Mechagogue

"Thanks, Mister," the boy said, calming down a little. For some reason the presence of others made him more at ease than the voice of Stelleshand in his head. Not that he didn't cherish his companion and value it's insights, just there was something reassuring about not being the only body around.

In a display of trust only a panicked teenager is capable of, Xander hastily told Reginald everything he had seen in the Ceremony Hall.

Jon narrowed his eyes at the broken door. He was sure he just saw something.... weird.... in the swirling dust left behind by Guapo's entrance. He turned to a young officer.

"Call for backup, SWAT if they can spare 'em," he ordered as he holstered his weapon. He reached into his cruiser and pulled his trenchcoat out of the passenger seat. It clanked and rattled, and the younger cop caught a glint of something metallic as he pulled it on.

Jon then went the to trunk of the cruiser, readying the shotgun it contained, and slinging a bandolier of shells across his chest. He pumped the slide, loading the weapon, and headed into the building.

"PPD! FREEZE! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!," he yelled in his best loud cop voice.

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

Xander practically teleported directly into Reginald in his hurry to get out of Oranbega. It shocked him so much that the young Warshade dropped his cloak of shadow.

He was about 5'-5" tall and rather thin. He had a deep purple buckled leather shirt on over tight black jeans. Long brown hair fell into the corners of his eyes behind his glasses. The boy didn't seem to be much older than 16.

"Oh [censored]," he said in shock, "You're not one of them! We got to get outta here! Come on, we need to tell someone!"

It seems to me that we all have a lot of characters running around all sorts of different threads, and if you're like me then you put a lot of thought into them; Much of which never sees the light of the forum.

Well, instead of lamenting the lack an appropriate venue to share your creative thoughts and processes, I thought maybe we could make a discussion about it.

For instance;

When I make a new character it almost never turns out right the first time. It goes through layers of backstory development and power exploration that often means I re-make it from the ground up half a dozen times or more. Sometimes playing in game til the mid teens, then deleting and starting over to get the right feel -- even going so far as to change ATs completely.

For instance, Helper, the Kinetics/Electricity Defender I play in several RPs actually started off as an Energy/Electricity Blaster.

Maybe it's not the most interesting thing in the world, but please feel free to add your own tidbits and trivia ^_^

There were more than enough shadows in Oranbega.

Xander Starfall sat quietly in one, cloaked in darkness, watching the Circle ritual. He'd seen them use this trap a couple of times before, and it always kept him up nights. He wished, more than anything, that he could help the poor dupe.

It was the hardest part of the intelligence game.

Ever since the Circle of Thorns had performed experiments on the Warshades of Paragon, trying to find a better way to posess a victim, the 'shades had been keeping a close on on the mages. Today it had been Xander's turn to do the stake-out.

Rumors were flying in the tiny Warshade community that something was up, but this defied even the most cynical of expectations.

[ QUOTE ]
"Behold!" the Archmage announced, "I, Baron Zoria, shall on this day break down the walls of worlds! We shall call upon the other side, and the days of glorious Oranbega shall return!"

"Imuras...modeas...caranum...sahkbauum...

The gathered didn't even seemed to notice anymore, mecghis streaming all about the Great Hall. Torches and candles flickered, their flames disturbed by the malevolent radiance of power.

"With this tool," Zoria produced a spirit thorn from his robes, handing it to 'Pariah', "we release your dormant power! Take and behold, for you shall achieve beyond your wildest dreams!"

It was a trap, of course - a trap the Circle of Thorns had been using for millenia.

'Pariah' simply nodded, taking the thorn.

"To you: thanks." he stated coldly and promptly thrust the thorn into Zoria's own black heart!

"Deceiver!" the Baron wailed in agony as he stumbled back, clutching the vile thing sucking out his soul, trying to remove it with every ounce of power in him...

"Destroy him! Destroy him now!" he called to the gathered.

But neither action was to any avail. The thorn was embedded firmly, and the gathered too entranced to notice anything anymore.

"Sharlatan..." the once mighty archvillain lamented, going to his knees as his body withered away, the maintaining magics breaking down, "You never intended to aid us! The opening of the gates was all a farce!"

Something clicked within the ragged robes of 'Pariah'.

"Negative..."

[/ QUOTE ]
Xander gasped audibly. This turn of events was... who knows what the heck it was, but he needed to get out of there and fast! People were going to need to know!

