Burning_Brawler_NA

((*Poke* I think I killed it. ))

Please, I tried WoW a few years ago, no interest in touching that one again. This is actually a character from Warhammer I'm bringing over. (And if we can have fairy queens, why can't I have a Dark Elf, I saw my 40th Drizzizzity23431 DualBlades/Reflexes Scrapper the other day after all)

Burning's glowing eyes narrowed at the weapons leveled at him, hardly getting through his arrest statement. He sighed, remembering the times Rebels declared the Sovereign as the monster, yet here was a peaceable solution being spat back in his face. Oh well, things were always more fun this way...

"Alright, whatever you ask. I mean you all no harm." He obediently placed his hands behind his head and went to his knees as Solid asked. Soon as his head had bowed, he blew a great gout of flame that bounded from the ground to cover him. He was already in a good position to tuck and roll from any blind strike, coming out with hands ablaze. The swordsman would be one to watch, he knew, as a shield of flames wrapped around him. He leapt over the pillar of flame, half rolling, half flying as he let loose a quick flurry of blasts at the android, not landing but instead continuing his flight upward. Hopefully the combat would trigger the arrival of the reinforcements, but they could take a few moments...

((Eloquent as always. ))

Blightlord: I was buried? *anger*

Me: o.o It's all a lie! I just couldn't use 'lord' in the name of any characters in those other games. Or find a comparable Necromancer class!

(Is this a form of schizophrenia? Talking to your characters?)

"Sounds pretty easy if you ask me," said Burning with a light chuckle. "But you know me, I can't refuse a good job. I'll be there in..." He hesitated for a moment. "Five minutes."

He waited until he had stepped outside the building before kicking off into the sky. It was rude to fly indoors in a government building, unless saving that particular office. He couldn't remember who had decided this or why, but it was like putting your elbows on the table. Didn't make sense that it was rude, but you still followed the rules of your mother. Or commanding officer. All the same, really, when it gets down to the nagging.

True to his word, Burning Brawler soon found himself flying above the stolen car, its tracking device like a shining beacon. He was careful to remain concealed both magically and from plain sight, not wishing to give himself away. There was a chance these criminals could be taken alive, even if they had somehow managed to bring down a CANINE.

That in mind, he decided being careful would pay off. Brawler grimaced to see the criminals had gained some new accomplices, ones not mentioned in the report. Protocol says they should all be brought in. A peaceful surrender seemed unlikely, given the circumstances of the hijacking and destruction of government property...

'These are visitors. It would be better to reason with them first...' He sent out a call for some backup to remain on standby. There was of course the perimeter already set, but it never hurt to hold the advantage.

Burning dropped down from the rooftop, a spell on his lips as he dropped his cloaking spell and stepped into plain sight of the criminals. "Gentlemen, by order of The Dark Sovereign, I place you under arrest. Come peacefully, and there will be no need for violence."

With I14 coming "Soon" and bringing with it the glorious mission creator, I thought I'd dig this back up.

((As always, critiques over either post appreciated))

A flash tore through Siren's Call, spitting out a lone woman onto the rubble. She struggled to stand, legs feeling weak. The air here felt wrong on some fundamental level that was hard to place. It almost reminded her of the camps of a certain inferior, green-skinned race. The teleportation had left her weak, groggy, and if it weren't for the rigorous life she had led, the woman might have succumb to the urge to pour sickness on the ground.

Still wobbly, she staggered toward a dark alley, sure the flare of light must have attracted attention. Until she knew what this world contained, for surely this was a place unlike her own, it was wise to remain out of site. Her gaze passed over the War Walls, then dismissed them as unimportant. Few things could compare to the sights one witnessed in the Inevitable City. In their horror or their tendency to cling to the mind.

As she entered the alley, the woman noticed the distinct sound of two men's voices. It was hard to describe how, but she immediately knew the language, understood every word. To her best guess, it seemed they were gambling.

