Red_Saint

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The second best option is to roll up an adult female toon and wait for The Telepath (known as Alfred Bester in character) to offer you chocolate. It will happen.

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Amen to that. Sometimes, it seems that Alfred has more chocolate in his pocket then Belgium has between it's borders!

Global Name: Red Saint
Server: Union.
City of Heroes
RP Characters:
Crucifix Blade
Kid Voltage (on occasion)
Tina DeVente
Reveation Man (will debut soon)
Yin Yang Palm (will debut soon)
Ferret
Bronze Roman (will debut soon)
Type of RP: Casual, In missions, Supergroup and character based.
Can be contacted: In game mail, forums.
Times on: Varies on whether I'm being educated or I'm on my holidays. Holidays tend to mean I'll be on from around 2 PM to 11 PM (I'm a late riser), while schooltime generally limits me to 7PM to 10 PM.
Timezone: British Standard Time.

The night was silent. The people of Independence port all lay sleeping, safe- if only for a little while- amongst their dreams. Even the criminals lay in bed, driven away from their crimes by exhaustion and the hard, pounding rain.

But not all criminals were so easily put off.
The six trucks surged through the city streets, accompanied by the screeches of tortured rubber. Their cargo was precious; far too precious to let the tempestuous rain stop them.

Of course, that didn't mean they wouldn't be stopped…
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Nebula Gunner Harrod Schultz- one of the four guards in the back of the last truck in the convoy- stared moodily out over the rain-soaked streets. He hated rain; it upset him for some reason.
The other three guards were silent; they were council, after all; conversation wasn't their forte.
But this silence wore heavily on Schultz. He'd never liked the quiet that the Council valued so highly.
Then again, Schultz didn't like anything much.

This mild depression, perhaps, was what prevented him from seeing the dark cloaked figure until it was too late. What had moments ago seemed like a particularly deep pool of shadow suddenly became a motorcycle, and what had seemed like a little patch of light became a cross.
Crucifix Blade.
Schultz was up and shooting before he could even blink. "HERO!" he screeched, emptying cartridge after cartridge into that great, dark figure. But to no avail. The bullets struck what seemed to be spandex. And ricocheted off into the night.
The sonofabitch was bullet-proof…
"Call in the gunners!" Schultz bellowed. The others were up too, now, and shooting, shooting, shooting…
The bullets continued to bounce off the dark hero. Where were the minigunners? Schultz thought fiercely. They should have been here by now, their trucks were faster then this…
… and then he remembered the earlier sight of a pair of trucks, pulled in at the side of the road, their drivers asleep at the wheel…
… he'd drugged them…
Schultz cursed. This had been planned. Crucifix Blade had known they were going through Independence Port. Someone had leaked information.

But that was suddenly the least of Schultz's worries. Something whistled out of the bike's headlight, and fastened itself to the bottom of the truck.

And then all of a sudden he was in the truck with them.

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There are certain statistics to a fight like this.
Four men with guns versus one man with a large blunt sword should be remarkably easy. However, due to lack of ammunition (all of which had been expended shooting at Blade when he'd been following them on the bike) those guns became little more then clubs.
But still, weight of numbers should bring the swordsman down.
But factor in close quarters (perfect for stabbing), darkness (providing the swordsman with cover and allowing him to deceive the gunmen into attacking each other), and sheer difference in skill (a nebula gunner had a sword stuck into his hands and propaganda stuck into his head, while Blade had spent six months mastering swordsmanship in a Tibetan monastery) and what should have been easy pickings became a terrified fight to survive. To the councilmen, he wasn't a man; he was a dark god of fear and slaughter, a tornado of whirling blades and black-clad fists, his whole being an avatar of controlled, precise fury.
It took twenty five seconds of surgically precise swordsmanship to end the fight. By the time Blade was done, each council lay unconcious on the floor, most with cuts, bruises and stab wounds somewhere on their body.

Blade, panting slightly, grinned.
That had been the easy part.
Now to stop the convoy.
A cut through the fabric over the trailer allowed him to swing with long-practiced ease around into the cab. And even there, the statistics were with him. Two council members versus one swordsman. Again, he had the benefit of close quarters, darkness, and difference in skill, and in moments both the driver and his comrade had been kicked out of the cab into the pouring rain.
For a long moment, Blade did nothing. Then, beneath his mask, a slight smile spread across his pale lips.
"By his works shall ye know him," he whispered.