Fortunately, there were more than enough shadows in Oranbega.

The Warshade followed a string of shadow, hopping erratically from one to another as he ran.

Stay calm, you know the way. You've done this before, Stelleshand tryed to soothe it's host....

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

A large metallic figured clanked through the emergency doors of the hospital. It was six feet tall and sheeted in tarnished bronze. It's oddly proportioned body was covered with fans and vents, and his head had a calming configuration of purple LEDs simulating a face.

It's name was Helper.

Though the robot had no proper healing abilities, DATA had dispatched him to the hospital for his ability to speed and enhance the performance of the actual healers. If he could manage to increase their efficiency even just a little, it might just be able to save the lives of a few of Paragon's Heroes.

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

Detective Jon MacMaetor waited outside the Hellion base, 9 mm pistol at the ready. He shifted the weight of his kevlar vest. Some of the younger cops seemed able to live in those things, but he could never quite get used to them.

He'd been on the force for twenty five of his fourty nine years. At first they tried to promote him to Lieutenant, but he had wanted none of it. Refused to take the test. He wanted to stay a detective. Jon felt he could do the most good in that capacity.

Then the PPD tried to retire him. He threatened to turn vigilante if they did. Even people without powers can believe in justice, he'd said.

So, he remained, near fifty and on the street. The grey hair at his temples shifted slightly in the breeze, tickling him just a bit. He decided it was time for a haircut.

Tommorow.

Today these Hellions had to be brought in.

[ QUOTE ]
Sometimes it takes an idiot to catch an idiot.
With a loud *CRASH* the glorious, magnificent El Guapo Grande, champion of goats and pigs everywhere, smashed into the Hellion's base.
He used the front door this time...though there wasn't anything left of it now.

[/ QUOTE ]
"Heroes," Detective MacMaetor sighed. Some of them had no common sense at all.

[ QUOTE ]
As Essex looked into the blank frame, images seemed to swim before her eyes. . . Night. . . the painting appeared to show the roof of a building, and there was a large helicopter to one side. . . and on the other side, a figure floating in the air, with darkness swirling around it, and clockwork wings spreading from its back . . .

[/ QUOTE ]

My favorite reference to FF from another thread.

Helper pops up with one finger pointed upwards in an explanatory fashion:

"Ahh; Angst (n) : an acute but unspecific feeling of anxiety; usually reserved for philosophical anxiety about the world or about personal freedom."

He quirks his head to one side.

"It seems odd that people are using there leisure time to feel badly."

Yes. Brukner was the Longbow liason from that same mission I believe

An interesting theory, with one major drawback... as a government insitution Longbow is compelled to contract the lowest bidder.. result: cardboard tablecloth factory churning out plastic padded cloths. The fibers of those things itch like crazy...

Poor Essex

*drops a magic tablecloth over by Essex' favorite corner*

Well, I think most of the grammar "flaws" would be fine if the format was more fluid... Which, by the way, in Part 2 there was a huge improvement in formatting. =)

Sui, you have a wonderful "stream of consciousness" style of writing which really compliments the way you tend to write in the first person, for instance "I" or "Me." When I read your writing I feel like someone is telling me the story, which, in my opinion, is pretty cool.

Just keep practising with format and some punctuation and you'll be top notch in no time.

[ QUOTE ]
Rule Number Four is to watch out for each other. Sir Archlich and I can't be everywhere at once, so we're counting on you all to be our helpers, okay?"

The last sentence was said with a little smile at the tiny robot, Helper

[/ QUOTE ]

((Helper would so be the hall monitor!))

((Holy 72 new posts!! Talk about your break-out hits, good job everyone.))

Little Kreigg's bouldery body rolled by, he was giggling to himself

"Of course, dear," Professor Hermes said absently as he slipped on his reading glasses. He scanned down the forms as he tucked a hand into his jacket, searching out his pen.

"Name of the Child. Age of the Child," he murmured to himself. "Contact Information -- Daytime Telephone Number."

He turned to Ultraviolet, seemingly unconcerned that he was bending the ear of a Malta Titan, and unaware of the scene with the rambunctious child and Archlich. "You know, I knew Alexander Bell. The man was a fraud and an inveterate liar. He never invented anything! Why, did you know that there was a completely different man who invented the telephone? Yes, it's true. Unvelievable, I know. But I tell you that Grahm -- we all called him Grahm because there were two different men called Alex at our social club, the other being Alexei Kupyeiovitch or some such nonsense I could never pronounce. We called that one "Cooper," and the other one Grahm, you see.

