Dante

Lord Erebus just sat at the table, smiling to see the wolf loose her cool. Such displays of emotion amused him. He'd seen quite a few reactions similar on his previous victims. It hadn't mattered, he'd eaten them anyway whether they fought him or pleaded.

"Alicia, put the guns down," he said with a tiresome tone to his voice. "All you are doing is holding us up and marking yourself as a troublemaker. A troublemaker the rest of this group may not tolerate. Even if you did manage to kill both of your targets, do you really think the rest of us would let you live?"

His gaze bore down on her as one might stare at an appetising steak. She looked pretty to him but her soul smelt rancid. He preferred them untainted and hers was anything but.

"Apolgies for my tardiness," came the whispering tones of Lord Erebus as he was shown into the room. "My flock are very demanding of me these days. They are quite the putty in my hands."

He took a seat and ignored the obvious flirtation between two of his compatriots. Physical pleasure meant nothing to him these days.

"Now, as between us we have the military, the revolutionists and the civillians in hand, what move are we to make next on our pretty little chess board?"

The robes were a nice fit.

As he stood in front of the mirror, Lord Erebus smiled. It was a smile with absolutely no humour or humanity in it. It was the smile of a wolf who has just enjoyed picking at the bones of his foes.

The construction of the temple had gone according to plan. It was small, but neat, it’s twisting corridors leading into the heart of the volcano, deep down to… well, to somewhere very few people ever went. And even then, those who went down there didn’t come back. But the volcano was sated and those who had spoken out about the current political situation soon disappeared, their frail flesh a suitable sacrifice for the fire spirit that lived within. In return, the local spirits had proven their support for a local preacher called Father Adams, a new resident to the island who advocated a return to the native religion of the island. People had responded and now Erebus could claim to hold over seven hundred people inside his temple. As long as fresh bodies were obtained, he could keep up his guise as Father Adams forever.

Even so, he was worried. In the many centuries of his existence, Erebus had never been this public. He had learned to evade capture and banishment by most lawful mages this long by keeping his existence secret, of remaining the stuff of fairytales. Now he had a temple, and followers and it disturbed him. People were easy to manipulate but he tended to only keep them around until he was hungry and then their usefulness ended. A gentle knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Father?” came a soft voice. “The people are ready.”

Erebus smiled again. The girl was one of his younger acolytes, and quite eager. However she didn’t make friends too well and he knew that no-one would miss her. He looked forward to consuming her soul at a later date, as one would consume a juicy peach. But first, his sermon, to be followed by a meeting with his fellow conspirators.

“Of course my child,” he replied, adjusting his robe. “It’s time to spread some peace in this world of trouble. Let’s go speak to our family yes?”

Third Degree -
Ohio - Then

It had been a hot day. The third of August 1987 had proved to be more pleasant than people expected and it had been a perfect day for the young hopeful Julius Byrne to finally prove himself on the football field. He’d left high school only months before, brandishing a clutch of good qualifications but this, this was what he had waited for so long to do, to prove that his prowess on the football field was as good as it was in the classroom. And the local team, the Rowanoak Ramjets were giving him just that chance.

The first half had gone well and he’d proven himself both a competent player and a benefit to the team. But number 7, one of the prominent players on the opposing team had taken an instant dislike to him. So much so that he’d said so during one of the time outs. Julius didn’t understand it, had shrugged it off and continued playing. What did his opinion matter?

He tried to remember these things as he lay on the floor, dirt jamming up the grill of his helmet, spattered all over his face. The other player had been true to his word, checking Julius on a daring run towards another touchdown. Despite a faceful of dirt, Julius had come off ok, but the screaming from the other player as he held his broken arm proved that the collision had not gone as he’d hoped. The medic was on the field already but the broken arm would put him out for most of the season. Julius had barely lifted himself from the ground before the coach of the other team was roaring at him.

“You [censored] rookie! What did you think you were doing!? Now he’s gonna be out for god knows how long!”

Julius tried to remain calm but the frustration was too much. He shouted back, blaming the other player. Other voices were raised, none of them on his side. What had been an accident had been seen as a deliberate attempt to hurt the guy. They thought it, the other team thought it and when the referee ordered him off the pitch he knew that no-one was on his side. The order from the ref was the final straw.

