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Lawnmower Boy

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Lawnmower Boy last won the day on July 17 2016

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  1. Since this thread is about PamelaIsley's preferred modified Champions Universe, there's no gainsaying the choices. What she likes is what she likes. That said, we're here to have a conversation, and that means controversy! (Takofanes could totally beat Doctor Destroyer.) There are some aspects of Steven Long's CU that take some swallowing. Others are perfectly cromulent, and I'll speak up for them. First, lost civilisations are absolutely a comic book trope. They even exist in real life! How many superheroic archaeologists are there? How many revived supervillains? How many lost ruins? This stuff is gold! Given that, how unreasonable is it to flesh them out? Marvel has, or had, the rights to Conan for the longest time, and Conan is by design a prehistoric hero of a lost civilisation. Who doesn't want to see Conan fight Captain America? Anyone? Well, the Valdorean Age is the CU's version of the Hyperborean setting. In the same way, the Atlantean Age is the CU version of Arion of Atlantis. Again, gold, except when you're tempted to muck up Power Girl's origins. The Turakian Age is a bit more of a lift, but I can't count the number of fantasy characters ported over to a Champions campaign with a bit of a face lift. I mean, where do you think that paladin came from? You can put him in "real history," to be sure, but even the CU punts that by making the Black Paladin a character out of Arthurian legend. [Historian puts on tweed jacket, sucks pipe, adjusts bifocals: "King Arthur isn't actually real."]
  2. The tropes of the Western setting appear in James Fenimore Cooper's fiction, beginning with 1821's The Spy. That novel draws on Scott's Waverly novels, but also the myths and stories of the Eighteenth Century frontier, so I'd say that the Western is in the bones of America.
  3. Dual wielding sorceror? OP, my friend, OP.
  4. Your denial means nothing! We now know that you spend hours watching GoT speculation videos, your brain going gradually numb, along with your lower body. "Another one, I'll just watch one," Starlord mutters into his greasy, unkempt beard. "I can quit any time. Just not yet." "Please, Daddy," his eleven children, three adopted pets, two sentient laptop computers and live-in Nasa-evading space alien boarder say. Well, not "Daddy," in the cast of the ET. That would be weird. Anyway, "Please, Daddy, please stop watching GoT speculation videos and go in to work today. We're hungry and the dining room is on fire." "The fire extinguisher is in the kitchen," Starlord says. "Now hush. The video is about to explain how the Jojen paste theory relates to the dragons-come-from-Asshai theory." . . . . Yep, I'm pretty sure that this is the only possible interpretation of that last post.
  5. Babylon, the City of Man and Art, is incredibly cool, but it seems to me to change with the hands set to it. I just can't make my Babylon as weird and wonderful as Dean Shomshak's version, so here's mine. (Or, rather, the road to Babylon.) The teenage runaway sits, huddled in the booth at the interstate truck stop, nursing one more coffee than is good for his rail-thin frame, wondering where he's going from here. It turns out that truckers aren't happy to give a pimpled, gangly kid in not-at-all-fashionably distressed clothes a ride to the big city. His eyes slowly focus on the man in the next booth, who is enjoying a heart attack on a plate. Their eyes meet, hold. For some reason, the trucker doesn't react for a long moment. Then he sighs, beckons the boy over. "I heard that you want a ride to the city, kid." The boy nods. "I can see from your face that you need out of where you're coming from, but this is a stupid way of going about it, you don't mind me saying. But you shouldn't have seen me at all, so there's that. Get your stuff, get cleaned up, take a dump, meet me in twenty minutes at my truck." He gives the kid a parking lot number. When the kid gets there, he finds a double rig blazoned with a company name: Piper & Norton. He's never heard of it. A half hour later, they're rumbling down the Interstate, next stop coming up one of those towns in Ohio that start with a "C." The kid guessed that the lights and the local exchanges would start just on the other side of a lonely knot of woods just up ahead. Not what the kid had in mind, but it'd do better than home. That's when the trucker nudged over to the outside line and began to line up for an exit that wasn't there. For a moment, the kid's heart is in his throat as he waits to plunge off the road and die in a burst of flame, just like a car accident on TV. But, instead, they're suddenly on that exit that doesn't exist. The truck curves around a bend, and they're in the middle of the knot of trees, and the pavement ends, quick as the truck can brake to meet the surface. Soon, they're picking their way over a washed out gravel road. "This is the part where I'd turn out to be a serial killer in most versions of this story," the trucker points out, as the road suddenly acquires asphalt again, and the scenery . . . changes. They're on an Interstate on ramp now. Oh, and it's night, because clocks are boring. Or. . . not an interstate. Because the route sign is orange, not green, and round, and not the badge shape of an Interstate sign at all, and it says, "Via 5," and the distances are marked to Watershed Pass, 1 Mile, and Babylon, 25 miles. The kid is surprised, but not completely, because he reads science fiction, and the world's got superheroes and aliens, and after that, he's ready to believe in weirder things. The driver looks over at him. "I don't know how well you know the Interstate system. . . " "We're in an alternate dimension, aren't we?" "Kids today," the driver mutters. He shifts up, just a bit. It's obviously quite a climb, the last mile to the summit, and then they're at the top, and looking down at a valley stretching towards ever-thicker clusters of light leading down to a blaze of city lights. "That's Babylon, City of Man and Art," he says. "Chews up kids like you and spits you out, don't mind me saying. But maybe you're meant to go there. If you get cold feet, we're going to hit Marilyn Monroe High down at the foot of the hill. I can let you off a half mile from campus. If you wait at the door, there'll be an outreach worker in the morning. Those middle class communities lose enough of their kids to the Babylon streets. Maybe they'll help." The kid shakes his head. The driver sighs. "Just as well. There are people who go to that high school who don't go down to