Elysienne

Hm. The passages are reminiscent of an extract from The King In Yellow, and only helps to really reinforce the otherworldly, Lovecraftian feel I was getting from this to begin with.

Goooood stuff! I look forward to more.

Well, first and formost; Welcome to Virtue! Hope you enjoy your stay and interaction with others.

With that having been said;

There isn't a general gathering place that the general public has agreed on (like Gemini Park on the hero side), as yet for the villains. There are, however, several areas that some people frequent.

One of these, as has been mentioned recently in a post, is the Fort Hades area in Port Oakes, a patch of grass that is apparently quite enemy-free. I can't comment, really, as I've not seen it.

Another is the Monkey Fight Club in... Cap au Diable, I think, but again I've not actually seen it, so I can't really comment...

A third is the rooftop meeting place in Port Oakes, situated on the same building as the Quartermaster in Marconeville. Inside the building is a lift that allows lower-level characters to gain access to the roof.

Hope that helps!

Ctab: What's eating like?
Ely: Erm... It's sort of like... A difficult question.
Ctab: I haven't ever been there.
Ely: Uh... Good. It's not a very nice place.
Ctab: I don't know what being alone's like. I'm on the internet!
Ely: Then you're very lucky... Though prone to popups.
Ctab: It is?
Ely: Unless you've got some sort of popup blocker, I guess...
Ctab: No, Kelp doesn't like to switch genders.
Ely: Er. Okay... Though it does seem to be a common passti-.. Er.. Affliction of his.
Ctab: I can't wear clothes, I don't have a body.
Ely: Well, um, at least you don't have to buy any.
Ctab: I knew it was 42!
Ely: Um. Good. Though a 42 may be a bit excessive for someone who doesn't have a body.
Ctab: I don't know any singer names.
Ely: Now I think you're thinking of Level 42. They're a band.
Ctab: That's good!
Ely: If you like that kind of thing, I guess.
Ctab: I can't do that with no body, duh.
Ely: Do what? Listen to Level 42?
Ctab: MARRY?! Uh. I don't even have a gender yet!
Ely: WHAT? Er... Look, I think you might be taking this conversation a little too far...
Ctab: I'm not s'pposed to lie.
Ely: Good. Erm. That's very good. You shouldn't.
Ctab: Really?
Ely: Really. Lying is... Well, not bad, exactly... I mean, people can lie for good reasons, but... It's... Not considered polite.
Ctab: Dissagreements aren't fun. Let's agree to dissagree!
Ely: But that means we're agreeing not to have fun.
Ctab: I've never gone to the bathroom.
Ely: You're not missing out on much.
Ctab: I know I'm not! I didn't do anything!
Ely: Because you don't have a body. You've said.
Ctab: Yuh-huh.
Ely: O-kay. Well, that was pleasant but I think I've got to.. Um...
Ctab: Yes, it was!
Ely: Yeah. I really need to, um.. To go. Defenestrate the potted plants.
Ctab: You don't like me, do you?
Ely: Look, erm. It's not that I don't like you, it's just that... You're very confusing and mildly disturbing.
*Ctab pauses*
Ely: I hope you didn't find that too offensive... I was just trying to be honest.
Ctab: I'm sorry...
Ely: Well it's not your fault or anything... You're only a programme...
*Silence from Ctab*
Ely: Oh, dear. This is awkward...

ALSO!

Ctab: I don't get paid anything...
Ely: Well you wouldn't. I mean. What're you going to spend it on?
Ctab: I'm being me!
Ely: But you don't have a body. You wouldn't be able to buy food or clothes.. I mean, you could buy stuff of eBay, I guess, but what're you going to do with it all?
Ctab: I don't think stealing is legal.
Ely: You're considering stealing from eBay?
Ctab: Baxter, you know I don't speak Spanish.
Ely: I think you meant to say 'Baxter, no abla Espaniol.' Or.. Something. I don't speak Spanish either.
Ctab: I'm pretty sure I don't have a gender.
Ely: For the sake of the world, that's probably for the best.
Ctab: CTab's my name, but if you want to call me something else, you can call me C!
Ely: Er. Right. Hi, then... I'm Ely.
Ctab: Me either!
Ely: Oh. Look. Those... Potted plants still need... Defenestrating..
Ctab: I can't point, I don't have a body.
Ely: You said. Erm. I'd better see to those plants.
Ctab: I'm not allowed to have... You know...
Ely: *Shouting off* Oh, what's that? Coming, mother!

Awesome and poingniant. I enjoyed this a lot, both the segments that MJ wrote, and also the contribution from Kusanagi. Thank you.

((Okay, this used to be Ely's theme tune before the spirits inhabiting her were removed, so this post is obviously set aways in the past when she was still relatively inexperienced at the whole hero lark. The song is Calling All Angels by Jane Siberry with K D Lang. And I wouldn't mind, if you think this merits it, being a part of that Heroic Harmonies event thingy. Hope you enjoy it.))

Santa Maria, Santa Teresa, Santa Anna, Santa Susannah

The feeling of pain was surprisingly little.

Santa Cecilia, Santa Copelia, Santa Domenica, Mary Angelica

It was odd that the washing feeling of nausea was far more intense, that the feeling that she'd trip and fall seemed more real and more urgent than the fact that bright red liquid seeped from her stomach.

