Blackjack

Re: New Fiction Nice work on the picture, Aylwin. I love it. Thank you, all, for your consideration of my work and for your praise. It is very gratifying.

Re: New Fiction *smiles* Thanks Aylwin... I'm glad you like her. As for your question about seeing a write-up, when you're dealing with a luck manipulator, "chance" is a relative thing. Seriously... since you asked: Jinx Player: Jeff Spurgeon Val Char Cost 15 STR 5 38 DEX 84 23 CON 26 10 BODY 0 13 INT 3 11 EGO 2 13 PRE 3 24 COM 7 5 PD 2 5 ED 0 6 SPD 12 10 REC 4 40 END -3 30 STUN 0 9" RUN 0 2" SWIM 0 7" LEAP 0 Characteristics Cost: 145 Cost Power 51 Gypsy Luck Manipulation Powers: Multipower, 64-point reserve, (64 Active Points); all slots No Push (-1/4) 5u 1) Jinx: Drain DEX 4d6+1, (1/2 END; +1/4), Limited Range (50"; +1/4) (64 Active Points); No Push (-1/4) 5u 2) Combat Jinx: (Total: 60 Active Cost, 48 Real Cost) Negative Combat Skill Levels (-4 to opponent's DCV), (1/2 END; +1/4), Limited Range (50"; +1/4) (30 Active Points); No Push (-1/4) (Real Cost: 24) plus Negative Combat Skill Levels (-4 to opponent's OCV), (1/2 END; +1/4), Limited Range (50"; +1/4) (30 Active Points); No Push (-1/4) (Real Cost: 24) 4u 3) Group Jinx: Change Environment 8" radius, -5 DEX Roll and all Skill Rolls based on DEX, (1/2 END; +1/4), Selective Target (+1/2) (63 Active Points); Limited Range (50"; -1/4), No Push (-1/4) 4u 4) Malfunction: Suppress 10d6, Any Technological Power (+1/4) (62 Active Points); Limited Range (50"; -1/4), No Push (-1/4) 4u 5) "You MIssed!": FW (10 PD/10 ED), Invisible to Sight Group, SFX Only (+1/4) (62 Active Points); Limited Range (50"; -1/4), Cannot form barriers or confine targets (-1/4) 3u 6) Luck I: Telekinesis (33 STR), (1/2 END; +1/4) (62 Active Points); Limited Power Only to simulate "luck" or "unluck" (-1/2), Limited Range (50"; -1/4) 3u 7) Luck II: Telekinesis (10 STR), Fine Manipulation, (0 END; +1/2), Invisible Power Effects (Fully Invisible; +1) (62 Active Points); Limited Power Only to simulate "luck" or "unluck" (-1/2), Limited Range (50"; -1/4) 12 Arnis Batons: HA +6d6, (1/2 END; +1/4) (37 Active Points); OAF (Arnis Sticks; -1), Requires Multiple Foci or functions at reduced effectiveness (3d6 per stick) (+1/4), Hand-To-Hand Attack (-1/2), Does half BDY damage (-1/2), Real Weapon (-1/4) 10 Lucky Shot: Find Weakness 13- with with Defensive Strike (20 Active Points); (-1/2), (x2 END; -1/2) 4 Agile: Leaping +4" (7" forward, 3 1/2" upward) 6 Swift: Running +3" (9" total) Powers Cost: 111 Cost Martial Arts Maneuver Arnis Stick Fighting 5 1) Defensive Strike: 1/2 Phase, +1 OCV, +3 DCV, Weapon Strike 3 2) Legsweep: 1/2 Phase, +2 OCV, -1 DCV, Weapon +1 DC Strike, Target Falls 4 3) Martial Disarm: 1/2 Phase, -1 OCV, +1 DCV, Disarm; 25 STR to Disarm roll 4 4) Martial Dodge: 1/2 Phase, -- OCV, +5 DCV, Dodge, Affects All Attacks, Abort 4 5) Martial Block: 1/2 Phase, +2 OCV, +2 DCV, Block, Abort 0 6) Weapon Element: Default Element: Arnis Sticks/Club 2 7) Weapon Element: Blades, Empty Hand Martial Arts Cost: 22 Cost Skill 3 Acrobatics 17- 3 Breakfall 17- 3 Climbing 17- 3 Contortionist 17- 3 Lockpicking 17- 3 Riding 17- 3 Security Systems 12- 3 Seduction 12- 3 Sleight Of Hand 17- 3 Stealth 17- 3 Streetwise 12- 0 Language: Romany (idiomatic) 1 Language: English (fluent conversation) 1 Language: French (fluent conversation) 2 Language: German (fluent conversation) 2 Language: Russian (fluent conversation) 1 MIF: Zills 8- 1 PS: Circus Performer 11- 2 PS: Dancer 11- 1 KS: Gypsy Culture 11- 1 KS: Fashion 8- 1 KS: Motorcycles 8- 1 KS: European Criminal Underworld 8- 1 KS: Yoga 8- 1 AK: Europe 11- 0 TF: Everyman Skill, Small Motorized Ground Vehicles 0 TF: Equines 2 TF: Large Motorized Ground Vehicles, Two-Wheeled Motorized Ground Vehicles 3 WF: Blades, Clubs, Off Hand, Thrown Knives, Axes, and Darts 3 +1 with Arnis Stick Fighting Skills Cost: 57 Cost Talent 4 Double Jointed 24 Combat Luck (12 PD/12 ED) Talents Cost: 28 Total Character Cost: 363 Pts. Disadvantage 20 Psychological Limitation: Gypsy Code of Honor: Debts must be repaid and grievances must be avenged in kind (Common, Total) 15 Psychological Limitation: Values her freedom (Common, Strong) 10 Psychological Limitation: Disdainful of government authority (Common, Moderate) 5 Psychological Limitation: Hedonistic (Common, Moderate) 15 Social Limitation: Secret ID: Sorina Felicia Ionescu (Frequently, Major) 5 Social Limitation: Gypsy (Occasionally, Minor) 10 Distinctive Features: Very beautiful (Concealable; Noticed and Recognizable) 10 Distinctive Features:Style: Arnis (Not Concealable; Noticed and Recognizable) 10 Distinctive Features: Mystical Aura (Not Concealable; Always Noticed; Detectable Only By Unusual Senses) 25 DNPC: Ionescu Gypsy Clan 8- (Normal; Group DNPC: x8+ DNPCs) 20 Hunted: Rival Gyspy Clan 11- (Mo Pow, Harshly Punish) 5 Reputation: (as Jinx): swashbuckling superhero, 8- Disadvantage Points: 150 Base Points: 200 Experience Required: 13 Total Experience Available: 13 Experience Unspent: 0 Background/History: According to her family's oral tradition, on the day of Sorina Ionescu's birth, she was presented to her great-grandmother, the matriarch of the Ionescu gypsy clan. The old woman immediately proclaimed that the child would have a unique power to influence the fortunes of others. It was well known to the clan that the matriarch had the gift of The Sight. Still, no one could have guessed just how accurate this prediction would turn out to be. Sorina grew up in her parent's circus, surrounded by her much of her extended family and living many children's wildest dream. By the age of eight, she had already mastered contortionism, trapeze acrobatics, wire-walking, juggling, trick horseback riding, knife-throwing and dozens of other circus acts. As she grew into young adulthood, Sorina realized that her uncanny agility was more than athletic talent. She discovered that she literally had the power to consciously manipulate the very laws of probability. She could make "lucky" or ''unlucky'' things happen at will. She subtly developed her unique talent, using it to help and protect her family and clan. At seventeen, with her parents' blessing, Sorina left the circus to explore the world, and her self, on her own. Her culture and nature led her to the seedier sides of life. She taught herself the defensive art of Arnis, both armed and unarmed. She often used her powers and dexterity as a world-class cat burglar for hire. At other times, she used her beauty and• grace to earn her living as an exotic dancer. Wherever she went, though, the members of the Ionescu clan knew that if they called upon Sorina for help, the problem would be resolved. To preserve her anonymity and the safety of her loved ones, she has adopted a masked, swashbuckling persona, calling herself "Jinx." As Jinx, she used her powers to protect clan members, avenge wrongs, and repay debts of honor. Recently, Sorina has begun to consider acting even more widely as a superhero, knowing that people beyond her clan could also benefit from her using her powers to fight injustice and protect the innocent. Personality/Motivation: Sorina Ionescu was raised with the gypsy heritage of contempt for artificial laws and government. She believes in a more natural concept of law and justice, often disdaining laws and rules passed by governments in favor of "real" justice and doing the "right thing." Sorina's natural hedonism is balanced by a powerful sense of responsibility, foremost toward her family and clan, but also to anyone in need of her help. Her exploits as a superhero have brought her tremendous joy and satisfaction, feeding her love of fun and showmanship while allowing her to help people. Quote: “I think your luck is about to change.” Powers/Tactics: In combat, Jinx uses her power to manipulate luck and probability to put her opponents at a disadvantage. She can "hex" them, making opponents clumsier and less able to protect themselves or hit their targets. She can cause machines to malfunction. She can cause improbable things to happen to help her friends and hinder her enemies. Finally, she can find weak or undefended points on an opponent to maximize the effectiveness of her own strikes while having a remarkable knack for avoiding being struck herself. Appearance: Sorina is stunningly beautiful. She is 5'10" with lustrous, raven-black hair and royal blue eyes. Her slender, toned muscles, flawless skin, classical features, and preternatural grace exude the smoldering sexuality of a supermodel. As Sorina, she dresses comfortably, usually wearing tank tops, jeans, and boots. As Jinx, she wears a blousy white shirt, cut low to flatter her décolletage, bright blue tights, a black leather fencing corset with matching boots and gloves, a red sash, and a bright blue domino mask.