Their dress was strange, but the grit that seemed to surround them seemed almost familiar. "Servants of Chaos, I require aid," she said, chin held high.

The two men looked up at her silhoutte and chuckled. "Aw, sweetness you shouldn'ta come 'round here, hehe." He popped a switchblade, stalking forward. "Why don't you join our little game, huh? We were just about to play a round of strip dice, it's real easy... I'll teach ya."

He didn't get much further. The man found himself frozen solid, his expression one of shock and his knife caught halfway to the ground. His friend gasped, staggering back. He quickly turned tail, making for the other end of the alley. Another shot of ice froze his feet, sending him falling on his face, his ankles snapping with a sickening crack that echoed through the alley.

His screams of pain mixed with pleas for mercy, promises of hidden wealth, information, a place of power. She stepped into the light then, the glow of the alleyway playing across ebon skin, highlighting cruel, angular features. Lips colored with black lipstick twisted into a cruel smile at the screams. Black and purple leather that hardly seemed enough cover yet hid all the right places contrasted the shine of her skin, and the tails of the leather that came down in front and back flowed behind her.

An outstretched arm attatched to a delicate hand waited as a staff appeared, its top twisted sinisterly, sharply. The Dark Elf, for that was surely what she was, pointed ears and all, began to walk forward. A dainty finger pressed ever so lightly on the icicle of the first warrior. She didn't even watch as it toppled over, breaking into dozens of unrecognizable pieces. She placed it on top of his neck as the man forced his sobs to be more queited. "You will tell me everything..."

Almost an hour later, she emerged from the alley, a severed head clutched in her hand, its eyes wide and mouth gaping. She found the nearest fire escape, climbing it with one hand grasping the hair, letting the head dangle and clang against the iron bars. Atop the roof she found a television antennae, and smiled.

The head oozed more fluids as she roughly twisted it onto this make-shift pike, its dead stare aimed toward the more clean side of Siren's Call, towards Paragon City. "Tremble, both Paragon and Rogue Isles, for Chilldra has made her first mark upon your world."

((Alright, time to flex the ol' fingers))

It wasn't that he hated them.

"Sir, I beg of you, look at what has become of our way of life!"

It wasn't that he believed this is what they deserved.

"Only fools follow the Sovereign. Reject him!"

It certaintly wasn't that he pitied them.

"We will not bow before you, or your damned Sovereign. Heil der Reichsma-"

But he didn't sympathize with them either.

He walked through the halls of the large, government building, several unconcious men in uniforms resembling those of the rebellion hovering along behind him. His gaze stayed straight ahead, his expression firm, and betraying no emotion. His dress resembled that of a general or perhaps a sargeant of different times, a black military hat hiding blonde hair, a neatly pressed, gray tunic-like top and pants. Black, leather boots came up to his knees, just as a pair of similarly made gloves came half-way up his forearm. He would be indistinguishable from any other officer, if not for the red glow that emanated from his eyesockets.

"Another batch of rebels planning to bomb an outpost, it seemed. I brought the ones that seemed to be in charge and disposed of the rest."

Another, older officer chuckled, shaking his head. "You know there are others who could be doing all this for you."

"Old habits die hard, harder than their men anyway."

The two shared a grim laugh.

"Well, no harder death than the one these men will be receiving, I assure you."

The younger man nodded, expecting no less. The hovering prisoners dropped to the ground, already cuffed and being carried away as they groggily began to mutter protests and curses. "My next assignment?"

"Herr Brawler, surely you should rest?"

The smirk on the man's face drew a chuckle from the old man who shook his head as he began to access the network. But what assignment could he have for one of the regime's most loyal and active VB field officers?

((I hope that was a correct interpretation, Devious. Now gimme a place to go. ))

"It seems that we were fated to meet again, no matter where you hid."

A swift fireball silenced any further talking, forcing the rotted figure to take cover behind a broken down siege weapon.

"This is the end of the line for you, Blightlord, or whatever you're calling yourself here. Come out, you coward!" The Archmage held another fireball at the ready. "You don't have any other options."