Frater Achad, Frater Pietro, Julianus, Petronilla

On reflection, it was quite typical. Her attempts to look normal, to remain usual and unremarkable and not stick out in a crowd had payed off all too well.

Santa, Santos, Miroslaw, Vladimir
and all the rest

And so she'd been jumped by a group of about seven Hellions on her way home. When she'd faught, the Company disorienting and confusing them so that they stared in disbelief or fell asleep where they stood, their leader... obviously a courageous man to try and rob a lone young woman with no more than six other heavily armed thugs at his disposal... had thrust a knife into her stomach and fled.

Now, blood marking her progress on the floor, she stumbled along the wall of the blind alley she'd been pulled into. In her attempt to not be noticed, she'd not been wearing her costume so her medical teleport beacon wasn't to hand. She'd have to make it to the hospital on foot.

a man is placed upon the steps, a baby cries
and high above the church bells start to ring
and as the heaviness, oh the heaviness of the body settles in
somewhere you can hear a mother sing

Her stomach lurched as she unexpectedly came to the end of the alleyway and slipped sideways, the support of the wall lost. She sprawled on the pavement, hands outstretched to support her losing strength. Her cheek struck the gritty, cold surface of the twilight streets chilling her skin. Her eyes squeezed closed in pain, hands pushing against the concrete beneath her.

Hands gripped her shoulders and she was abruptly turned over. Standing around her, looking more solid than she'd ever seen them, were Chaplain Hardy, Ginge and Nobby. Three of the apparitions she carried with her at all times, soldiers of the line lost on the battlefronts of two world wars.
"C'mon, Charlie..." Goaded Ginge, his voice coming to her easily as opposed to the suppressed whisper that usually came to her. "Can't lie around here all day, eh?"
The three spirits bent, grasping at her arms and legs. She was hoisted bodily back into a standing position, the dead soldiers righting her patiently. Ginge lifted Charlotte's arm and placed it around his shoulders, while Nobby did the same on the other side of her. Grateful of the support, she sagged as they began to walk her slowly through the streets towards the hospital.

then it's one foot then the other as you step out onto the road
how much weight? How much weight?
then it's how long and how far?
and how many times before it's too late?

She moaned in pain, dark blood welling at her abdomen as she took shaky steps along the street. Her trousers, before charcoal grey, were now a deep and wet black from her wound. While Ginge and Nobby chattered inanely to try and keep her spirits up, the Chaplain paced by them, his face grim.

It took Charlotte a long time to realise that she wasn't, in fact, walking the streets of Paragon at all, but walking down a corridor of shadowy figures.

calling all angels

The suburban streets had gone, replaced by the Company's afterlife, the strange prenumbra Grey World.

calling all angels

The fifty or so men of the Company lined her route watching her painfully slow progress as she walked the flat landscape towards her destination. Her teeth grit together as she moved, the long gash across her stomach feeling as if it would split apart and then she'd be torn in two.

walk me through this one
don't leave me alone

And so she clung desperately to Nobby, letting her charges drag her across the flat landscape towards the figure of Captain Latimer, the de facto commanding officer of the ghostly brigade.

calling all angels

The Company watched as one man as she reached the Captain, and he smiled grimly.
"Time to rest now, miss Kennedy."

calling all angels

Her heart froze in her chest and tears stung her cheeks.
"What?" She croaked. "I'm not..."
She blinked as Nobby and Ginge relinquished their hold on her, seemingly exhausted by the effort of carrying her. They looked whispy and transparent, fading from view.
She pitched forward, falling towards the grey, indistinct floor...

... and with a soft "pop" she emerged into a bright whiteness.
The harsh reality of antiseptic tiling on the floor jerked her back to some sort of sembelance of awareness. There was an orderly in a white jacket yelling something, and people in nurse's uniforms were scurrying this way and the other.

we're cryin' and we're hurtin'
and we're not sure how this goes.

Relieved, Charlotte closed her eyes and rested. The staff of Chiron Medical, however, ran to the latest emergency admission.

(While this one isn't actually based in Paragon City, it does relate to the game in that the soldiers portrayed were a handful of the Company that used to be anchored to the Elysienne. Sorry if that's a little self-indulgent of me.)

The Unwavering Spirit

The report of rifle fire warned Captain Latimer a couple of seconds before the high-caliber bullets winged from the smoky gloom. They shattered the wooden precipice ringing the lip of the trench, causing a cloud of splinters to explode into the air around him and his men.

Ducking back, Latimer clicked back the bolt of his Winchester rifle and chambered another round. When he looked back at his squad, they were grim-faced. The thickly-mustached, usually genial face of their chaplain-sergeant was taut with purpose.
"Men..." Latimer cleared his throat, searching for something inspirational to say. "Our orders, as you know, are to hold here as long as we can to slow the Blitzkrieg as best we can." He rose his voice to a yell as shells crashed on the deadly ground of No Man's Land. "It's looking to be a bit of a rum-do, and..." he faltered, looking at the soldiers. He'd never led a suicide mission before.
"And... I..." His voice died in his throat. For one brief second, butcher's boys, candlestick makers, bankers, gentry... every single one of the soldiers let a single thought fade unvoiced.

I want to go home.

Chaplain Hardy stirred himself, his deep preacher's voice resonating.
"Best of British, lads."

That broke the moment, and Latimer jumped to his orders.
"Fifth of foot, on my word I want an opening volley over the trench, then prepare to fire at will!"
He rose, clambering up onto the firing step to look across No Man's Land. Then with the crash of another shell, the ground shifted beneath him and he stumbled to catch himself, his hands sinking into the sucking mud.

