Immortal113

The word "conceptual" eats Ultradude alive.

You truely are evil, Recluse.

<shakes fist>

You'll RUE THE DAY!!!

...RUE IT!!!

Wow, nice writing! Very familiar setting, as well. Good work, expect to be seeing more of it.

Immortal opens up a shop in Steel Canyon called "Tastey Molten Death Cheese."

All of his customers were revolted when they saw the cheese, but became very excited when they eyed the word "tastey" in his store's name, so they all ate it and died in horrible, unspeakable ways that will be shown in the post-release director's cut DVD.

Virtue's community isn't exactly thriving though. The other night I did manage to get a pick up group of nothing but RPers, though. That was fun. Then we ran into some girl level 28, RPed with her a bit, and then she said OOC, "Wow, I didn't know there was an existant RP community in CoH. You're the first group of guys I've ever bumped into who all RPed."

A little discouraging, considering her level. I think we should reinvigorate the RP community somehow...maybe start reintroducing people to the dance club (I haven't seen anybody in there in ages).

Immortal's exploding head fragments travel to the far ends of the earth, and a group of crusading anime characters travel to retrieve them and save humanity from impending doom. They fail, and all of humanity is eliminated.

I have to agree, I've always found it funny when I roleplay with people who, even though their characters don't call for it, will always say "greetings" rather than "hi" and "indeed" rather than "yeah, you're right". I mean, maybe they're just used to ever quest RPing or something, but unless I'm playing an ancient being or a knight from the dark ages or something, I usually try to talk relatively normally. I guess that's different than being serious, though. I always try to roleplay Danny Fyre as pretty light hearted and funny though, and usually people either play along or if they aren't RPers they appreciate the atmosphere it creates, so I guess just keep RPing the way you like and if another RPer puts you down for it out of character, then just respond the way your character would to prove your point.

Remember, though, maybe when other RPers are saying you're immature, they might be doing it in character. But regardless, definately don't stop being humorous if that's the way your character is. As long as you're role playing, we all need comic relief and really the funny characters are the only ones you can get away with RPing in a group of non-RPers.

(Sorry if the structure of that post was pretty lousy...it's late and I'm just sort of throwing thoughts out as I think em instead of linking them together like normal.)

I'd like to add my own praise to the flood of it you seem to be receiving. Good writing is a very welcome thing in this community, as you may have guessed. Pity the writers aren't as active as they used to be. You do a very good job of describing all the good things about this game, so much so that I believe you've revitalized my interest in it, and for that I thank you. This game has more friendly people, more grouping opportunities, and an all-around better social atmosphere than any other I've played, and YES I have played World of Warcraft. I just played it for a month, and believe it or not, it's not my City of Heroes account that I'll be cancelling.

You do a very good job of breathing life into what you write and making a compelling story out of something that most people wouldn't think of doing that with. I don't mind being the third or fourth to say that I don't add many threads to my favorites list, but this one's on there. Keep up the good work, I'll be reading.

<Jumps up and down>

I gotta check out these construction sites! Color me excited.

Esmond jumps off of the couch and pulls a 180 degree spin, knocking over a lamp he had no real use for in the process.
Pickman? After everything that's been happening, this must be important!
"Wait...wait...waitwaitwait..."
Esmond murmers aloud, dashing towards the phone. He hits the corner of his chair with his thigh, and grunts as he halts in front of the table and picks up the phone, now breathless.
"Wai...<huff>wait...wait a tic!"
Esmond stops, winces as he feels the bruise forming on his leg, and takes in a few large breaths before continuing.
"Pickman? Richard Pickman? From the book shop, right? I remember you! That bloody demon thing or whatever it was, nearly killed you! Geeze, last time I saw you, you were out colder than an ice cube in some hospital bed. How are ya?"
Esmond pauses and smacks his forehead.
Again with the rattling off...

Esmond lies down on the couch, not fully aware of what it is he is watching other than that it is some sort of reality show, and two women seem to be argueing over something or other. He reaches for the remote control when the telephone rings from across the room on the kitchen counter. Esmond sighs, and stares at the phone for a moment. As if to signify that he'd come to his conclusion, he hits the channel button on the remote and ignores the ringing. The answering machine is heard.

