Zeke_Thorn

The two women watched the lanky teen leave through the swinging doors of the Emergency Room. The one nearest the bed made a notation on her clipboard and tossed it onto the counter. “I can’t believe you just let him walk out of here. What kind of therapist are you?”

The second woman continued to pet the albino mouse cupped in her left hand. “What did you want me to do, Dr. Phelps? Lock him up in a padded room? You think that would help?”

The first woman beckoned to an orderly, who rushed to change the blood-stained bed-covers. “He was in here last week getting a bottle of sleeping pills pumped from his stomach. Today, he slit his wrists. Tomorrow, they may not find him in time. That kid has some serious problems! You’re his state-appointed psychiatrist, you should know that!”

The other woman smiled sadly, and held the albino mouse up to her face, petting it with her cheek. The mouse peeked over her thumb and leveled his pink gaze at the doctor. “He’s been in my office quite a bit more than yours. I know all about his problems. They started when his father died just after the Rikti War, in an accident during the rebuilding. His family lawyer sued the city for millions, then promptly married his suddenly-wealthy mother.”

Dr. Phelps looked at the emergency room doors, but of course, young Timothy was already gone. “Can’t be,” she said simply. “You see the state of him? Tattered clothes, worn out sneakers? That’s no trust fund baby.”

The psychiatrist turned the mouse to face her, bumping noses with it affectionately. “No, he’s not. Not really. He dropped out of high school and ran away from home two years ago. He gets a stipend from his trust fund, but he signs every check over to charity. Refuses to touch one cent of it. What little money he has, comes from a job at the Photo-Mat.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, “Stubborn kid. Not too bright though. Why not take the money?”

“It’s complicated. He says he doesn’t like the idea of his dad dying just to keep his ‘traitor’ mother and her new husband living in style. Says he wants it to mean something. He feels like taking the money would be like taking ‘their’ side.”

Dr. Phelps opened her mouth to say something, but the teleportation grid over the hospital bed suddenly whirred to life, tracing a pattern in the air over the bed with red lights. Automatically, she sprang into action, snatching a hypo-spray applicator and a tissue regenerator from the table beside her. A body materialized, dressed in torn red spandex, and gasping desperately for breath.

A quick injection at the unconscious hero’s neck and he twitched, eyes blinking open. “Hello, again, Dr. Phelps!”

She shook her head. “Virgil Viceroy… You’re my second chronic suicide in twenty minutes. When are you going to learn?”

Virgil smiled as she began to work on his many deep cuts and gunshot wounds. “It was glorious! You should have seen it!” He winced as she pinched a deep gash shut and aimed the green light from her regenerator into it, sealing the wound.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it in ten minutes when you’re back here. There. Now be CAREFUL will you?”

And just like that, he was gone again. She turned back to the Psychiatrist and her mouse. “But that doesn’t explain why he’s so depressed. Why he’s suicidal.”

The psychiatrist scratched the mouse’s head with a long pink fingernail, “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? He needs to make a difference. But he can’t. He’s just a kid making minimum wage, living in a disgusting little cockroach infested motel room. It gets to him. He’s got no real future. He’s smart enough to see that.”

The doctor sighed, gesturing to the orderly again, who rushed over to change the bed covers for the next patient. “Can’t you prescribe something? Anti-depressants or a dedicated case-worker?”

The psychiatrist smiled, taking hold of the mouse with both hands, one hand around its body, and the fingers of her other hand on it’s head. “As a matter of fact, a dedicated case worker is just what I had in mind.”

Her eyes locked on the doctor, she gave the mouse’s head a sharp twist, snapping its neck with a barely audible “crunch.”

Dr. Phelps stared on in horror, her mouth working, trying to understand how the other woman could so callously kill the tiny rodent she had been so affectionate with just moments ago. But then, smoky purple tendrils of energy began to seep from the tiny white body in her open palm. Gradually, they formed a basketball sized ball of dark energy in mid-air.

“A nictus!” the doctor gasped.

The psychiatrist continued to smile, staring at the pulsing ball of energy. “Go to him, Grim. Save him. He’s probably on the ledge outside the window of his apartment. Twenty-five hundred Garment Avenue, in King’s Row. Hurry.”

The ball of energy flew from the room, passing through the walls of the hospital.

“You… you’re turning him into a warshade?”

The psychiatrist dropped the dead mouse into the bio-waste bin with a look of mild disgust. “It’s the only way to save him. Like you said, it’s only a matter of time before he manages to kill himself properly. I can’t give him a purpose. And I can watch him twenty-four-seven. But Grim can.”

[ QUOTE ]

1) You have the default To Hit value (ie no buffs), your target has no Defense value. How often do you WANT to hit him? Conversely, as the defender, how often do you expect to be missed?
2) You have the maximum possible To Hit value, and your target has no defense value. How often do you WANT to hit him? Conversely, as the defender, how often do you expect to be missed?
3) You have the default To Hit value, and your target has the maximum possible defense value. How often do you WANT to hit him? Conversely, as the defender, how often do you expect to be missed?
4) You have the maximum possible To Hit value, and your target has the maximum possible defense value. How often do you WANT to hit him? Conversely, as the defender, how often do you expect to be missed?

[/ QUOTE ]

1 - Missing shouldn't be an issue unless -some- defense is in play. I'd expect to hit about 75% of the time. As a target, I wouldn't depend on misses to save me if I'm not using any defense powers at all. If my attacker misses one out of four attacks, I'd consider myself lucky. So 25% miss rate sounds about right.

2 - If I've just popped aim, or swallowed a bunch of yellows or both, I really really want that next attack to land. So it should be pretty much a guarantee against an undefended opponent. 95% chance to hit. As a target, I would hope for a miss, but wouldn't expect that to happen... 5-10% miss rate in that case.

3 - I should be really frustrated trying to get an attack through that kind of defense. I'd say a 90% miss rate wouldn't be out of line. And if I've just popped that many purples or have that much stacked defense in my power set, I'd expect to walk among the unbuffed with impunity. 10% hit tops.