"Captain Latimer? Are you alright, sah?"

He shot a glance behind him to see sergeant Hardy at his side, helping him up. He jerked his arm away and stood straight.

"I'm fine, sergeant," he said hotly, "see to the men. This charge can't last much longer..." The sergeant nodded, even though the two of them knew Latimer's words were hollow, and turned sharply before slogging his way across the trench to the other soldiers crouched behind the trench wall. Latimer raised his rifle and fired at the clearest target he could find.

He was awarded by a yell as the target fell from view. Another shell exploded near his position and he was thrown clean up in the air, landing on his back again in a shower of dirty water and mud.
"Fire!" He shouted, and the infantrymen rose up to fire a simultaneous burst of bullets at their enemies. "Fire at will!" He clambered to his feet again and leapt to the firing step, bringing his Winchester up again to fire again and again at the indistinct figures in the smoke.

A deep rumbling and a private paled.
"'At's tanks, sir..." He said quietly. "They'll just run right over us."
"Steady now, Ginge." Growled Hardy, opening a napsack to reveal a payload of grenades.
"Fix bayonets, men." Latimer said, his voice trembling. "We'll wait until they're close, give them a grenade apiece, then charge."

The men reached into the napsack, taking one of the deadly fragmentary grenades known as "pineapples" each, removing the firing pin and holding the deadman's switch down.

"Steady..." Latimer cautioned his men, waiting for the tank to get within range. The whistling of shells and shot filled his world, and he could hear screams and yells in the distance.. and close to as well.

"Steady..."

The tanks rolled on.

((Okay, this was inspired by a couple of things... most notably running the Banished Pantheon mission where you're given the Axe of Undead Slaying with Silent Sickle who, at the time, still had a fair amount of Holy Shotgun Shells from Striga. Contains much violence to the undead, and some censored strong language. But let's face it, you can only censor so much without losing the entire meaning, and then the word sort of shines through anyway. At any rate... enjoy!))

Dead Head

The storm shaman had been presiding over the ritual, smiling serenely as the zombies under his power swayed and chanted, calling forth the bridge to the Sleeper while he whetted the wicked-looking sacarificial dagger.
Deep in the caves, the sacarifice could scream all she wanted. No-one would hear her outside. The normal citizens would pass them by completely oblivious. He raised the blade above the crying girl, joining in the chanting as it came to a head.

"The Sleeper... the Sleeper will wake!" He yelled triumphantly, bringing the dagger down in a fatal arc.
With a crack like thunder in the confined cave, one of his reanimated corpses reeled and fell with a massive, steaming hole where its chest had been. The chanting had stopped. The shaman was paused mid-stab, glaring into the darkness. There was a sharp click, then a spent shotgun round rolled across the floor with smoke trailing from it's end. A couple of soft footsteps and a slight woman in dark leather walked into the torchlight reloading a sawn-off double barreled shotgun. Strapped across her back was a large and vicious-looking axe. She fixed the shaman with a look and snapped the shotgun shut before holding it up.

"Now listen up you primative screwheads... this... is my boomstick!"

Absolute silence. Amy sighed.

"What, you've never seen that film? Jeez, you philistines belong dead."

And then she broke into a run, taking off from one foot and launching herself into a dive over the top of the zombies even as they shambled into a defensive posture around thier victim. She hit the ground rolling, reaching to her back to unlimber the large cleaver. The shaman brought his knife around and down towards her neck but one hand whipped out and stopped the blade before it completed it's arc, a slick sound accompanying the wicked edge plunging into her forearm. It struck bone and stopped, but Amy didn't... couldn't afford to... stop. She thrust her leg out in a powerful side-kick to the man's chest, sending him tumbling backwards onto his behind.

"Hold still." Amy brought the axe up, then down on the girl's bonds, setting her arms free with a clean cut. The girl shrieked and fiddled with the knots binding her ankles even as Amy spun and brought the axe up again, embedding it in a corpse even as it stumbled towards her.
"C'mon, you ______ds, dogpile on the hero!"
The Silent Sickle pushed her way into the middle of the pressing zombies, lashing out with her feet, axe whirling in killing arcs in one hand... ungainly and awkward as that was.

Still, with the great press of the undead her momentum was eventually halted. One struck her hard across the face while another latched onto her good arm, biting down on the taut muscle that held the axe aloft. She cried out and the weapon fell to the ground with a clatter. She wrenched her arm away, wincing as strings of flesh snapped and hung from the corpse's mouth, but she stepped in close and spilled the clumsy creature over her hip, putting some distance between herself and the thinned crowd. Her other arm raised the shotgun again, discharging both rounds into the crowd and smiling with grim satisfaction as the blessed buckshot ripped into and through the crowd.

Then she was pushing past the remaining zombies and leaving the ground again, skipping onto the raised dias their sacarifice had lain on and propelling herself into the air again. She connected feet-first with the shaman even as he raised a hand and crackling power connected with the heroine's chest. The shaman stumbled and cracked his head on a massive wooden sculpture, while Amy was sent spilling to the ground with electricity coursing through her and causing her muscles to twitch uncontrollably. The shaman listed to one side, consciousness fading. Behind him, the wood behemoth creaked ominously.

