Nemo that looked like that. Eric leans on his Lens. Hard. Not out of fear or disgust or even worry (well, not much of the last one, anyway, and on Zia's behalf at that). No, it's the rage. It _sings_ to him, to the old scar in him, the one he thought gone, vanished between Zia's love and the innocent life sleeping in his arm. Yet it lives there, even without the vampiric hunger pulsing through him, the old hurt of not being there when the woman he loved needed him. The desire to hurt those who hurt her. The need to seek, if not revenge, at least an older justice. And, like nearly everything of her, there is beauty in it, a primal purity in this case, even of the wild form that rages through their foes. But that is for not this fight. Infra-Red wants him to rage. The Gaunt Man wants them all maddened, terrified, out of control. And there are monsters to hunt, many of whom cannot be deterred by the power of rage. @I am here,@ Eric sends simply, @if you need me.@ And he vanishes like a wraith himself. No one short of the great powers sees him for a time (unless Zia calls him, of course), making the legendary ninja seem fumble-footed, but his presence can be tracked. _Something_ moves among the monsters, and where it moves, they die. The Hunter is loosed. =========================== Subject: AAE9: Red Dragon On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 23:09:04 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012838 >On Tue, 19 Sep 2006 21:19:00 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012834 > >>On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 17:11:49 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012828 >>>"A harem of bound women, a gallery of skulls, a team of dangerous >>>rogues," a voice whispers into Dracul's ear, "and yet still you >>>search for something, do you not? Something you have not yet found, >>>and you know not for certain what it is, but it plagues you like an >>>itch 'tween the shoulder blades. Ironic, that what you have been >>>trying so hard to acquire is that which can be freely given, but >>>never taken." >> >> Dracul snarls, his efforts to chase Morgan disrupted. [...that >>Jarek godling, again? No...this is something else...] He locks down >>his memories of both collections. "Press the grunts! Force them to >>defend the mortals!" he barks. > >The whisper vents a derisive chuckle. "Lo, see the mighty Dracul, >trying to run from his past." "Oh, for..." Red Fury actually rolls his eyes -- though through the white eye-slits, it's hard for those with merely human senses to tell. >A chibi-Dracul, visible only to mage-sight, starts dancing around >Dracul with its fingers in its ears, mouthing "La, la, la. I'm not >listening, I'm not listening, I'm not listening." The wheelbike wobbles slightly as Morgan, seeing this, has to fight back a laugh. The chibi-Dracul dies aborning as Fury impales it on a spike of pure Quintessence. He focuses deliberately on the battle in general and his prey in particular. Gaiasbane, now in Dire Wolf form and the size of a Clydesdale, barks a chuckle as well. He isn't thrown off, however, and takes advantage of the wobble to close a bit with the machine. >The whisper raises to a cutting lash. "You _can't_ run from your >memories, fool! They made you, even as you made them!" Dracul's mouth tightens ever so slightly, and he searches mentally for the source of this distraction, the better to psi-blast it into Oblivion. >The voice drops back to a whisper, almost a croon. "And behind the >playground bully is a lonely little boy, desperate for his father's >attention...maybe even his affection, yes?" That actually stops Dracul in mid-air. He laughs with genuine, mocking contempt. Then he redoubles the chase, blasting UNTIL units and supers who get too close. The heroic Obsidian goes flying, but manages to land on a pair of goat-demon gospog. As Obsidian-9 resumes his battle with Jaguar-6, Fury turns a moment of attention to the voice. "Overreach, and you get your hand snapped off," Dracul sneers. "My father was a monster to make me look like a saint. That was one of the best days of my life, feeding him to the Caul." Defender blanches slightly. "Playground bully. Pah. Go sell your snake-oil to Viper. Maybe they're buying." [Hmm...maybe if he's _that_ incompetent, it's Jarek after all,] Fury thinks with a grin. [No matter.] He doesn't know how Morgan is shielding him from jamming the wheelbike's tread -- maybe it's his counterpart -- but ultimately, it doesn't really matter. He's enjoying the hunt, and that's what counts. Defender, who has been watching Dracul closely, seems to be one step closer to something. None of the UNTIL agents Fury blasted are dead, nor are any of the Freedom Force heroes he psi-bolted. [There's still those chains of orichalcum, though...] Folx on the lens-link can practically hear the gears turning in his mind, assuming they can do anything other than stay alive at the moment... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Thu, 21 Sep 2006 11:24:59 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012839 >On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 23:09:30 -0700 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012837 >>On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 05:24:46 -0700 (PDT) >>Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012836 >> >> The UnPattern welled through her, as her consciousness warped and >>frayed apart, only dimly feeling terror as the wildshifting tore at >>her no-longer-solid flesh. > > [Oh, bloody...] is all the time Roland has to spare for this new, >um, wrinkle (Wrinkle immediately objects to being dragged into it, >but that's neither now nor then). > Eric carves through the gospog faster. OOC: The wildshift bit was actually meant to pass unseen by most of the characters, but Roland obviously has gained fantastic multitasking abilities due to years of herding cats. Eric, well, Eric obviously is just very well-tuned into a certain Petite Amberite's abilities to get in over her head', plainly. :P >>On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 18:58:42 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012829 > > The Nephandus stares in horror. OOC: "Now there's something you don't see every day!" > [Dark Gods, he really thinks he's James Bond. I hate Malkavians. I >hate combat. Most of all, though, I hate Al-Aswad. If I live through >this...] She changes tactics the instant she realizes her mistake, >switching her Life magick to defense. Her organs flow like water >through her body. Bloody runes that moan with bound souls carve >themselves into her body, granting her phenomenal regenerative >powers. Muscles bulge and neurons flare with alacrity, and her >fingernails harden and sharpen. She doesn't just move, she flows, >though her defensive posture makes it clear that she'd run like hell >if she thought she could. James simply watches her, behind the looming bore of the Walther. A quick and pointed psionic conversation is spun out, though there are plenty of powerful enough entities present that can eavesdrop. Though the conversation itself remains unknown to Jodi Blake, it still gives her a few precious seconds stay of execution to change her body. *Zia's gone.* Sarah (A.K.A. the samurai) confirms succinctly. *The Hunter?* James asks; he noticed Zia losing herself, but he expected backup. *Avoiding the Unicorn Demon's rage, but we need a virgin to stop it. Soon, before the Logrus keeps her." *Not my wife, it won't.* James' thought is as cold and sharp as her daisho. *Eric is good, but he's Shadow. Logrus perils are beyond him, James. That little girl's probably too young, anyhow.* *Chatter later, Sarah; I need battle reports now.* >The fingernails ripple at the merest hint of the edge with Oblivion. >She springs, planning to rake James enough times that the ...whatever >it is...on her nails boils away enough of his blood to make him >sufficiently tempting prey for a bigger, badder player on the field. >Ironically, that doesn't seem likely, the queen of betrayal herself >betrayed... With a honed killer's trained reflex, the Walther's report is simultaneous to the motion of her spring. The bullet's report rolls out a trio of reports, as he both protects the metal from vaporization while goosing its acceleration through three successive sonic booms. The sheer friction in the air rips away most of his shielding with sinisterly-timed perfection for the immense kinetic force to smash into her shielding. The force vectors were inhumanly precise; it doesn't quite penetrate her shield fully into her skull. It merely flattens, burning hot like a branding iron, on her forehead, as the energy released stuns her brain from the sledge-hammer impact turns her spring into a breath-stealing slam against the rocky terrain. "I'd call you Kitten, but you're not cute." > The mage briefly considers the Time Warp before her better >instincts stomp the idea like a level 10 DDR sequence. In a fight >like this, you stick with the basics. "School of Whatever Works," she >quips, "And I've got you on the IFF so you're safe from friendly >fire." > > Meanwhile, for those who can make it out over the din, her >namesake MP3 player seems to have one song on a loop. Anime fans >might even recognize "Both of you, Dance Like You Want to Win!" from >Neon Genesis Evangelion. "I know that one well; good choice." There are meat-cleaving sounds and the feeling of motion as the samurai deals with closing enemies. Sarah just hopes that the mage won't notice that some drips and whips of blood now decorate the young woman's garb. Her armor shows more gore, but this is far from her first battle. *Pardon, but shouting takes too much wind I need for fighting. Shall we choose more interesting opponents and teleport about the battle, or do you prefer where we are now?* > @I am here,@ Eric sends simply, @if you need me.