Hello, HEROdom... This is an introductory short story I wrote for one of my characters. I present it now and hope that you enjoy it. *Disclaimer: This story is PG to PG13, with some content comparable to a typical episode of _Law & Order: SVU._ Reader discretion is advised. *** Sorina could tell she was turning heads; she usually did whenever she entered a room. In this case, she had made an effort to do exactly that. Her shoulder-length raven-black hair framed her face perfectly. Her cobalt blue eyes sparkled, and her full lips were curled into a stunningly charming smile. Most of all, her red evening gown hugged her curvaceous body in all the right places. Her décolletage offered a tantalizing but tasteful view of her perfect breasts – just enough to tease. Though the dress was ankle-length, its waist-high slit showed off her shapely right leg with each forward stride. She smiled and winked at the various men, and the couple of women, whose gazes lingered over her as she walked past. Sorina quietly reveled in the attention as she crossed the atrium of the world-famous Casino de Monte Carlo. Her smile grew just a little wider as she contemplated the irony: a woman of her unique talents strolling through what had been described as “a monument to the Gods of Chance.” The Gods of Chance, she mused. If there are such things, then my very existence must be a blasphemy against them. She thought back to the stories that she’d been told all her life: how her clan’s chovihani – her great grandmother – had blessed her on the day of her birth. Using her gifts of foresight, the chovihani declared the infant special, saying that she would have a unique power to influence the fortunes of those around her. I wonder if she knew just how true that insight would turn out to be, Sorina mused. She passed into the casino’s lounge and turned to the bar, perching herself on a stool and scanning the room. Suddenly, a double door on the far side of the lounge flew open. A man and a woman stumbled into the lounge from the Salon de l’American. The couple was announced by a wave of raucous shouts, cacophonous bleeps, and other noise that accompanied American-style gambling. For just a moment, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. European tradition called for the quieter, more dignified casino atmosphere that could be found in other rooms throughout the Casino de Monte Carlo. Fortunately for her, the man Sorina was here for fancied himself a proper gentleman. He would surely avoid the Salon de l’American. She had nearly finished her glass of wine when her quarry entered the lounge. Clive Langston. Even from across the room, Sorina could feel the arrogance that practically flowed through his skin. It was almost understandable – he did cut a dashing figure. His tuxedo was a perfectly tailored, his dusty blond hair expertly coiffed, his watch and other accessories tasteful, and he walked with the natural confidence born of wealth and royal blood. Royal, perhaps, but certainly not noble... Langston could legitimately claim blood ties, distant though they were, to the British royal family. By his fortieth birthday he had made millions in commodities and currency trading. Every bit the aristocrat, he wore it openly and proudly for everyone to see. Yes, Sorina could certainly understand how convincing the façade would be to most. She would probably have believed it herself if she did not know better, had she not seen with her own eyes the damage wrought by the monster that lived behind that handsome mask. Sorina’s eyes shifted from Langston to the shaven-headed giant standing next to him. The bodyguard’s tuxedo, ironically requiring even more costly tailoring than his employer’s own couture, could not quite camouflage the rippling mass of muscles covering every inch of his 200-centimeter-tall frame. His shoulders reminded her of pictures she had seen of American footballers in their protective equipment. His eyes expertly scanned the room, assessing each patron. Sorina flashed the hireling a pleasant smile as their eyes met. She watched him scan up and down her body, and to