Something shifted deep down in his anatomy. A subtle change, a chemical imbalance, unnoticed until now. The rush of hormones to his system, the adrenaline prompting the fight of flight response, they unlocked a hidden gene. He felt a rush of power through his body, it came at the behest of the anger. Later he would question whether he could have kept control. But he would never deny how good it felt.

Julius’ rage exploded, his body erupting in a gout of flame. He screamed his defiance as a blazing halo appeared around him, burning some, panicking others. He was frightened, maybe as frightened as those around him but the rush of power felt exciting, liberating. He listened as the cries of pain changed to derisory cries of ‘mutant’ and ‘freak’. They hurt but the pain just made him feel stronger…




A rattling at the cage door broke him from his reverie.

“Hey Byrne, wake up,” came the voice, “you got a visitor. Your lawyer wants a word with you.”

Byrne pulled himself upright, curious. He hadn’t had visitors in all his time here. But what he was most certain about was that he didn’t have a lawyer…

Third Degree
Kings Row Warehouse – Then

Julius Byrne peeked out from between the curtains into the open space beyond. There, gathered in the early evening gloom were almost two hundred people, all taking seats and positions in the hastily assembled auditorium. He spotted people with horns, people with wings, a number of students from the university. A few of The Lost had turned up, curious to see what this was all about. Even some of the Skulls, even though they ranked lowly in his opinion had shown up, probably curious to see what was going down on ‘their turf’. Byrne closed the curtain and went backstage, reading through his notes again. He wasn’t one for rehearsals, his words came from the heart. But even so, it was handy to know what salient points he was going to make beforehand.

“Don’t tell me that you’re nervous?” said a voice to his side. He turned to see Helen, one of the university students who had put on this event waiting there.

“Not really,” he replied, smiling. “I was just checking to see if there was anyone out there we could expect trouble from. Not everyone likes what I’ve got to say.”

Helen returned the smile, patting his arm reassuringly. “I believe you Jules,” she said, “I mean, someone’s got to say these things right? How long can we keep going round in circles, mutant against mutant? It’s not right and people need to be told. Our philosophy professor keeps telling us, ‘What’s right is not always popular and what’s popular is not always right’.”

Julius smiled but inwardly grimaced. Helen was an idealist. She’d had a number of run ins with the law at various human rights’ protests but she hadn’t spent any time inside like he had. She hadn’t cut the brakes on the cars of arms lobbyists, planted bombs inside corrupt lawyers’ offices, issued death threats against animal experimenters. She didn’t have the long rap sheet of crimes that he had for various intimidation campaigns. But even so, he was pleased to have her support. The more meta-humans who understood about the revolution, who were willing to stand up and oppose yet more restrictions from the Blanks who ruled over them the better. Sacrifices would have to be made, lives given to the cause. She wasn’t ready for that yet, he wasn’t sure if the people massing in the warehouse beyond the curtain were either. But tonight, within these four walls, he would speak and they would listen. And maybe then, he could bring them one step closer to action. One step closer to revolution. A change was coming, and he was determined to be there on the front line.

Third Degree
Warden Trent’s Office – Now

Warden Trent had a difficult job. As one of the highest ranking officers in charge of the penitentiary, he had to keep a leash on several thousand super-powered humans who could ruin the city if they ever escaped. Several thousand evil, depraved and just down right nasty individuals who needed to be kept in line with an iron fist. And yet at the same time, he had to appear democratic, fair and liberal to the press and his superiors. It was a difficult line to walk and yet he did so with ease. But what was important was making an impression. No matter how compliant a prisoner was, he knew that they had to respect him. And when he considered the prisoner in manacles that sat in the solid concrete room he referred to as his ‘Office’, he knew this may be harder than usual.

Julius Byrne sat in the prison overalls, his hands clamped in front of him. Despite his uncomfortable position, he somehow managed to radiate dignity. He didn’t even look up when Warden Trent entered with two prison guards.

“Mr Byrne,” started Trent. “I was wondering when I might get the opportunity to meet you. You’ve become a bit of a celebrity in here it seems.”

Byrne remained silent, he saw no point in talking.