@ > And he vanishes like a wraith himself. > No one short of the great powers sees him for a time (unless Zia >calls him, of course), making the legendary ninja seem fumble-footed, >but his presence can be tracked. _Something_ moves among the >monsters, and where it moves, they die. > The Hunter is loosed. James kneels next to the fallen Jodi Blake. With a submission hold, he immobilizes her wrist, then her arm, and rolls her onto her stomach while she is stunned. Platinum materializes into manacles without openings, with a short section of chain to hobble her ankles. She winds up hog-tied her in an awkward belly-position, but James is not satisfied. He has learned more than he wanted through this and their former mental combat. A gifted Fae enchantment, courtesy of Her Royal Highness, slides into the platinum, gilding it with curliques of quicksilver. His mental power flows to make the chains both able to change shape and size to conform to all the manipulations he knows she is can perform. He literally sits on her, using his greater strength and weight shamelessly. Returning the Walther to his holster, he takes both her hands in his own, while he also employs tremendous telekinetic holds on each fingernail to make sure she is held securely. "Providence protects fools." Anger isn't professional, but his chill tones are mildly annoyed. Her fingernails are set against her own forearms. "Get rid of the nails. I need you as bait. Biosculpt yourself virginal, and I'll delay serving you as you so richly deserve. I've a taste of your treacherous soul, so cooperate quickly - or don't." >The Lancers >"Both of you, Lance Like You Want to Win!" (It's Roland's fault) James Who always lances like he wants to win. (It's still Roland's fault!) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A World of Horrors On Sat, 23 Sep 2006 14:35:41 -0400 David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012841 >On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 > > OOC: Great Gods, is it ten years already? My apologies for taking >so long to get here, but life has been...interesting lately. OOC: Can I hear the list say "AMEN!" :) Sorry, but... I *hear* that. > Getting a final tally of those coming along and staying behind >(and sending sympathy to Moonstone, along with anyone else avoiding >Orrorsh for reality-clash reasons), Defender turns grimly to >Destroyer and nods. "Do it," he says reluctantly. Roger, meanwhile, is suffering a certain degree of dislocation. [Oookay, how did I get here? And I don't mean in the philosophical sense. Last I recall, I was split up five ways, and... um. Hm. I'm back in one piece, near as I can tell. So what's going on, and WHY the HECK are we working WITH Dr Look-What-Happens-When-You-Play-With-Matches-Kids?] Not that it ever occurs to him NOT to come along. Leaping without looking may be a long and honored family tradition, but "Follow Mom and/or Dad" is a closely-held *Roger* tradition. > A gi-normous chunk of rock tears itself out of the ground. Clearly >showing off, Roland mimics "heat vision" to carve several chairs in >the slab, then leaps on. "All aboard that's coming aboard!" he calls, >then leaps to the "front" of the rock, and when everyone who isn't >traveling under their own power is aboard, he gestures upward. The >stone lifts into the air again, then skims along the mountain surface >quickly. Roger covertly rolls his eyes, but hops aboard anyway, before grabbing a seat and beginning a thorough internal memory recovery/defrag. > The trip is eerily uneventful. Eyes watch from the huts, beady, >gleaming and suspicious except for the occasional wide-eyed wonder of >children too stubborn to break under the weight of the Gaunt Man's >paradigm. Sometimes the fog *moves,* to obscure windows, huts, or >even entire clusters. Roger is beginning to wonder if the reason no one is detecting any enemies is because the *entire place* is some kind of sprawling, amorphous threat. He assigns a splinter subself to chasing down this hypothesis. > Before the rock has gotten very far, however, Eric walks up the >slab toward Roland, a young woman clad almost entirely in blue (see >this picture -- >http://www.stornc.rpggallery.com/images/artfiles/BlueJayLoRes.jpg -- >for something that comes very close, except her hair is redder and >the inside of her capelet is yellow-gold) following him. "Roland," he Roger, while mostly absorbed internally, notes the new arrival on some partially-conscious level and mentally raises an appreciative eyebrow. >says, his voice its normal low, quiet tone. > "Speaking," he replies, turning. To his credit, the slab keeps >moving. Roland, however, freezes in mid-turn. > The young lady smiles sheepishly. "Hi, Daddy." > Roland sighs. /Morgan./ Roger doesn't move a muscle, or let anything leak out (hopefully) but somewhere inside his brain is the SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH-CRUUUUUUUUUUNCH-CRASHBASHRUMBLETHUDSHREDTEAREXPLO DE of a mental train wreck that registers about 9.2 on the Richter scale. > /Turnabout,/ she replies with a grin. > > /It's uncanny. Except for the hair, it's a lot like looking at >myself at that age -- well, as a girl./ Roland clears his throat. >*Rachel?* > /*"Yep,"*/ she replies, her smile steadying. /"By the way, I _am_ >on the lens-link, you know."/ She has her hands clasped behind her, >staring up with a mix of adoration and frustration at being thought >of as a child. /"And these days -- um, 'when' I come from -- I go by >Blaze."/ Roland sighs. Topside-Roger might as well be a statue, but somewhere under the bottom of the flying rock, another Roger appears and begins beating his forehead against the granite with the grim, rhythmic finality of a man determined to beat himself senseless. > ^She always was Daddy's girl,^ Morgan quips privately. Somewhere, a stereo starts playing Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl." The stereo is suddenly silenced by its unexpected conversion into a small Hawking singularity. > ^Sure, but not _this_ much!^ Roland objects. "Well, Blaze, last I >saw of you, you were about twelve years younger--" > "--fourteen." Blaze winks. "I age well." > "--and still in, ah, somewhere safe." The slab continues to skim >forward. "Would it be pointless to ask you what you're doing here?" > "Well, _someone_ had to land the Millennium Unicorn. Aunt Z > _likes_ that ship." At Roland's stern gaze (and quite possibly Zia's >as well ;^), she wilts somewhat. "Seriously, sir, it was an accident. >The Ys and I--" > "'The Ys?'" > "Brothers. Y Chromosome, get it?" She grins again, but when Roland >doesn't, she gets serious again and continues. "Anyway, we were >fighting Timemaster, and Roger did...well, you know Roger." > That finally elicits a smile from Defender. "Indeed." Roger gives up his navel-gazing and just whimpers very quietly. > Rachel grins sheepishly at her mother. "Time's been hard-synched. >I think Wrinkle's set the whole hyperline on lockdown." Her smile >vanishes again. "This is an extremely pivotal moment in our history. >Maybe the most important since Atlantis..." Blaze shakes her head. >"That's odd. My memories are in flux. That shouldn't be happening..." >Instantly, she looks around in concern. "Wait. Where's Rog?" > "Oh, here and there," Defender quips. OOC: Ah, I think I jumped my cue prematurely. But I can handle it. :) Roger looks startled, glances around, and suddenly realizes that *no one* seems to realize he's there. [Oooookay, this is getting weirder oh, no. Not another Causality Preservation Indeterminancy State. DARN IT ALL< WRINKLE!!!!!] >"Although since the rest of the invasions have collapsed, shouldn't >have he reformed, or re-integrated, or _whatever_ he's going to do?" >Morgan asks. [I have... expect it must not have happened yet. Um. Okay, I must have exceeded my Paradox Limit, and tiggered a spontaneous CTC-Isolated-Loop scenario....] > Rachel frowns. "Yes. He's supposed to _be_ here." She looks >around. "Most of this is right...but..." she pales suddenly. [Which means something ugly, temporal, loud, flashy, and (most likely) downright embarassing (for me) should happen any minute now....] > "Salisbury?" The Gaunt Man laughs mockingly. "A mask, and one that >has reached the end of its useful life. I have always been a lord of >fear. I was a surgeon and a sorcerer, called D'Onston, then Redjack." > > ^Is he usually prone to monologuing?^ Morgan asks wryly. > > ^Yes, but not in this detail. Let him rant,^ Roland replies, >ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. ^This has >already been useful.^ Roger, meanwhile, is putting at least half his attention into looking out for the next Shoe of Damocles that should be dropping any... minute... now..... > "You exaggerate," Defender snarls. > "Not excessively," the Gaunt Man replies dismissively, "well >within the bounds of dramatic license. It was, after all," he >continues, leering mockingly, "enough to create OMEN." The >stick-figure projection of that entity appears behind the Gaunt Man. >Curiously, Omen seems only to be observing now. > "Any time you want to get near a point," Defender says in a low, >dangerous voice. Yep. Any minute now. > "Point?" The Gaunt Man's amusement vanishes. He looks at Roland >like a frustrated teacher facing a dull, recalcitrant student. "There >is no point. That _is_ the point. No matter what we do, entropy >swallows all. The Nothing will have its due. All that matters is >_how_ the Possibilities are devoured, and none have devised a more >beautiful and elegant system than I." > Defender snorts. "You know, I thought you were epic, like >Darkseid, or glorious and terrible, like Mobius before he redeemed >himself. I was wrong." The Gaunt Man's placid demeanor vanishes, and >he becomes more furious with each of Roland's words. "You're nothing >but a sick, twisted mockery of a man, a mad slasher with pretensions, >too afraid of judgement to let go of your folly and your pathetic >shadow of an existence." His head inclines slightly as he addresses >the CAoL. "The rules are, whoever duels the Gaunt Man must do so >alone, one on one. We can stay in mental