"You forget, this is a battlefield." The ground began to shake. "Plenty of willing aid at my fingertips." A skeletal hand shot up from the ground, followed by another with a little more meat to its half-picked bones. Nearly a dozen stood, all of different shapes; humanoid, but almost seeming deformed to one unused to the land's inhabitants.

Just then a woman leapt from high above, both feet crashing down on top of one particularly large, sturdy skeleton. She turned to kick the head clean off a zombie, its formerly ebon skin nearly black from the decay. "You didn't think I'd miss this?"

"Did you bring your entire family along? How willingly you risk their lives!" A rounded vial flew through the air. Just as it was about to crash on the ground, she rolled clear of the green mists it let loose.

"I take my own risks," she said, using a particularly short zombie to leap into a flying tackle for the necromancer. She changed angle, leading with her foot instead just in time for a particularly large, green creature to grab her leg clear from the air, using her own momentum to swing her to the ground.

"You never were particularly intelligent, Danica. Much like my new acquintance. Dispose of her, while I get the wizard."

The orc nodded with a big, yellow grin as he hoisted her to eye level with his sharp teeth, a crude sword in hand. "Meet me choppa!"

Danica delivered a swift strike to his neck with the edge of her hand, sending a numb feeling all down the orc's body. The warrior rolled gracefully to her feet. "That was mine," she muttered, kicking his twitching form. He wouldn't feel it, but when did that matter? It would still smart when he came to in a moment.

"But where's the girl? Did she not make it? Or your son?" taunted Blightlord in between volleys of toxins. "Well I suppose if he had, the boy would be with me wouldn't he?"

Blightlord had to pull a corpse in front of him to absorb the shock the next blast that came his way, the zombie moaningly horridly as it staggered away, aflame. The necromancer held out his arm, and from beneath the robes he wore a sword descended, seeming liquid and first but quickly hardening into a wicked blade.

The Archmage pulled back his hood, revealing a blackened face with glowing red eyes bright as fire. He swept his arm, a sword of flame forming as if he caught it from the air. The two met, blades held close. The flames seared Blightlord's skin just as the poison dripping from the twisted blade's wicked edge sizzled when it made contact with the sleeve of Burning Brawler's own green robe.

The two quickly stepped away, one hand grasping a sword, the other ready for some other trick. Meanwhile Danica was beginning to grow frustrated as more undead seemed to rise around her. It was obvious who chose the site for this battle.

Burning forward, the sword morphing into another fireball that streaked toward Blightlord. The master of death pointed the tip of his blade, firing a stream of darkness tinged with a murky filth. The two forces met, creating an explosion that fouled the air and shook the ground.

Hours later, a pack of orcs accompanied by a pair of Dark Elves would wander to this spot, trying to piece together as a raven flew back to report to its master. They would fight the High Elves and Dwarves that would come to see what the trouble was while a scout of the Empire surveyed the scene before the battle wiped all trace of what had happened.

But when the reports were made of the disappearance of the powerful figures, executions for incompetence and reprimands for failure were the only result.

---------------------

Burning Brawler shook his head clear of the dizziness he'd assosciated with these unplanned jumps. He turned to see Danica standing at the edge of a pile of rubble, one he hoped their arrival hadn't caused.

He looked where she had been staring, and for the first time in what seemed ages, a smile tugged at his lips.

------------------------

Blightlord stood tall among the bustling crowds. He glanced at their attire, seeming Greek or perhaps Roman in nature. As always after one of these jumps, he reached out to see what was accessible to him. With a chuckle of satisfaction, he called forth a pool of darkness. A Lich rose, accompanied by two undead Knights, each with a pair of blades at their hips and a shield strapped to their backs.

"Well, that is somewhat better," said Grime, flexing skeletal fingers. "It feels as if we were trapped for some time. How many more of these damnable jumps through the universes will we suffer, not knowing if we can even be summoned to their plane?"