"Hello hello! You've reached Esmond's answering machine. I'm probably a few feet away, working on another one of my 'stupid little gizmos.' I'll get back to you as soon as I can, so just leave a message and hope I answer within the week."
Beep.

I'm in no mood for more annoying friends bugging me. I'll just screen the call.

((OOC: Hope it's alright that I jump back in...if something doesn't fit (like my post, maybe ) just lemme know.))

"Hello hello! You've reached Esmond's answering machine. I'm probably a few feet away, working on another one of my 'stupid little gizmos.' I'll get back to you as soon as I can, so just leave a message and hope I answer within the week."
Beep.
"Hey, Ezzy? It's Chris. I know you're there, man. Pick up the phone. Esmond? Pick up! Piiiiiick up! ...Alright, I see how it is. Listen, if you ever get done with your little science projects, come over for once! I'm beginning to forget what you look like, man. The whole 'superman' thing you've gotten into is valiant and all, but everybody needs a break. Or at least time to breath. Anyway, I have work. Call me, man."

Esmond sighs and puts down his glasses. He takes the index finger of his right hand and applies pressure to a small button on the end of the armored glove on his left hand and forearm. Something inside of the high-tech glove releases, and he removes his arm from the gadget, which proceeds to make a quiet whining sound as the lights on the wrist dim and finally go dark.

His long brown hair hangs tangled about his shoulders and a ways down his back, covering his sweat-covered gray t-shirt. A strong lamp lights the table before him, which is littered with various tools and pieces of something or other. He leans back in his chair, and stretches, letting out a groan that can only come from hours of staying in one uncomfortable position. The rain patters against the window incessantly, and for the first time he notices that it was raining at all.

Esmond pauses, looks over to the answering machine, and sighs again. He rolls his computer chair over to his desk a few feet away, and grabs a small piece of fabric. He proceeds to use it to put his hair back into the usual pony tail, and stands up. There is a moment of disorientation as his blood finally begins to flow more freely through his body after such a long period of time of using nothing more than his hands and arms.

He walks across the room, and looks around searchingly. He stops, and wonders what it is he's looking for. He looks back at the table, and gets a nagging feeling, as if there's something important he's forgetting. He quickly remembers that he always feels like that after trying to put distance inbetween himself and his work. Deciding to do something with himself now that he's detatched himself from his chair, he heads to the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.

He takes a few gulps, and then sits down on his small, rugged couch he bought at a garage sale.
I should be doing something with myself. But working on the gloves gets so bloody tedious...and somehow I don't think it would be safe for me or anyone around me to be fighting crime in the state of mind I'm in.
After a few more moments of indecision, Esmond finally gives in to his own laziness, and turns on the television, hoping that something showing will inspire him, or at the very least, hold his interest.

Hehehe, interesting strategy.

"Good Lord Almighty!"
Esmond jumps back in surprise at Pickman's reaction to the sunlight, which is far more violent than he expected. The inky blackness surrounding Richard's face literally reaches out for Esmond, and for a chilling moment that feels like an eternity, he feels it peer into his soul and nearly cling to it like a magnet. Esmond pulls away and nearly falls over; an involuntary shudder runs up his spine.

Just as Esmond regroups, the thing hurls itself at him. As it flies through the air, it screeches in a voice made of concentrated hatred and pure evil, and a million anguished souls.
"DAMN YOU!!"
As if held by a rubber band, though, the apparition can go no further, and begins to dematerialize as it flies backwards, knocking over it's previous host along the way. Richard Pickman hits the ground hard, but wastes no time in turning over and vomiting immediately. Just before falling down on face and slipping into unconsiousness, Pickman uses what remains of his strength to speak to everyone through a strangled, weak voice.
"I... That *******... Forgive me..."

There is a brief pause. Esmond raises an eyebrow, and looks back at the others.
"So, ah...is the bloke always like that? Or did I already miss a fundamental piece of another puzzle?"
Quit talking and help the bugger, you dolt!
Esmond sighs and walks over to the knocked out shop keep. He lifts him, careful to avoid looking at the mess on the sidewalk, and walks back into the store.
"Where shall I set him, then?"
Odd, he's light as a feather now...