4-When to-hit and defense are both capped, I would tend to favor the defender, simply because that makes the fight more interesting. As an attacker, I'd expect to hit about 30% of the time, and as the target with all that defense, I'd like to be able to count on 70% misses, even with a focused-accuracy snipe. Otherwise, there's no point to sacrificing to get that kind of defense.

The RP community is way too entrenched, sentimental, and disorganized to ever plot a mass-migration to another server.

I think you're pretty safe with Virtue.

First off, awesome guide. RP is a subject near and dear to my heart, and I’ve seen more RP on Virtue than on any other server, or any other game.

I’ve just read through the last 16 pages of posts, and there are a few things I’d like to throw in.

One of the best ways to meet other Rpers is to open up that “find” window, and invite one to your team. A lot of Rpers have taken to listing that they ARE roleplayers in their search comments, and inviting one to a mission you were about to solo is NEVER a bad idea. Even if you have to lackey or sidekick them. Fire a few in-character one-liners or comments back and forth during the mission, and see where it goes! While you’re at it, add “Rper” or “RP friendly” to your own search comments so people know what to expect! You’ll enjoy your missions a lot more, trust me on that.

The bios and descriptions are perfectly valid in this game. Please, stand around sometime and just read people’s bios as they wait for the train or step off the boat, or while you’re waiting for the tank to get back from the restroom! How do you know this guy’s life story? A hundred ways!
“Hey, I saw that interview you did on Channel 7 last week. Did you really grow up with Clockwork?”
“I read your dossier, Mr. Smith”
“I’m sensing a conflict with you and your family.”
“I just probed your memories, I’m sorry to hear about your mutant father.”
“Is it true what the Hellions say about you? That you feel no pain?”

These sorts of ice-breakers are like one-two punches to floor your fellow Rpers. You’re taking an interest in their story, and also revealing something of your own. It’s a great way to start up some nice RP.

Yes, not to be elitist, but the RP community, like any other subculture, has its own conventions and jargon they use to identify their own.

“i h8 sewers lol” - not an Rper.
“I ain’t never gettin the smell outta my clothes if they keep sendin’ me down here!” - Rper.

The first guy, I’m not going to waste my time with. The second, I’ll re-invite him the next time I see him on. Yeah, it’s faster and easier to type the first line, but I’ve found in the years of online roleplaying I’ve done, that people who think “ur” and “ne1” are actual words tend to be very immature, powergamers, or just people that aren’t logged in for the same reason I am. More power to ‘em, but not my preferred company, you know?

Anyway, again, great RP community here on Virtue, and if you want to take a more active part in it, don’t sit around Pocket D waiting for somebody to come talk to you. Reach out there and say something. You’ll be surprised at who you can meet.

For my warshade, Sammi K'rinj:
Opposites Attract - Paula Abdul

For my DM/SR scrapper, Pale Umbra:
Nothing's Free, Alice Cooper

For my Peacebringer, Rihaj Mu:
Carry the Torch, Sisters of Mercy

My Ill/FF controller, Zeke Thorn:
Master of Puppets, Metallica

My Ice/Storm controller, Windsom:
Vogue, Madonna (don't ask)

The world faded to white for a few seconds, and when it came back, it was not the same world. Where the room had been dark, it was now lit with the glow of heat, sound, and radiation. The spout of steam was now a floodlight: it’s energy reflecting from everything and illumating the room perfectly. The electrified pool, and its dead occupant, sparkled with beautiful streams of color, reversing themselves many times a second as the current alternated.

The three cultists were peering through gloom that only they could see, looking for a threat that had suddenly vanished. But like most threats, this one was never more dangerous than when it seemed gone.

You are about to feel some pain in your shoulder. That’s a buildup of energy, but to focus and use it, you’ll need to clench every muscle and force it along. It will be slow at first, so focus. Think of it as a ball imbedded in your body that must be squeezed into the palm of your hand.

The sorcerer squinted at Reggie, bringing his staff to his side and leveling it like a lance. “Ah, you feel it don’t you? You’re trying to command it. To do what, Reginald? To attack me? Ha! I have subjugated demons to my will! This pathetic wisp is no threat to –“

But he never finished his monologue. A blinding white streak of energy knocked him down. The two guards took a step back, and Reggie pressed his advantage, taking a step forward....

.... Except his foot never touched the ground. He was flying!

Now is our chance! We must escape while they are off-balance and unsure of our powers! Before they can grow brave and test them!

Reggie didn’t need to be told twice. Willing himself forward, he flew out the door, and straight into the laundry room wall, nearly giving himself a concussion. Control will come later, for now just get out!

In another minute, Reggie stood on the adjacent roof, peering down over his little slice of King’s Row. The New England night was cold, and with only his boxer shorts between him and the black sky, Reggie should have been freezing. But he was not. Just tired.

Another ten minutes passed before he saw the cultists slipping out the door of his building, each carrying something heavy. At first, he imagined that they carried the bodies of their fallen, and wounded, and some of them probably did. But there were far too many of them. They were leaving with more bodies than they came with.

“They’re kidnapping the other tenants!”

Yes, they are.

“We have to stop them!”

We will. But not now. Not tonight. That is exactly what they want us to do. Give chase, show ourselves while we are weak and they are expecting us. No. We are wounded, tired and untrained. We cannot win tonight.

Are we supposed to believe that women captured by trolls are treated just like men? Beaten, robbed, left for dead? I think she's done a very tasteful job of handling what is a very ugly but inevitable and believable aspect of Paragon City life. Not graphic or vulgar, but painful and harsh.

The long trip through space had been easier without F’lahad’s keen senses. Deep space, for the most part, was very empty, and the greater one’s senses, the more hungry they were for input. For the most part, there had been nothing to see apart from the gravity of a pulsar, the hot breath of solar wind, the slow friction of nebular dust. For these, Rihaj had senses enough. Energy was everywhere, and Rihaj saw it in all of its myriad colors and intensities. For F’lahad, the trip would have been pure torture.