contact, so if his forces >try anything, I can still throw gospog around, and you can warn me if >he tries something desperate and stupid. Physically, however, this >has to be him and me." He grasps at something within his cape. Yep. Now. > His hand closes on empty air. "Wh--?!" > Perhaps most terrifying, however, is the titanic, sickly green >figure of Cthulhu, ululating with some alien emotion as its tentacles >flail in the air. Two armies, one of gospog and one of Deep Ones, >march beneath the Old One, taking impressive casualties beneath the >feet of the uncaring eldritch horror. [Okay. Who knew Damocles was part centipede? Things can't *poss--* no. NOT gonna say. Not gonna THINK it. Just... not. NOT. NOTNOTNOTNOTLALALALALALALALALLALALALA......] > Red Fury waves dismissively. "Okay, _five_ to one. It's _over,_ >Phoenix. Even if you can hold your own against us, you'll never draw >the Sword of Apeiros in time." > >"It's not over as long as a'one of us still draws breath," Morgan >growls. > > "We'll cure you of that soon enough, hero," Morgan Bloodwolf >replies with a bloodthirsty grin. [Okay. Where's the boom? Big boom, big BIG boom, I can feel it coming but I can't tell WHEN, dammit....] > "You fool," Dracul spits, clearly shaken. "You're about ten years >too late. I was brought to Malfeas by my own father, given to the >Caul to have my soul turned inside out. I shoved him down that same >Caul to set myself free, then carved an empire in the underworld of >a reality that makes yours look like a paradise. I have a harem of >women bound in orichalcum, a gallery of skulls taken from my >deadliest enemies, and the most dangerous rogues my world has to >offer for a team. You think you can tempt me with 'redemption?' ME?!" >Dracul blazes with crimson fire. "KILL THEM!" > "FIGHT!" Phoenix shouts back, force shields flying up to create >defensive emplacements. [THERE's the boom] Roger Reaches for his powers and throws-- Nothing. The shock is enough to freeze him in place until a stray blast goes straight *through* him... without so much as tugging a hair. There isn't room for anything in the shocked, echoing silence of his mind except one, distant, wildly understated thought: [This is worse than I thought....] > His Army of Darkness roars and charges at Dracul's command. The >battle is joined. The end has begun. OOC: So, it looks like this *wasn't* my cue. 'swhat I get for replying on the fly instead of catching up on the posts first, huh? :) Oh, well.... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Blaze of Glory On Sat, 23 Sep 2006 14:36:42 -0400 David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012842 OOC: found my cue, I think. But with Weird Temporal Stuff going on, I think we can still make everything work... :) >On Mon, 04 Sep 2006 23:56:56 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012812 > > Earth-9. Reality Crisis + 14 years. > "I can easily repair any damage necessary to rid myself of you, >Blaze," Timemaster laughed, "but can you survive my assault?" > /Have no fear, Roger's here!/ an enthusiastic 'voice' cut in as a >new player appeared on the 'field.' Rachel and Liam groaned in >unison. /I'd take exception to that, but I know you don't mean it,/ Roger smirks across the link. > Timemaster, however, looked up at the youthful figure hovering >over him and panicked. "YOU!" The villain turned the dial on his belt >to maximum. /I love it when they react that way. But I think I'd better start containing this thing--/ > "Um. Not good. Maybe this?" The newcomer threw a warp shield over >Timemaster. Unfortunately, whether he was simply unprepared for the >increase of power or it was simply Meant To Be, the two forces >reacted...poorly. Imagine a loose end in Time -- an effect waiting for its cause. Imagine coming across one unawares... Roger has, which is perhaps the only thing that keeps the world from instant annihilation as reality begins to split into wildly divergent Hyperlines, a decade and a half's worth of several different Would-Have-Beens, supressed and contained within mainline reality until now, but not *terminated,* driving the division with levels of force that could sunder universes. Roger recognizes it, because at one time he was on the *other* end of this thrashing causality chain -- in fact, he'd been *part* of it. And he suddenly realizes something that's been most carefully hidden from his perception until now: The Reality Crisis never actually *ended.* *This* is the end -- and if he flubs it, his failure will reach back fourteen years retroactively. Sidestepping outside of time, Roger considers his options. Without closing the circle, there's no way to save anything -- the Hyperline explosion he needs to contain *began* fourteen years ago, and there's no way to stitch things back together. He can already see glimpses through the narrow cracks of the various cosms, as they are/would be today, blanketing Earth-9, and the sights are enough to chill his soul. Escape is possible -- he could grab Rachel and Liam and run for it. He actually considers it for a moment, but discards the idea. Even if he fails, they'll be safely outside the zone of devastation. And everyone else that matters most to him... is right in the heart of the conflagration. Fourteen years ago. At the other end of this broken temporal chain, which is coming off its cosmic sprocket and about to wreck the engine of reality that it provides timing for. The only way to prevent this... is to grab this flailing loose end, carry it through the various gears and pulleys, re-thread the entire mess back into place... and then somehow weld the broken ends back together into something that can withstand the strain. He has NO idea how to do it. Not that that's ever stopped him before. Failure will almost certainly mean utter, total obviation -- the End of an Immortal. For all his seeming casualness in playing with great cosmic forces (and entities), Roger has never been blind to the risks or the stakes of the games he's played -- he simply accepts them without wasting time agonizing over it (at least, not where anyone can see). After all -- with nearly everyone he's ever loved doomed if he doesn't act, and the rest all reasonably safe, well... utter personal oblivion is pretty small potatoes in comparison, isn't it? Not the kind of choice that should take any reasonable being more than a few neural firings' worth of time to make. > "Oh great." Rachel redoubled her orbit speed. /Liam? Now would be >a good time.../ > /Hey, Big W isn't exactly on call, you know -- wait. I've got 'Dox >Sign.../ Even the stillness outside of time is beginning to vibrate. Still, there's a little time left. Roger does a quick update of all his various "In the Event" letters, sets the release timers for 24hrs from local here/now, and takes a last look at the battlefield to make sure he won't be leaving any eddies or aftershocks to endanger Rachel or Liam. A big brother's job doesn't get put on hold just because the world is ending, after all... > With absolutely no fanfare, an elderly British-looking gentlemen >in an impeccable black suit and bowler hat, holding a cane and >carrying a pocket watch appeared. He looked carefully at whatever the >watch showed him, then snapped it shut and pocketed it. "It's about >time," he said coolly. "Well," Roger comments dryly, "Your sense of dramatic timing hasn't lost any of its edge, I see." Wrinkle returns Roger's gaze dispassionately. "I travel where and when I am required." Roger snorts. "Yeah. So, I suppose *this* is the reason for.. well, for *me*? For everything -- the loops, the lost time, sawing off my own temporal branch until I don't have a beginning?" "I am not allowed to tell you." "Wha-?" Roger looks startled. "Who could give *you* that kind of order?" The ancient-looking spirit makes eye contact. "You did." A beat. "My Lord." And Wrinkle *bows* to Roger, full and formal, the bow of servant to master. Roger looks utterly dumbfounded. "This... is one of those things that is NEVER going to make sense, is it?" he manages to get out finally. Wrinkle hesitates for a long moment before shaking his head uncertainly. "I truly do not know." Something resembling his usual sardonic wit is coming back into Roger's expression. "I'm not going to remember this conversation, am I?" Wrinkle might just be smiling, a tiny little bit. "It is... unlikely." "Darn. *You* bowed to *me,* and I'm never going to get to tell anyone. Crud. Story of my *life,* geez...." For all his griping, Roger doesn't look all *that* upset. He's got more important things to worry about, after all. ...or, maybe he left himself a note. One never can tell, with Roger. "I'm afraid I must be going now. And so should you," Wrinkle says, and steps back into time at the very same moment he left. > "Wrinkle!" Rachel blurted in relief. Timemaster gasped. "I've got >a problem here!" > "Blaze..." Wrinkle actually had a note of regret in his voice. >"...you must handle this. If you cannot, I may have to obviate >portions of the timeline." Timemaster immediately attempted to turn >the dial back down, but it shifted uselessly in his fingers, the >mechanism shorted out by the sheer power at play. > Rachel gasped. A moment of panic swelled -- then she forced it >down and crushed it with sheer willpower. [I am one of the most >powerful supers ever to walk the Earth. I am the daughter of Defender >and Solitaire. I've worked towards this my whole life. I CAN do >this.] She almost believed it. > She whirled faster and faster around Timemaster until he was >surrounded by an azure ring. The very air hummed with determination >and power. Reality itself seemed to hold its breath. [Good going, sis. Maybe I could have managed this without you, but... well, I'd rather not try. I owe you a hug, if I make it back from this. Now I know you can't hear me, but you know what to do -- you've got the instincts, the training... heck, you're MY 'neechan, of course you've got what it takes.] > Something cracked. Places and