"I do believe we have seen the last of our strange travels," said Blightlord, his chuckle growing fuller.

"From what I see, my lord, we've merely stumbled back in time, instead of across space."

"Oh no, my dear Grime." Blightlord gestured toward the sky, where a caped hero flew high above. All over the sky, heroes and villains flew with seemingly common purpose. For the most part. "I do believe we are finally home."

Hundreds of undead milled about the city, mindlessly shuffling about to their daily tasks. Some might have recognized this place as the once proud Rogue Islands. Now its many lively inhabitants were no more than unthinking corpses.

The place formerly known as Grandville was nothing but an endless drone as the moans of the undead rang in an unending dischord. But it was not to last...

The world seemed to shudder violenty as one after another, the undead fell, melting away into a black and green ooze. As the slime pooled it seemed to shrink, then vanish.

At the heart of the city, a man stepped from the tower. He clenched his hands, the blades attached to his wrists retracting. He held up a small black and green marble, so similar to the ooze. There was a small glint in Final Glimpse's eye just before he vanished through the shadows.

-------------------

Danica watched as Rachel slowly picked at her breakfast, sliding her eggs around her plate with her fork. "Something wrong?" she asked.

Rachel looked up. "Oh, nothing."

"You know," said Burning, sitting down with a box of cereal in his hand, "Dreams often have deeper meanings. Do you remember much?"

"I-" Rachel started. She looked down, frowning as some of the images came back to her. The pain had seemed so real...

"It's alright," said Danica. "Can you pass us what you remember."

Reluctantly, Rachel nodded. Danica and Burning both sat back as the first images went through their minds' eye. Their faces grew concerned however as the scene of the wedding began to twist with the arrival of the woman. They each exchanged uneasy glances then both turned to watch their daughter who was deeply focused on keeping it all together.

When the dream ended, the room was silent for some time. It was Burning who spoke first. "It was probably just a nightmare. I know you've been under a bit of stress lately, but school's over now. Maybe it's time you tried to relax a bit, get your mind clear."

"We can do some meditation later today," said Danica with a faint smile, but her eyes couldn't help but dart toward her husband for a moment. She knew he was lying, and that Rachel shouldn't be able to pick up on that with the mental walls they had in place, but it still made her that much more concerned.

Rachel nodded. "I'm just gonna go up to my room for a bit," she said, sliding her chair back and leaving a half-eaten breakfast.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Burning began waving a hand through the air. "I think I know where to start."

"I'll stay here to make sure she's okay," said Danica.

Burning nodded and with a flash, was gone.

--------------------

Blightlord sat back in a throne of made of black marble traced with green veins. He accepted a goblet held by a bowing Lich who quickly made himself scarce.

He took a moment to look around the long bone crafted table he and the others sat at. This meeting would seem almost typical of evil overlords, except one minor detail:

They all looked, more or less, the same.

Blightlord and his other selves from almost a dozen dimensions sat, each looking concerned and watching the others carefully for signs of treachery. Each of their thrones were slightly different, one of polished bone, one comprised entirely of skulls with rotting flesh still attached, another made of severed limbs.

At the head of the table sat a Blightlord in the form that was The Muck. But it was not the slithering mass of ooze. It was solid, humanoid, and even more menacing than those gathered around it, still in their flesh wrapped forms.

He stood, goblet in hand. The Muck turned it for a moment, watching the blood swirl about. "You all should know why I have called you together. This is the first time we have gathered in nearly two millenia, but it seems now there is a threat worthy of our collected attention..."

A Blightlord near the center of the table cleared his throat loudly. The others turned to regard him. The black hood over his head and the green glow in his eyes set him apart from the rest, as did the flames dancing across his throne. "And what exactly makes you believe you are the one most fit to be conducting this little meeting of ours?"

The Muck chuckled. "Revel in your possession of the Brawler mortal for what little time it lasts. I am heading this meeting for two reaons. The first being that it was I who first identified this threat. The second is that unlike the rest of you, I have succeeded in my goals."