But here, in this room, with his prospective host, he wanted nothing more than to see his face with true eyes, and smell the air with the tiny cilia of F’lahad’s delicate feelers. There was so much to learn, and so little time.

He is wounded! boomed the TeRak ego. Ever the protector, that lumbering giant ached to save him. Only the years of familiarity and mental union kept the ego from superceding Rihaj’s control over his own form. TeRak’s every instinct begged Rihaj to leap in front of the wounded human, to protect him from those who would harm him. But without a host, it would have been futile. He was all but powerless – just a loose collection of energy: a traveling mass of thought.

Others were wounded as well. The one who called himself Reggie had accounted for himself admirably. Life energy from three of the attackers had been steadily fading; yielding to the cruel wind of entropy as the process of decay and cellular breakdown began. They were dead. Others were wounded badly, leaking their lifeforce now, but slowly repairing themselves.

All of this from an unexceptional life-pattern… Reggie’s body did not radiate exceptional health or any anomalous energy patterns at all. But its resonance! There had not been a pattern in all of his centuries that matched his so perfectly! His whole life was written there in that pattern: Born of a noble line, hunted for his lineage by a superior force, resourceful, tenacious to a fault! For Rihaj, it was like looking in a mirror. Even their names bore an uncanny resemblance.

F’lahad’s ego whispered, Vhitad. Fate, destiny, kismet, karma, all rolled into one. Every culture he had encountered in his travels had a word for it. Rihaj had never believed in the silly concept until now. But here, in this room, he became a believer. It was as if every moment of his three and a half centuries had been propelling him toward this time and place. And now that he was here… what was he to do?

The Fallen were fond of possessing an unwilling body. Subjugating its will while they used it as a plaything and discarding it when they grew bored, or had squeezed it of all vitality. But Rihaj was no Nictus. He could not simply usurp Reggie, even to save his life. It must be voluntary. Mutual. A lasting bond. Both of their salvations depended on it.

With TeRak, weeks had passed before they had grown close enough, before TeRak had come to understand the consequences of a bond. With the others, even longer. Here, he had mere seconds. The one who called himself Shaemus was drawing on energies far more powerful than those available in this room. Soon, he would use them, and Reggie would be lost to them forever.

Reggie, listen, I can help you. We can help each other!

Reggie’s mental pattern reeled at the unfamiliar voice, but recovered quickly. What are you?

The part of Rihaj that was the Vlegrit ego longed to explain what it was to be a Kheldian symbiote. The former teacher would have done a fine job of explaining how Rihaj’s energy pattern would merge with his own, and would have explained the complex metaphysics of the union in excruciating detail. It would have been perfectly content taking a month or more to do so. But Rihaj did not have that kind of time.

Time enough to explain later. I am hunted, just as you are, but together, we can be greater than our hunters. I cannot describe the price to you now – it would take too long - but at this moment, ask yourself if any price is too high to live another day! Decide quickly!

Reggie’s pattern swam with pain and confusion, but also a new vector: hope. Perhaps, on some level, he sensed the same thing Rihaj did: Vhitad: This thing that was meant to be.

What do I have to do?

Elation burned away the light years of fatigue and the centuries of doubt. For a moment, the luminous mass of energy burned bright enough to touch the visible spectrum, and Shaemus halted mid-step, gaping in wonder at something his magic-jaded eyes had never seen.

You will feel me enter you. Do not struggle. Embrace me! Do not let fear build a wall between us!

With that, Rihaj approached, and let himself be pulled into the human pattern. The pattern hesitated at first, but recognized something it had always needed, and never known how to satisfy. Not food nor drink nor sex nor even human love could ever complement that pattern like Rihaj. The union did more than complement Reggie: It completed him. It was as if Rihaj had been the long-lost missing piece of him.

It took precious seconds to yank the ancient fuse for the service elevator, bringing it to a halt on about the ninth or tenth floor by Reggie’s guess. It would have been nice to have rigged the elevator to free-fall the last ninety feet, and it was something Reggie had actually considered. But bypassing the rickety elevator’s barely adequate safety features might have hurt or killed people who didn’t deserve it. There was no time for regret now.

He scrambled to the boiler and gave the pipe wrench a quick tug. Steam shot out like dragon’s breath and he ducked aside. Would it fill the room and obscure their vision? He didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt. He knew the old boiler room better than they did. Not much of an advantage, but any advantage was a welcome one.

What-else-what-else? A hundred half-considered contingencies fought to be recognized. How many sleepless nights had he spent wrapped up in paranoia trying to plan for every scenario? Too many, it seemed then, but now… not nearly enough. Was he about to panic? He hoped not, but he couldn’t think. There was something else that was a good idea… if only he could calm down enough to remember!

Work light! His bare feet slapped a desperate rhythm on the cold concrete floor to his tool bench. There, the five-hundred watt halogen work light waited to be plugged in. To have the switch thrown and maybe for a moment, blind an attacker. He stabbed the plug toward the socket, his hands slick with sweat. Wrong way! His nerves made the task of twisting the plug so much harder than it should have been.

*click*

The laundry room door! He was down to seconds. His left hand groped among the tools on the workbench for something, anything to improve his impossible odds. His fingers found and rejected a half-dozen tools before wrapping themselves around the handle of an old ball-peen hammer. The head had probably been ready to fall off when the last maintenance man had been young. Long overdue to be replaced, but tonight, he just hoped it flew straight.

He hefted it in his right hand, waiting for the inevitable. The door would open, and he would have to fight.

The old brass knob seemed to wiggle, they were testing it to see if it were locked. Of course it was. The knob began to glow a dull green, so subtle he might almost convince himself he were imagining it, then it turned. The door opened just an inch or two. They had learned that lesson well, from the last time. But this door was not booby trapped. They grew more confident and opened it a full foot.