Esmond Anthony strolls down the sidewalk, completely unaware of those around him. He is entirely absorbed with whatever he is holding in his hands, and doesn't even notice as he continually bumps into passers-by. He mutters to himself while he fiddles with the device, gaining awkward looks from those around him.
"Eh...no...don't do this to me...eh...just a little...."
Esmond begins to get frustrated, walking faster and concentrating harder. His finger-movement becomes more rapid, whatever he's doing to the device, he does it more.
"Wait....wait....no....this isn't right...oh, come on..."
His voice is getting more intense, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes narrowing. Some people stop and look at him as he passes by. He doesn't notice.
"No...no...GAH!!!!"
He yells in frustration, causing more than a few people around him to jump. He angrily shuts off the Game Boy, and stows it in his brown leather backpack. He stops, and looks around him.
Doc said the store was around here...just have to find---
"LIGHT! GET ME INTO THE DAYLIGHT BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"
Esmond nearly trips and falls off of the sidewalk as the loud, frantic voice erupts from the building just next to him. He straightens up and looks at the dimly lit store with severe distaste.
"Bloody lunatic..."
His eyes widen, though, as he reads the sign on the quaint little shop's door.
"Pickman's Occult Books."
That's the place!
Esmond doesn't even stop to think about how coincidental it is that he happened to be standing right in front of the place at that moment as he cautiously moves towards the window. The glass is hard to see through, but as Esmond gets closer he is able to see inside. He does a quick scan of the situation.
One...two...five people inside...one holding the other down for some reason...and somebody just yelled "Get me into daylight." Hmh. Here goes nothin...

Esmond runs inside, using one of his gloved hands to open the door and letting three razor sharp claws emerge from the other. The door swings shut behind him, and he quickly opens a compartment on the metallic glove that stretches up his fore-arm, pressing a few buttons in a sequance he's memorized. A small, barely visible protective field pops up around him, and he announces his already evident entrance.
"Hello all! Name's Esmond Anthony, but you can call me Esmond, Ezzy, Mr. Anthony, or possibly--"

Esmond stops short as he realises how dire the situation is. The man being held seems to have turned the tables, and seems to be hurting the one holding him. Esmond recognises the first man as Richard Pickman from the briefing Balt gave him. But there is a great difference in appearance from the picture Esmond saw before. A few blaring changes being levitation, a dark aura of evil, and a floating skull made of smoke masking his face. Esmond raises an eyebrow. Rather casually, he addresses everyone in the room.

"I'm supposing this is the bloke who screamed about needing daylight a few seconds ago?"
The looks he receives answers his question.
"Right then."
Esmond runs forward full-speed, knocking Pickman away from the other man. The new demonic version of the shopkeep stumbles backwards. Esmond takes his chance. He grabs him around the waist, and pulls him towards the door.
Lord Almighty, what's making him so bloody heavy?
With every ounce of his strength, Esmond forces Richard through the doors, out into the sunlight.

Virtue's the 2nd. And the 3rd.


I'm only saying that because I've never tried RPing on any other server. I assume you could do it on any server and get along fine.

Let's see...

Danny Fyre has two phases. When he's a teen-hero, he's definately just a kid with superpowers. He doesn't take everything quite seriously yet, and he isn't very good with his powers yet. When he's older, he's completely a super hero. Very light hearted, very sure of himself, over-confident and always looking for a way to get in the spotlight.

Immortal is sort of an anti-hero, but he's never been 'just a guy', because he doesn't remember how to be like that. I don't know if I'd put him on the other end of the spectrum either, though. He just does his job.

Black is somewhere in the middle. He's not just a guy, he's very caught up in the responsibility of being a hero, and always keeps saving lives his first priority. He doesn't necessarily advertise himself as a super hero, though...I suppose if someone asked him if he was a super hero, he'd say yes.

Figment is definately a super hero. That's what he was created for. He doesn't try to get widespread publicity, but instead lets rumors spread on the streets, in order to make his job a little easier. He's very no-nonsense, and is more of a 'lover than a fighter', being a healer, but he's still pretty dangerous with a sword.

<whew>
Done.

That's actually really cool. Nice, man. The bean bag ammo looks a bit too much like someone's been sitting on it though.