"Well, Grahm got into a scuffle with another man who -actually- invented the telephone and stole the design and rushed over to the patent office. The other man, whose name escapes me at the moment, well he thought he forgot the schemata and rushed back to his home to procure another copy he had, but by the time he got back to the patent office, well, he discovered that Grahm had "invented" the same thing only a few hours eariler. Shameful really."

The old man went back to his paperwork as if nothing had been said.

Meanwhile, with the rest of the tykes...

"Aww." the were-human scowled. Folding her arms, she peered at the two of them, her oversized canines apparent.

"Ah'm Rosie." she said with a slight southern drawl. "Ah run this joint, see? That's Miss Essex."

"Esick..." the little rock boy tried to repeat as he attempted to stand. his legs were very short and his body was very round, but if he was careful he could actually stand and walk around a bit. Mostly he just rolled himself place to place.

"I'm Kreigg!" he said, thumping on his little chest.

An elder gentleman dressed in his best, if somewhat threadbare, twill suit shuffled up to the door of the Bright Star Academy. He had a somewhat stooped posture, his back bent by the weight of his years. With him was a tiny robot, following along behind him like a faithful puppy. He knocked politely on the door.

At that moment the sky flared with light and smoke, and the distinct sound of screeching brakes. When the smoke cleared a spaceship was hovering about ten meters off the ground. A woman who appeared half insect and half human, clad in cut-off shorts and a tank top, jumped from the cockpit to the ground, muscling in front of the kindly old man.

"One side, gramps," she growled, mashing the doorbell furiously. She had a large rock tucked under one arm.

The door came open and the insect woman pushed her way inside past Essex and a Malta Titan who was filling out paperwork.

"This is a nursery, right?" she asserted, "Here's a smeggin baby." She tossed the rock at Essex.

"Ain't a baby!" the little boulder protested, flailing tiny arms and legs helplessly as it sailed through the air.

"Shaddap!" the insect woman ordered, "Yer a baby till I say you ain't!"

She turned around and practically dashed out of the entry way. She leapt up to her spaceship, which sqealed away in a spectacular display of lights and sound.

"Oh my," the elder gentleman remarked.

"Oh my," the tiny robot mimiced.

"Please, come inside," Essex invited. "I'm very sorry about that."

"Not at all, my dear," he said as he entered, politely removing his hat. The little robot followed half a step behind him. "My name is Julius Hermes, and this little one is my Helper," he introduced the little robot with a good-natured pat on the head. "Well, he's not much of a helper yet, but he will be someday. You see, the idea came to me back in aught five when I was working on a way to use hydro-power -- that's the strength of water, by the way. Hydo-power. -- Well, I was working on a way to use the hydro-power to...."

The old man droned on for what seemed like hours, his mind wandering as he did, but he just kept on talking.

"....and that's when it occured to me that the answer I was looking for was no further away than the average domestic goat. Unfortunately, these days most people don't keep goats anymore, what with urbanization being what it is. That's when the Artie and Sinclair and Rosen -- I told you about them earlier if you recall -- They told me that the little robot was getting in the way in the lab, being so small and all he just couldn't help from getting under-foot. So I agreed to send him to a nursery until I could build a bigger body for him. I don't think he'd be very much bother, he mostly just reads whatever he can get his tiny little hands on."

[ QUOTE ]
No idea. After all, I had such a plushie already, and had no reason to buy one.

[/ QUOTE ]

Ahh, touchee.

[ QUOTE ]
*Experiment 2.0 walks into the commercial*

"Do you wish you could see Essex whenever? (You stalker!) Do you just wanna hold her? (PEDOPHILE!)

"Purchase the Essex plushie today!"

*Is rushed by twenty people at once.*

*Hits a switch to blow up everyone who purchased a plushie.*

Okay, Ess, I got rid of the freaks for you. You can come out now.

[/ QUOTE ]

Why do I suddenly feel bad for Hal? 0=)

*in the voice of an old time commercial announcer*


That's right folks, join the Essex Fanclub! Act now and we'll throw in this Essex-brand Tablecloth (tm),

Essex-brand Tablecloths (tm); For when you absolutely need to hide in the corner undetected!