Then, Reggie saw the cultist’s face, and let the hammer fly –

--right into the plaster of the wall near the door. He’d missed, and badly. A crossbow came up, the door widened. Reggie saw at least four other men behind the first, but did not waste time counting. He leapt from the shadows before the first cultist could see where the hammer had come from, and body-slammed the door. A satisfying wet thud of resistance jolted his shoulder as he knocked the lead cultist into his friends. Yanking the door aside he swung the bat in a wide and powerful arc, hitting the dazed man in the collarbone before reversing the swing to catch another cultist across the teeth. That man would not be getting up any time soon.

All hope of surprise now ruined, Reggie brought the bat up to finish him with. “Die! You miserable satanic bast--!”

A wickedly sharp curved knife sliced his hip. He danced aside and swung the bat around toward the new threat, but the thunderous BONG told him that he’d only made contact with a washing machine.

“ENOUGH!” a voice boomed. Reggie swung his face around and saw the glowing eyes of a mage peering through the gloom. The sorcerer raised a robed arm and Reggie felt cold, otherworldly hands grab his waist and ankles. Gooseflesh crept up his torso as the invisible hands worked their way up his body, where they would soon immobilize him completely. He felt his feet lift off the linoleum.

More out of spite than any hope of escape, Reggie summoned all the strength of his arm and shoulder to send the bat flying. Miraculously, it hit! The sorcerer clutched at his solar plexus and doubled over with a very unmage-like “Ooomf!”

The spectral hands vanished and Reggie fell to the floor, jarring his legs, but too numb with adrenalin to notice. While he was down, he yanked out the wooden block that served for one of the legs of the industrial washer. One of the men on the floor stretched out to grab his foot while he was trying to stand, and Reggie brought the heavy washer down on his head. Without sparing a backward glance, he dove back into his apartment. In seconds he had re-armed himself with a three-foot pipe wrench.

The first man to the door took a crushing blow to his crossbow arm, and Reggie hoped he heard a bone snap. The second man, however had a long falchion, and parried Reggie’s overhand swing effortlessly. But Reggie was not above planting a knee between the man’s legs and dropping him that way. Cultist or not, every man had a weak spot.

As the cultist crumpled to the floor in agony, the mage had caught his wind, and began chanting, while more cultists – probably the team from the elevator- came running past him to keep Reggie occupied. Whatever spell the sorcerer was casting, Reggie didn’t intend to make himself an easy target. He limped out of line of sight, ducking under the hissing steam, and holding a hand to the deep cut in his hip to try and stop the blood running down his leg. Three more cultists poured in through the door, now that he had given up defending his bottleneck.

He cracked the first skull he saw ducking under the steam after him, and the body fell limp, its hand splashing into the slimy pool where the leaky pipes did their leaking. Another cultist fired his crossbow through the mist blindly and Reggie heard the bolt whistle and THUNK into the fuse-box behind him. Sparks flew, blinding him for a moment, and he heard the two cultists charge.

With his eyes closed, he twisted his his body like a spring, and brought his foot into the lead cultist’s chest, sending him flying and taking his friend with him. They both splashed into the puddle and thrashed around like freshly caught fish. One of them had seized the handrail by instinct, and now, would never let it go in this life.

The other scrambled free of the electrified pool and growled like an animal, brandishing a nasty curved knife with a forked blade. “You will pay dearly for that, mortal!”

Reggie backed up to the wall, two steps behind him, and gripped the wrench tightly. The drop-forged iron was slick with blood. He would have only a split second after the light came on to strike with any advantage. He threw the work light switch.

And a weak POP and a whiff of ozone from the impaled fused box was the only effect. The cultist advanced, weaving graceful patterns in the air before him with the knife. He was in no hurry.

Reggie dropped into a forward stance, ready to spar for his life, but his foot slipped on the thin coating of blood that now covered the concrete. The cultist lunged to capitalize, and Reggie threw the wrench awkwardly. It glanced off the man’s shin and clattered into the water behind him.

The throw wasn’t without effect; the cultist was off-balance and vulnerable. Reggie grabbed him by the belt of his robe and HEAVED with all the strength he had left, aiming for the electrified puddle. He felt his wound rip wider, and he cried out in pain but finished his throw. He was NOT going down without a fight.

The cultist went flying and fell short. But only because his head had hit an overhead pipe, knocking him senseless.

That’s when Reggie noticed the mage had entered the room, staff in hand, and two more lackeys at his flanks. The sorcerer shrugged. “It is all for nothing, Reginald. These bodies can be replaced easily. You are quite resourceful, but you should know by now that we would never give up. We must have your bloodline.”

Reggie felt cold. He hoped it was only severe blood loss, and not those invisible hands again. He had no weapon left to save him this time. “Why me? What did I ever do to you?!” He blinked to try and clear his vision and tears rolled down his face. His voice cracked as the unfairness of it all became too much.

The mage took a slow step forward, content to let the blood loss do his work for him. “It is your destiny. You are descended from a powerful line. The line of Mu. Your ancestors had great control over the spirit realms and we are hoping that your diluted blood carries some of that still.”

The mage had to see it, didn’t he? “It’s not me! I’m just a handyman! I don’t have any magic! Please, you have to let me go, I’m not the one you’re looking for!” He dropped to his knees and sobbed, hating himself for it but unable to stop.

The sorcerer stopped in his tracks, and sniffed the air. A smile cracked his lower face, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, you see? Your spilled blood has power still. You have summoned a spirit. Weak and tired from a long journey, but a spirit nonetheless! It is here, in this room even now.”

Rihaj slid from one quantum wormhole to the next, covering light years in minutes. One of the few benefits of lacking a host body was the ability to take advantage of the trillions of quark-sized holes in space-time that perforated the cosmos. Physical beings, like his pursuers, would be forced to take massively bulky ships, stretching each wormhole they needed until it could accommodate them, then sliding through, only to begin the search for the new one. It was a process that would take time.