((Part 3--The End of the Beginning))

A faint white glow from the back of the room caught his attention. Esmond cautiously picked up the source, and immediately the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was a shining metallic glove that went all the way up to just below the elbow, and seemed to be containing some sort of extra machinery inside. Along the top of the hand, a set of white lights shone brightly, each one seeming to signify a different function or state of repair. Statesman quickly dug out the other piece in the set, but would not explain the gloves’ purposes, saying that he knew very little about many of the things in that room. Esmond accepted the explanation, and thanked The Statesman again and again. The great hero was more than happy to help the next generation of saviors of the human race, and after a little more chatting sent the young man on his way. Esmond soon found out that the gloves, when worn, did two very important things. One was the generation of a protective force field that reasonably improved Anthony’s resistance to almost any type of damage. Although it did not make him invincible, he felt that with research he could continually improve this feature. But it was the other function of the gloves that stood out the most. When placed on his hands, three small buttons could be felt at the tips of three of the fingers. When pressed, three sharp blades, probably a foot long each, snapped out of each hand. Esmond began studying ways of using this in combat, taking full advantage of the facilities the Phalanx had to offer, and the experience that the members possessed. He trained long and hard, honing his skills and learning to use his force field and claws fluently in combat, along with his martial arts. All in all, this process took about a year. Now it is 2004, and 20-year-old Esmond has completed his training. He finally feels prepared to enter a new realm of experience, and walk out onto the streets of Paragon as a savior, a beacon of light to the masses, rather than a simple pedestrian. What will become of him is a mystery, but all he cares about is fulfilling his dreams. No matter who or what gets in his way.

Additional Info:
Esmond Anthony is born of a man and woman both native to England, who moved to America after finishing college together. They are both quite cerebral, although the wife has always had an athletic flare. Esmond grew up being taught to avoid conflict rather than face it, and although he has certainly chosen a walk of life that makes that impossible, his methods are based around completing the task at hand while keeping all injuries at a minimum, whether it be enemy, civilian, or otherwise. He will gladly run from a fight rather than carry through with it if he knows it’s not necessary, and although he does kill foes when he has no choice, it’s not something he likes doing in excess. Esmond is a very confident person, even a tad arrogant at times, and has an abundance of stereotypical British sarcasm at his disposal. He tries to avoid such stereotypes, though, and can be quite modest when meeting new people or doing anything in front of an audience (aside from fighting.) Esmond is not the most intelligent person in the world, he’s certainly no rocket scientist, and he only barely managed through high school math. But it is science (more specifically, technology) that he excels in, making him able to crack most security systems, take full advantage of enemy technology, and improve upon his own. He was never extremely popular in school, but he wasn’t what one would consider a ‘dork’. Esmond was mostly unnoticed throughout school, only when friends discovered his unbelievable talents would he get a small taste of the limelight. Only very few times did this happen though. Most of the time Esmond was happily anonymous, keeping to a small group of friends all the way through high school. He has yet to begin college, but he plans to take time off in a few years to get a master’s degree. He has not decided on a major yet.

(/OOC: Well, I hope you all enjoyed this. I don't expect it to receive raving reviews, as I did the whole thing late at night in one sitting. I would like any constructive criticisms you might have, though. I can always use a few good tips. Catch you all later. )

((Part 2--Ends and Beginnings))

Esmond Anthony was far from ready to be out on the streets fighting crime, and Star Strider knew it. He also knew there was little hope of swaying his stubborn parents, who of course had only the best interests at heart. So after another year of training the boy in the procedures of being a hero, and the art of using technology to the fullest advantage, Star said farewell to Esmond, leaving him with an indefinite invitation to the Freedom Phalanx, and the advise to live out his dream, no matter who or what got in his way. Esmond took that to heart, and trained harder than ever, as his parents watched on helplessly. When he turned 18, he graduated from high school, and said to his parents the one thing they had hoped to never hear.
“Mom, Dad, I’m moving to the city and becoming a super hero.”
It devastated them, and they begged him to stay. Guilt took over, and he said that he would wait a year, and if anything popped up, he would give up his dreams of being a hero, at least for the time being. Well, something popped up, and it was something big.