“But quite frankly, I’m disappointed,” continued Trent. “Outside you were a bit of a revolutionary, stirring up the meta-humans in Kings to ‘rise up and challenge their oppressors’. But since you’ve been here, you’ve been a model prisoner.” Trent flicked through a mental list as he strode round him. “You read books no other prisoners touch, you meditate in the exercise yard, you paint, counsel the other inmates and even break up fights without violence. Quite frankly Byrne, I’m ready to give you a [censored] hero license.”

The strike came from nowhere, one of the guards bringing his night-stick down into the small of Byrne’s back. He grimaced but bore the pain.

“Thing is Byrne,” said Trent, “is that I’ve heard about your mutation. You’re not the first pyrokinetic in this place but you’re certainly the first I’ve heard of who only burns when he gets angry. I’ve cut back your exercise time, took away your paints, made sure that the most annoying inmates disturb your meditations and yet I haven’t even seen the smallest flicker of fire. Most inmates loose it in their first week here, you haven’t lost your temper in four months! What am I doing wrong?”

Trent watched as the guards rained a suddenly flurry of blows down on Byrne’s back. He watched the large man flinch under the assault but he did not cry out. Sweat gathered on the ebony skin of his brow but his expression remained one of calm detatchment. It was as if he wasn’t even there. After a minute of solid pounding, the guards pulled him upright. Trent closed in, his scowling face inches from Byrne’s mask of solitude. He might as well have tried to intimidate a stone.

“You fail because you lack the strength of your convictions,” said Byrne at last. “Like all Blanks, you look to those different to you and you fear. And what you fear, you try to control. My work is for the good of all meta-humans everywhere. While we fight amongst ourselves, we will always be at the behest of Blanks like you. Only united will we prevail. You wish me to relinquish control over my power and yet it is you who has lost all of yours. You lack discipline of mind Warden. And that is why you fail.”

For a moment, it seemed as if it was Trent who was going to burst into flame. “Keep it up Byrne,” said Trent coolly. “Keep it up. But I am going to find a way to get to you. I don’t need any martyrs in the Zig.”

He watched as the large man was hauled towards the door. Before he was manhandled through, Byrne managed one last retort.

“Warden Trent, until you can learn how to control your own emotions, you will never be the master of mine!”

Third Degree
Ziggursky Canteen, Male Section - Now

Elsewhere in a similar canteen on the men’s side of the Zig, The Ferret sat down to eat the same bland, tasteless meal. He had managed to find a seat squeezed in between an inmate who clearly had personal hygiene problems and a large man who seemed to radiate heat. He smiled pleasantly to everyone as he sat down, hoping to avoid trouble. Given his small stature, he was a magnet for bullies, singled out due to the long, hyper-sensitive whiskers that protruded from his nose.

“Damn man,” said the inmate sat opposite to him to his fellow diners, “Food’s got so bad here, the rats are human sized.”

There was a general rumble of laughter from the table. Only a few remained silent. Cons needed all the laughs they could get in this place.

“Guys…!” complained Ferret in a good natured voice. “I’ve been here three years now, you’d of thought the joke would have worn off by now.”

The comedian opposite him didn’t reply. He just fixed him with a big grin before leaning forward to take a huge scoop of food from The Ferret’s tray.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pulling the tray closer.

“You don’t need to eat as much little guy,” said the comedian, grabbing the tray and pulling it back towards him. The Ferret tried to grab it back but the comedian brandished his fork at him.

“Stop that,” said a deep voice from the right of The Ferret.

The comedian stopped and looked at the large man who had stayed silent during the episode. “Why?” he asked, inviting trouble.

The table stopped to watch as the large man stood up. At 6’ 7” Julius ‘Third Degree’ Byrne was a big man but he was still dwarfed by some of the Ziggursky’s larger inmates. But there was something about the set of his shoulders and the look of utter conviction in his eyes that was unsettling. He stared down at his opponent, the harsh glare of the canteen lights reflecting off of his dark skin.

“Because I asked you to,” replied Byrne slowly. For a moment, it looked as if the table was going to explode into violence but slowly, deliberately, the comedian let go of the tray. The Ferret grabbed it back and began shovelling the food down him in case someone else thought they needed it more than him. Byrne sat back down, never breaking eye contact with his foe. When finally the funny guy looked away, Byrne resumed his meal. The rest of the table looked away and carried on as if nothing had happened.