Given the distance to Earth and our relative speeds, we will arrive fourteen point three seven days before our Hunters. This allows for our pursuers to begin the chase after a one hour period of preparation, and of course, assumes that they know where we are going, the Vlegrit ego offered.

Vlegrit was one of Rihaj’s first hosts. A peerless physicist from a world that had long ago put war and murder behind it. As always, when violence and ugliness came near, Vlegrit retreated to his calculations. His ego could not cope with such things in any other way, even after two centuries. Vlegrit, like Rihaj himself, was a lover of peace. But where Rihaj strove to end conflict, Vlegrit’s only mechanism was to avoid it.

Rihaj could not afford to let him retreat. Oh, have no doubt, Vlegrit, they know where we’re going. They will find us. We will have less than fourteen days to find a human host matching our resonance, and hope that he is a fast learner.

Sadness and despair wafted from the F’lahad ego. And pray that his body is stronger than mine was. Parting with it was so hard, Rihaj and the pain of its loss! It hurts so much! Does it get easier?

The other egos reached out and gave strength and comfort to F’lahad. Rihaj, for his part, felt more guilt and self-doubt than ever. The F’lahad host body had been a nearly perfect energy fulcrum, and he had hoped her offensive abilities would be enough to stop his pursuers. Yet, Rihaj had led her to her death. He could not save her. Still, they had all planned for this. They had always known that F’lahad’s form would not be enough.

Humans are stronger, in some ways, yes. But we don’t seek them for their strength. Their minds are agile, adaptive. It is said that with a human host and sufficient training, we will be able to use the memory of each of your bodies where needed. It will be almost as if your body is alive again, F’lahad. You will fly again, I promise you.

It was the bell that woke Reggie from his fitful sleep. It wasn’t some psychic early-warning system, or magical ward, or guardian spirit. Just a bell on a string. That particular string led to the maintenance door on the roof, and at... (he rubbed his eyes and struggled to focus on the clock) three in the morning, it could only mean that the Circle had found him again.

Fear shot through him like a thousand volts, and he rolled out of bed with all the grace and agility of a 6-month Taekwondo student (who may have missed a few classes). He snatched the Louisville Slugger from under his thin mattress and backed into a corner. Sure, he knew some karate, but in the real world, karate plus a baseball bat was always better than karate alone.

Gritting his teeth and choking up on the bat, he stood there in the dark, naked except for his boxer shorts, staring at the bells dangling over his bed. Which one would ring next? The service elevator opened directly into the boiler room - which also happened to be Reggie’s apartment. If they came in that way, he would have to face them all at once unless he disabled the elevator. That would slow them down, but it would cost him the element of surprise.

But the stairs and the main elevator opened into the laundry room, which in turn, faced Reggie’s locked door. If they came that way, he would have some surprise, a neat bottleneck at the doorway and some cover from the crossbows. That would be very nice, but he doubted the Circle of Thorns would be so considerate.

The third entryway didn’t worry him at all. The basement window wasn’t much of a threat, being just barely large enough for one at a time, and situated as it was above an algae-slick puddle of water with a convenient handrail within arm’s reach (jury-rigged to send 240 volts through anything that touched it). But apart from that, he couldn’t think of a good reason to open the door on the roof, only to come in through the window.

Then again, he couldn’t think of a good reason they would try to kidnap him four times. Surely there were more convenient sacrifice victims in Paragon City. None of it made a whole lot of sense. What was so special about him? The cultists had been going on about his bloodline, and taking extra special care not to actually spill his blood, but he got the impression that they were interested in emptying his body of its most important cargo - Reggie.

What are they doing up there? He briefly entertained the notion that some muscle-bound hero was up there at this very moment dealing with the threat, but quickly cast that hope aside. One miraculous nick-of-time superhero rescue was about as much as one guy could hope for, and he’d already had his.

Maybe if he were built like Mary Jane Watson, or had a pair of legs like Lois Lane he could expect more heroic attention, but as it was, he was just another face in the crowd. Solotaire wouldn’t even recognize his one-time rescuee from six months ago. Reggie had been one of a dozen or more intended victims at the time, and had probably been rescued because one of the other eleven knew people who knew people.

Nevertheless, Reggie constantly kicked himself for not asking for that hero’s phone number. With three Circle of Thorn attacks in the six months since then, he’d probably get more sleep if he had the ability to contact a convenient hero when —
*BING*

The bell hooked to the service elevator sounded off. Reggie tried not to imagine what was headed his way down that long dark elevator shaft. Simple robed guards? Spectral demons? Mages? Behemoths? What would they send against him this time, after being denied three times before? His heart pounded in his ears. What good was a baseball bat against magic?

*BONG*

Oh no. It was the bell for the stairs. They were sending two groups! His mind scrambled to absorb that and work out his options. Two groups meant that they were prepared for him this time. There would be little hope that they’d underestimated him. The exits would be covered or magically sealed. There was nothing left for him to do but slug it out. The only question was how a man in a pair of fruit of the looms with a baseball bat was going to beat down a half-dozen or more spell-slinging, sword wielding, crossbow shooting cultists.

One at a time. That was the best answer he had.

The tiny grey body of the female alien looked like that of any other of her race, but for the smoking crater that had once been its diminutive chest. Gaze prodded it with the barrel of his quantum blaster. The body rolled bonelessly off the ancient communication console on the hilltop, but the tentacles did not so much as twitch. This vessel was empty, Rihaj had fled, taking the mind and soul of his former host with him. Behind his veil, the Void Stalker smiled. He had chased this host across four worlds, and had finally beaten it. But the hunt would go on. Perhaps the next host Rihaj chose would prove more… resilient.

He turned to the two seekers, just now catching up to him to find their quarry already dispatched. They were winded, but struggled not to show it, scrambling over the flakey crystalline ridge and sliding to a clumsy halt. Weaklings and amateurs. They will have to grow much stronger if they are to survive this hunt.