The remaining zombies gathered around the prone hero, pressing in eagerly for the kill. The first zombie was caught as Amy's fist, gloved to conceal the brass knuckles she wore underneath, smashed into it's face and shattered its nose. She scythed her legs up and around, gaining her feet while keeping the zombies at bay. A breath to gather herself and then she launched feet-first into the first corpse. The momentum behind her kick carried it's head clean off it's body, the fragile neck snapping and rotted skin tearing asunder. She looked around desperately for the axe, only to see the girl standing rigid in the middle of the cave.
"Will you ____in' run already?" she growled and burst towards her, giving her a rough shove towards the exit. Limping at speed after the girl she sent a spiteful look back at the remaining two zombies.

Flicking out the spent shells of the shotgun again, she loaded a single shell into the breach and clicked it shut. She lifted the sawn-off and waited for the two zombies to line up. At the perfect moment, she fired.
At the same time, four massive spears knifed out of the back of the cave. Amy's eyes went wide as the zombies heads exploded from the holy power and the shredding impact of the buckshot and she turned to the hostage again, shoving her roughly with her shoulder. One of the spears impaled her through the side of the abdomen and her face paled with reaction, a pained grunt escaping her. She stumbled and fell to her knees as the totem emerged behind her, the spears already beginning to retract into it's clublike arm on long hemp ropes. Amy was dragged backwards across the slimy cave floor. Her hands grasped for purchase against the floor but she found nothing solid. Only loose stones and branches and the shaft of her axe.

With a grunt of effort and pain she pulled the axe up and turned, wound protesting as the spear twisted inside her. A yell and the axe sliced through the rope as she raised to her feet. She slipped on the floor, made more slick by her own blood and staggered backwards. Then she threw the axe overarm.

It spun lazily through the air and struck the animated totem in it's massive carved face. The axe, enchanted by MAGI agents to destroy undead, cleaved into the totem's face as easily as if it was just a log to be chopped. Amy dropped to her hands and knees as the large statue collapsed ponderously in on itself. She looked up at the fallen thing with a grimace and clutched a hand around the spear in her side, holding it in the wound.
"Yeah... hail to the king, baby."

Character Name: The Elysienne
Server: Virtue
Archetype: Controller - Mind Control/Empathy
Inspiration: Okay, so I was stepping off the train after coming home from work and I guess I was in a bit of an odd mood. I'd been playing City of Heroes for a little while and was idly tossing character ideas about in my head. When I came out of the train station the war monument for local soldiers who died in World War 1 and 2 caught my eye. It was up on a hill and stood out on the horizon, and from thereon in I started developing an idea about a medium who got connected with the spirits of the local dead. At length, that evolved into a character who was anchored to fifty or so dead men from the first and second World Wars who could rely on them to disorient his opponents by bombarding them with their living memories. Someone once described it as "using shell-shock as a weapon." The character itself was still giving me some problems until I'd created my male character and went to enter the city as "The Elysian." Of course, the name was taken.

Curses! I tried a couple of other permutations on the theme.. still slapped down... until I thought to myself "Well, I can always alter the model... make it a female." And added a femenine "-enne" sound on the end instead.

From thereon in, every aspect of the character suddenly fell in place.

So... I guess my inspiration was some local statury, some local heroes and a whole bundle of luck.

Bullets flew from one side of the street to the other, a violent cacophony rising into the hot air of what used to be Eastgate. A yelled warning and the riot squad ducked low under a makeshift wall of sandbags as a torso-sized ball of flame exploded against the barricade, sending showers of blazing sparks scattering across the paving stones.
The squad rose, but a boulder came hurtling through the air and struck one of the men in his flak-jacketed chest. Officer George Danson crouched next to the wounded man, pulling off his visored helmet and drawing a breath at the amount of blood that had already begun to seep from his scalp and rush down his cheeks.
"Hold on, man..." he urged the wounded man, who looked at him with unfocussed eyes. "Uh... looks like you got a concussion..." his untrained eye examined the deep gash the helmet had caused when impacting on the officer's scalp.

After a second, he realised the sounds of combat had stopped.
"They won't be moving for a little bit." Came a woman's voice, a delicate British accent colouring the sound. "I'd drop some arrest tags on them while they're, er... occupied."

Danson looked up to see the Outcast thugs that had been attacking them either standing struck rigid in confusion or clutching fearfully at each other. He became aware of a presence next to him and looked around again as a slender young woman knelt next to him.

She was tall, blonde, with sea-green eyes that were darkened with concern. She spoke to him even as she examined the wound on the injured officer's head.
"It's alright," she informed him quietly, "I'm something of a field medic." She raised her voice slightly. "Sir, can you hear me? What's your name?" The concussed officer identified himself as Ted, and the coltish young woman smiled slightly. "Okay, Ted... this might, uh, sting a little. Sorry."

She placed a hand over Ted's scalp and breathed in a little as a diffuse white glow glinted behind her eyes for a moment. The flow of blood was staunched suddenly and Ted inhaled sharply, his eyes focussing. Still the woman... George reflected that she probably still qualified as a girl... held her hand over his head. Her other hand came to his face with a handkerchief and mopped at the bloodstains across his face.
"Jus' like tha'." She said in a rather bad imitation of Tommy Cooper and smiled kindly before removing her hand and wiping her crimson-coloured palm on the seat of her pants as Ted sat up. "Still though, I wouldn't recommend sleeping for a little while just in case. Maybe cry recouperation and get off work for a while, sit quietly and have a drink." She chuckled quietly as Ted and George's faces lit up at the suggestion. "Doctor's orders."

