FunstuffofDoom

((Mm-kay. A day or two of inactivity to recharge them juices, a rather irritating cut underneath the left thumbnail to ensure discomfort, and I'm most certainly back and ready for action! Wootberries!))

In his favor, they hadn’t seen him. They hadn’t come close to detecting him. But, they hadn’t bothered to check, so it didn’t really matter. Instead, they’d sprinted the girl off to some interrogation room to figure out exactly how a powerless, unarmed girl had reduced a healthy, 6-foot-something-inches man with a list of charges longer than most peoples’ arms into a small pile of ash. Without anyone seeing her do it. They might put two and two together. They might figure follow the Sherlock Holmes adage, eliminate her as the man’s killer, and then look for nether residue in the ashes, which would finger him quite efficiently. But he doubted it. Humans loved their improbabilities too much. They loved logical fallacies they could label ‘truth’ more than mundane or explainable truths. Humans were stupid. Humans were exploitable. Which was why he completely doubted the presence ‘behind’ him was, in fact, human. It had expressly warned him not to harm the girl… as if that was his intention. That girl was Arachnos property, ashes to dust. And she had mystical weavings about her, which made her property of the Mistress, or property of Scirocco, who was, if not an ally, than a very reluctant enemy. Either way it was his duty to bring her back, after providing assistance with whatever her mission was. The presence at his back unleashed a bolt of fleeting power, spending itself in some way. Still, some of it lingered, and so he sent out his reply.

“Brother of the Shadows. I mean the girl-child no more harm than she visits upon herself. She is marked as property of my Mistress, I believe, and so is under my protection. But, I must understand her charge before I can execute mine. Thus am I compelled. Stand not in my way in this matter, or I will consume.”

((I really haven't got a clue what you're pulling, Devious, as I'm not familiar with your character list, but I should think that I've posted somethign ambiguous to satisfy most situations. If not, drop me a line, and I'll click on the edit button.))

((I wasn't going for unprepared guards- I was going for a sudden burst of power that was simply too much for the system to handle. Zigg has multiple layers of suppression, and what I'm attempting to illustrate is that a very powerful villain, not arch-villain level, but certainly high ranking in Arachnos' organization (or their own, it doesn't really matter.) stands a strong chance of escaping if they can destabalize one of the layers of suppression, because it takes more than one layer to keep them suppressed. Archvillains routinely break out of Zigg ingame, with a bit of elbow grease, why should a highly placed assassin have such a hard time, either?

I realize that my character is potentially Godmoding, and I do intend to reign him in a bit, but it does bare noting: Zigg is merely an inconvenience(sp?) to certain villains.

On a more relevant note: Creepy netherworldly folks hunting the shadows? Whoa-damn! Can't wait to see what you pull out. ))

((Brilliant plot twist, but I think preparation takes the cake in this circumstance. Glee for foresight.))

Guards streamed down the corridors. They were onto him. They knew he was in here, somehow. But they didn’t know where. Then the shields streamed down, jamming powers, freezing inmates in place, and generally making a nightmarish situation less nightmarish. O, but this would be interesting. They’d never had to deal with a being of his power, and they were completely unprepared for it. The shields were to lock down beings who already had powers inhibited. Besides being incredibly powerful, Fear had recently fed. He was near full power, and while the shields were dampening, he’d prepared. Fear had absorbed a small amount of energy from the girl’s cellmate as he’d flown past.

Now, a small drain like that wouldn’t do much for either party. In fact, it barely replenished the energy it took to create such a link. But, it did create a link, and all links lingered. Combined with nethergy, which absorbed all types of spiritual energy, including souls, extremely easily, and for a good five minutes you could drain dry anyone you established a link with, and the harder you pulled, the more energy you received. In the few moments he had before his powers were locked down enough to prevent him from accessing the link, Fear absorbed every shred of life the inmate possessed. All of it. When the process was over, there was a small pile of ash, and a mass of shadows whirling around Fear. He immediately put the energy to work, overloading the shield for just long enough for him to partly re-enter the netherworld. Shadows no longer whirled around him, but instead settled along his skin, and as he slinked into a dim corner, he faded from view entirely. Still he was there, and the sibilant hiss issued a new command.