Gaze slung his rifle over his shoulder and pointed to the one on the left, whose name he had not bothered to remember. “You. Tell me where Rihaj has gone.”

“Yes, Hunt Master. He has sought out old communication outposts, no doubt in a sad attempt to contact the resistance. His pattern indicates a push toward the core of the former Kheldian home world. He means to return to his home, perhaps to rally other fugitive Peacebringers to his cause.”

Gaze took two steps and brought his hand up to strike the Void Seeker across the face. “You shame yourself, and disgrace me with your ignorance. Speak not a word for sixteen days, so that you might listen and learn!”

The humbled Seeker lowered his head, resisting the urge to nurse his rattled jaw. Gaze snapped his face toward the other Seeker. “You! Tell me where Rihaj has gone and pray that your answer is better than his, for my patience is thin!”

“Honored Hunt Master, our quarry is not using the old Ygnasian communication network to find his supporters. He is using them to find the navigation beacons toward the outer rim. I believe he has come to realize that his only hope is to find a host with the focus and adaptability that only humans possess. He is following the beacons toward Earth.”

Gaze nodded, which was as close to a compliment as his subordinates were ever likely to see. “And tell me what will happen should he reach Earth before us, and find his human host.”

The Seeker’s voice seemed to swell with pride. “He will become a far greater threat, Hunt Master.”

“And tell us why we must follow him.”

The Seeker recited the passage verbatim: “According to the Eighth Directive set down by our Nictus masters, a Kheldian must not bond with a human. All who do so shall be hunted to the ends of their days, and any Void Hunter who fails to hunt them till death shall be subjected to torture beyond mortal reckoning, followed by merciful death.”

Again, Gaze nodded. This one may prove useful. The other… an example. Time will tell.
“To the ship. We cannot delay in this. Already our quarry lengthens his lead.”

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The answer to that final question is "To fill in the gaps where other AT's are missing" and my final assessment is that if the proper AT is not present to fill that role, then a Kheld will have to "suffice". This represents an issue, in my mind, that detracts from the appeal of having that AT in the team. If you want a role filled, you want the right AT to fill it. Khelds will do in a pinch, but we all know that if this was a stand alone, single player game where you had to assemble a team that the average person would drop the kheld the second the right team member became available to round out the team properly and that the only reason you'd want to keep one around is if the team was already balanced.


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Oddly enough, I always have a team, though. The situation where the "optimum" AT is not available isn't a rare thing. It's the status quo. It happens a thousand times a night on every server, I'd imagine. Certainly on the two I've played.

But what exactly is a "balanced" team?

I don't know what your idea of a balanced team is, but one answer, for most situations (missions, hunting, etc) is a 3-form Kheldian and anyone else. When I log on and one of my regular teammates doesn't immediately shoot me an invite, I can pick literally ANYONE on the list and go to town.

Setting aside the fun-factor of large teams, what's the point of a dedicated tank in a two man mission? You are only going to need one for the boss, so why drag him along for a third of the xp? Unless he can transform into a blaster and fill both roles (like a Kheldian), he's completely superfluous for 99% of the mission, and gets 33% of the xp. Likewise with a second or third blaster, or a defender with a couple of scrappers.

One Kheldian and a controller can herd, lock, and blast spawns on the street as effectively as most 3 man teams and do it for 33% more experience. Strictly from a powergaming point of view, Kheldians make sense on a team. If you're prejudiced against em, you're cheating yourself and your teammates of a more efficient team.

In a task force, where no one can join once they start but people sure do tend to take off a lot... it would be insane not to invite a Kheldian to join up when the inevitable happens.

Granted, a human-only Peacebringer or Warshade isn't useful for these things, but an illusion controller without Flash or an empathy defender who only has Healing Aura in their primary isn't much good for their "role" either. That doesn't mean the archetype is broken, or that their role is ill-defined. Just means that the player ain't trying very hard to fill it properly.

If I accidentally invite a one-form Kheldian, I'm going to be about as upset as if I'd invited a bubble defender who only has Personal Force Field and a bunch of well-slotted blasts. I might just send him down the road with a talking-to, and he certainly wouldn't make my friends list.

If I WERE that one-form Kheldian, I'd probably feel as you do.. that it's not my fault and that the archetype needs serious help and has no real role to fill.

Which server is this? I'm curious which one always has one of every AT in every level range available when you need to put a team together.

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What you're saying may be true, but you're missing someting crucial. A kheld only hits baseline with the other AT's when there's three other non khelds in the group. That means that for you to be equally effective as any other AT you have to be a member of a team of four. So, right away, duoing is going to go less favourably with a kheld than with the proper AT because he's less effective by about 20%.

Secondly, you've only shined the light from the other direction on my point. The real meat of the matter is that for all the examples that you've given, the kheld is still the fallback guy. He's the "yah, well, it'll have to do" guy. Even in the examples you're giving the khelds become the less effective, red-haired stepchild of the AT's that is replacing the AT that up and vanished.

My point in all of this, in this post and in my other posts on this thread is the following;

Jack has said, on multiple occasions, everytime there's an opportunity to do so that he wants the players to feel like a superhero. He's made changes to the game to further enforce that (re: The Orenbaga Portal Missions with the ever continuing Behemoth spawns).

And yet, with Kheldians, the best you can hope for is a second rate replacement for the AT that the team is missing... and even then! Only if there are three or more non khelds in the team. So... how is this superhero?

As I said before, seems to me that a Kheldian is nothign more than the superhero equivalent of a substitute teacher.

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Speaking only for myself of course, I always feel like a superhero with my Kheldian. I can ALWAYS save the day, no matter what needs doing, I can do it.

Going to 50 with a controller, there were times when I felt redundant or useless against certain spawns or in certain teams (With a good tank, controllers aren't all that necessary for instance, and vice versa). With my kheldian, I can't imagine a situation where I can't contribute meaningfully to the team during every second of the mission.