"I would say I have as well," responded the hooded Blightlord with a chuckle, a flame dancing on his open palm.

"And yet, as I recall, you are still under Elitist's thumb."

He settled back, the flame dying away. "I encountered a minor setback," he said, his voice low.

The Muck nodded. "Indeed. In any case, you may have noticed a larger portion of our number is missing than I expected. There is an assassin currently making his way through the dimensions and eliminating our other selves, even in worlds already completely lost. Which leads me to believe he is not out to restore any of these, simply eradicate us."

At this the Blightlord's began to speak at once, each more or less proclaiming the unlikelyhood of their demise or the inferiority of those who had fallen.

"Silence!" shouted The Muck, both hands held up. "I have gathered you here that we may all be made aware. From the moment you entered this room, we were all linked. If one of us should fall, the others shall know it. This link is for all of our security, so I suggest you do not remove it." He said this casting an eye on each Blightlord in turn.

"We shall work together to ensure this assassin can do no further damage, and then continue on with our respective worlds. You are all dismissed."

The Muck vanished then. The Blightlord's observed the others, their faces distrusting, as if this could be some plot of the other. Then, one by one, they to disappeared.

Deep in sleep, Rachel Warrens felt her mind filled with wondrous visions. As her subconcious took in everything the minds around her thought, it was all woven into one large, fantastic dream. All at once she was flying, falling, then soaring through the air, across the sea, over the jungle.

She saw hopes and dreams as they were fulfilled. She saw loves reunited and joys shared. In all this, Rachel felt comfort, security.

She sat in the pew of an enormous cathedral, watching a dream wedding well underway. Rachel looked down to see herself in a stunning gold dress. The bride was gorgeous, the groom straight from a fairy tale. The lights from the stained glass window lit them as if they were from heaven themselves, and the birds that flew off when the rings were exchanged! The colors were breathtaking.

Rachel's smile was nearly ear to ear when a sudden banging turned all the heads in the chapel.

Rachel and the guests whirled to see a woman stalking up the aisle. Her dark black hair was cut short and gleamed in the light. Her eyes were dark, as was the red, leather trenchcoat she wore, it's V cut flapping behind her. It was open to reveal a black top that exposed her entire middle, as well as a large, black leather belt, same color as the boots that rose up her legs.

Rachel got up to stop the woman from further interrupting the ceremony. She moved to block her way to the couple, but realized that's not who she was after.

The woman held out her hand, and Rachel suddenly felt her mind being torn as waves of psychic force began their assault. She cried out, collapsing to her knees, frightened as every defense she rose was quickly tosses aside.

The people began to rot and turn to skeletons, cobwebs and dust overtook the grand cathedral. The stained glass become murky and all light dimmed as the colors were dulled to near grays. Rachel gasped as he dress was torn to shreds, and became an all too familiar garb resembling that of a slaves.

A bright red M was dominant on her chest.

"Please... stop!" she managed to cry.

"I was never this weak," the woman muttered, her scowl deepening. She clenched her fingers, and the pain tripled.

Rachel shot out of bed, crying out. Her outstretched hand fell as she realized she wasn't in the chapel, but at home. She raised a hand to feel her sweat drenched face when her mother burst through the door flannel pajamas and all, readied into a fighting stance.

Danica looked around, seeing only Rachel. She still didn't drop her guard, however. Are you alright?

Burning walked in at that moment in boxers and a tank top. "The apartment's clear. No entry wards were broken." He looked to his daughter, concerned.

"Just a nightmare," she said, voice soft and rather embarassed.

Danica nodded, crossing the room to kiss Rachel on the forehead. "Try to get some sleep."

Rachel nodded, settling back into bed. But she knew there would be no more sleeping tonight as her parents stepped out of the room and shut the door.

That was no ordinary nightmare...

As the Doc made his move, he might have been distracted by a loud thunk as a metal object landed in front of him. It rolled to a stop, face up revealing the smashed in head of an assault bot.