“Thanks man,” whispered The Ferret between mouthfuls of food. “These damn whiskers get me in all kinds of trouble.”

“Don’t apologise for your gift,” rumbled Byrne, “it is that which will help you to endure the days of strife that are to come. When the Dawn of Might arrives, only the Enlightened will be left standing.”

The Ferret stopped eating for a second and looked away. Why is it the nutjobs always sit next to me he wondered…

((Ah, the classic 'Evilverse' plot, much loved. We did one over on the Militia forums a while ago, 'Welcome to the Mirrorverse', loads of fun. Here's a repost of the quick and dirty short story I did for The Amber Banshee's evil alter-ego, Shadowsong.))

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Somewhere, someone was singing. Tobias gripped his sword tightly, knowing that his quarry was close. For two weeks, he had been tracking his prey and he could not ignore the mix of excitement and fear that had taken up residency in his belly. The Legacy Chain’s various training regimes had helped him to achieve at least some control over his fears, turning what had once been a timid, scholarly boy into a capable, trained fighting machine. Even so, knowing that he was about to face yet another vicious, magically empowered villain still filled him with a sense of trepidation that he could not ignore.

Why this one? Why now? The Order had know of this one’s activities for a while now. The odd bank raid here, a kidnapping there, but it had been the destruction of one of the Longbow outposts in Nerva that had finally led to Tobias being sent to destroy her. The building had been levelled, burying hundreds inside. They had excavated, hoping to find maybe a handful alive but their hopes were dashed swiftly. The people hadn’t even tried to hide as the building collapsed, instead their corpses were extracted with a look of abject terror on their faces. On examination, it appeared that they had died due to massive brain haemorrhaging. Those who had tried to fight had suffered a worse fate. Their bones appeared to have been liquefied from within, causing the body to collapse into a ragged pile of flesh. The sight of the victims had been enough for the Legacy Chain to act.

Gripping his sword tightly, Tobias turned the corner to take in the room before him. The hall was white apart from a tall throne sat at the far end that seemed to be carved from iron ore. In it, draped across the arms of the massive seat was a ghostly white figure. She was the source of the singing. For a second, Tobias was almost overcome. This had caused the ruin of the outpost? The woman was slender and pale, her body barely covered by the white and silver robes that she wore. Crowning her was a head of radiant red hair, long enough to fall elegantly across the throne like a sea of amber. As Tobias approached, she stopped her singing and raised her head to watch him step forward.

“I take it you’ve come to kill me?” she said matter of factly as he brandished his sword.

“You were easy to find siren,” he replied, unfazed by her appearance. He watched as she slipped off of the throne and walked gracefully towards him. She seemed to smile, a wicked grin appearing from behind the fanged mask.

“Why do you call me siren?” she asked softly, pacing around him. “Did you think I was going to seduce you? That might be fun.” Tobias reaffirmed his grip, waiting for her to get within range. “Or was it because I lured you here with a song? Was that it? It was very easy you know.”

He shifted slightly, unnerved. Had he allowed himself to be duped? He thought that he had tracked her here himself but maybe… maybe he’s been drawn here deliberately.

“Oh dear…” she said, “did I touch a nerve? Did you think you’d followed me here, hunting me like a hunter hunts the rabbit?” She giggled, the light, flirtatious giggle of a young girl. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she chided, “that’s not what happened at all. I called and you came. And I had hoped that they would send someone intelligent to catch me…” She sighed with mock disappointment.

Tobias went to move, to strike but he found his limbs like ice, frozen to the spot, unable to move. All he could see were her green eyes, floating in his vision, rooting him. The sword, useless now, clattered from his numb fingers. He watched helpless as she appeared in front of him, floating gently off of the ground, her hair radiating from her head like a halo.

“How utterly predictable,” she said as she hovered there. “How human. How boring. How…dull.” She began to laugh, the sound echoing through the room. Tobias winced as the sound changed, changed to something screeching, unnatural. He could feel the force of the voice upon him as his molecules began to vibrate at a rapid rate. Pain wracked his body and he cursed himself for being so unprepared. He had come here to stop what they had thought was a foolish young Faery. Instead he was now to die at the hands of Shadowsong, Nightmare Queen of the Fae.