Then he detonated the knockout gas grenades he'd earlier placed in the cabs and trailers of each truck.
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It's only with hindsight that the simple, surgical precision of this meticulously careful plan can be seen and admired.
To start with, Blade had established the route of the convoy long before he made the assault. His first task- removing the two trucks armed with mini-guns- had been achieved by sending grenades filled with a gaseous, slow-acting sedative into the cabs. The drivers had been faced with a choice of falling asleep at the wheel while moving, thus risking their own lives as well as the convoy, or pulling in to the side of the road and catching up later. They'd chosen the second option.
His next task- preparing the first three trucks in the convoy with remote-detonated knock-out gas- had as easily been accomplished. By swinging the bike alongside the trucks (and, due to the colouring of his costume and bike, staying out of sight), he'd managed to secure the devices without a single council troop even knowing he was there.
His second-to-last task was the first anyone even knew about on the convoy. By allowing himself to be seen, Blade had exhausted their ammunition (the micro-carbon fibre he wore as a costume protected himself from the bullets, and the bike had been plated with reinforced aluminium), and then subdued the councilmen with little to no danger to himself. And the device Schultz had seen secure itself to the bottom of the cab was an extending swing-line; a thin line of fabric almost completely impossible to break, due to the fact it was made from the same fibre as Blade's costume. The swing-line had not, in fact, merely attached itself to the bottom of the last convoy truck; it had attached itself to ALL the convoy trucks. And when Blade detonated the knock-out grenades, he'd stopped all four vehicles simultaneously, and by breaking the last truck he'd added an anchor line.

In under an hour, with planning and careful timing, the Crucifix Blade had stopped the entire Council convoy.

Each Councilman would wake up in a jail-cell at the Zig. They would be told their trucks had been impounded, and they were to be tried for assault on a Hero. The convoy they had been carrying had also been impounded, but before being opened it had been collected by a registered Super group called the Fletched Alliance.

Two hours later, in the quiet privacy of his room, Nathan Rembrandt, also known as the Crucifix Blade, smiled slightly.
"I love it when a plan comes together," he said.

*nods*
Yeah. The big, stone mini-skirt does something to them.

It's also been known to speed up relationships. Take Kitmarch and Telepath for example; they've been going out for a few months now, and they're already getting married.

Um... Z? I just realised a problem.
Freeform isn't good for character strengths/weaknesses.
On CoH, EVERY character starts at level one, and a level one can't beat a level 50. That means we don't have any "UBERPOWERFUL-GOD-MONKEYS-OF-DOOM" character running about from level one.

But in freeform, we wouldn't have that protection.

If the above isn't clear enough, tell me and I'll try and clarify.

Okay.
Well, I'm still on CoH, but it looks worht a try.

*reads thoughtfully, stroking beard*
Hmm...
It does look good, I must say...
Question is, though, where would we run it?

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Jane, silent artist, but i believe Vonk was kinda interested in her...although the first introduction didn't go that well

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Uh... dude?
She's [censored].

By the way, I'm Red Saint, hi! You'll probably see whichever of my characters hanging out at GG, most of the good ones belonging to the Fletched Alliance. So, um... yeah. Hi.
*waves*

15-6-06, 11:30 PM, Atlas Park…

The cross smashed into his belly again. Remy squealed in pain, the air rushing out of his lungs.

"I'm giving you five seconds to start talking, Mr. Robichaux, or it won't be a blunt instrument I hit you with next time." That light, sophisticated English accent was so out of place in the situation, but Remy- better known in Paragon's underbelly as the "Cajun Ferret"- didn't have time to talk recognise that.

"Please, m'sieur!" he sobbed. "Please! No more! I can't tell you any'ting! Requiem, he and his boys, dey break me if I talk!"
Nathan punched him, hard, in the face. The criminal's nose was crushed under the impact, and then he was being dragged back to his feet and thrust against the wall, a knife-point inches from his face. From behind his mask, Nathan glared.

"Remy," he said sweetly, "let me be frank here. Requiem and company are, I'm sure, very frightening. But you see, Requiem's faction aren't here, are they? Requiem isn't the one holding a knife to your face. And the thing is, Remy, if you don't start talking, I will start cutting, and before the hour is out, the Cajun Ferret will have more scars then Mick Jagger has had girls. Are we clear?"
Remy, still staring with horrified fascination at the knife, nodded very slightly.
"Excellent. Now, what do you know?"

The little informer swallowed, then started to talk in a frightened, off-key whisper.
"Requiem, he got a convoy head'n into Independence Port. From some lab in Skyway city."
The knife backed away a little from his face.
"I see. Where's the lab?"
The little informer wetted his lips, chapped from fear and bruised from several punches.
"I don' know, honest Mr Blade, sir."
Nathan sighed.
"Oh dear, Remy." Then knife was pressed close to his cheek. Remy squealed.
"Non! Non, M'sieur, please! I know when dey'll be at de docks!"
The hero paused, and the knife receded again.
"When?"

Remy, eyes tightly shut, told him.



Three hours later, Nathan sat alone in the Sanctum, eyes staring unseeing at the computer screen. His fingers tapped on the key-board as he gathered up what he knew.