his credit, despite her stunning beauty, his scrutiny seemed professionally attentive rather than ogling. He’s good, she thought, her smile never wavering. She expected nothing less given Langston’s wealth. His gaze passed, and the two men crossed the lounge and entered the hallway that led to the Salons Privee. Sorina turned back to the wineglass resting on the bar in front of her, gesturing to the bartender to order another and finding a comfortable position on her barstool. She didn’t need to follow Langston to know where he was going. There was only one place he could be going: a private and very high stakes poker game being held in one of the private salons. She didn’t have the 50 million euros required to buy into the game, but that was fine. She had no desire to play, but she was certainly going to be involved – in her own unique way. And “private” is a relative term for a woman with her attributes. She nursed her second glass of wine for nearly two hours, deftly fending off several advances and giving the poker game a chance to get well underway before finally rising from her stool. She confidently followed in Langston’s footsteps as she entered the hall to the private salons. As she made her way, she studied her surroundings. Perhaps it was the thief in her, but she couldn’t help but notice how completely the burgundy carpeting swallowed the sounds of her footsteps. The light sconces brightly but softly illuminated the hallway, accenting the veins of color in the polished marble of the walls. The quiet, combined with the understated opulence… she always imagined this must be what a temple would be like. A “monument to the Gods of Chance,” indeed… For just a moment, she allowed herself to soak in the ambience of the storied history of this place, made famous in history and literature. Then she shook her head. Live in the moment, Sorina... she chided herself softly. The past is gone, and the future may never come. The now is all we have, so live to enjoy it to the fullest. That, and the honor of the family, is all that matters. The thought abruptly shook her back to the task at hand. It was the honor of her family that had brought her here tonight, and it was time to get to it. Ahead of her, she saw what she was looking for: a man standing stoically before the door of one of the salons. To the untrained eye, only the brass nametag clipped to the breast pocket of his suit jacket marked the man as casino employee. But Sorina was far from “untrained” in spotting and assessing a security professional. “Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, ” The casino security officer’s tone was a perfect, well-practiced balance of politeness and insistence. “This is a private game,” he continued in French. “Pardonez, s’il vouz plait,” Sorina replied. She liked how her Romany accent gave an exotic tinge to her French, and judging by the familiar flash of lust in the officer’s eyes, so did he. She leaned in, getting just close enough to let a soft breath brush against the man’s ear, and whispered conspiratorially. “Monsieur de Marquez is expecting me. I am… his good luck charm.” “I see,” the officer responded with a knowing smile. “If you will wait here a moment while I confirm that with Monsieur de Marquez…” Sorina’s lips turned down in a slight, sexy pout. With a feather-light touch, she brushed a fingertip down the officer’s lower arm, essentially but ever-so gently keeping him from turning away. “Surely you understand… Monsiuer de Marquez would be most… displeased… if someone in that room were to tell Madame de Marquez about me…” Her voice trailed off as she met the officer’s eyes with her own. The officer smiled knowingly, and she watched him run his eyes up and down her body, taking her in. “Oui, naturellement mademoiselle…” This time, when he turned, she let him. He reached over and opened the door for her, inviting her to enter with a silent, gallant gesture. She stepped past him and into the room, suppressing the petulant smile that threatened to escape her lips. Men… she sighed inwardly, so willing to do so much for just a smile. It does make things so much easier. It was a fact she utilized, shamelessly, nearly every day, but she was sure it would never stop surprising her. Her eyes swept across room. As usual, her own glances