There was nothing to do but close his eyes and wait for the pain to end.

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Hi folks.

So, two weeks in and I’m loving my Warshade and yes, slotting him has become troublesome, even at level 14. My main area of trouble though is on what to put in Nova Form. I’ve read a number of guides and I’m trying to work out what the most efficient way of slotting him is.

First of all, accuracy. I have three ToHit Buffs slotted but from what I can tell, they won’t allow me to remove accuracies from the individual blasts. So do others find that accuracies in the attacks rather than the ToHit Buffs in the form work better than the other way round? I’ve seen the maths elsewhere and a capped 95% seems preferable to 88% accuracy but has anyone tried this and found it to work?

Secondly, endurance. At the moment, I can only go for a few minutes of blasting in Nova before having to rest. Now I figure Stygian Circle’s going to sort that out in a few levels time but is there any worth in slotting End Mods in the form? One guide I read figured that equated to only +12 endurance per minute which seems rather low. Others almost flat out demand that three End Mods should be slotted as a priority. What have others found? Should I instead slot my attacks with End Reducers or put End Mods in the form?

I’d very much welcome other people’s perspectives. Thanks.

I’ve got to agree.

When I was roaring my way to 50 a few weeks ago, I was quite excited by the prospect of Khelds. ‘Don’t get your hopes up’ said many a person and I worried a little about whether they were correct or not. Plenty of people moan about Khelds and I braced myself before rolling my first Warshade.

Fact is, two weeks later and I’m loving it. Revenant Star is only level 14 but already the challenge of changing forms, staying alive and abusing multiple enemies has been like a breath of fresh air for me. Yes, they do have weak points but for every time I’m soloing and grinding my teeth as another Void kicks my backside, I’ve had times in eight man teams when he’s two shotted a spawn thanks to the massive buffs that the mire gives. It’s then that they feel suitably epic because of the crazy stuff that they seem to be able to pull off. I’m very much looking forward to what they can do at higher levels which seem to promise ultimate carnage.

I think maybe that some of it is the belief that because they’re labelled as ‘epic’, people seem to think that every power should be an ‘I Win’ button whereas instead they are a masterwork of design, an AT that is as diverse as the teams they need to really shine. As someone who tends to play team based toons, this isn’t a new thing to me. Each strength is coupled with a weakness and it’s that that makes them a challenge to play.

[ QUOTE ]
That they don't PvP.

[/ QUOTE ]

Actually, some of us do. The main reason you don't see more is because of the difficulty in creating a toon with a PvE/PvP/RP build that doesn't suck at one of them. Against a pure PvP build, any of mine would fall flat on their face hence most of the time I pitch mine against RP/PvE builds. Besides IC PvP just rocks.

Pet hates? Anti-heroes. It's such an incredibly hard line to walk, I take my hat off to anyone who can do it well. But half the time it isn't done well. People create anti-social, overly aggressive, arrogant characters and then complain when no-one wants to RP with them.

Also, the lack of RP villain side. Not only does it seem harder to maintain, it's hard to get epic battles like the FF versus Doctor Doom when there's no opposition.

Oh and I'm a terror for grammar and punctuation as well but I found it led to me becoming a snob regarding who I RP with. I do my best to ignore it but it still gets my back up.

The clock behind him clicked its way round to 4:05. Had it have been a wall clock or a travel alarm, the tick would have been barely noticeable. But as it was the enormous clock that sat on the side of a tower in Steel Canyon, it’s tick was a little more audible than most. Dante liked the clock. It’s sounds made it all too evident that another moment had passed, another moment that the sleeping millions would never see again. Not that it mattered to him.

He stood on the very edge of the tower, a 200 foot drop below him. Stiff backed and firm of posture, he gazed out over the city that he hated and loved in the same breath. He sensed fear. Not the kind he was used to, not the creeping terror that oozed its way from the Netherworld through his magic. No, this was normal, human fear. In many ways, it was worse as it was caused by intangible worries rather than by murky entities from the Netherworld. The city still feared.

“I must do more,” he muttered to himself. He pondered recent events in his mind, realising just how much he had missed. The past few weeks had seen him in other places, other dimensions, battling foes few knew of. He guarded the walls of this dimension jealously, aware of the dark forces that encroached upon it. But in holding those forces back, had he forgotten about the smaller things?