Practically all his street-level informers had told him the Council was in a state of civil war. His better, more council related ones, had given him the names of leaders; Vandal and Nosferatu were each leading a faction against Requiem, the Nictus-host that everyone was interested in finding. Splinter groups, like Arakahn's, were being courted by all three factions for extra muscle.
"So…" he mused, "if the different factions are busy trying to pick up extra muscle, mightn't it be better to try and… stack the odds…?"
And then enlightenment struck.
Nathan grinned.

The video player flashed to static. For a long moment, Nathan didn't move.
Then, slowly, he stood up.
That had been Ellie.
And whoever had leaked this tape had most likely done it maliciously.

A single black-clad hand ejected the tape. He looked at it for a moment. Then, he slid it into his belt.
Ellie deserved to be told.

Sad Harry's bar was never a nice place. Situated in one of King's Row's scummier areas, it's clientele were drug addicts and murderers from day one. The fact that Sad Harry himself liked it that way didn't do much to improve that factor.
Nice people didn't go there.
Good thing that the dark-garbed man wasn't nice.

As he stepped through the doorway, into smoky, stinking room, the conversation stopped. Hands stopped dealing cards. Fingers stopped picking pockets. Eyes turned away from the strippers on-stage and focused on him.
No-one moved.
Then, after that briefest of pauses, things appeared to returned to normal. Granted, the tone was a little more falsetto, but at least no-one had left.
Sad Harry, however, wasn't fooled.
This was going to be a tough night.

"Cee Bee!" He bellowed genially, praying that the hero wouldn't see his hand going for the shot-gun under the table. "How are you? We haven't seen you in a whi-"
A single black-clad finger pressed against his blubbery lips. Harry shut up.
"Hello, Harry," the Crucifix Blade said pleasantly, his slight English accent and light, gentle voice seeming out of place in such a violent place. "I do hope that's not a gun you're reaching for." He looked down.
"Oh dear. Harry, that's very rude of you, to pull a weapon on an old friend."
It's… it's just for protection-" stuttered Harry, but the finger touched his lips again.
"Well, I'll let it slide tonight, Harry. Now… I have a favor to ask."
The fat barkeep fiddled with his filthy apron nervously. "What kind of favour?" He asked.
"Oh, a very simple one. I want you to tell me what Requiem's been up to."
Harry's surprisingly pretty blue eyes looked fearfully at the hero. "That… that's the sort of favor that costs…" he began. Crucifix's hand went to his sword. Harry fought back a plea. The fat man could be bullied, but there were some things on which he wouldn't budge. After a moment, Crucifix's hand fell.

"How much?"
Harry relaxed a little. Maybe this might not be so bad after all…
"How much you offerin'?"
Crucifix sighed.

Then he whipped out his swing line. It was a still experimental weapon- a safety line made of the same tear proof fibre as his costume was connected to a small but heavy iron cross, making a grappling hook. It also made a very nice noose.

The swing-line snapped around Harry's wrist, the cross lodging itself in the bar-top.
"What I'm offering you, Harry, is your wrist being unbroken when I walk out of here, and your teeth still being connected to your gums."
Harry fought down a scream.
"I don't know anything…" he whispered, staring at the line. The hero glared.
"Harry," he began. The noose tightened.
"Alright, alright!"
Tears rolled down the crook's heavy jowls.
"I'll tell you… but not here."
After a tense moment, Crucifix nodded.
"Alright. The back-room."

Hero and criminal rose in unison, Harry's wrist still caught in the swing-line. Both headed for the back room…

((OOC: This is a typical situation between CB and his sources, and he's asking all over the city. Care to tell me if he turns up anything useful, Doc?))

A slim, dark-suited individual read the note.
After a moment, he turned back to the drone bot who'd delivered it to him.
"Well, I can't speak for the rest of the Fletched," he said, quietly, "But I'll be there if I can."

Um...
listen, kinda pushing it here, but...
could I fit in a Broadsword/Invulnerability scrapper going by the Hooded Blade?

Um... if Weasel drops out, can I throw in my Necromancer Mastermind?

...
For you, Weasel, sanity was something that happened to other people, wasn't it.
Call in the men in the white coats. Next!

/e reads the above two posts.

Uh... right. Okay...

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Okay... well, how would she reactto a discreet letter being left on her doorstep from the Ministry of Superhuman Affairs (my take on the English Supers Agency)?


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I guess we'll see should such a letter arrive.

But it would have to be of pretty great import, as Miss Ellie has retired from hero activities. She's persuadable, but it would have to be pretty important... Something to think about

Oh, and that's very likely what such a UK government department WOULD be called!

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Heheh. Shucks, I'm blushin'!