times shifted wildly for instants >that lasted years and covered continents. [Aaaaand, here we GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!] As Rachel's crushed the imminent explosion back together, Roger stepped back into time for something under Planck time and grabbed the temporalloose end as it squirted free like a watermelon seed. Grabbed it, and wove it into his core Self, even as the backlash began yanking him retrograde towards the opposing nexus of the rupture-- Which gave him just enough time to think, [oops], before reality came to an abrupt end. > Champions Island was under attack. She had never seen its >assailants in person, but Rachel had reviewed her parents' files with >the enthusiasm of a super-fan with hyper-speed, probably a thousand >times over. She knew every battle, every ally, every foe as >intimately as if she'd fought with or against them herself. > [Gospog.] Blaze trembled briefly. A brief vibrational check >confirmed that she was still in her home reality, which could mean >only one thing. Time travel. Rachel Greywolf-Phoenix was >approximately fourteen years in her own past. This was universally >considered the Champions' greatest adventure, even more critical than >the Proprietor War that immediately preceded it. [The Reality >Crisis.] > Then she saw a modified YT-1300 freighter doing things only two >YT-1300 freighters she knew of could do. Given where-when she was, it >was a safe bet that the raptor-themed option was in its home >dimension. "Auntzie, he can't fly the thing -- oh frack." She sighed >and raced after the ship; even with her speed, it took her a moment >to catch up. [Okay, this isn't a big deal -- it wouldn't have been >destroyed, but the Unicorn would have spent weeks in dry dock. Air >dock? Whatever.] She reached the cockpit just as Eric was literally >trying to get a handle on the situation. /Uncle Eric?/ > Eric actually stared for a second. /Gaia! Did my sister actually >have a child with Roger?/ > Rachel giggled. /Gods, no!/ She grew serious. /Hunter, sir, you're >about to be needed. I'll land the Unicorn./ OOC: Aw, Roger&Rio never had any kids? :D Ah, well, the century is young yet. > /Certainly,/ Eric replied evenly. /As soon as you identify >yourself./ > Rachel felt a cold chill as she heard the Hunter in his voice. >/Rachel Greywolf-Phoenix, code name Blaze, Young Champions Auxiliary, >from fourteen years in your future. Sir./ > Eric sighed. /Of course. Very well.../ he looked distant for a >moment. "Destroyer. Great." Rachel felt the telepathic contact >between the Exalt and the immortal conqueror, but stayed politely >out. Eric nodded, both to the villain and the heroine. > In the instant Eric vanished, Rachel took his place in the >cockpit, wrapping the ship in her energy fields and grinning. While Roger just sort of shows up, somehow, where everyone else is gathering, too distracted to notice that no one seems to notice *him*.... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Sat, 23 Sep 2006 16:48:50 -0700 (PDT) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012843 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012829 > >>On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:41:29 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012827 >> >> Wrinkle slowly fades into existence as he walks up the mountain, >>his cane tapping evenly against the sloped ground as he looks at his >>pocket watch. With a snap, he closes it and looks up, examining the >>CAoL. He says nothing, but nods respectfully to Oracle. > >The Time Mage registers the arrival of the premier temporal Paradox >spirit, and is very glad she hasn't done anything to personally >garner his attention. > > Wrinkle briefly glances at her. His knowing smile is almost >friendly, as if sharing a secret with the battlefield's Mistress of >Time. Rio finds it strangely comforting. Then Earth-9's supreme >guardian of Time returns his attention to the field before them. As the battle shifts and flows, Rob presses against the block that keeps "ords" from using all the Possibility that a true Storm Knight can access, reviews his lessons from an old man named Chan Kong Sang on "working a crowd," and tracks the time on Ming's forces. [Blocked/one target at a time/0:39.55/Blocked/watch others/Open?/ 0:39.05] As he pulls the Quickstart Enterprises card from his pair of remaining favors, he tracks the opening. [blocked/open/blocked...something about where Rio's standing!] Gospog suddenly start falling as Rob sets his target, even though he doesn't know what it is. All he knows is that nothing will stop him from getting close enough to use the formula on the back of the business card. It only takes ten feet. [0:11.11.] The formula is worth it. (OOC: monospace font time!) d 2 z a ----: 3x (9y ) 4 da The card ages into dust in a thousandth of a second, as it soaks up the cost of stealing speed from nearly everybody in range. Wrinkle, Rio, and Sarah are among the friendlies in range, but Rob's attention spares all the allies he recognizes, and Wrinkle shrugs the effect off without a twitch. Energy all has to go someplace, and it does - Rio and Sarah are each aware of being offered a share of it before Rob takes whatever's left, and offers half of that to Eric. [He's good, but I can still see enough of him to target...and he might want the edge...] =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Cosmic Conflict On Tue, 26 Sep 2006 19:20:58 -0700 Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012844 >Roland X wrote As CAoL Message # 00012827 > > The Ebon Dragon...laughs. *"Such arrogance. I was old when this >universe was young. I helped _craft_ it, and others like it. You, >Hydra, like to think yourself powerful, but on this battlefield you >are outmatched."* Ebon opens its claw, and a tiny but unimaginably >intense red sphere forms, a ball of stellar fire that seems the very >essence of WRONGNESS. *"I have awaited this moment for aeons beyond >counting. This is my world. Now is my time. COME, BROTHER!"* The Red >Star grows and glows, flying into the void above the sky until it >grows to twice the apparent diameter of the sun, as genuinely large >as a small moon. It cools, the flames becoming veins of plasma and >lakes of torment as a cracked, encrusted organic "land" appears where >the fires recede. It isn't entirely spherical any more, but it looks >somehow familiar to those Earth-9 natives who see it, like a memory >of a memory. ^As we envisioned. Aurora, the worm is yours. I will take the cosmic oaf. Remember to wait for Oracle's signals.^ Hydra sends to Aurora. ^Hydra, in eight hundred billion years, have you ever known me to forget ANYTHING?^ She answers, then continues. ^You be careful. Malfael is very powerful even by our standards.^ One of Hydra's heads 'looks' at the two Starspawn facing Chuthulu. /*"Well? What are you waiting for? Deal with 'him', then move on to the next. Leave the Dragon and the abomination to Aurora and me. MOVE!"*/ And the two guardians assigned by Oracle to guard Earth-9 move, with a vengence. Chuthulu is surprised as he has not been for ages. The two Starspawn work themselves into opposing positions requiring Chuthulu to move back and forth across his own forces to reach them. > Then it _unfolds,_ a previously invisible seam tearing with a >gut-wrenching sound of ripping skin, and it rapidly becomes clear >that the "sphere" was a humanoid turned inside-out. _Things_ fall >from it: twisted humans, piranha-toothed fish-men, squid-like >creatures that fly and wield True Magick with inhuman cunning and >flee the titan reforming above them, mutated animal and insectoid >horrors with skin that has flowed like wax until it solidified in new >ways, and worst of all, monstrous warriors that both look and feel >like someone bred Lovecraft's Deep Ones and Giger's Xenomorphs into >an ideal of military terror. The "Xenodeep" fall, but neither the >murderous cold of the void nor the searing heat of the friction >seriously damage them as they plummet toward the battlefield. ^One of you reduce Chuthulu's support forces to a level that our less powerful allies can handle, while the other begins dealing with these Xenodeep. When the support forces are pared down, leave them for our allies to mop up, and both take out the Xenos.^ Aurora directs her two followers. > Far worse than any of them, however, is the gigantic humanoid >shape that forms from the small world that has shaken them all off >like so many fleas. It looks like a man who has been burned beyond >recognition by both acid and flame, but whose skin would simply not >burn away. Most of it is seared black as night, but parts of it are >dead white, like ash burned beyond black. It moves with a slightly >jerky motion...and radiates ancient and terrible power, bound no >more. > *"Since time immemorial, that was Malfeas, the prison-realm of my >brethren, but before that he was known by other names. You may call >him Malfael. You may call him death."* Ebon grins hungrily as Malfael >descends, fingers the size of skyscrapers flexing in anticipation, a >mouth the size of a lake smiling with ancient hunger and razor-teeth >upon which his inhabitants still scramble in fear. > *"'HYDRA,'"* Malfael booms mockingly. *"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE >CONCEPT. COME, THEN, AND FACE MY HEADS."