“You never see how the small things affect people,” his wife used to say to him. Perhaps she was right. He should make more effort to interact with others, no matter how much they irritated him. He pondered the people that he had met since returning to the world last summer and for a few seconds, the loneliness that he suppressed overwhelmed him. The weakness lasted a second as his cast iron will crushed the thought. He was about to reprimand himself for the lapse of control when another of his wife’s sayings came to him.

“It is our weaknesses that make us unique.” He had laughed when she said it. He had no time for weakness. But the sorrow of losing her had broken some part of him. He would never have allowed emotion to dictate his actions as they had last summer had it not been for her loss. Was the fear a weakness, he wondered, or was it just there to remind him of his humanity?

The clock ticked round to 4:06 and this time, he let the fear come.

Looks very interesting, thanks for the find.

I feel a /Psi Blaster coming on...

Monday 31 March 2008

Poking their noses into a high level meeting between Crey and the Malta Group is often a recipe for trouble as the assembled Militia proved, earning them the ire of both groups. It was however, the discovery of a lead on the missing scientist Dr Gregory that had the team of The Amber Banshee, Rockheed, Holly Steel, Luna Starbright, Gauisus Somnium, The Priest, Wavekite and Shadow Pariah dashing over the city to rescue him from another band of errant Rikti. Joined by White Vampyr of the Hyperion Watchmen, they were unable to rescue the errant scientist, the victims being teleported away before they could do anything. One remained long enough to slip a note to them though, nothing more than an address in The Hollows.

Establishing that the place was in fact a hidden Crey lab, the reception they received was typical of the corporate crooks. However what they were guarding was hard to believe. Laid out on one of the terminals were plans for a mutagenic plague based on Dr Gregory’s work, a virus that would eradicate anyone with a ‘non-standard human genome’. There was no timetable for its release or any plans to how it was to be deployed but the threat was serious enough for the Militia to clean up the lab and leave, none of the ‘staff’ there able to shed any light on the affair. More worryingly, Holly found a blank notepad, the type reporters carry which appeared to have been dropped in a hurry. Amber took the notepad, making a note of Suzi’s suggestion that they get a copy of its contents from the indentations left on it. Evidently though, someone had been there before them and there was no way of telling how much they knew…

I'll go one further. (About characters you filthy people!)

Having a compelling character is good and each new one will interpret the city and its inhabitants in different ways. But once they form relationships with other characters, that's when things really fly. Interacting with other people's creations and then tackling the environment together I find makes for good fun. Which is why I've never been a huge person for just standing around and chatting. Talking, interacting and then uncovering the stories hidden away around the city as a team, that's what I find can make the repetitive missions and tasks come alive, give it meaning.

Stress is a funny thing. Meeting with Crimson Archer and Holly Steel, The Amber Banshee appeared subdued, almost quiet compared to normal. Crimson was pensive, waiting for a phone call that might give him some news about what had happened to his trainee Dee Dee Diablo since she disappeared. Only Holly appeared relaxed, settling herself nicely into the Militia.

Following a lead on a missing hero, Jay disappeared rapidly once he received his phone call, leaving the two heroines to apply the pressure to Crey and their cronies. Between the raging flames and finely pitched singing, the girls shared a few secrets although Amber regretted mentioning her ongoing state of singleness as Holly took it as a challenge to match her up with someone, much to the songstress’s embarrassment.

Finally escaping the vast laboratory, the two hung out in a café in Overbrook where they were joined by Luna Starbright and Wavekite. Wavekite was low also, having drawn a blank in her search for Found, the reformed member of the Lost who had been missing from their ranks since the last Rikti invasion. They speculated on what could have happened to him and whether if he had gone back to the Lost, if he was happier there. Amber showed them the shard of locating crystal that she had recently used to find her absent father but stopped short of saying what she had seen. She regretted not using it to track Found instead, the arcane device having only a one time use. Leaving them to consider what to do next, Amber headed home.

Can't speak for the later levels but my SS/WP Brute is at 21 and no, I've never needed a heal so far. I imagine if you're tanking and need to take the alpha for the team, it'd be more of an issue but for regular SMASH action, the regen works perfectly.