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Hmm. Um, FF, stop me if I go off the mark here, but wasn't Ellie considering leaving the Cirque at one point? Now, if I'm barking up the wrong tree, tell me. I'm making NO demands for you to leave an SG you'd enjoy.


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As yet, she is undecided.

She's torn between loyalty to her 'family', and some distastefull activities.

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Okay... well, how would she reactto a discreet letter being left on her doorstep from the Ministry of Superhuman Affairs (my take on the English Supers Agency)?

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Then again, SG means Super Group, right? Guess this is hero stuff...

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Sadly, this is hero stuff, but Super Group can be used to refer to both heroes AND villains.

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And we could all laugh back at the welsh mountain boy...

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Heheh. On, the joys of laughing at the Welsh...
*Jumps behind his Flame shelter*
Hmm. Um, FF, stop me if I go off the mark here, but wasn't Ellie considering leaving the Cirque at one point? Now, if I'm barking up the wrong tree, tell me. I'm making NO demands for you to leave an SG you'd enjoy.
As for an Alt, well, we all know how hard those are to do on a regular basis (unlike Zortel, who could possibly alt the entire X-Men and various spinoffs cast and STILL find time to play her own).

Okay, that last question I put up on a British themed SG got a few responses, but by the time I managed (with help) to figure out the themes the SG would have, we all got pulled off topic (no-ones fault).

So, in the mad, desperate hope that people might be interested, I'm re-posting the idea of the SG.

Okay, people seem interested in this. However, I'm going to clarify what the themes are going to be.

BRITISH, firstly. That includes the Welsh, the Irish, and the Scots as well as the English. Hell, if you wanted maybe you could even add an Indian character who was persuaded to join because his government and the English one want to improve relations (that is PURELY an idea, it should be pointed out.)

Secondly, government sponsored. As was said in an earlier post (FROM THE FIRST THREAD), that way we have a little more leeway from both a technical point of view, and why the characters would join.

Thirdly, I want to try and see how the characters would deal with their prejudices against each other. For example, the Englishman who thinks all the Irish are drunken idiots run into the calm, intelligent Bellfast man, or (to go for REGIONAL differences) the Sheffield man who dislikes Londoners because he feels they're all "Stuck-up snobs" actually meets a Londoner who isn't majorly stuck-up. In short, it could be about how they find their prejudices are off the mark (or the opposite, of course).

And finally, I want to point out that this is NOT GG specific. You like RP? You like the idea? Then feel free to join. Simple as that.

So... anyone interested?

Okay, people seem interested in this. However, I'm going to clarify what the themes are going to be.

BRITISH, firstly. That includes the Welsh, the Irish, and the Scots as well as the English. Hell, if you wanted maybe you could even add an Indian character who was persuaded to join because his government and the English one want to improve relations (that is PURELY an idea, it should be pointed out.)

Secondly, government sponsored. As was said in an earlier post, that way we have a little more leeway from both a technical point of view, and why the characters would join.

Thirdly, I want to try and see how the characters would deal with their prejudices against each other. For example, the Englishman who thinks all the Irish are drunken idiots run into the calm, intelligent Bellfast man, or (to go for REGIONAL differences) the Sheffield man who dislikes Londoners because he feels they're all "Stuck-up snobs" actually meets a Londoner who isn't majorly stuck-up. In short, it could be about how they find their prejudices are off the mark (or the opposite, of course).

So, anyone interested?

Since the Dark-themed SG fell through, I came up with another idea for a themed SG.
Would anyone be interested in playing a Britain themed SG? I have an idea for a leader (A hero going by either White Knight or England's Rose) but I'd like to know if anyone would be interested first. Post if you are...

Hmm.
Oh well, thought I'd just ask.

Heheh.
Well, to steal from yet ANOTHER graphic novel, the idea I had was (initally) similar to 100 bullets. Someone speaks to these guys. offers them a chance to get out of their current situation (I was thinking they're all on their way into the Zig when this happens) by getting their heroes license. As for what would keep them from getting thrown back in the zig when they use excessive force (and it would be VERY excessive, I thought maybe a really, REALLY good lawyer (possibly a super himself.)

Yes, V as in V for Vendetta (which, in my own humble opinion, defined graphic novels).
As for the fact that the RP community has had this discussion? Yes, it has. However, if it fit Nevermore (who I only know through Wordy's very cool showdown fiction) and the vast majority of GG is happy to let that be, would it be so difficult to fit in a few others?
THe main concept I had going would be a group of heroes no-one liked but who had to be let do their job because they'd managed to get their heroes license. Because let's face it, in the setting a hero license is pretty much the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card.

For those few of you interested in super-heroes of a darker breed, how many of you would be interested in an SG based around that theme?
Or, to be a little clearer, would anyone be interested in playing characters along the lines of Alucard, V, or Ant?