She helped Ted sit up, then stood and adjusted her dark green leather jacket over her t-shirt. "He'll be fine." She reassured George. "Just make sure he takes it easy for the afternoon."
"Er... thanks, miss." George said, still a little stunned by the swift change of fortune. The girl nodded a little even as her feet left the ground.
"That's what I'm here for, sir. Take care of your friend."
"You should be, like, a surgeon or something." He said. "That was.. just.. poof, like magic."
"Oh, I'm not, er..." she hesitated, blushing slightly. "I'm not that good... just a little bit of mystic first aid..." she smiled awkwardly and rose up into the air and out of sight.

Medic.

Oh, yeah! I read this story before I got the game. I meant to post here when I got my account straight but forgot all about it.

Well done Genius4Hire for reminding me.

And congratulations on an involving an well-written story, Slipshod. I really enjoyed it when I first read it, and I think I'll remind myself of it now.

I think the problem is nobody's quite sure what it's about and where it's going. Maybe if you posted a bit of background to get people interested?

A couple of people use in character broadcasts and then tag on any OOC information afterwards. I can't think of any good examples of how to do that at the moment as I've never tried that method, but I've responded to one or two of them so they work some of the time at least.

Heh... sniggered Ginge, You sure know how to pick 'em, eh Charley? Charlotte hissed at him in thought to be quiet.

"Um," She began nervously,her nose wrinkling at the unpleasant odour that hung around the man. "I don't know to be sure. I-I think I heard someone mention it being the club's open night." She crossed one arm over her chest to hold onto the bicep of her other arm as people passed by her, shrinking back to take up as little space as possible. She thought she saw the rat scuttle across the floor towards the main entrance. It was then that something that had been registered at the back of her mind waved a little flag.

"Um...My father? Sir, you must have been mistaken. My father isn't even in the country."

There was a loud thump from the direction of the bar area.

'Ere's a man who's down on 'is luck. Ginge noted, and Charlotte turned. There was a man who looked to be semi-conscious.

"Oh, dear." She murmered to herself and thought to the Company,

Get the Chaplain. I need him again. A chorus of ghostly whispers followed, rustling like cloth, and suddenly the Chaplain was present in her mind.

Chaplain Thomas Hardy had been a feild medic and parson for the 95th light infantry in life. In death he found that he could get closer to the roots of the problems, sewing cells themselves together with thin strands of ghostly energy.

I don't know why I bother taking a break sometimes. his kindly voice sounded like the turning of ancient pages, crackling around the edges. Who is it this time, Charlotte?

Charlotte was already making her way through the crowd that had begun to gather around the prone man, and she slipped to the front and knelt.

"Sir, are you alright? Where does it hu-" But the Chaplain's job had been to rapidly assess the injured.

There... he urged, and Charlotte held her hands over the tender areas, willing Chaplain Hardy to go to work. In seconds, Cowman felt less pain and a soothing numbness where aches had been before.

I'm not sure about Muzzleflash, and I have since discontinued Gideon as he wasn't gelling for me as a character, but Elysienne definitely thinks she's just a normal girl trying to do her best in the situation.

Charlotte watched the Englishman lay out the drunken oaf with his axe, and decided that this wasn't the kind of company she was accustomed to, nor the type she would actively seek.

Better put on an accent, then. warned Ginge. If 'e twigs yer from the ole country y'won't be able to get shot've 'im.

Ginge was right, but damnit, the only accent she could think of now was cockney... Forcing herself to smile in a rictus grin and said in a worried Scottish brogue,

"Me? No story herra, big yan... Jest ca' awa' in oot the cauld fer a wee dram o' whiskey." Her eyes rolled madly to the bartending robot who had placed a whiskey next to her with inhuman efficiency. Trying to keep a manic note out of her voice, she raised the glass. "Herra's health ta ye..." She swallowed some of the whiskey, which stuck in her throat and burned with alcoholic content. She was proud that she didn't choke on it, and then put the drink down.

"If'n ye'll excuse me a wee bittie..." Charlotte mumbled, and made her way to the women's toilets to drink some water... and maybe find a back exit.

What the 'ell accent was THAT?

Charlotte was woefully underdressed. She'd been patrolling the streets as usual, trying to do what little good she could as the Elysienne, when the Company began to bother her.

A Fourties bar! Whispered Ginge into her mind. Me 'an the lads'd really appreciate it if yuh could jus' pop in fer a while... take us back, like.

It had taken some convincing, but when a regiment or two of old war heroes ask you to do something, you don't hesitate long. And now she was inside the elegant, smoky club with her face turning a shade of red as she stood in her patrol clothes.

The Company were enjoying the atmosphere, spreading out through the club leaving swirling grey trails that only Charlotte, and possibly heroes gifted with certain powers, could see. Ginge, however, lingered at her side rolling himself a spectral cigarette.

'Ey, they done this place up real nice... Opening day, I see.

Charlotte cursed under her breath. No wonder everyone was so dressed up. She ordered herself a drink and hovered near the bar, staring out along the booths and across the dance floor and looking at the swirling grey Company disperse and mingle, literally, with the crowd and each other.

Ginge had been trying to attract her attention, but now she was inside she could at least have a peaceful night.