“Ignore my presence when the guards search this room, or I will use you as fuel for my escape, and question the Mistress when I return. If I should escape detection, we will begin discussing your relationship to Arachnos, and why you bear their mark.”

((At this point, I've no idea how you plan on tying Penny to Arachnos, or where you're going to take this, but I'd definately dig the idea of Penny being a plant from Ghost Widow, or someone in her organization, as I'd then have a really good reason to stick around.))

Klaxons wailed.

They were onto him.

He acknowledged the fact, and then ignored it. Ziggursky was like a safe; from outside it was quite hard to break, but from the inside, problems disappeared. Powers were the inside of the safe.

Harlequin Fear slid around a corner, and past a pair of guards. They didn’t even notice his presence. They wouldn’t. He was almost completely in the netherworld, now. He was, for all intents and purposes, as immaterial as a shadow, and as hard to see. He glided straight through the security door they were guarding, and then stepped into the cell block he desired. Block C. The “normal” block, as it were. There were probably several warwolves and a vampyr hidden among the council troops, undetected, but they were on no concern. The girl was.

He slid through a wall, and into the deep shadows that built up in cell corners. He was tempted to stay and bask in these pure, unchanged portals to the netherworld. But, the chance to rejoin the Mistress was too important. So he continued down the wall. Past one cell, into the next. And the next, and so forth, until… there. The next cell was hers. He took a deep breath, and plunged through.

Just in time for a large body to fly backwards, straight at him. Still immaterial, the large man staggered straight through him, and into the wall behind. As he passed through, Fear reached out and absorbed a smidgeon of the man’s essence, to whet his appetite. He’d need it in a moment. Then, he steeled himself, and rematerialized.

The shock was astounding. It always was. Every sensation was such much more real, so vivid, so… human. He couldn’t withhold a shudder of disgust, but it was necessary. He must be concrete enough to completely interact with this girl. He pulled his attention back to her. She was standing there, staring at him. He reflected that most people would stare if a large, black shadow suddenly turned into a man, in front of them, while they were watching. Especially if that shadow was wearing a large, orange jump-suit, in a place where that kind of display shouldn’t have been possible. Ahh –wait, that’s right, he’d been in the netherworld. He was once more attired as he should be, long, pointed hood covering the mask, restricting yet accentuating his marking, the shadows he exuded. A long, ragged cape that seemed to blend in and out of reality, shaped of smoke. Underneath it was the black leather, with those grey straps. They might’ve been magical. Ghost Widow never said, but she’d fused it to his body somehow.

Yes, if something like that simply appeared from nowhere, in the middle of a prison, most would stare. And he stared right back. Absorbing ever detail of her. Memorizing, cataloguing, comparing, analyzing. Everything. But, their contest of will was cut short. A voice called out ‘Girl! I thought I’d hit you! You’re alright!’. Harlequin hissed out a soft command. “Answer him. Convince him to stop speaking to you, and then you will talk. I will listen.”

((Not at all. I just broke my character out. Your character has broken out, too. Feel free to do whatever you want with him, inside Jennifer8's rules.

"Oy! You do this?" A man called. Harlequin looked over. His voice, if something so grotesque and broken could truly be called a voice, hissed out from behind his mask. "This... this is just the beginning..." Shadows spun around him in a frenzy. Slowly, they collapsed in on themselves, and long before they disappeared, it was clear the man was gone.

((Glee! Fork-dom! Le plot twisting beings anew!))

They were coming for him. He could feel them outside his door. Confident. Weak. Useless. To humanity maybe, but Fear was decidedly not human. Two men entered his cell, and didn’t bother looking for him. He rarely moved from the far corner, curled up in a ball. It gave the illusion of darkness, possibly, somewhere. But then the guards would tire of their duty and blast some strobes around his room. The mirrored walls made strobes so disorienting and painful, it was easily a violation of any human law. But he wasn’t human. Their laws didn’t apply to him. They would pay, though. They would pay.