were met by those in the room who were now looking at her. And as usual, she took great pleasure in noticing that their eyes seemed to linger upon her longer than hers lingered on them. She noted that four of the five players who started the game were still sitting at the table, including Langston. Judging by the piles of chips and plaques in front of each player, Langston was doing quite well. Sitting in chairs scattered throughout the room were about a dozen other people: girlfriends – hired and otherwise, bodyguards, and other entourage typical of those who could afford to risk 50 million euros in a card game. She noted the faces of the rest of the players. She recognized a few of them: Langston, of course, and Sandalio de Marquez, the man whose name she used to get into the room. And then there was Vinko Stanic. He was whisper-thin, and even seated, one could see he was of below-average height. What hair still covered the sides and back of his head was bright white. The wrinkles touching his gray eyes filled them with a sense of perpetual laughter. The overall image was one of an avuncular grandfather – a perfect disguise for one of Eastern Europe’s most powerful smugglers. Sorina’s own family clung fiercely to their Romany – what some people called “gypsy” – traditions. She herself had been born and raised in her father’s circus and nurtured by dozens of uncles, cousins, and the like: a large clan of travelers who, like their ancestors, had little need or respect for artificial borders or oppressive laws. And men like Stanic had been part of her life for as long as Sorina could remember. Two months ago, Stanic had used his considerable resources to help two of Sorina’s cousins slip out of Bulgaria unnoticed. It was a favor, and the Ionescu clan always repays its debts. Sorina was frequently called upon to use her remarkable abilities to that end. The poker game was a perfect opportunity. Sorina told her cousins to get the word to Stanic: he could be guaranteed to win the game and walk away with 250 million euros – more than sufficient compensation. Now, on behalf of her clan, Sorina was going to make it happen, and set the stage for her real reason for being here at the same time. It’s going to be quite an evening, she thought. Surely Stanic would wonder how they’d pulled it off, but as long as it worked… Stanic would never even know who she was, or that she was involved at all. All he would know is that her cousins had delivered on their promise. The game continued for several more hours. One by one, the other players fell out until just Langston and Stanic remained. The two were nearly tied in their chip count. It was nearly midnight; after the next hand, they would break for two hours. Sorina needed Langston to be free for the rest of the night, so the time had come to finish this game. As the dealer started to shuffle the deck, Sorina reached out with her mind, invisibly manipulating the very laws of probability. With each cut and riffle, the order of the cards changed in the most improbable, nearly impossible, ways. Only the dealer’s fingers touched them, but each card found itself exactly where Sorina needed them to be to create the result she needed. When the dealer picked up the shuffled and cut deck, the cards within were carefully stacked to produce a very particular set of hands. Clive Langston couldn’t believe it. In all his years of playing poker, he’d never been dealt such a hand. Years of practice at hiding “tells” managed to keep the excitement from his face and eyes as he glanced at the cards once again. He confirmed that his eyes hadn’t tricked him. There they were: the six, seven, eight, nine, and ten of hearts – a perfect straight flush: the best hand in poker. This was his chance to finish the game and walk away with it all. The dealer turned to Stanic, who passed the bet to Langston. Langston coolly slid 10 million euros to the center of the table. Stanic called, and asked for one card. Again suppressing a smile, Langston, of course, stood pat. The draw over, the dealer turned to Langston for his bet. Hoping to trap Stanic, Langston checked. Giving his cards a quick glance, Stanic put another 20 million euros into the pot. Langston couldn’t believe his luck! The fool thinks he has a winning hand! Langston crowed to