On May 23rd, 2002, thousands of red lights appeared in the Paragon City skyline. They remained mysterious to the population for hours before anything else happened. But during that time period the news did focus on one event in particular, one that would forever change Esmond Anthony, and whether he knew it or not, the world. The news reporter, in a helicopter high above the city, narrated as the camera focused on a small group of heroes on a rooftop home to one of the larger portals. The heroes were none other than members of the Freedom Phalanx. The news caster went on to explain that one of the team’s oldest members was preparing to enter, and investigate, the strange gateway. Esmond’s heart skipped a beat, and he sat on the edge of his seat, quietly urging the reporter to name the hero. He eventually did, and Esmond was no longer sure he wanted to hear it. Star Strider, the man who told Esmond to hang onto his dreams no matter what happened, disappeared into the fiery portal and was never heard from again.

Esmond dropped into a sudden depression, to his parents’ bewilderment. Of course, they didn’t know of the importance of the missing super hero on TV. There was little time for mourning, though, as the world was suddenly hit and forever changed by a mysterious force from another dimension. At approximately 7:30 PM tens of thousands of soldiers from a race never before seen by 99.9% of the world emerged from the strange portals, attacking hard and fast. In the chaos that ensued, the foreign creatures crippled most of the Earth’s major cities in the first fifteen minutes. The Anthony family watched on in horror as their television screen turned to static, and the sounds of an epic war built up around them. People everywhere began packing their things and evacuating their homes in a panic. But it didn’t take long for Esmond’s family to realize that all their neighbors were committing suicide by even leaving their homes. The Anthony’s took to the basement of their home, the parents armed with an old hunting rifle and a kitchen knife. Fortunately, the battle never hit their neighborhood, although it came frighteningly close. For the next six months they scarcely left the house, only once in fact, and that was a mad dash by their father to get to the liquor store across the street and back. When the war finally subsided, thousands of the inhabitants of Paragon were dead, and according to the newly recovered news stations, most of the Earth’s valiant defenders, super-powered and otherwise, were gone. Only a handful of Paragon’s heroes, the famous Statesman included, survived, and almost all that had been built was destroyed, including all of the prominent super group headquarters.

Esmond Anthony’s parents were against the idea of his becoming a hero now more than ever before. But there was one major difference; they knew as well as anyone that their son was unique, and that his participation in the revitalization of the city could save countless lives. So, after another few months of training on his own, and preparing both mentally and emotionally, Esmond left his home with his family’s blessing, headed for Galaxy City with a tattered piece of paper baring an old mentor’s signature in hand. His arrival at the new, temporary headquarters of the Freedom Phalanx was received quite warmly, and Esmond was especially welcomed by the Statesman, who was one of Star Strider’s closest friends. He agreed to let Esmond into the group, but only for training. Anthony, confused and a little angry, asked why he could not join full time. The Statesman explained softly that the Phalanx was going through its hardest times, and he would not risk the death of even one more hero. Instead, he gave Esmond a keycard the secret training facilities of the Freedom Phalanx, and a sheet of phone numbers belonging to people willing to help up-and-coming heroes. Along with all that he gave the young man one other thing. Statesman lead Esmond into a back room of the run down office building the Phalanx was inhabiting, and showed him one of the most amazing collections of gadgets and gizmos he had ever seen. It was all that was left of Star Strider’s impressive array of inventions, salvaged from the ruins of the old Freedom Phalanx base. Statesman smiled warmly, and gave Esmond the choice of any one thing sitting in the room. After about half an hour of poking at different bits of technology, he finally found what he was looking for.

((Part One--Aspirations))

Esmond Anthony was always a little different, something his family realized ever since he was old enough to walk. Born in 1984, Esmond was very athletic, climbing out of his own crib, and even his playpen, on a regular basis. As he got older, he became very interested in martial arts, having seen the kung fu movies his father obsessively collected. He never wanted to be an astronaut or a fireman. Esmond Anthony wanted to be a super hero since he was five years old. And considering the city he lived in, that was a very serious aspiration. His parents had already raised one child to the age of 11 when he was born, and they were always afraid that their next child might be born with the ‘super gene’ that seemed to be found in more and more children as the years passed. So, after hearing their little boy’s life dream, they decided to take him to a doctor in downtown Paragon City and find out if he was a 'meta-human', with the less than honorable intentions of dashing their son’s hopes of becoming one of the city’s, the world’s, and perhaps the universe's elite.