One of the two doctors began prepping a syringe. The drug they used. It was coming. He had to wait for the last moment, and eke every drop of power out of his body. Not enough would mean years of waiting. Or perhaps… an eternity of light, one like no other. That was just as bad a possibility.

The syringe was prepped. The man with the syringe hung back, in case he tried something. They didn’t realize that it wouldn’t matter. If he could absorb one of them, and not get stuck by that damnable needle, he was free. The second man, the one without a syringe, pulled a nightstick, and prodded him with it. Fear stirred, like a good little prisoner would. He slowly stood, and flexed his muscles. Took a step… one more… now! His back hand rose and grabbed the guards wrist. The guard started, a combination of revulsion at the scaly, clawed debauchery that was touching him, and fear that the prisoner was attacking. With a brutal and formless wrench, Fear grabbed the man’s energy, life force, his being. It flowed out like smoke, billowing, ethereal, and straight into Fear’s body. The guard dropped. No spiraling, no flailing, nothing. He simply stopped resisting gravity, and fell.

Power blazed through veins, vessels, rebuilding, reforming. The motes of darkness expelled from behind the Harlequin expanded into a stream of shadows compacted upon shadows. Tendrils curled around his torso, arms, and legs.

The one remaining man let loose a scream of terror and dove at him with the syringe. It never came within a foot of his body. Darkness enveloped the man and threw him backwards. The walls lining the cell blasted apart as the hapless man was propelled at excessive speeds through the air. A sudden deceleration shattered several bones, but he still remained conscious long enough to realize the shadows held him in midair. And they were… eating his skin. The man screamed. And screamed. And screamed, until not a soul wanted him alive, and still he screamed. Guards rallied. Inmates -those that were left in their cells- cheered for the death of a pig, or pleaded for release. But as the doctor was devoured, the shadows swept back into Harlequin Fear’s cell. The shadows surrounded him, and the essence of the man just eaten was passed into himself. His powers were returning. But now, now was not the time to show them. Now was the time to escape, to gather his strength. And then, these men would be his sustenance until he was filled. He would gorge himself on souls and power. And then, he would level this hated place. He would destroy everyone. No- not that one touched by Arachnos. The Mistress would want her. He would destroy this place, take her, and leave. And damn anyone who got in his way.

((Erm... I'm still alive, and quite interested in this post, but my elbow is imply not up to typing today, and so I won't be deliverng an update. But, I'm still alive!))

If you want some critiquing on that piece, the first thing I'd say is cut down on your use of prepositional phrases.
[ QUOTE ]
...if he hadn’t blocked it, there would have been a smoking hole where his blue spandexed heart would have been.

[/ QUOTE ]
... becomes a much more effective sentence if you simply say

'...if he hadn’t blocked it, there would have been a smoking hole in his chest.'

Phrases aren't necessary, and distract from what you're trying to say. Attempt to avoid them.

Secondly, 'suddenly' is a word best used in cases of extreme spontanaity. Generally, that kind of thing doesn't happen in a fight. So, you could cut that out of your writing as well.
[ QUOTE ]
All of a sudden a shudder wracked Mini Bot’s frame and the other robots paused in their firing or aiming to look at it.

[/ QUOTE ]
Drop the 'all of a sudden', and you simply have an action preformed. You've already explained your character moves fast enough that the robots can't track him; browbeating is wasted space.

Lastly, I'd recommend you avoid conflicting descriptions, or describing too much. Below, your sentence spends alot of time discussing the grip, but the adjectives don't agree.
[ QUOTE ]
Ever so slowly, Toy Dispenser nervously shifted his grip on his pulse rifle...

[/ QUOTE ]
Ever so slowly implies care. He's preformign the action with precision, mabye some subterfuge, but he's doing it very, very carefully. Nervously, on the other hand, is a shaky, twitchy, quick movement. It isn't careful, it isn't subtle, it's reflexive. Characters don't usually notice they've made a nervous movement, or don't bother to hide that they're doing it.

In closing, read, edit, and re-read work. Concise explanations improve clarity, and while that doesn't mean you should be sparse in your work, make sure you take time to find the correct wording, as opposed to large wording.