What you're suggesting - creating a new problem in the combat system and empowering Kheldians to be the best at solving it? What problem is more prevalent than not having the right tool for the job? Why create a new problem when there's already this one?

But even so, can you imagine what kind of problem would suit your needs and give Kheldians a simpler role to fill without unbalancing the game and making them must-haves in every team? I'd like to hear what idea you've come up with for this "new problem."

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I like my human only Peacebringer but their are a couple real problems with him that I see based on my own ingame experiences.

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Not to belabor the point, but this is exactly what I'm talking about. You approach the archetype whose strength lies in adapability, and make him non-adaptable by selecting a pure human build. That's like taking a regen scrapper and skipping Instant Heal, isn't it? Yeah, naturally that build is going to have problems.

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Naturally it shouldn't according to this quote from Statesman:

The Kheldian role is that they can do a little of everything - and, on a full team, have a combination of defense and ranged offense that's second to none

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I don't get it. What other archetype has ranged offense on the Kheldian scale, combined with the damage resistance and defense that PB's and WS have? The closest you could get would be maybe a bubble defender with tough/weave, right?

That being said, the combination of ranged offense and defense in a large team is already second to none isn't it? True, your defense is not second to none, nor is your ranged offense (blasters have you beat), but the combination of the two is absolutely better than any single archetype or powerset combo enjoys.

My apologies for bringing skill into it. My point there was to eliminate skill as a factor, since we've all been to 50 and back at least once and should be skillful enough to play a Kheldian. It's all about what you want to do with one.

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I really feel there's a larger issue here, folks. We keep talking about "adaptability" and "versatility" but the bottom line is that for whatever role it is that we're filling in a team, there's an AT out there that can do it better.

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This is true, however... every archetype out there ALREADY fills at least two of those roles. Controllers are also defenders, defenders are also blasters, scrappers and blasters both do massive damage, controllers and tanks both manage aggro.

Now, along come Kheldians who can do pretty much everything. So what's the point of Kheldians? What's the point of controller secondaries or defenders getting Nova?

One way to look at it is that you can cut your team size down and still have all the bases covered. One kheldian and a controller? The warshade goes to dwarf mode, herds a bunch of villains into a corner, the controller mass-holds em, the kheldian blasts them to death then heals himself and partner for the next batch. A three or four-man job done by a two man team with the xp split two ways. Yikes!

Or how about this.... You absolutely must have a tank for this mission, but there are no tanks available on the list. Just that Kheldian. You send him a message begging him to join your team, but he declines with apologies because he just got another PM begging him to come blast, since the other team's blaster just got served divorce papers and had to run.

Or in the middle of the task force, the blaster and the scrapper both vanish because it's a husband-wife team and their trailer was just demolished by a tornado. Lucklily the Kheldian can fill in.

Or how about this... your chronically alt-aholic friend logs on and wants to play with you, and today, she's playing her tanker. Yesterday it was her defender, and tomorrow she's wanting to run her scrapper through the respec trial with you. No problem. Whatever she brings out, you can make an effective duo with her.

In a perfect world, you'd always have the perfect archetype for the job, but in reality, that's not how the game is played.

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I like my human only Peacebringer but their are a couple real problems with him that I see based on my own ingame experiences.

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Not to belabor the point, but this is exactly what I'm talking about. You approach the archetype whose strength lies in adapability, and make him non-adaptable by selecting a pure human build. That's like taking a regen scrapper and skipping Instant Heal, isn't it? Yeah, naturally that build is going to have problems.

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Thats my point. I guarantee you everyone you consider "crying" will have their opinion based on facts as they see it. Just as you base your opinions based on facts as you see it.

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Well put, and I don't dispute that. I am not accusing anyone here of following the crowd or complaining because it's the cool thing to do. You must be thinking of someone else.

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Labeling folks as crying is insulting and the thinly veiled "im a better player because I like kheldians and you don't" is the pot calling the kettle black if you want to start pointing out what is insulting.

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It wasn't my intention to make any such claim. As I said before, the killing power/tanking power/etc of the kheldian has very little to do with how much fun they are. A skilled player can maximize all that and still not have fun with a kheldian because it's not what they expect it to be (the best at a particular combat role). An unskilled player can play through a month of solid debt and still love their squid.
People crying about them has nothing to do with their skill level.

The complainers will say over and over again that the class is broken. Kind of like blasters are broken because they're too squishy, or tankers are broken because they can't dish damage fast enough, or controllers are broken because they can't deal damage AND die too easy. There are downsides to every archetype, and if somebody doesn't like the hand he's dealt, he should fold and get a new hand. Not call the dealer a cheat, jump on the table and scream for justice.

The Peacebringer and Warshade "role" is that they can fill any role in a pinch. Everybody heard Statesman say that. If that's not your thing, and you'd rather excel at tanking or be a premium blaster or an unstoppable scrapping machine, then the problem is not with the Kheldian archetype, or even with your skill level. It's with your expectations.

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Make that 11. In the hands of a skilled and tactical player, Khelds rock. By the time you level a toon to 50 and unlock Kheldians, you should be just such a player. If you're not, that's not the devs' fault.

But the amount of killing power/tanking power/etc has very little to do with how much fun they are. Some people like a more focused role, or a more humanoid avatar. More power to em. If you don't like playing with all their powers, either pick powers you do like or play another archetype.

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I will assume all the "you" and "you're" found in your post are generalizations and not aimed at me since my post history reveals no negative comments about kheldians. As tired as you and the other "10" are of the negative complaints is equal to how tired I am of the endless counter arguments. True to most forums the mob mentality rules. Wether it is "omg kheldz are teh sux" or "I got mad video game skillz and me loving kheldians proves it" the truth lies somewhere inbetween.

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Where I say "you" and "you're" I also say "if"

So "if" it applies to "you" then so be it. If it doesn't, then it applies to someone else. I don't know you and haven't researched your post history, so I have no idea.

The "mob mentality" garbage is just insulting though. It's quite possible for somebody to have an opinion formulated on the basis of fact and experience that happens to concur with the opinions of "10 other people."