It was with excitement that The Amber Banshee rushed to her appointment with Major Paul Stone, otherwise known as Powerstone, after being recommended to speak to him by Dante Carver. She held in her hand a shard of the crystal that the Militia had recovered from the Circle of Thorns, a crystal that could locate anyone, anywhere in the world. After two years and four months, she actually had chance to hope that the search for her father was almost at an end.

The conversation was not to be private as the Major was currently host to Night’s Child and Umbral Star who both sat to hear Amber’s story. She told them of how her father had gone missing and how she had acquired her hero license so that she could do her own investigating when the police failed to turn up anything. How she had been recruited into the Militia and had frequently used their resources on what turned out to be wild good chases whenever she had a lead. Her hosts listened patiently as she confided in them before presenting the shard that she had stolen three weeks ago. She admitted that she was unable to use it and that the Major had been recommended to her as someone who could help.

Examining the shard, Powerstone was able to repair a fracture that prevented it from working, enabling Amber to use it once more. However, going beyond her initial request, he offered to empower it so that she could locate her father instantly. Immediately taking him up on his offer, Powerstone and Night’s Child began a ritual to awaken the crystal, leaving Amber holding the shard, concentrating on one purpose, finding her father.

As the crystal began to vibrate an image formed before her, of one that she was certain was her lost parent. But as it began to take shape, it became apparent that something was wrong.

The shape before her was grey…

Misshapen…

Immense…

And roared at her through a tangle of oily tentacles…

It became sickeningly apparent why all of her previous efforts to find her father had failed: she had been trying to find someone that was still human. And as she stared back broken hearted at the Greater Devoured, she knew that her father was now anything but. As Amber faltered, Powerstone reminded her to try and learn his location while Nick laid down a protective barrier in case the creature tried to break through. Hardening her resolve, she focused as the monster, aware of their surveillance roared at them.

The link failed just as the shard gave up its last secret. As the crystal faded and died, Amber knew that he was in Eden, near the heart of Devouring Earth territory.

Distraught, Amber discussed the possibilities of rescuing her father and whether they would be able to restore his humanity. Nick remained sceptical while the Major pondered whether the poor man’s mind would cope with being changed back and whether he should simply be left where he was. Convinced that she had seen a spark of recognition in the creature’s face, Amber resolved to rescue him and do what she could to bring him back. She thanked both Nick and the Major for their help, confirming the alliance between the Militia and the Shades of Darkness. She left their company distraught but determined to bring an end to her father’s torment.

Added congratulations etc.

Altisis is a terrible disease and this game encourages it I’m afraid. I’ve been plagued by it for a long time now but I like to believe that I might have a grip on it at last. It’s frustrating, especially if you come up with so many different ideas that you want to RP out. So here’s my tips for dealing with the condition.

1) Choose.

Hard, but it has to be done. If find that limiting my RP to only a handful of characters helps to limit the amount of time the game takes up. There have been some great ideas on these boards I would love to have got involved with but it would have required another alt. Sticking with just one or two characters (or four if you’re me ) allows you to explore deeper relationships with others and cut out the whole ‘oh who are you’ banter that has to happen every time you introduce a new alt. I still have a metric ton of alts, all of which have nifty backstories that I’d love to RP but I accept that they’re only supporting characters and will hardly ever get RPed unless an opportunity arises. I’d also add that choosing is never easy. I’ve had a main for ages but it’s taken three incarnations of him in game for me to finally settle.


2) Friends and Groups

One of the things that helped me stop alting so much and stick with a character was getting one involved with a group. By having a bunch of people who expect you to be there, it certainly is a way of forcing yourself to commit to a character and bring them out regularly.


3) Only delete if they bring you no pleasure.

Already been said, but it’s true. If that character is no fun anymore and you don’t enjoy alting to them, then they’re a candidate for the delete button. One could argue that if you’re not hurting for slots, what does it hurt to keep them there but sometimes the temptation can be strong. Only use deleting as a final option for removing the temptation as you will probably regret it later.


4) Learn to say no

It’s tough, especially when there’s so many good ideas floating around but know when you’re being lured away from your mains and being tempted to alt or become involved in another storyline which will consume your time. I know someone with a large wardrobe of clothes who operates a policy of only buying new ones if they are willing to dispense with others. If your time is limited, it’s not a bad philosophy.