A note on that, Grey. CoX, as a game, involves Cartoon Laws of Reality, laws like Hammerspace, Distortion of Gravity and Its Effects on Falling People, etc. Many powers and attacks that appear in City of Heroes are far more fatal than they receive credit for, in game. For instance, Hellions with revolvers. One shot of that can be quite lethal, but all heroes shrug that kind of thing of, nothing done. In writing action scenes, it behooves you to assume things are more lethal. A large bolt of fire will take a mob out of the fight, or might not, depending on how hot the fire is, and what kind of mob you threw it at. As a closing note, I prefer inventing powers and attacks that fit with the overall pool theme, not using the powers from the pools themselves. Because, every hero is different. My katana scrapper will have a slightly personalized Divine Avalanche. Let that reflect itself in your characters actions.

Averick is right on in that action scenes require many different styles depending both on what you want the reader to feel, and what you want your character to express. The big thing for me, is always assume the audience has no past history with what you're doing. That means, if your character has a martial artist background, he does not bust out Ki Bon Su # 10 (Bonus points to ayone who can tell me what style that's from!). Rather, your character could make a show of channeling some Ki (Or Chi, as you will.), and then swing his arm around, bringing the offender into a joint lock. The main thing is, explain your actions concisely, because things will naturally get lost in translation between your mental image of what's happening, and what you're writing.
To that effect, it's fairly important to know what you're going to do ahead of time, but it would appear you know that already.

So, to sum it up, concise, explicit language, a focus on cause and effect, and explanations for how your character does whatever s/he does in layman's terms. After that, it's all pretty easy.

Haranguer- Ice/Ice Blaster gets 'Cold (But I'm Still Here)' of Evans Blue fame.

Harlequin Fear- Dark/Dark Stalker gets 'One-Winged Angel', Advent Children Remix.

Incendiary Wit- Fire/Fire Blaster gets 'Echoes' by Yuki Kajiura, as played in .Hack

Risen Unmourned- Katana/Dark Scrapper gets 'Broken Wings' or 'Shed My Skin', both by Alter Bridge

Right (And write!) on! Gimme dat popcorn, and take a pamphlet, yo!

Dude. You and your sick, twisted, deranged mind rock my world almost to the extent Diov's does. Seriously, that's a whole new level of Really-[Invective HERE]-Screwed-Up. In other news, perhaps your character is

C.) None of the above,

and is simply the bored wife of a wealthy, frequently traveling politician. Statesman's Bride is not, in fact, in any way related to Statesman, but is commenting on her martial status with a lawmaker. Because of this, she could be a natural or tech something, having access to funding from her husband, or perhaps a mutant, and simply hasn't publicly revelealed herself.

Well, Statesman did, at one time, have a wife, who was, rather conveniently, Lord Recluse's sister. She did have powers, but I can't, for the life of me, recall what they were. Probably similar to Ms. Liberty's. As for your power choice, I'd go with an electricity blaster, and flush out the whole 'Power of Zeus' thing. Or, maybe, do an illusion controller, and play an Avatar of Hera, Zeus' wife. It's really up to you.

The prisoners were placed into a temporary cell used for holding large groups as they were processed. Harlequin looked down upon them, and couldn't restrain a slight grin. This was the first time any of them would have encountered 'Grey'. Heh. It sould be a doozy. He stared out at the faces of the new inmates, and imagined their feelings. That one, he was scared [censored]. The girl, she was confused, intrigued, contemplating. And those men? Defensive, angry, righteous. He could tell. He could- tell? But... the guards had injected him, powers didn't work... had he built an immunity? It didn't matter. He had access to his powers, again. Admittedly, it was weak, as the drug wasn't out of his system, but next time they came to inject him, he would be strong enough. He would break them. He would be free.

((Yeah, I'm curious. I'll bite.))