Obviously, I like Kheldians. Not because I'm a mindless crowd-following drone but because I actually have FUN playing them. I'll probably still have fun playing them when they have blaster hit points.

After enough crying from those who don't like the archetype, I'll still have fun playing them when they have 4-slots every odd level, do blaster level damage in dwarf form, and even when the shapeshifting powers get gimped with a 10 minute recharge because they're now overpowered.

Personally, I don't like playing tanks, and I've found scrappers to be very frustrating. My solution wasn't to demand changes to tanks and scrappers, but to just simply not play them.

Unfortunately, if you don't like this epic archetype, you don't get to play a different EPIC archetype. So those who don't like this one feel very put out. They didn't get their level 50 prize, and I do feel bad for those people. But crying to have it changed to something they WILL like (invariably more scrapper-like it seems) is not the right way to solve the problem.

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I've read 10 people with serious complaints, and they are the same 10 people

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Interestingly enough you are one of the 10 people I see constantly pulling out the soap box to explain to anyone who disagrees with you how they are wrong and you are right. So the circle is complete. 10 to complain over and over again and 10 to state how the other 10 are wrong over and over again.

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Make that 11. In the hands of a skilled and tactical player, Khelds rock. By the time you level a toon to 50 and unlock Kheldians, you should be just such a player. If you're not, that's not the devs' fault.

But the amount of killing power/tanking power/etc has very little to do with how much fun they are. Some people like a more focused role, or a more humanoid avatar. More power to em. If you don't like playing with all their powers, either pick powers you do like or play another archetype.

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I would also like to ask what is being done to compensate for the loss of tanking power? (Since hit points are being reduced to blaster levels our tank form, which had no resistance penalty (??), will only get weaker).

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Kinda curious about that myself. Last I heard, Statesman said he was "on it" but any solution there would be REALLY nice if it were applied at the same time as the problem, instead of waiting for issue 5.

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hmmmm you better pray for an update! Cuz all the accolades in paragon city are not gonna stop me from vaporizing a well-slotted PB or WS in the arena! Let me say that from my perspective as of now Kheldians are lame and the most likely to book it without a word when things get hot...I've teamed with them...hows that old saying go..."Jack of all trades, master of none?" The devs had better come up with something better than "kheldians" if they want my dime after I hit 50. Prestige!?!?! in a game where many kheldians PL ed their way to top? no sir...there is no prestige in looking like a squid.

Betty Bliss Lvl36 Energy/Energy Blaster (390 hours invested)
triumph Server!!!!

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Somebody on Triumph please take down Betty's name and schedule an arena appointment. I'm not much for the whole "us against the standard AT" attitude but if we're going to start speculating on PvP, here's what I think:

My kheld has outdamaged every blaster I've teamed with, even those a level or two above him. It's not going to matter if you have 390 hours of experience in game or not - most Kheldians have more, and nothing in the game is going to prepare you for the variety of tactics a Peacebringer or Warshade can employ. Kheldians are resistant to energy attacks in all forms, and their nova form can outmaneuver you, their dwarf and human can outlast you, and they have enough self-heals to whittle you down to a whimper. If played right, I can't see any blaster except ice having a chance, and even Ice's chance is no better than even odds.

I think PvP with Kheldians is going to be a very interesting show. You never know what you're going up against.

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*However* I don't know if that PB or Warshade has a Dwarf. I don't know if they didn't slot their nuke because they have so few slots for the powers. I do not know what the heck they decided to do with their toon. It's not reliable when you invite a Kheldian, you don't know what to expect at all. Maybe they decided they're completely a tank and you're hoping for some damage.

That said, if you're a reliable player and I know what you contribute with your idea of a build, then I would rather have you on my team than an unknown I'm inviting for the first time.

It's all about what to expect, and again: it's better to have a guy behind the controls of his Kheldian who can operate it properly than a guy who doesn't know what he's doing behind his real AT. This is all about the *player* though and wanting that *player* on your team because he is good. Has nothing to do with the AT, which in general does not compare to proper ATs.

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That's an interesting perspective, and very relevant if you plan to let your Kheldian sit on the LFT list waiting for an invite from someone who knows how to use you.

So bearing that in mind, and adding it with the fact that you're likely to be the most experienced player on any given team anyway, it seems to me that the "role" of the Kheldian is to be the team leader.

If you're making your own teams, then none of that stuff you posted really matters. You know where your strengths are, and you invited people who will cover the weak spots. What's the problem?

I remember being in a team hunting the hollows, I think I must’ve been level 11 or so. This team had exactly one of every AT, including a warshade and a PB (me). After about a dozen spawns (they went very very fast) the blaster got upset, and quit the team because he didn’t feel like he was necessary.

So tell me again how gimpy the Kheldian blasting power is? For ranged attacks, it just can’t be beat.

Then, at level17, a blaster friend and I were doing some Tsoo missions, and he commented about how we needed a melee type on the team to keep the enemies at range. I switch to human form and pop my shining shield (only two slots, but still very good resistance), and we clean up.

You ask me what our role is? I’ll ask you what time it is.

Yes, it’s true that we’re not uber tanks, uber controllers, etc. We don’t have to be. But I can guarantee that when there’s no tank, I can be THE best tank on the team. When their’s no scrapper, I can be the best scrapper on the team, and when there’s no blaster (or maybe even when there is) I can be the very best blaster on my team.

Yeah, I have WAY too many powers to slot as effectively as a pure tank or a pure blaster. So what? Would you rather NOT have the powers at all? Or do you believe that the devs will grant you 3-4 slots every odd level without completely unbalancing the archetype?

I think PB’s are fine (Warshades could use some help - some kind of corpse-targeting system needs to actually exist, and they could really use some endurance reduction in their powers across the board). But more importantly, I think that if we whine enough about where we think they fall short, Devs are going to take away something to re-balance the AT as they “fix” whatever’s bothering you.