Anyway, I’m rambling now but that’s the long and short of it. I hope you find some resolution soon.

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A mans truth is whatever his wife/girlfriend tells him it is!

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Amen to that!

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I feel the need to quote a car sticker:

I am in complete control of my life. Just don't tell my wife about it.

Without wanting to wade into the whole Kheld debate (which is interesting given that I’m only 5 levels off trying them for the first time) I’d say the key phrase in the prior debate is ‘shared ground’. Roleplay is very rarely a solitary activity and any group of people requires a consensus of what actions/reactions are acceptable to them. Most of the debates I’ve ever encountered in the RP community (including those that descended into gratuitous mud slinging) tend to revolve around what one group of people accepts and another rejects. I’ve watched OOC arguments in game about what people can and cannot do. What one group of people accepts as good RP, another group may consider hideous god-modding of the 13th degree and they must be destroyed! I note of course, that a lot of these do tend to be around what powers people possess etc (don’t you just love demi-gods?)

Canon, and I agree that it can often be patchy and sparse, is a standard. Note I say a standard, not the standard and for someone coming from just playing the game to roleplaying within it, it would be the one that they are most familiar with. If a group/person chooses to reject a lot of the story arcs, missions etc, you can do that but it will likely make things difficult IC if they interact with someone who does accept them. Likewise if a person who does accept them encounters someone who doesn’t. But as long as the company that you keep is on the same page, that may not matter too much. That said, I don’ think that there’s a huge amount of canon that is ‘necessary’ to RP within the game. I certainly did not know that much before I began.

To some degree, we all accept/reject canon every day. How many times now has Statesman been rescued? How often have we all kicked Frostfire across the Hollows? When my fifth alt uncovers the ‘shocking truth’ about the Rikti, do I have to still act surprised? Of course not, we somehow adapt these things into our experience and roll with it. Which is a good thing, I think.

Smeester, Regarding entering RP, I don’t think that much knowledge is necessary. If anything, sometimes too much knowledge is detrimental, especially if you end up RPing with someone who rejects most of it. A basic knowledge is all that’s needed and I’d say a quick study of the timeline on the Wiki along with the background to the hero licence, Nemesis, the Rikti invasion and the Freedom Phalanx is enough to bluff your way through. Don’t let the weight of information or other roleplayers put you off. If you really feel intimidated, you can always do what I did and start roleplaying with a character who is a bit innocent and naïve and learns as they progress. Use the supposed restrictions on information being linked to security level to aid you. But whatever you do, don’t give up.

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all god boys deserve fudge

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There's too many jokes I can make from this comment.

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It's delicious every once in a while, and can be of variable quality, but too much generally leads to bellyaches, confusion and headaches?

Woo, a workable analogy!

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You've been eating too much of mine again Z? I did warn you about that.

Obituaries


Blazing Blue Beetle (1972 – 2008)

Born heir to the millions of the Longthorn family, Harold Longthorn first came to the public’s attention in 2005 when he first appeared preventing a hold up at Atlas Park bank. His distinctive blue helmet and costume earnt him the nickname of The Blue Beetle but he added the ‘Blazing’ after a journalist described his pursuit of arch villain Wormwood across Talos Island at high speed. Despite his active hero career, he managed to maintain his business interests while still raising a large family.

Beetle died last Thursday when he fell from the sky high over Skyway City. It is thought that he was the target of an opportunist sniper. He leaves behind his wife Jennifer and his four children, Eleanor, Simon, Fleur and Daisy.


Painted Butterfly (1981 – 2008)

Hitting the headlines in May 2006, Christina Fulton was the proud recipient of the $8,000,000 payout from the Paragon City Lottery. Deciding to reveal her mutant origins to the world, she declared her desire to fight crime and promptly donated over two thirds of her winnings to charity. Taking to the streets as the brightly coloured Painted Butterfly, she concentrated on street crime, arresting numerous Skulls, Hellions and Outcasts as part of her clean up operation.

Butterfly’s career came to an end last week when an explosion destroyed her apartment, killing her instantly. Police are still regarding the death as suspicious.