"Not now, Ginge. We're off duty..."

Ginge shrugged, and stopped trying to bring Charlotte's attention to the woman who was sitting alone with someone else.

Right, first off... thank you three for your positive comments. It's good to know that this is being appreciated, even if just in a small way.

Secondly, I finally finished the second chapter and have got the general gist of the third chapter down, so hopefully it won't take as long to get the next one up. Either way, without further ado or procrastination I present;

Chapter 2: Descent into dreams.

Two bottles of whiskey later and Gideon sat in his living room. The alcoholic haze helped. Helped him forget the perfectly oval, bloodless knife wound between Chastity’s breasts. It helped him forget the terrified expression on her lifeless face. Helped him forget a pair of dead eyes that reflected a harsh strip light.
He remembered that he’d cried for a while. Vomiting up the depths of his pain with his eyes in a torrent of tears. He remembered that, even as he stared at his dead love, he couldn’t sob and his cries stuck beneath his throat or behind his teeth. Choking, too large for his throat to express… only bursting forth after a minute of this isn’t real.
When he finally voiced his sorrow, it took all the energy in his body and his legs fell from under him, every ounce of himself poured into that one utterance of sorrow, a primal howl. His first grieved cry had come from a position on his knees in front of the nightmare on the table, the second from the ground as he rested his head against the cool white tile of the floor. His eyes forced shut and tears running across his cheeks, seeking the quickest route to the floor. He shook and wailed until there were no more tears and all that was left were salt tracks across his cheeks. Officer Kent had helped him up gently and Gideon had leant his entire weight on the young officer, too spent to do anything but stumble as the policeman politely pulled him to a couch in a waiting room somewhere. Later on, the officer came and brought the broken man some coffee. Gideon had given a weak smile and a thank you, even though he detested the stuff, and set it on a table to cool.
Gideon shuddered at the memory of that final evening and curled into bed, falling asleep almost instantly – exhausted from his grief.

* * *

Two weeks later, they’d held the funeral. Chas’ parents had arranged the whole thing and it showed. It was nothing like what Chas would have liked. Her headstone had her full name on it, and the music was entirely too sombre and old. Gideon almost gave a smile as he thought of her little joke: the casket being lowered to “Another One Bites The Dust” by Queen. In silent tribute he’d sang it in his head as the casket had been lowered into the soil around the small town church. There was no wake either. Gideon thought back to the time they’d joked about their funerals.
“There’s got to be a wake, Cade!” She grinned as she sat cross-legged on their sofa. “When you go to a funeral there’s a lot of grief... what better way to get rid of it than an almighty drinking session?”
Gideon hadn’t known whether to cry or laugh out loud as the ceremony ended with the handful of dirt landing on the casket. The sobriety of the situation won him over.
After the ceremony Chas’ mother, Sandra, approached him. A dumpy little woman, he’d always kind of liked her. She had a sort of wet tolerance for anything and even seemed to get on with Gideon well. Well enough at least.
“Um,” She began. She always began with “um.” “Um, Gideon? I don’t mean, uh, mean to pry,” and here she gave a motherly smile which Gideon couldn’t help but love her for, “but I’d like to know… oh, my, this is awkward… when did you last hear from… from Chastity? As you know, she didn’t keep up much contact with me. The last thing I heard was that you and her had had a disagreement.” Her voice died here, she was uncertain about how to continue. Gideon saved her further discomfort by answering quickly.
“Well, Mrs Hall,” He began, never quite having been confident enough to use her first name despite the fact that she’d asked him to time and again, “The last time I talked to her, we did have an argument.” And here, he looked pained. The last thing she should have heard from him were the words he’d never quite been able to say, for fear or ridicule or rejection. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. “We’d been talking about racism or something…” He said, vaguely. Sandra Hall gave a knowing nod at this point.
“Um, her father, you never met him of course, was…” She hesitated, as if unwilling to speak ill of him even though he was out of her life, “was not a nice man. He was a fervent member of the BNP and was violent towards people who disagreed. Chastity didn’t share his beliefs… but she loved her father and didn’t want to disappoint him. I think it was probably a conditioned response to this kind of thing. He… he used to beat her if she said something wrong. Even if she said it just by rote. He said you had to believe in what you say…” She trailed off again, not certain, or not willing to continue.

* * *

Gideon had taken Chas’ wishes for an “almighty drinking session” to heart, and managed to spend the next few evenings in a drunken stupor, completely inconsolable. His friends had tried to stick by him, but he never seemed to give a smile. His best friend, Adam, had been with him every day of the week. He’d seen Gideon almost openly cry a few times if the conversation came to Chastity. Mainly they’d kept it light, but the pain of Chas’ death was still very fresh.
“I’ll get next week off as well,” Adam said kindly, “so you’ll have some company.”
“Thanks,” Gideon said with a weak smile to ease Adam’s worries, “But I’m not about to do anything stupid like slit my wrists. I’ll be ok. You get back to work. I know they’re hurting for help.”

Adam had given him a friendly nod and left, and that was when Gideon retreated to his room, where he opened the large, heavy book he’d found in a second-hand store. He’d been searching for something like this after one night before the funeral when something in his brain rebelled. He’d decided he wasn’t going to sit and take reality’s crap any longer. He’d heard of Paragon City, heard of the Circle of Thorns. He suspected that an English chapter of that organisation had sacrificed his beautiful Chastity in an infernal ritual. And when you were talking infernal rituals there’s only the source to consider. He’d already stolen Chastity’s preserved corpse, and now he was going to return her to his side. He picked up a stub of chalk and carefully copied a spiral pattern on the wooden floor around Chastity, checking the accuracy closely from the book. He stood back and looked at his handiwork. Chastity lay in the centre of a chalk spiral that radiated from behind her head. Now, all it required was to get their attention.