* The ancient thing reaches >out, and heads grow on the ends of his fingers. Each opens its mouth, >and power streams forth, ten different frequencies slicing at Hydra's >existence in ten different ways. When Hydra blocks them, Malfael's >smile grows, and grows colder. He grows two more arms, tiny compared >to the real arms but still large enough to grip entire buildings, and >their fingers fire bursts of equal power and obviation, but each of a >slightly differing nature. Then two more. And two more. And two >more... Hydra 'advances' toward Malfael, growing larger with each 'step'. His glaive spinning like a batton blocking attack after attack. To those with hyperspeed capabilities it looks like a scene out of a REALLY well done martial arts movie, where an individual fights defensively against dozens or even hundreds. Attacks are diverted to block other attacks, or even turned back upon the attacker. Though those who are ABLE to see what is happening are at the very limit of their powers, and even to them it seems to be happening at VERY high speed indeed. As Hydra comes within reach (at least the reach of his weapon) of Malfael, he begins attacking. Without disrupting the defensive whirl of his weapon, he begins blasting the heads, arms and torso of the monster. Each time the tip of the Glaive lines up with some part of Malfael's being it emits a pulse of power that travels at translight speeds high enough to make photons look like they are stationairy. Each pulse of power carries enough energy, designed to cause the maximum disruption of Malfael's being, to shatter a planet to dust. > Ebon turns to 'look' at Aurora. "And now, lovely one, let us >dance."* Ebon weaves its sinuous form in the air like a living sigil, >almost literally dancing, and summons forth powers to beggar the >imagination. Grand energies of the Abyss reach out to swallow her. >Subtle forces of the mind weave out to weaken her resolve, never >actually trying to subvert her will -- Ebon's too smart for that -- >but causing distracting, disorienting dissonance. Transforming >effects pour forth to poison and infect her very nature with the >powers that cracked and crippled the evil Dragon long ago. Aurora 'stands' for a moment analyzing his attacks, her conclusions cause her to burst into laughter. Her laughter rings out over the entire battlezone, healing and replenishing her allies, and shaking the enemy forces to their very core. /*"FOOL! I was designed to stand toe-to-toe against The Stardragon itself, while wielding such forces and defending against them. Learn this lesson well, and take it into your next life."*/ She says as she shrugs off his attacks. She then 'unveils' herself. To those who fight for good, and right, and freedom she becomes a bright and incorruptable light, destroying the darkness, and pushing back the fog, but to those who follow and serve evil she becomes a blinding, searing, and intolerable radiance. Then she attacks. Exerting her power, space itself bends to her will, turning Ebon's own forces against him. Flexing her mental 'muscle' she hits him with mental blast after mental blast. Each as powerful as the one that expunged life from Edore. Then she strikes with her most powerful ability. The dragon screams as she hits him with spiritual forces designed both to cleanse his spirit, and to flay it from his body. > The Gaunt Man smiles again, cool and terrible, and reaches into >an inner breast pocket. "That will not do," he says, pulling forth a >tiny writhing figure/image. It holds no shape for more than an >instant, and every cosmic entity on the battlefield immediately knows >that something terrible has occurred. Both Rolands gape for a moment, >their duel pausing. The Gaunt Man throws it up, and it expands, >growing and shedding every imaginable appendage (and some things that >humans cannot imagine) as it shifts and swells. > "Azathoth," Roland Phoenix breathes. And it is. > *"What now, boss-man?"* Seeker asks. > */"Nothing! We leave that to the Starspawn and the cosmics!"/* >Defender barks emphatically. > *"But--"* Seeker begins. Azathoth primarily targets the lesser >Starspawn obliterating Cthulhu's armies, sparing a few lances of >power for Hydra and Aurora. > */"BUT NOTHING!"/* Defender roars. */"He just pulled AZATHOTH! >Out of his POCKET! You leave that to the CAoL!"/* He fights grimly >on, even when he changes dance partners, trying to put the >impossibilities above out of his mind. [Light and Source...is it time >to call in the Stardragon?] ^Not yet, Roland... No, I'm not reading your mind. A poor oracle would I be indeed if I couldn't read your face, and body language.^ Oracle tells Roland. ^Alpha, NOW!^ Oracle tells the guardian Starspawn. With that, the two Starspawn facing Chuthulu generate a self contained Phoenix field around him, a chunk of the mountain he stands on, and those of his forces directly below him. As the atoms inside the field begin to fuse together, Chuthulu tries desperately to get free. Only to discover that the more force he applies to break free, the smaller the field becomes, crushing him into it's core. At the same time, the other two Starspawn spare one last blast at Chuthulu's two armies, and at the forces decending from Malfeal, a blast that vaporizes many if not most of them (OOC: I don't know if that would stop the droppers, but it surely has to slow them a bunch. It's kind of hard to fight when you're a free floating vapor). With those tasks accomplished, the four turn their attentions to Azathoth. >>Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012822 >> >>*"Pray that the Hunter defeats you, Anathema. The worst HE can do to >>you is kill you. My punishment for you will teach you what TRUE >>agony is. A lesson you will learn for ten million years, at least."* >>The Stardragon's voice bellows across the field of battle. *"You >>will be an example, for the Macroscopic All, of what one earns when >>one treats a child so in MY presense."* To Eric it sends. ^You may >>call upon my power at need Hunter.^ > > ^Thanks,^ is all that Eric replies, though that is most emphatic >indeed. > /Easy, Stardragon,/ Roland replies. /Remember, we're the good >guys. Still.../ He glances over at the Gaunt Man...and his heart >turns to ice. That's almost enough to end him, but fortunately it's >James to the rescue (see Zia's post). /Off! Stay off the >battlefield!/ > The Gaunt Man, sensing this opportunity has passed, sighs and >releases the monoblock floating next to Nyarlathotep in his 'pocket' >universe. /It is not yet time, child. Wait for it. To enter too soon will invite disaster. Soon the Gaunt Man will make his mistake, and it will be time./ Oracle adds to Roland's injunction. The Stardragon's only reply is a frustrated /*"RRRRRRRRRRRRR!"*/, and the entire planet can almost hear it grinding its 'teeth'. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Wed, 27 Sep 2006 20:21:45 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012845 >On Thu, 21 Sep 2006 11:24:59 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012839 >>On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 18:58:42 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012829 >> >> The Nephandus stares in horror. > >OOC: "Now there's something you don't see every day!" OOC: ROFL! (No kidding!) >>The fingernails ripple at the merest hint of the edge with Oblivion. >>She springs, planning to rake James enough times that the >>...whatever it is...on her nails boils away enough of his blood to >>make him sufficiently tempting prey for a bigger, badder player on >>the field. Ironically, that doesn't seem likely, the queen of >>betrayal herself betrayed... > > With a honed killer's trained reflex, the Walther's report is >simultaneous to the motion of her spring. The bullet's report rolls >out a trio of reports, as he both protects the metal from >vaporization while goosing its acceleration through three successive >sonic booms. The sheer friction in the air rips away most of his >shielding with sinisterly-timed perfection for the immense kinetic >force to smash into her shielding. The force vectors were inhumanly >precise; it doesn't quite penetrate her shield fully into her skull. [HOW?!] she wonders, reeling, even as the bullet impacts the space on the back of her neck where she'd moved her brain (and skull) to. [Ten thousand damnations on all Aswadim!] >It merely flattens, burning hot like a branding iron, on her >forehead, as the energy released stuns her brain from the >sledge-hammer impact turns her spring into a breath-stealing slam >against the rocky terrain. > "I'd call you Kitten, but you're not cute." *I don't do cute,* she replies, thinking it a last defiance, spitting in death's eye. Courage is not one of her strong suits, but she's at least no coward. >>The mage briefly considers the Time Warp before her better instincts >>stomp the idea like a level 10 DDR sequence. In a fight like this, >>you stick with the basics. "School of Whatever Works," she quips, >>"And I've got you on the IFF so you're safe from friendly fire." >> >>Meanwhile, for those who can make it out over the din, her namesake >>MP3 player seems to have one song on a loop. Anime fans might even >>recognize "Both of you, Dance Like You Want to Win!" from Neon >>Genesis Evangelion. > > "I know that one well; good choice." There are meat-cleaving >sounds and the feeling of motion as the samurai deals with closing >enemies. Sarah just hopes that the mage won't notice that some drips >and whips of blood now decorate the young woman's garb. Her armor >shows more gore, but this is far from her first battle. *Pardon, but >shouting takes too much wind I need for fighting. Shall we choose >more interesting opponents and teleport about the battle, or do you >prefer where we are now?