himself. It had worked! Stanic thinks I have a weak hand and wants to buy the pot. Langston looked over to his opponent, looking for a hint of confirmation. But Stanic was just as skilled at hiding his tells and Langston was. Still, the opening bet was his, and he had to pass. He didn’t start with better than two jacks. I must have the winning hand. It was time to spring his trap. Langston let out his breath in a long, slow exhale. “Mr. Stanic,” Langston addressed his adversary in an even tone with no hint of true emotion. Sorina listened as Langston spoke. Experienced in the arts of seduction, she knew all too well how that erudite accent could sound so harmless, be so disarming, so inviting. “Mr. Stanic,” Langston continued, “would you object to lifting the table limit?” “No limit, eh?” Stanic glanced again at his cards. Langston’s heart beat faster. He keeps checking his cards… he’s unsure. “I don’t object,” Stanic finally replied after an interminably long two seconds. “No limit it is.” “Very well, I raise.” Langston pushed 50 million euros into the pot. Stanic glanced at his cards yet again. “I think you wish to intimidate me, Mr. Langston,” Stanic’s Croatian accent now thick and dripping with menace that betrayed his true nature. “But you do not intimidate me.” Using both hands, Stanic pushed his entire supply of chips and plaques forward. “I am all in, Mr. Langston.” This time, Langston simply couldn’t hide his excitement. Though now, it didn’t matter. Stanic was committed. Langston actually had about 50,000 euros less than Stanic, so to call, Langston would also have to go all in. But he didn’t need to check his cards again. He had a straight flush. It was done. All he had to do was call. He quickly pushed his own stack of chips into the pot. “Mr. Langston calls,” the dealer intoned. “Please show your cards.” Langston’s smile grew wider as he turned his cards face up. “Straight flush, 10 high,” the dealer announced, prompting a thrilled murmur to rise in the room. Langston reached forward to claim the pot. …until Stanic turned his own cards over: an eight, a nine, a ten, a jack, and a queen. All of clubs. “Straight flush, queen high,” the dealer said breathlessly. “Mr. Stanic wins.” “What?” It was a genuine question, as though Langston didn’t actually understand what the dealer had said. Then Langston looked at the cards now laying face up on the table, then at Stanic, at the dealer, and then back to the cards. “WHAT!?!?!?” he roared, leaping to his feet. “But… that’s… IMPOSSIBLE!” Langston’s furious bellowing echoed off the walls of the salon. Not “impossible,” Sorina thought with a fierce smile creasing her perfect lips. Just very improbable… or perhaps just terribly unlucky for you. For a moment, Langston’s true face was revealed. Not the handsome, polished, mannered aristocrat, but the vicious, evil monster that lurked within him. Then Langston noticed the shock and disdain on the faces of those in the room. Realizing his mistake, he instantly re-asserted control. The charming, eloquent Langston was back, his mask restored. He smiled and nodded once, wordlessly, to Stanic, then to the dealer. Without a word, he and his bodyguard walked smartly out of the salon. Sorina smiled another rueful, knowing smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stanic talking to a casino employee. No doubt he’s arranging to collect his winnings. She’d settled her family’s debt of honor, and dealt a brutal blow to the two things Langston cared about the most: his money and his ego. He was primed, and she was ready to make her next move. No, Clive Langston, if you think your luck at the table was bad, wait until you see what Fortune has in store for you next. She filed out of the salon with several of the other spectators, walking directly out of the world-famous casino. Her purposeful stride quickly covered the several blocks to where she had parked her Winnebago. Like most people who shared her culture, she loved the freedom of not being attached to a particular building or parcel of land. This is the only home she’d ever need. She went into the bedroom in the back of the vehicle, stepping out of her high heels and unzipping her gown. In seconds, she had stripped off her evening wear. Free of her clothes, she took a few long, relaxing, luxurious