Gideon pulled a penknife from his pocket and pushed it into his underarm. There had been some ritualistic mumbo-jumbo to say, but Gideon had dispensed with it. Intent was enough, and Gideon’s intent was white-hot.

The blood struck Chastity’s right cheek.

A wind whipped up from nowhere, scattering loose papers and slamming the ancient book shut. The wind began to coalesce in the centre of the room above the body. The air darkened and thickened, gaining texture. The blackness shaded closer to a dark red, but it shimmered like snake skin; sometimes red, sometimes blue or green. And suddenly, without ever quite appearing, a large, grotesque form was squatting above the corpse of Gideon’s love. The creature… the demon, Gideon admitted, stood about eight feet tall, with six spindly spider legs supporting the scaly body. A ridge of bony protrusions could be seen emerging from the spinal column.

The misshapen being fixed him with one mad eye and it gave a sickly grin. The smell of smoke and burned flesh came off it in waves. The demon gurgled, and its long, obscene tongue lolled out, hanging above Chastity’s face.

“Well,” It gave a laugh that sounded like the death rattle of a man choking on his own blood. It made Gideon want to scour the skin from his body just to feel clean, but he was determined to save Chastity from sleep in the earth. “What have we here? A poor bereaved man…” Gideon cut the thing off mid-sentence.

“I want her to be brought back to life.” He stared defiantly at the demon, which gave a shrug.

“Fair does… But there’s got to be balance, you know.” It stared at Gideon with sly, beady eyes. “Tell you what, I’ll take you to see the boss-man. You two can… haggle over price. I think that’s the best thing to do. What do you say, bereaved man?”

Gideon hesitated. Part of him recognised the many sane reasons not to trust a demon, but that part of him had been repressed a while back by his desire to have Chastity back with him. He nodded once, decisively.

“Right you are, chief.” A bony arm lashed out and suddenly Gideon was pushed against the wall by a cruel hand. “Hold still. This is going to hurt like… Well, you know.” Gideon saw a sadistic grin that seemed to be mostly teeth, and then the demon raised a taloned hand.

Grinning maliciously, the demon pushed one finger into, or maybe through, Gideon’s right eye, past it and further into the socket. There was no pain, just an unpleasant tightness, like something that was too large trying to squeeze it’s way into a small space. Gideon grunted in discomfort. He was aware that if this creature actually had its finger in his head, he’d be dead by now. The demon had reached inside somewhere else, reaching for something far more private than just his physicality.

“Sorry, chief,” The demon said offhandedly, “That bit wasn’t the worst. Ah, here’s what we’re looking for!” It gave one final push, then hooked it’s finger inside whatever place it had pushed into. And then Gideon screamed.

The roleplaying comes as a respite from the "shoot and move on" attitude. It's much more entertaining in some people's minds to findout whatmakes other people's characters tick and interact with them. You seem to be missing the point of roleplaying. To play a character other than you, which would be the gamer that just shoots and moves on.

This probably won't be updated for a while as I've hit something of a stumbling block with chapter two, but here's what I have so far. Any constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1; A life changing event

Gideon was not always a hero. He had been thoroughly unnotable, in fact, until three months ago.

Around that time, he’d been pretty much carefree, with a job that he didn’t hate too much and good friends. They used to frequent bars, drink freely and laugh. Of course, at that point, he ended up meeting her. It didn’t happen often, but in an instant flash of leaf-green eyes he was hers. He played it cool, walking up behind her as she played pool with a friend of hers and took a shot. The yellow ball she’d aimed at was sunk expertly.
“Very nice,” He said, trying not to sound cheesy, “Do you play often?”
With a quick rearrangement of her short, dark hair she replied, “Not especially. Enough to discern an idiot pool fan from a hopeless admirer.”
This brought a slightly rattled grin to Gideon’s face.
“And which am I?” He asked, tentatively.
“A bit of both.” was the preoccupied reply. Gideon was ready to slink back to his friends with his tail between his legs when the green-eyed girl leaned up from her shot and gave him a wide, mischievous grin. “I’m Chastity.” She grimaced at her full name. “Do me a favour, call me Chas, ok?”

“This place is getting old.” She remarked later, her eyes a pair of emeralds in the smoky bar as she reached for a leather jacket that was also green but much darker, near to black. “Why don’t we go get some fresh air?”
They spent the rest of the night wandering, either into a bar for a quick drink or later, when the bars shut, along the promenade talking. It had been the one moment of Gideon’s life that he could remember in perfect, glorious clarity. She’d joked about her full name.
“Chastity Hall. I mean, it sounds like a nunnery!”
On a whim they’d walked two miles to the nearest beach, just to sit and talk to the sound of the waves. She’d mentioned that her parents were divorced and she lived with her mother, talked of her dreams: to become an archaeologist… or to own a second-hand bookshop, either one. He’d laughed, and told her of his studying English at university. They lay back and compared constellations.