* *One crunchy's as good as another,* Rio almost laughs, bullets flying with superhuman precision through low-level gospog and zombies. She freezes a Wraith in place long enough for Wrinkle(!) to shatter it with a casual swipe of his cane. The shards fly out only six inches before stopping and shattering themselves, turning into motes of light that vanish an instant later. (OOC: I'm keeping Rio on the fringes of the battle until/unless something specific for her to do comes up, so as far as I'm concerned we can let this section drop for now *g*.) > James kneels next to the fallen Jodi Blake. With a submission >hold, he immobilizes her wrist, then her arm, and rolls her onto her >stomach while she is stunned. She's stunned more than just physically; Jodi Blake knows a stone killer when she fights one. She'd accounted herself dead the moment she was vulnerable. >Platinum materializes into manacles without openings, with a short >section of chain to hobble her ankles. She winds up hog-tied her in >an awkward belly-position, but James is not satisfied. He has learned >more than he wanted through this and their former mental combat. A >gifted Fae enchantment, courtesy of Her Royal Highness, slides into >the platinum, gilding it with curliques of quicksilver. [What in the Unspeakable Names...] >His mental power flows to make the chains both able to change shape >and size to conform to all the manipulations he knows she is can >perform. He literally sits on her, using his greater strength and >weight shamelessly. Returning the Walther to his holster, he takes >both her hands in his own, while he also employs tremendous >telekinetic holds on each fingernail to make sure she is held >securely. Bizarrely, she laughs. "Darling, if I'd known _that_ was what you wanted..." She's still too shocked to be alive to react otherwise, however. > "Providence protects fools." Anger isn't professional, but his >chill tones are mildly annoyed. Her fingernails are set against her >own forearms. "Get rid of the nails. I need you as bait. Biosculpt >yourself virginal, and I'll delay serving you as you so richly >deserve. I've a taste of your treacherous soul, so cooperate quickly > - or don't." The fingernails return to their default state. [Dark Gods. Men and their power games. He thinks he's in control; even if he is, my position is better now than it was in battle.] Jodi grins. [And far more likely to be enjoyable.] Roland, even caught between Bloodwolf and Anathema as he is, looks like he wants to be sick at the sight (ESP, in this case) of her smiling. "You _need_ me," she states. "I'll do it," she adds quickly, smile vanishing, already aware of the razor edge on Bond's temper (not to mention the Hunter's) and starting to alter the necessary organs, "on one condition: that delay becomes indefinite, so long as I avoid you and yours. Your _word_ on it; the Hunter's, too." She twists to look at the Unicorn Demon and turns faintly green. "Assuming I survive..." @Done,@ the Hunter sends curtly as he beheads a weretiger. *One other thing,* she adds reluctantly. *Your need had best be purely physical. I misdoubt there's enough Spirit magick in the Tellurian entire to make my _soul_ seem virginal.* Her reluctance, though she tries to hide it, is clearly (to James) practical; any sort of innocence she might have had was drowned in blood-dimmed tides long ago. >>The Lancers >>"Both of you, Lance Like You Want to Win!" (It's Roland's fault) > >James >Who always lances like he wants to win. (It's still Roland's fault!) Of course it's Roland's fault. It's _always_ Roland's fault. Where do you think _Roger_ gets it? =========================== Subject: AAE9: Time Sink On Wed, 27 Sep 2006 21:04:58 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012846 >On Sat, 23 Sep 2006 14:35:41 -0400 >David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012841 > >>On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 >> Getting a final tally of those coming along and staying behind >>(and sending sympathy to Moonstone, along with anyone else avoiding >>Orrorsh for reality-clash reasons), Defender turns grimly to >>Destroyer and nods. "Do it," he says reluctantly. > > Roger, meanwhile, is suffering a certain degree of dislocation. >[Oookay, how did I get here? And I don't mean in the philosophical >sense. Last I recall, I was split up five ways, and... um. Hm. I'm >back in one piece, near as I can tell. So what's going on, and WHY >the HECK are we working WITH Dr Look-What-Happens-When-You-Play-With >-Matches-Kids?] OOC: 1) Because if someone's going to conquer Earth-9, it's going to be _him,_ and 2) even Doctor Destroyer thinks the Gaunt Man is not a Happy Fun Ball. >> The trip is eerily uneventful. Eyes watch from the huts, beady, >>gleaming and suspicious except for the occasional wide-eyed wonder >>of children too stubborn to break under the weight of the Gaunt >>Man's paradigm. Sometimes the fog *moves,* to obscure windows, huts, >>or even entire clusters. > > Roger is beginning to wonder if the reason no one is detecting any >enemies is because the *entire place* is some kind of sprawling, >amorphous threat. He assigns a splinter subself to chasing down this >hypothesis. Well...yes and no. Yes, because the threat is everywhere, but diffuse; no, because the threat is not exactly there. Yet. Kind of like Roger at that point. ;-) >> Rachel grins sheepishly at her mother. "Time's been hard-synched. >>I think Wrinkle's set the whole hyperline on lockdown." Her smile >>vanishes again. "This is an extremely pivotal moment in our history. >>Maybe the most important since Atlantis..." Blaze shakes her head. >>"That's odd. My memories are in flux. That shouldn't be >>happening..." Instantly, she looks around in concern. "Wait. Where's >>Rog?" >> "Oh, here and there," Defender quips. > > OOC: Ah, I think I jumped my cue prematurely. But I can handle it. > :) > > Roger looks startled, glances around, and suddenly realizes that >*no one* seems to realize he's there. [Oooookay, this is getting >weirder--oh, no. Not another Causality Preservation Indeterminancy >State. DARN IT ALL< WRINKLE!!!!!] Wrinkle almost smiles. Almost. >>Space screams, begging for mercy but receiving none, as holes open >>around the CAoL, above them, ahead of them, in every size. Some of >>them bleed, others scream, still more gape as dark, horrible maws >>with nothing visible but a black disk. Roland Dracul steps out of >>the first, grinning viciously as his Champions of Evil follow almost >>instantly. Villains and monsters of every stripe follow: > > [Okay. Who knew Damocles was part centipede? Things can't *poss--* >no. NOT gonna say. Not gonna THINK it. Just... not. NOT. >NOTNOTNOTNOTLALALALALALALALALLALALALA......] OOC: ROFL! Unnoticed by anyone but Roger, the Gaunt Man turns his head ever-so-subtly for a moment, looks Roger _right_in_the_eyes_ -- and smiles. Or maybe bares his teeth. It's hard to tell. He turns back to watch the upcoming battle with his usual aplomb. >>You think you can tempt me with 'redemption?' ME?!" Dracul blazes >>with crimson fire. "KILL THEM!" >> "FIGHT!" Phoenix shouts back, force shields flying up to create >>defensive emplacements. > > [THERE's the boom] > Roger Reaches for his powers and throws-- > Nothing. > The shock is enough to freeze him in place until a stray blast >goes straight *through* him... without so much as tugging a hair. > There isn't room for anything in the shocked, echoing silence of >his mind except one, distant, wildly understated thought: > [This is worse than I thought....] Wrinkle's almost-smile vanishes. [Well. _That_ was not supposed to happen.] Then...or rather, after now...I mean...aw heck, this part's from the next post. >On Sat, 23 Sep 2006 14:36:42 -0400 >David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012842 > >>On Mon, 04 Sep 2006 23:56:56 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012812 >> >> Earth-9. Reality Crisis + 14 years. > > > >> "I can easily repair any damage necessary to rid myself of you, >>Blaze," Timemaster laughed, "but can you survive my assault?" >> /Have no fear, Roger's here!/ an enthusiastic 'voice' cut in as a >>new player appeared on the 'field.' Rachel and Liam groaned in >>unison. > > /I'd take exception to that, but I know you don't mean it,/ Roger >smirks across the link. /Hey Laughing Boy -- one buwwet weft,/ Liam warns dryly. > ...or, maybe he left himself a note. One never can tell, with >Roger. Especially Roger himself. Selves. Um. >> Rachel gasped. A moment of panic swelled -- then she forced it >>down and crushed it with sheer willpower. [I am one of the most >>powerful supers ever to walk the Earth. I am the daughter of >>Defender and Solitaire. I've worked towards this my whole life. I >>CAN do this.] She almost believed it. >> She whirled faster and faster around Timemaster until he was >>surrounded by an azure ring. The very air hummed with determination >>and power. Reality itself seemed to hold its breath. > > [Good going, sis. Maybe I could have managed this without you, >but...well, I'd rather not try. I owe you a hug, if I make it back >from this. > Now I know you can't hear me, but you know what to do -- you've >got the instincts, the training... heck, you're MY 'neechan, of >course you've got what it takes.] Liam believes in her too. On the other hand, he was a belt-and-suspenders kind of guy back in grade school. He thrusts a shining, silvery dagger -- a klaive -- into the air. It hums, and Spirits of Time itself come to aid his siblings. >> Something cracked. Places and times shifted wildly for instants >>that lasted years and covered continents. > > [Aaaaand, here we GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!] > As Rachel's crushed the imminent explosion back together, Roger >stepped back into time for something under Planck time and grabbed >the temporal loose end as it squirted free like a watermelon seed. > Grabbed it, and wove it into his core Self, even as the backlash >began yanking him retrograde towards the opposing nexus of the >rupture-- > Which gave him just enough time to think, [oops], before reality >came to an abrupt end. [Hitchhikers,] Rachel sighs as the years race past. Still, kicking hitchhikers off while time-traveling is considered bad luck. Kind of like crowding a claymore. Only less safe and cuddly. Besides, it might be Roger. [Nah. My luck isn't _that_ good.] Rachel chuckles. [Not that I'd ever admit that to _him._] >> Eric actually stared for a second. /Gaia! Did my sister actually >>have a child with Roger?/ >> Rachel giggled. /Gods, no!