"Going somewhere?" con Vulse replied from not far behind.

[ QUOTE ]
“Is the Corruptor version of Electric Blasts going to be colored red to match the theme of villain electricity?” – Blackavaar



Of course! They even get their own version of Voltaic Sentinal.


[/ QUOTE ]

You heard it here first. Villains get a Cap Gremlin!

Thank god it's the 1st. >.>

There are only so many evils one can commit in a lifetime before those who take an active part in their schemes find a loose end coming to strangle them ever so subtely. Such loose ends are dangerous, and the slimmest tend to slip and slide between the cracks of carefully crafted master plans, resulting in their utter ruin.

The creature known as Final Glimpse was one of those ends.

He walked through the shadows, the empty void his only companion on a journey back to his base of operations. A few moments later he reappeared in what had once been a grand hall, now only a ruined shell of its former glory.

Where once there had been beautiful tapestries there now hung dingy and torn rags. Gleaming silverware had been reduced to dull iron and a long red carpet was now a brownish and blood-stained mat.

But all this was of little interest to Glimpse. All he saw was what lay in the room's center. To any normal eye, it was simply a hole.

That was far from the truth.

This hole was something equatable to a black hole, yet so much more. It was a gate, a portal, and it was one that if something entered it would never find its way back.

Final Glimpse drew the marble from his belt, gazing deep at the squirming mass of green ooze contained in its center. His eyes narrowed in a fit of rage before he threw it into the hole. It hit the surface and simply seemed to just disappear with no sound, no flash, no explosion of power. It was just... gone.

***

Blightlord sat upon a throne of black marble, staring deep into a mirror with a twisted iron frame, spikes curving outward in menacing designs. He gazed into its glass, a dirty surface cracked along the top left side. He gazed not into the affairs of Burning Brawler and his family or into the actions of the Freedom Phalanx and Arachnos, but into his own reflection.

Or so it seemed.

They both appeared the same: Rotting face cleanly exposed with eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red. He wore an armor of what looked like black flesh made into a rotted cover. Green veins seemed to run up along him, the color from the liquids flowing constantly through this series of veins. Claw-like nails tapped impatiently on the arm of the throne and a ventilator covering his mouth did little to hide his expression.

He flexed his shoulders, attempting to settle himself to digest his thoughts. As he did, black skulls with green eyes moved with them similar to the one adorning his belt. A shredded black cape shifted beneath him. What would be seen as odd was that his reflection did not do the same. Instead, it spoke to him.

"Then you will attend?"

"Of course," he replied, settling further into his throne. "When will the gathering occur?"

"I've been assured that we will know when the time comes."

Blightlord nodded. "Then our discussion is ended."

The reflection faded away, leaving Blightlord alone with his thoughts. He looked off to the side where Grime normally would stood. He still kept the Lich under close watch. His last betrayal still rang clear in the master of undeath's mind. Unfortunately it may be necessary soon to restore his 'faithful' servant.

What a pity...

So I made this Claws/Dark Stalker when I12 came out with the intent to play him all the way through to RWZ so I could get him Talsorian Blades because that form of weapon was what a large part of his draw was to me. Now I find myself less interested in him, as the ability to get into RWZ and then still collect enough merits for the weapons is a long way off for a level 14.

So my weapon request is this: Can we get another wrist blade style weapon? Preferably a non-glowy one that's available from the start.

Also, if possible could a wrist blade be made available to Dual Blades? Or is that not possible due to how the animations are set?

Thanks!

-BB

Vengeance is a terrible thing.

A figure crawled in desperation toward a large mirror held in an ornate, golden frame.

It can inspire the most single-minded cruelty imaginable.

An severed arm lay a few feet behind him, a trail of black and green ooze marking his path.

It can obliterate all feeling, leaving you with one desire: To hurt those who caused you pain in the most destructive way imaginable.