Essex-brand Tablecoths (tm)!

T_T No Fair!

*passes the bottle*

[ QUOTE ]
So far of the new group. only Mech's sided with him and hasn't betrayed him

[/ QUOTE ]

Give it time.

[ QUOTE ]
Hey, I know! Let's start an Essex fan club! She'll DIE of embarassment. . . which is great, because she's always complaining that no one wants to kill her in fight threads! Maybe we can get Helper to join!

[/ QUOTE ]
LMAO, sign me up! ^_^

[ QUOTE ]
I just prefer characters which have 'realistic' limits within the constraints of the game world. I like to know that the fight can end rather than dreading an encounter with someone who is going to constantly pull a solution to everything out of his back pocket and drag a fight out forever.


[/ QUOTE ]
I totally agree with that, Lazarus. I'm not naming names (I'm still the new guy so I don't want to risk my fragile acceptance =p ) but I think that some people's posts would benefit greatly if they took this advice to heart.

[ QUOTE ]
Starts chanting.

"One of us... One of us... "

[/ QUOTE ]

Well, and that's from Burning! I'm going to consider that an invitation to FF. *grins evily*

[ QUOTE ]
So, we have one opinion on Blightlord, any others?


[/ QUOTE ]

I haven't seen enough of him to judge, but I'll keep an eye out if you like.

((Hey, it's my 100th post! My feet are offically wet. lol))

Kreigg tromped miserably down the street. He barely gave any mind to the rampant street violence typical to so many of the galaxies seedier neighborhoods. Striga Isle was no exception. His claws slipped less and less on the blacktop as he grew accustoumed to the odd texture of it. He turned corners at random, not keeping track of where he was going or how long he had walked. The cold wasn't too bad once Kreigg got used to it, so there was no need to worry about getting inside in a hurry.

Then he saw the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

As he stepped off the street, down onto the rocky cliffs above the beach, he saw a plume of smoke.

"Sweet merciful Gurssk!" he cried in elation, bounding off in leaps so great as to cover several hundred yards at a time. Kreigg slammed into the side of the volcano, arms spread wide, hugging it as though greeting an old friend.

Hand over hand he drew himself up the side of the mountain, until he could swing his legs over the lip of the crater edge. Sitting happily and letting his feet dangle off over the abyss, Kreigg looked down over the edge, expecting to behold the sea of boiling rock that should be inside....

"Smeg!" he barked, "That just figures."

[ QUOTE ]
Join more RPs so I can find something to complain about!! XD Because so far you've got five stars from me.

[/ QUOTE ]

Got any in mind?

I know I'm pretty much the new guy, and rather a runt in-so-far as having a respectable cross section of writing out there (about 65-70 IC posts, and all in SH101, CoT, and Alien Inn) but I do love feedback in a masochistic kinda way.

I am very interested to know what a bunch of more experienced folks are thinking about my stuff, so I'm offering my neck on the block to anyone who wants to take a swing at it.

His shoulders jerked upwards in half a shrug. Kreigg lifted himself off the table and chuckled.

"Just takin a moment to reflect, is all," he explained, his tone indicated an unwillingness to continue the discussion. He stood and made a few steps towards the stairs.

Kreigg turned back to face Leeni and Aurak, and the rest of the tavern, but said nothing. He tromped back up to his room, the door of which he'd left unlocked and ajar earlier.

A brown trenchcoat stained by the elements and a faded, battered fedora lay crumpled beside the bed. It had been altogether too easy for Kreigg to kill the frail human and claim his meager possessions.

Now they were Kreigg's meager possessions. Even the fire maker he let Cafea use had been the homeless man's property. All he had that belonged to him were the two handfuls of silver he'd scooped up hastily as he ejected from his ship. Technically, that was stolen too.

"Is this what I've come to," he asked the room.

Kreigg snatched up the coat and hat, donning them both and stomping back downstairs, once again not bothering to close his door. He had nothing to secure anyway, so why bother?

"I'm goin fer a walk," he announced to anyone who cared to listen. He yanked the door open and hurried out into, what he considered, the bone-chilling cold of Striga Isle.

Kreigg slumped down to the tabletop, covering his head with his arms.

"I like mayo, too..." he grumbled derisively at himself over and over again.