Babylon when they graduate, but I'm not sure how real they are ." They drive down the mountain slope, occasional, rudimentary exchanges leading on to places marked as "Loon Lake, 4 miles," and the like. The driver gestures. "Babylon's full of rich people who like to get away to a cabin by the lake for the weekend. I'm not telling you to go try a B&E, maybe make it through the winter cabin surfing, but. . . " The kid shakes his head. They hit the flat, and soon the school is well behind. The kid sighs. He's not exactly running away from do-gooding school counsellors who will do anything except actually help, but he figures he knows their kind well enough. The next notable exit is at the top of a rise, so that the kid can look down into a hollow valley where lights spill around tiny, rectangular lots stuck too close together. A mobile home park, the kid realises. "More your kind of place?" The driver asks. "They've cleaned up good since the last flood. Or was it a tornado? I can drop you." His hands tense on the wheel, but he does not turn it. The kid shakes his head, and the driver exhales in relief. Next it's a suburban shopping mall, probably an hour from closing, the kid figures. From experience, he knows that a lot of store security will be gone. Good shoplifting. The driver looks over at him, but the kid shakes his head. Reason he'd been in the stop in the first place was, he wanted something better. And then, as though they'd passed some kind of barrier, they were in the city full stop. Lights, buildings, cheapass-looking apartment buildings, warehouses. "You can come to the City in a wagon train, you know," the driver says. "If you do, there's a wall around it. It doesn't go over the Vias, don't ask me why, but you can see the divide. Drink it in, by the way, because we're about to. . " The entire highway goes under a massive concrete structure straight out of the urban maps of Lego Racers, and the entire multi-lane freeway is underground . . . "Enter the Understates. From here we're headed straight for the Piper & Norton campus. Last stop, kid, no more sightseeing. There's a 7-11 just outside the gate. Only place in Babylon where you can buy a map that shows you where you need to go. You're on your own from there." He thrusts out his hand, offering something. The kid takes it. "One Babylon sovereign," the driver says. "Worth twenty bucks, give or take. Try not to do either 'till you've got the lay of the land."
  6. Hermit! I'm busy for a few days and the thread title is strangely changed. So I look through it and find this. . what's the opposite of buzz-killling? Sheesh, man. Do I need to draw you a picture? Everything sucks. And that's what this thread used to be about in the good old days. Turning that smile upside down! And now you're saying that we have to consider maybe being positive about something? You know that's a slippery slope, right? First you're being conditionally positive. Then, before you know it, you're cheerful. A little later, and it's turned into terminal optimism. Well, no more, I say, no more! Nip this incremental trend towards happiness before it gets away on you! You'll be happy you di-- Darn. Too late.
  7. You are on fire, Cygnia. As should be some of the people involved in your last few posts. The hot chocolate thing alone justifies the invention of napalm.
  8. [Obnoxious CU Pundit]: It certainly is a mystery who might be behind Teleios. Clearly there aren't any ancient, evil geneticists covertly pulling the strings in the Champions Universe from time out of mind. [Brash teenage super]: Oh, come on. It's Noatar. Obviously. [Obnoxious Pundit]: I have no idea who you mean. [Brash teenage super]: You know, the ancient Empyrean geneticist who has been manipulating things from behind the scenes for hundreds of thousands of years? Who else could it be? I mean, even if it were someone else, Noatar would know who, and he isn't saying! [Obnoxious Pundit]: I will grant that Noatar is the best genetic scientist on the planet, and that he has been manipulating events for hundreds of thousands of years. Yes, he has access to vast resources, has unfathomable mental powers and all-but magical technologies. However, he is an Empyrean, and Empyreans are above such things. [BTS]: Arvad? Ogurn? Khusor? [Obnoxious Pundit]: Exceptions! [BTS]: Lot of exceptions. [Obnoxious Pundit]: I do not like your tone, and I would be remiss if I did not point out that Noatar is one of the most ancient and respected of the Empyreans. Empyreans associate with the most distinguished of superheroes. They are our kind of people. Whereas you are entirely declasse. After all, when you get right down to it, good does one thing, evil does another; so, really, both sides do it. Even if Noatar were an evil mastermind, better an evil plot succeed than some youngster violating sacred norms of civility, I am saying. I would not like to be in your shoes right now, and I cannot say that I would be very upset if I heard that something untoward happened to you . . . In other words, it's obviously Noatar, but saying that out loud would be like admitting that everything isn't fine.
  9. Fun fact about that. If, at this late date, someone just carries their dog into the supermarket, it is because they are crazy. (Or drunk, that happens, too.) Crazy people are very, very hard to deal with. Like, you cannot persuade them that they are doing something wrong. If they happen to be little old ladies, it can also be very hard to justify putting security on them --if you even have it on hand. Preventing crazy people from doing crazy things at the grocery store is very, very wearing. It has often occurred to me that it would be better for all if they just got a better job that took up their time, for example as. . Oops, sorry. Wrong thread.
  10. This is my official surrender. I am not going to do anything useful on my first day off. Good thing I have tomorrow to do all the stuff.
  11. Perfectly justifiable, if you ask me.
  12. My fanfic hit 5000 words in less than an hour. I'm going to go lie down now.
  13. We are not offended that Starfire, MJ, Spider-Man, the Human Torch and Jimmy Olsen are black; that Starbuck, Mighty Thor, Captain Marvel, Rey and the new Ghostbusters are girls; that Gal Gadot doesn't have a giant chest, Superman isn't cut enough, Aquaman is too cut; and that Kylo Ren is too moody. We will spend the next fifteen minutes explaining why we are not offended. However, we will make it clear that we are offended by something that has nothing to do with the thing that we are not taking offence at; and that we are legitimately offended by this thing that is not the thing that we are not taking offence at.
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