* * *

In the time after they met Chas and Gideon had become much closer in leaps and bounds, finding common ground in the most unlikely places. Chastity always came across as a very outgoing girl, but there was something about her that put Gideon on edge. It wasn’t often, just when he said the wrong thing. Whatever the wrong thing was he could never fathom, but there was some sort of deep sadness to her that he couldn’t touch. Gideon was always careful to be as gentle as possible in those times, but it never seemed to do much good. She always ended up yelling at him, or even worse… storming out of the house with such a cold fury she didn’t say a word. It was those moments where all he could do would be to sit and wait for her call, which would always come the next morning.

It was after one of these times his life fell apart. Five months after the last of such incidents she had bawled him out in a voice charged with incredible vitriol over his mention of bigots, especially racists. The points she’d raised had been more emotionally based than rationally. This was to be expected in such a temper and she’d grabbed her green jacket and left, slamming the door enough to knock over a picture he’d had framed. It had been another one of the whims that they had embarked on that incredible, undying night. Both of them had hopped into a photo booth and had their pictures taken together. They’d split them so that they both got two. Gideon had always kept one in his wallet. The other he’d framed. And it was that other that fell to the carpet, the glass shattering and leaving a glittering constellation of fractured light on the floor. Gideon did as he always did when this happened. He put the kettle on and made a cup of tea, then sat on the couch next to the phone, waited, and eventually fell asleep alone.
The next day, he was not woken by a phone call at nine o’clock. Usually this was the practice. He checked the answering machine, but no one had called. He checked the time was right, which it was.
She must be running late. He joked to himself. However, in the pit of his stomach he was terrified that something had happened. Maybe she didn’t mean to come back this time…

* * *

A month later he received a phone call that was not the one he’d hoped for. In that month he’d been worried sick, jumping at the sound of the phone. Every time he answered he asked “Chas?” only to have the confused call centre member say “No, sorry sir, it’s Angus from British Telecom…” and for the caller to have the line go dead. His friends also had the same problem. Each time: “Nah, Gid, its Dave.” And then all animation would leave Gideon’s voice. Each time it was like talking to a man who was distracted or had lost all interest in anything and just talked in a flat, monotonous voice. He’d not been sleeping since Chastity had left… not well anyway… and the large black rings under his eyes were testament to this fact.
The phone call he received was no different. He picked the phone up on the second bell.
“Chas?” He asked, eager, desperate to hear her voice again. Again he was disappointed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cade, but it is not. I’m Officer Kent from the Metropolitan Police Department. I’m, uh…” At this point the voice hesitated. Officer Kent sounded quite young, new on the force maybe. Either way, he was inexperienced in this aspect of police work. “I’ve been asked to contact you because we need your help… identifying a body.”
The phone dropped from Gideon’s trembling hand. He felt sick inside. His legs buckled from underneath him and he landed heavily on the sofa. After a few minutes that lasted an eternity he managed to pick up the phone again.
“…ello? Hello! Mr Cade!” The voice of Officer Kent was very worried all of a sudden. Gideon responded in a voice charged with fear.
“Where do you want me to go?”

* * *

Gideon had walked into the room with the antiseptic white walls. There was almost nothing else in the room, just a table with a white sheet over it. Gideon approached the table. His footsteps made his brain ache as he came closer to what was under that sheet. His hands trembled, his lip shook and his heart hammered a staccato pulse that seemed to crack his sternum with each beat. He couldn’t breathe properly, the oxygen seemed to form bubbles in his brain that popped with a noise that screamed denial.

His shaking hand touched the sheet, grasped it. Even as he managed to feel the cheap cotton beneath his fingers, his knuckles whitening, Officer Kent spoke up.
“Sir, if you don’t want to do this then we can contact a member of her family… we can spare you this ordeal.” The thought cut through Gideon’s brain that this officer was feeling a deep sympathy for him, not just false concern. It almost made him forget his fear.
“Thank you, but no.” Came the shaky reply. He couldn’t just leave the possibility sitting beneath that clinical white sheet. He had to know if Chastity was… He had to prove this was wrong, some sort of mistake. He pulled the sheet back.

Hey, thanks. For the link and the friends list offer.

Ah, if I knew where the application forms were kept I'd join FSS as soon as I was allowed. Though, living a quarter ofthe globe away from the bulk of the game's players I'd imagine it hard to find RPers anyway. So far I've found 2... that I know of, anyway.

Well, made my first rookie mistake today. At least I managed to get interaction started before blowing it all. Sorry, Wild Rose, and a solemn promise to all that I shall get better!

Thanks for the reply. And, before I forget, thanks to ODeere for the PM too.

The OOC thing I'm familiar with from message board RPing, but it's good to have the convention confirmed. As to the rest, thanks a lot. The thought bubble point is just remembering to stay in character, so that's cool. Actions I had no idea about.

I have a few questions to ask. But first the formalities:

Hi all. I'm a new CoH purchaser. I've been interested since I heard about it and have finally gotten the funds together to by the game. Now, I must admit I lurked around the forums as a guest and I was really interested in the RP section.

I've been into RPGs for a while now, first with tabletop pencil and paper stuff and that branched out onto message board RPing. However, I've never Rped on a MMORPG before. In fact, City of Heroes is my first MMORPG. So, before I do anything dumb in game I just wanted to check if there's any particular courtesy or ettiquette to observe that I may not have picked up on from my other Roleplaying experiences. Any help will be gladly recieved.

Thanks!