/ She grew serious. /Hunter, sir, >>you're about to be needed. I'll land the Unicorn./ > > OOC: Aw, Roger&Rio never had any kids? :D Ah, well, the century is >young yet. > >> /Certainly,/ Eric replied evenly. /As soon as you identify >>yourself./ >> Rachel felt a cold chill as she heard the Hunter in his voice. >>/Rachel Greywolf-Phoenix, code name Blaze, Young Champions >>Auxiliary, from fourteen years in your future. Sir./ >> Eric sighed. /Of course. Very well.../ he looked distant for a >>moment. "Destroyer. Great." Rachel felt the telepathic contact >>between the Exalt and the immortal conqueror, but stayed politely >>out. Eric nodded, both to the villain and the heroine. >> In the instant Eric vanished, Rachel took his place in the >>cockpit, wrapping the ship in her energy fields and grinning. /By the way...Rachel?/ Eric asks. /Yes, sir?/ /About that comment, regarding Roger and Rio.../ /Oh!/ she chuckles. /I meant me, specifically. Obviously, I'm the adult version of the child you've met./ She grows serious. /I can't tell you what happens between them. I'm sure you know that./ The seriousness vanishes. /Wrinkle's got a mean swing with that cane./ Eric's return chuckle is decidedly...darker. Rachel swallows. /Funny. I would have thought Wrinkle's switch-hitting would be more...forceful./ /I wouldn't know,/ she replies primly. /I've never messed up _that_ badly./ She looks around as she flies for Champions Island. /Unless this counts,/ she mutters. /Unlikely./ Both characters turn their attention to other things... -- Rachel Greywolf-Phoenix "Abandon the urge to simplify everything, to look for formulas and easy answers, and to begin to think multidimensionally, to glory in the mystery and paradoxes of life, not to be dismayed by the multitude of causes and consequences that are inherent in each experience, to appreciate the fact that life is complex." --M. Scott Peck =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Cosmic Conflict On Sun, 01 Oct 2006 21:47:24 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012847 >On Tue, 26 Sep 2006 19:20:58 -0700 >Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012844 > >> Roland X wrote As CAoL Message # 00012827 >> >One of Hydra's heads 'looks' at the two Starspawn facing Chuthulu. >/*"Well? What are you waiting for? Deal with 'him', then move on to >the next. Leave the Dragon and the abomination to Aurora and me. >MOVE!"*/ > >And the two guardians assigned by Oracle to guard Earth-9 move, with >a vengence. Chuthulu is surprised as he has not been for ages. The >two Starspawn work themselves into opposing positions requiring >Chuthulu to move back and forth across his own forces to reach them. Cthulhu is stymied, much to the Army of Darkness' chagrin. Its fame allowed the Gaunt Man to increase its power with his terrible, reality-warping occult power, but Zia's sacrifice has more than countered that with her Elder Sign. Without that boost, Cthulhu is, despite its infamy, one of the lesser lights of the Lovecraftian pantheon, at least in terms of raw power. Ironically, the restraints on its abilities lessen the damage Cthulhu can do to its own forces, but Earth-9's forces are more than compensating for that 'problem.' >> Then it _unfolds,_ a previously invisible seam tearing with a >>gut-wrenching sound of ripping skin, and it rapidly becomes clear >>that the "sphere" was a humanoid turned inside-out. _Things_ fall >>from it: twisted humans, piranha-toothed fish-men, squid-like >>creatures that fly and wield True Magick with inhuman cunning and >>flee the titan reforming above them, mutated animal and insectoid >>horrors with skin that has flowed like wax until it solidified in >>new ways, and worst of all, monstrous warriors that both look and >>feel like someone bred Lovecraft's Deep Ones and Giger's Xenomorphs >>into an ideal of military terror. The "Xenodeep" fall, but neither >>the murderous cold of the void nor the searing heat of the friction >>seriously damage them as they plummet toward the battlefield. > >^One of you reduce Chuthulu's support forces to a level that our less >powerful allies can handle, while the other begins dealing with these >Xenodeep. When the support forces are pared down, leave them for our >allies to mop up, and both take out the Xenos.^ Aurora directs her >two followers. In the space between the cosmic battles, Earth-9's mages appear in flickers of spacial...alteration, most of which seem to treat distance itself as nonexistent. >> *"'HYDRA,'"* Malfael booms mockingly. *"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE >>CONCEPT. COME, THEN, AND FACE MY HEADS."* The ancient thing reaches >>out, and heads grow on the ends of his fingers. Each opens its >>mouth, and power streams forth, ten different frequencies slicing at >>Hydra's existence in ten different ways. When Hydra blocks them, >>Malfael's smile grows, and grows colder. He grows two more arms, >>tiny compared to the real arms but still large enough to grip entire >>buildings, and their fingers fire bursts of equal power and >>obviation, but each of a slightly differing nature. Then two more. >>And two more. And two more... > >Hydra 'advances' toward Malfael, growing larger with each 'step'. His >glaive spinning like a batton blocking attack after attack. To those >with hyperspeed capabilities it looks like a scene out of a REALLY >well done martial arts movie, where an individual fights defensively >against dozens or even hundreds. Attacks are diverted to block other >attacks, or even turned back upon the attacker. Malfael begins increasing the rate of attack addition. In addition, he/it starts adding further levels of attack, the most prominent being a vortex of absorption that, to those observing with visually-oriented abilities, comes from his/its palms. He grows bleeding, be-fanged mouths in its palms that suck greedily as Malfael starts reabsorbing the attacks and, like a "soft" martial artist, turning them right back around to fly back at Hydra. A few blows do strike home, tearing flesh away, but the flesh oozes back into place. The ultimate goal of the vortexes is to devour Hydra completely... >Though those who are ABLE to see what is happening are at the very >limit of their powers, and even to them it seems to be happening at >VERY high speed indeed. As Hydra comes within reach (at least the >reach of his weapon) of Malfael, he begins attacking. Without >disrupting the defensive whirl of his weapon, he begins blasting the >heads, arms and torso of the monster. Each time the tip of the Glaive >lines up with some part of Malfael's being it emits a pulse of power >that travels at translight speeds high enough to make photons look >like they are stationairy. Each pulse of power carries enough energy, >designed to cause the maximum disruption of Malfael's being, to >shatter a planet to dust. The glaive does damage Malfael, though it doesn't look it to observers -- every extremity lopped off, every slash ripped in the body, slithers back into place with a sickening, bubbling pseudo-fluidity. This costs Malfael energy, more than it should seem to, until it becomes apparent that the extremities are warping with each blow. They harden on a multidimensional level, the limbs growing blades, and ooze along the length of the glaive's shaft towards Hydra. That's when it gets _bad._ Krona, the exiled Oan, appears behind Hydra, of a size with the combatants. He smiles viciously. "You know the Secret." He strikes, with the skill of an Oan and a power bloated from the energies of entire universes. "I was certain he lied, but he spoke true." He doesn't unleash all the might he's accumulated -- that would probably shatter Earth-9 and half its universe like an egg -- but what he does wield makes the entire battlefield, from the plains of Hy-Brasil to the star battle around Neptune, to ring like a bell on the psychic, magickal, and primal levels. He wields it like a scalpel, meaning to open Hydra like a high school biology project (albeit in several more dimensions than any high schooler can comprehend) and find whatever 'Secret' is within him. "I will enjoy extracting it from you." Roland's jaw tightens. /Hydra, you need backup?/ >> Ebon turns to 'look' at Aurora. "And now, lovely one, let us >>dance."* Ebon weaves its sinuous form in the air like a living >>sigil, almost literally dancing, and summons forth powers to beggar >>the imagination. Grand energies of the Abyss reach out to swallow >>her. Subtle forces of the mind weave out to weaken her resolve, >>never actually trying to subvert her will -- Ebon's too smart for >>that -- but causing distracting, disorienting dissonance. >>Transforming effects pour forth to poison and infect her very nature >>with the powers that cracked and crippled the evil Dragon long ago. > >Aurora 'stands' for a moment analyzing his attacks, her conclusions >cause her to burst into laughter. Her laughter rings out over the >entire battlezone, healing and replenishing her allies, and shaking >the enemy forces to their very core. /*"FOOL! I was designed to stand >toe-to-toe against The Stardragon itself, while wielding such forces >and defending against them. Learn this lesson well, and take it into >your next life."*/ She says as she shrugs off his attacks. She then >'unveils' herself. To those who fight for good, and right, and >freedom she becomes a bright and incorruptable light, destroying the >darkness, and pushing back the fog, but to those who follow and serve >evil she becomes a blinding, searing, and intolerable radiance. *"You dance well,"* Ebon replies dryly. Its 'skin' does sear, though not nearly as much as it should; far worse, though, is that the searing seems not to bother it in the least. The Defiler Dragon weaves its body again, this time countering her light with its darkness, which is exactly widdershins in its effects. *"You were designed, however, to fight something that I am categorically not."* The darkness flows out in terrible waves, and even that is the opposite of her -- occluding the Dragon further where Aurora's light is an unveiling. *"More to the point, you were created by those who can roughly be considered my peers, just as my kind and I lit these stars and spun the void between them in this place. Among others."