A white mask covered and otherwise featureless head. Skin was like shadows from a 30’s flick, blacker than things around it, but not really a color. The mask, though covered the front half of the head, with but three holes. Two eyes, and a slot where a nose would have been, had there been a nose. Instead, it was a piece of black cloth covering nothingness. Same story for the eyes, the simply didn’t exist. Overall, the head might have rated a three on the Costume-o-meter. But for the markings. Red spirals, some crimson, some magenta, some mahogany, most sanguine. The spirals were simple, but elegant, beginning slightly behind where the right eye-slit terminated, and sweeping underneath it, down along the cheek, and finally up to the top of the jaw, and following it down to the chin. The markings made the mask appear something more. Something magical. And the distracted viewers from looking to closely at the eye- and nose-slits, where trace amounts of darkness slowly drifted out, and then swiftly dissipated, under assault by the light.

The mask was part of the head. The head was part of the body, and a baggy orange jumpsuit couldn’t hide the amount of power this body was used to containing. Slender, but tightly muscled arms of the same, inky-toneless skin shaped delicate, firm hands, demonized by rigid claws where fingers should have been. The jumpsuit legs hid well, but couldn’t fully conceal, wrapped, dull black boots. The shape of buckles could barely be distinguished at the upper ankle and the lower calf.

Of course, none of this would have been visible of the man was where he wanted to be, in the Darkness, living with the shadows once more, feeding on the mortals as he so pleased, and, occasionally, assisting the dear Widow, the dark, deliciously evil wraith who fed on life as much as he did. But he couldn’t. He had been captured, somehow. Manticore had shot him with some arrow that emitted light, and then it was the work of a moment for Statesman to knock him out. He’d awoken in this chamber, lights reflecting from every direction, no shadows to hide in, no shadows to create. And, they’d injected him with some drug; he couldn’t feel the life around him any more. It was terrifying. It was horrible. Worst of all, though, was the window. He could see out, and watch the happenings of the world around him, see all the shadows, but not touch them.

And so, he did as the window suggested. He watched. Pining for the shadows, dreaming of the vengeance he was going to wreak on the puny mortals surrounding him. Watching the new-comers, feeling their fear, or perhaps simply imagining it. And then, he saw her. She was new, wearing some sort of armor, or other, she looked entirely out of place. But she wasn’t. He could see it on her, without any power left, he could see it on her. Arachnos had touched her. Things were happening now.

For the first time since he had been captured, and despite not having a mouth,
Harlequin Fear smiled. And then, he threw back his head, and he laughed.

Maniacal, evil laughter sloughed from his body, and into the air like a toxin, and stayed there until long after the guards had beaten its progenitor into unconsciousness.

Things were happening.

((Eh? I'm still at 46. Curiosity, though. Are we gonna tkae this guy on his offer or no? 'Cause while I really don't think the Fiend would like that, Crey has a nasty habit of doing similar things, and you can't do much about that. Still, I'd like a head's up before hand, so I can prepare myself, and all that.))

((Yeah, uh, Grey? I only just put together 'derrick' and 'oil-rig-thingy-that-totally-doesn't-move-or-get-called-a-boat. Shut up . In other news, the moral dilema compounds!))

Gabe was floored. Thrice all damages done to the derrick. Generous, but it would mean Poe going free, to potentially do whatever the heck he wanted. No. That wouldn't do. Gabe couldn't accept a bribe. He spoke up. "I, er... don't really feel the need to speak for everyone present, but I happen to have a card in my wallet detailing how I swore to Uphold Justice, Fight The Good Fight, and Be A Nice Person To Stupid People. I can't take a bribe like this, and I really don't see a need to, as the government will spring for most of the repairs anyways. Villains did cause the damage. No, I think we'll be taking Poe back with us, where we can stick him in a nice power-proof cell, and he can think about how he was such a bad person. And, I think you should leave now. Some folks here have had a devil of a time beating up your very likeness. I, myself, haven't had the pleasure, but -Would'ja look at that!- we're outside, and large shards of falling ice are hazardous to anyone's health. Even a programs."

Poe.
The man was Poe. This man was the reason every person on this boat was, or had previously, not been enjoying themselves during a time when they otherwise should be. This man had sent a Kronos-Class Titan against an unarmed helicopted, almost killed everyone on board this boat several times over, as well as absorbed Gabe's and Fel's souls, or some such mystical rot. And while Gabe wasn't sure he had a soul, most magical authorities assured him he had an equivalent, and he didn't want to lose it. This man, Poe, was simply too dangerous. Put him in hte security cell, and he would escape. No, Gabe had a better idea.