The results were just as expected; Esmond was nothing more than a normal boy with the normal power of an over-active imagination. His parents never let him forget that day, either. In fact, they reminded him all through his childhood, saying things like,
“Did you hear about that accident in the news? Three heroes killed in an explosion! Just think, Esmond, if you had turned out to be a mutant you might have been out there too!”
But they forgot one important thing that Esmond remembered. The heroes in his father’s kung-fu movies weren’t mutants, or aliens, or wizards. They were normal people who had a burning desire to aspire to the ranks of legend; who had no radiation to change them, just their own strength of will. So, when Esmond turned eight he decided to take karate classes. His parents had no objections; after all, what harm could it do to let their boy learn a little self-defense?

Well, weeks of classes became months of training, and months of training became years of mastery. Before his parents’ eyes, he was transforming into walking, talking weapon. At least that’s the way they saw it. His trainers all told them that Esmond was progressing at an unbelievably accelerated rate, grasping new ideas and learning new skills with amazing speed and preciseness. He began to outgrow his classmates, constantly being switched over to higher level classes. Soon he was just 15, training with people sometimes twice his age, and he was always searching for a new challenge. He found it, too. A very famous super group known as the Freedom Phalanx was looking for new recruits to help fight the increasing crime percentage in Paragon. They had been monitoring him for months, and were frankly amazed that this young man with no super-human abilities was outfighting people ten years older than him, who had trained all their lives. They were so amazed, in fact, that they sent their own Star Strider, one of the older members of the group, to the Anthony house to personally request his presence at their training facilities in Galaxy City. Esmond was ecstatic, but his parents were flat out horrified. They thought they had heard the last of this seven years ago. They completely forbid Esmond from ever becoming a super hero while he ‘lived under their roof.’

Star Strider was surprised to say the least, but he didn’t consider anything final just yet. Two weeks later he reappeared at Esmond’s home, but his parents weren’t aware. With the permission of a delighted Esmond, Star snuck in through a window to talk. The legendary hero offered to take the boy in and train him personally. Not in the martial arts, though. In fact, Star Strider made Esmond promise to continue his studies in both the martial arts and in school if he were to join the ranks of the greatest heroes the city had ever known. Esmond eagerly agreed, and Star began visiting the boy weekly, giving him secret lessons in the delicate craft of saving the world every day. Being a bit of a technology whiz, Star would teach the boy how to use different gadgets, one by one, in dangerous situations. By the time Esmond was sixteen, he had extensive knowledge of technological science, and could operate almost any kind of modern weapon with at least basic familiarity. This knowledge, combined with his formidable and constantly growing fighting prowess made him one of the most dangerous teenagers the crime world would ever know.

(/OOC: This is just the beginning of the backstory; I should have more up tomorrow...erm...later today, I guess. Please don't post until I've finished. Once I have, though, I would very much like some feedback.)

Well, I'm no whiz, and I maybe I'm just repeating what's been said, but there's one thing I see all the time, even with professional writers, that drives me ABSOLUTELY NUTS. It's when they take this one word, a very descriptive or unique word like "shimmering" or "undeniable", and then they use it like six times within five or six pages. It's not a huge deal, but it completely removes me from the world I'm supposed to be immersed in when I see stuff like that. So, yeah, variety in vocabulary like others have said. And always make sure you've spelled everything right, use paragraphs, correct capitalization and punctuation and all that stuff. It sounds useless, and I used to think it was, but it makes everything infinately easier to read, and it will help the reader focus more on your content.

Also, something that I constantly struggle with is stopping myself from speeding everything up. Basically you get so worked up in writing the story, what comes next etcetera, that you forget to include detail and good dialogue, and perhaps extra information the reader could use. It can really ruin a story, something to keep in mind. Other than that, I dunno. I'm no professional, I know for a fact some of the other people who responded are far better at writing than I'll be for years. But hopefully that little tid-bit can come in handy.

Oh, and I think Valicade was being sarcastic. Hopefully. Remember, don't feed the trolls.

Ha, I like that, just might do it. And if that doesn't work, Gemini Park or the Atlas Statue are both quite populated with roleplayers of literally almost any security level.

Immortal kills the inhabitants of Paragon City with a new strand of the Black Plague.

"Did you say RIDDLES?!"
The riddler from the old 60's batman jumps into the thread. Immortal snaps his neck from behind. The words "SICKENING CRACK!" show up on the screen in colorful letters.