The crawling man placed a hand on the glass, gazing at his own reflection, a red and broken helmet with a skull etching displayed the rotting face beneath. A black and green blade sliced downward, removing that hand and spilling more of the black and green ooze.

He growled in frustration, rolling over to see his attacker. The large red skull plate on his chest stared up as well. His grand armor, once of gleaming black with blood-red ornaments of the dead now broken and scarred. His once flowing cape now a tattered and shredded mess.

He stared up at the face of his attacker, his murderer. He watched the same blade that took his hand plunge deep into his skull.

The body began to crumble to pieces, flaking off bit by bit. The armor disintegrated, flowing away as black smoke leaving only the green and black ooze.

It was then that this ooze began to flee, rushing for a grate at the base of the throne. It was nearly there when the attacker seemed to step in front of it out of the shadows. The ooze slid into a portal of shadows instead of its intended escape route. With a rush of air, the portal vanished.

The attacker picked up a small black marble, looking inside at the green mess in its center and pocketed it. He stepped forward into the torchlight to gaze at the destruction the battle had caused. As he did, the man came into clear view. He too wore skulls, a par of black ones on his shoulders with green eyes. He wore armor of a plated material, set in a flexible pattern. A black cowl covered his face, skin of the same color and hair with a green tint. White eyes stared out with hatred. His arms and legs were protected by separate green plates of armor with wicked-looking spikes branching from it decoratively. It was from the plates of his arms that two black blades with green edges extended. He clenched his fist and the blades snapped back into their place under the plate, no longer visible.

The room was a mess, the entire stone floor strewn with the bodies and pieces of the undead that had been guarding their master. A Lich lay on the other end of the room, severed head several feet away.

Twin Grave Knights were slumped together, pinned like that by their own swords, locked together in a way that was difficult to untangle.

He turned toward the mirror, reminded he was completely done here by a rather frustrated thumping noise. A spectre hammered violently, its face twisted in agony in rage as it tried in vain to break free of the glass. The pain it felt, trapped between our world and the world it had escaped to that no longer existed was unbearable.

The man stepped forward and raised his fist. He shattered the glass, the spectre's wail unheard in our world. He was its Final Glimpse of reality.

Pokin' Prodder's limp form flipped back off of Nataan. Being a large man, he didn't go too far, but he certainly seemed out of commission. The constant assault of the toxins on his body now met less resistance in his weakened state, and his vitals began to dip dangerously.

-------------------

Doctor con Vulse groaned, picking himself out of a dent in the wall. "That... really hurt," he said, rubbing a hand on his helmeted head, mildly frustrated that it did nothing to soothe the ache.

He looked up to see the formerly invisible man clutching the paper, his paper, and smiled. "What do you know, there is gain to the pain!" He quickly leapt forward, aiming to cuff the man and retrieve his goal.

Haha!

[/Nelson]

((Whoop, sorry Sovs. >.&gt)

Prodder's eyes went wide as the sword found its mark. He gasped, struggling to prevent it from piercing all the way through, but to no avail. Even as his body tried to compensate for the assault on it by the chemical agents choking the room like a cloud of imminent death, he found himself run through fully.

The hero grimaced. Thank god for mediport, he thought. But I'm not going without taking this [censored] with me. His hands were covered in spines, giving it a wickedly mace-like appearance. He clasped them and with the last of his strength, brought them down onto Nataan's head.

------------

The Doctor growled. "Yes, I do mind," he said, taking a back-handed swipe at where the voice had seemed to come from. "You seem to have something of mine."

It sounds like a big improvement. I can't wait to see if my baby heroes can handle it better now. With the powersets being added to other ATs, I should be getting plenty of "opportunities" to test it out.

((Erm, Sovs I could kinda understand that for the ones coming out his back, but I don't see how that's working for spines that are striking a body pressed up against another one.))

[ QUOTE ]
I just want to say how glad we are to have Blue Steel on the forums.

Whoo Hoo!!

[/ QUOTE ]

Ooh, a two-fer!