"A moment, 'Breaker. That man can bend technology to his will. When he recovers enough, he'll simply do this all over. And in your security cell, he'll simply have time to break out. Let's take him up on deck. Fel and I can drop him into a near-permanent stasis. He won't go anywhere."

Name: Kip Xela
Occupation: Author
Current Age: Approx. 25
Legal Status: No current infractions
Alias: The Frost Fiend
Hero Status: Active, Publicly Revealed
Place of Birth: San Fransico, CA
Marital Status: Single
Known Relatives: N/A
Group Affliation: The forrgotten Heroes
Base of Operations: Steel Canyon Apartemtn, Frost Hall
First Appearence: City of Heroes, issue 1
Most Famouys Accomplishments: Currently, The Frost Fiend has single-handedly put down a massive gang war, certralizing in Perez Park, and stopped the Clockworks and Vahzilok from poisoning the water supply of Kings row, and either taking it over, or turning everyone into Vahzilok.

Height: 6 ft. 1 in.
Eyes: Unknown due to a Blue fire covering them. Assumed to be blue.
Weight: 190
Hair: N/A

Kip Xela discovered he was a mutant at young age. Possessing similar powers to one of his favorite X-Men, Kip could manipulate and create ice. When his skin turned blue, however, it became obvious to everyone he was a mutant. Kip born the verbal brunt of many a blow from most of his classmates. Though he managed to shrug most off, Kip was emotionally scarred, and to this day is rather pessimistic. When the Rikti war devestated Paragon City, Kip was in his mid-teens. By the time the invasion was repelled, he was on his way to Paragon City, where he shed his name and became... The Frost Fiend! Fear the Pessimism!!!

/ooc I'm still here, I'm simply waiting for someone else to amke a plot twist that effects me, Like, say, Davis finding and freeing me, or something, but until then, I'm just an observer. We are doing good, though, people.

"We have our sources." THe woman responded to him. "And sa you can see, we've had our eye on you for quite some time." Frost Fiend looked down, as if in defeat. Actually, he was using it as a cover to look at the restraints holding him in place. They were imple steel, no glow what so ever. He grinned. The air thickened, and hardened around the restraints. ice wworked it's way into the molecular structure, and the steel turned brittle. With a lunge, the Frost Fiend broke completely free of his prison. A quick punch knocked the woman down, but gaurds were already apon him.one pushed him to the floor, and the other inserted a syringe into his arm. The world swirled, and black was eternal.
The woman stood up. "Take him back to his cell, and refuse to feed either of them until otherwise instructed." The guards nodded, but as they moved off, no one noticed the Woman's scappel was missing.

/ooc wow. A person tunrs his back and a thread multiplies like rabbits. No complaints, of course.
IC
The Frost Fiend stared defiantly at the woman pacing back and forth. He spoke. "So, you want Heroes. You want to make super-soldiers. Why me?" He asked with a hateladen voice. "I'm no better than any other hero,I just work with ice-" "No." Came the cold reply. "You are different. You are one of the most powerful Heroes in the area, however, you aren't well known. No one will miss you." The Fiend smirked. Time to find out just how much they knew. "You seem pretty sure of your selves. How do you know my roommate hasn't called the cops, who will have called Heroes?" "Hmmph." Came the perfectly articulated reply. "You have no roommate, in fact, you live alone, in a small apartment on the south end of Atlas Park, where you, as Kip Xela, are an author of several semi-successfull books. You make no real contacts, and you have enough money to retire, and slip out of memory." The Frost Fiend felt the one thiong he never thought he would ever feel. His stomack was cold, frozen solid, even. "H-how do you know all that?" He sputtered?

THe Frost Fiend, now on a roll of 2/1 ratio of kills to deaths, decides to up it to a 3/1 ratio. Or, better yet, an everyone else in the post/1 ratio. He sneaks quitly up to the YKMIKY Sentry Turret (tm) and hacks into it's database. He selects everyone in the thread, except him, as targets, and watches as the turret annhiliates everyone.