* Ebon 'gestures' upward with a flicker of thought. Sol, the Unconquered Sun, Eric's patron and the embodiment of the stars themselves, does battle with a being of wind and flame, sister to Ebon and Malfael: Adorjan, the Silent Wind, Flame of Cessation, embodiment of Oblivion as Malfael is of Tyranny and Ebon is of Corruption. The sun itself, which seemed darker already, almost flickers, like a candle struck by a gust of wind, then stabilizing. Sol is at least on a par with Hydra... >Then she attacks. Exerting her power, space itself bends to her will, >turning Ebon's own forces against him. Flexing her mental 'muscle' >she hits him with mental blast after mental blast. Each as powerful >as the one that expunged life from Edore. Then she strikes with her >most powerful ability. The dragon screams as she hits him with >spiritual forces designed both to cleanse his spirit, and to flay it >from his body. _That_ strikes home, at least somewhat; Ebon's mind seems endless, but the strikes do cause him pain, even through shields that would have made Eddorans gape in astonishment. Worse, though is the spiritual strike. There is far less raw damage than Aurora must have hoped for -- the Ebon Dragon has clearly faced this sort of attack before -- but the _pain_ is like being alive to endure what the Eddorans might have felt the instant before annihilation. *"You DARE!"* The Dragon replies, and the very _existence_ of where Aurora is, is unmade. Even at their altitude, there is an inrush of substance; space itself warps to fill the non-space that results. Wrinkle winces in pain as time shifts to fill the gap in moments for a particular location. *"You DARE to attempt resealing me!"* The very Scythe of Death, on a conceptual level, seeks to rip Aurora's soul from her current incarnation. Then it starts getting _nasty,_ tearing shards of probability away, rearranging constants and concepts around Aurora, even _within_ Aurora if her defenses falter. It no longer dances, its cracked existence showing through even the darkness as it moves with the very essence of viciousness. *"I was forced to swear, on my own _Name,_ to be sealed away forever -- and I escaped _that!_ You seek to return me to it by pure force!? Arrogant child! NERON!"* A debonair blond man in a stylish mockery of a supers costume (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/3/30/Neron.jpg/200px-N eron.jpg) appears next to Aurora. *"You called?"* *"Finish her, Neverborn!"* Ebon demands, redoubling its attacks. *"A moment."* Neron's smile is cruel and calculating, yet surprisingly human -- and all the more disturbing for it. ^Exquisite Aurora. You would be a delightful addition to my collection, and combat is so...distasteful, wouldn't you agree? So I have an offer for you.^ Of course. Neron is always a big one for bargains. ^You, and your Light-aspected Starspawn, will swear, now and forever, to never interfere with and leave to me, the dimension your leader calls...Earth-6.^ His smile becomes cunning enough to conquer nations and sharp enough to shave the charge off an electron. ^What need have you of that universe, anyway? This is the one you fight for, and you can see what its Champions are like. A small price to have a chance, no matter how slight, against the Ebon Dragon, wouldn't you say?^ >> "Azathoth," Roland Phoenix breathes. And it is. >> *"What now, boss-man?"* Seeker asks. >> */"Nothing! We leave that to the Starspawn and the cosmics!"/* >>Defender barks emphatically. >> *"But--"* Seeker begins. Azathoth primarily targets the lesser >>Starspawn obliterating Cthulhu's armies, sparing a few lances of >>power for Hydra and Aurora. >> */"BUT NOTHING!"/* Defender roars. */"He just pulled AZATHOTH! >>Out of his POCKET! You leave that to the CAoL!"/* He fights grimly >>on, even when he changes dance partners, trying to put the >>impossibilities above out of his mind. [Light and Source...is it >>time to call in the Stardragon?] > >^Not yet, Roland... No, I'm not reading your mind. A poor oracle >would I be indeed if I couldn't read your face, and body language.^ >Oracle tells Roland. ^You _have_ my permission to be in my mind! For _this_ battle more than any other!^ Roland sends desperately. Strangely, the immortal's mind seems far more expanded across the battlefield that he would have been capable of a mere few years ago, as his kind reckon these things. It is clear to Oracle that the CAoL leader's oneness is expanding, but not _too_ quickly. The pace is just right. As, of course, Oracle knew it would be. >At the same time, the other two Starspawn spare one last blast at >Chuthulu's two armies, and at the forces decending from Malfeal, a >blast that vaporizes many if not most of them (OOC: I don't know if >that would stop the droppers, but it surely has to slow them a bunch. >It's kind of hard to fight when you're a free floating vapor). OOC: Uh, yeah. 8^) Still, a few Xenodeep do make landfall, if only so I can throw something ultimately nasty at Eric. >With those tasks accomplished, the four turn their attentions to >Azathoth. Azathoth is as far beyond Cthulhu as Cthulhu is beyond a Deep One. Only the Elder Sign seems to restrain it from obliterating the entire battlefield (could the Gaunt Man have predicted that? No, that's impossible), but its impossible nature is more than enough. At first, even to its foes, it seems to attack the four Starspawn while analyzing them. Then it becomes clear that the analysis was so invasive and unreal that it acted like an attack. Otherwise, Azathoth plays defense for the moment. No, wait, maybe it was _tasting_ them... -- Evil GM-San Ia! Ia! Fhtagn! =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Sun, 01 Oct 2006 22:04:19 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012848 >On Sat, 23 Sep 2006 16:48:50 -0700 (PDT) >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012843 > > [Blocked/one target at a time/0:39.55/Blocked/watch others/Open?/ >0:39.05] As he pulls the Quickstart Enterprises card from his pair of >remaining favors, he tracks the opening. >[blocked/open/blocked...something about where Rio's standing!] > Gospog suddenly start falling as Rob sets his target, even though >he doesn't know what it is. All he knows is that nothing will stop >him from getting close enough to use the formula on the back of the >business card. > It only takes ten feet. [0:11.11.] The formula is worth it. > >(OOC: monospace font time!) > d 2 z a > ----: 3x (9y ) 4 > da OOC: ROFL! > The card ages into dust in a thousandth of a second, as it soaks >up the cost of stealing speed from nearly everybody in range. >Wrinkle, Rio, and Sarah are among the friendlies in range, but Rob's >attention spares all the allies he recognizes, and Wrinkle shrugs the >effect off without a twitch. > Energy all has to go someplace, and it does - Rio and Sarah are >each aware of being offered a share of it before Rob takes whatever's >left, and offers half of that to Eric. [He's good, but I can still >see enough of him to target...and he might want the edge...] Eric's smile shows fangs just before he becomes an untrackable blur. The Hunter with super-speed is a sight to behold, at least for those who can see him, and he shreds monsters by the dozens. Still tracking Zia with a touch of concern, his main focus remains on the battlefield. And somehow, he remains all but invisible except for the trail of shredded gospog he leaves behind. Rio's bullet ballet doesn't change in substance. Instead, by directing the Speed Formula into the ammunition, she makes each bullet move at relativistic speed, at least to a range that satisfies her (and prevents friendly fire). Even enemies near her targets are devastated by the space-rippling wake of her weapon fire. -- Lancers 'R' Us You Delay 'Em, We Slay 'Em =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Mon, 2 Oct 2006 19:58:28 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012849 >On Wed, 27 Sep 2006 20:21:45 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012845 >>On Thu, 21 Sep 2006 11:24:59 -0700 (PDT) >>Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012839 > Roland, even caught between Bloodwolf and Anathema as he is, looks >like he wants to be sick at the sight (ESP, in this case) of her >smiling. "You _need_ me," she states. It is fortunate that Jodi Blake can't see the complete non-expression that greets her smile and conclusion. > "I'll do it," she adds quickly, smile vanishing, already aware of >the razor edge on Bond's temper (not to mention the Hunter's) and >starting to alter the necessary organs, "on one condition: that delay >becomes indefinite, so long as I avoid you and yours. Your _word_ on >it; the Hunter's, too." She twists to look at the Unicorn Demon and >turns faintly green. "Assuming I survive..." > @Done,@ the Hunter sends curtly as he beheads a weretiger. > *One other thing,* she adds reluctantly. *Your need had best be >purely physical. I misdoubt there's enough Spirit magick in the >Tellurian entire to make my _soul_ seem virginal.* Her reluctance, >though she tries to hide it, is clearly (to James) practical; any >sort of innocence she might have had was drowned in blood-dimmed >tides long ago. "I said, I don't negotiate." James lifts her weight effortlessly, teleporting near the Demon Unicorn, which snorts and charges them, bounding far more like a cat than a horse. He holds her until the last split-second, not teleporting until the charging horn is already slicing through, disrupting shields, magic and life alike. Even as the life that was Jodi Blake ends, poured out on this uncaring stone landscape, James reappears, arms seeking a hold around the Demon Unicorn's upper neck and head, seeking to throw the beast over while the deadly horn is still somewhat encumbered in the corpse bound in platinum. -- James Bond-Keenan, Agent of HRH's Secret Service, occasional cowboy "What, no small talk? No chitchat? That's the trouble with the world today. No one takes the time to do a really sinister interrogation anymore. It's a lost art." ===========================