stretches, warming up her cat-like muscles for her next move. Sorina then stepped over to her wardrobe and opened it. She reached inside and applied gentle pressure to a section of the wardrobe’s roof, lifting it a fraction of an inch and sliding it open. She pulled a leather knapsack from the concealed compartment and tossed it gently onto the bed. One by one she pulled items from the knapsack and put them on: a blousy, long-sleeve, low-cut white shirt; bright basic blue tights; a sleeveless black leather unitard; a scarlet sash; black leather boots and gloves; and finally, a bright blue domino mask. Taking the last two items from the pack, she completed her transformation. With preternatural grace and quickness, she expertly twirled the pair of 70cm fighting sticks before sliding them into holsters built into the back of her unitard. She indulged in a quick glance in the mirror. Her costume, a bit reminiscent of the garb she wore on the wires and trapeze of her father’s circus, managed to accentuate her sex appeal while concealing her identity. It was a last moment of self-indulgence. Moments before, she had been Sorina Ionescu. Now, she was the avenging angel of the Ionescu clan. Clive Langston, you have maimed an innocent child. She was a member of the Ionescu family – my family. Your crime has scarred her and wronged us all. Your wealth and name have shielded you from justice. But no more. Your money and power mean nothing to me. Tonight, you will face your crimes and be punished. No one saw the costumed, masked apparition as it left Sorina Ionescu’s mobile home. No one saw her take a running leap, her feet landing gracefully, almost miraculously, on a 15cm-wide second-story window sill. Her body coiled in an expert crouch, absorbing the momentum from her first jump. Then that energy burst forth from her legs again, propelling her up and back. Somersaulting as she flew, she made another perfect landing on the fourth-story ledge on the other side of the alley. Again, then again, she bounded and soared. No one saw the dazzling display of aerial gymnastics. But as her feet finally came to rest on the roof of the 12-story building, she landed with a brilliant, flashy, crowd-pleasing flourish borne of years of habit, practice, and performance. She kept running, vaulting from rooftop to rooftop, the principality of Monaco passing beneath her feet at remarkable speed, until her destination was in sight. One more leap put her on the top level of the parking facility that serviced the private marina. Just less than two hundred meters away, she could see Langston’s yacht in its slip, resting gently in the still Mediterranean waters. She had studied her quarry. She knew that, whether elated from winning or furious from losing, Langston had his own inviolate ritual for consummating the evening. Another chance to ruin his evening… she thought wickedly. She leaned backward, doubling herself over and resting her outstretched palms on the short concrete wall of the structure, then lifting her feet off the ground and bringing herself into a perfect handstand. For the space of a heartbeat, she held herself there, vertical and upside down. Then, she pivoted on her palms, curling her body in a perfect arc. She flattened out her body as she passed over the wall and the car parked in front of it, two levels down, then tucked into a ball and rolled out, coming up on her feet eight meters below where she had been standing just a moment ago. From there, it was just a few strides into the shadow of a support column where she could wait, invisibly, for Langston’s goon to return from his “shopping trip” with his precious cargo. As expected, a short time later, Sorina saw Langston’s Jaguar XJS pulling onto the level and, a few seconds later, into its designated parking spot. She stepped out of the shadow, striking a sexy pose with one hand on her hip where she knew the driver could see her as he got out of the car. Of course, Langston’s bodyguard saw her immediately. He adopted a defensive stance and let out an amused snort as he looked her over. “What is this..?” he asked in broken French. Sorina flashed him her most seductive smile and answered in the bodyguard’s native English, wanting him to understand her perfectly. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a dream… your wildest dream…” She pulled her batons from their holsters. “Or am I your nightmare?” She winked. “You know… with a woman, you never can tell until it’s too late…” For just an instant, a look of confused concern crossed the bodyguard’s face. The expression quickly changed to an angry challenge as he opened his tuxedo jacket and revealed the pistol tucked into the holster under his left shoulder. “I don’t know who you are…” The British accent and measured tone couldn’t soften the menace of his words. “… but you need to be moving on, while you still can.” “I think not,” Sorina quipped with a menacing edge of her own. He reached for his gun. He was fast, she had to admit; he would have beat most people on the draw. But Sorina was not “most people.” Preternaturally graceful, raised in a circus, and able to manipulate luck with a mere thought, she moved with blinding, superhuman speed. She cartwheeled in, close enough to kiss him, before his hand even touched the butt of his weapon. The stick in her left hand caught his right wrist, pulling it out away from his body. She pinned his wrist between the last few centimeters of her stick and her wrist, while she swung the stick in her right hand. Her first blow struck him viciously against his right kidney. Her follow-through left her perfectly positioned for a mirror-opposite swing that hit his left kidney with equal force. Each blow, by itself, would have sent any man to his knees. Perhaps, had he just been Langston’s employee, she would have left it at that. But this man was more than a bodyguard. At this very moment, he was actively facilitating his employer’s brutal appetites. Had she not been here, this man’s actions would have led directly to Langston destroying another girl. He deserved no more mercy than his employer did. It all passed through her consciousness in a hundredth of a second. She brought her stick around again, this time smashing it into the base of his skull, right into the soft tissue between his jaw and his neck. A satisfying gurgle bubbled from the bodyguard’s lips as he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She smoothly slid her batons back into their holsters and knelt down beside the man. She deftly, expertly found and lifted the keys to the car, his gun, wallet, watch, and other valuables from him. She pulled the cash – several hundred euros – from the wallet. Keeping the gun, the keys, and the cash, she threw the rest bodyguard’s valuables out over the wall of the garage and down onto the street below. She then stepped to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk. She knew what to expect when she opened the trunk, but looking inside and facing the reality of it still took Sorina aback. The child lying there, trembling with terror, couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Younger even than Mirela… She met the girl’s eyes. “There, there… you’re safe now, child…” Sorina hoped her voice was soothing and reassuring enough to penetrate the horror that was surely gripping the girl. She kept talking, softly, until the girl’s shaking subsided. Sorina slowly reached out, careful to control her movements as to not frighten her again. It took several patient minutes, but eventually the girl allowed Sorina to reach in and help her out of the trunk. “You are okay now, child?” Sorina asked. She handed the cash from the bodyguard to the girl. “This is yours, now.” She led the girl into the front passenger seat of the car and gave her the car keys. “Lock the doors. That button is a telephone. Call the police, tell them what happened. They will take you home.” Sobbing softly, the girl reached out, hugging Sorina tightly. After another minute, Sorina slowly extricated herself. The girl locked herself inside and Sorina could hear her anxiously talking to the police. Sorina walked back around the car to where the bodyguard still lay deeply unconscious. She dragged him to the back of the car and stuffed him into the trunk, hearing it lock with a satisfying click. Even if he manages to recover before the police arrive, he can’t escape, and he can’t hurt the girl. At that moment, Sorina heard distant sirens shatter the calm of the night. She waited just another minute, until she was sure the officers were close enough. She chuckled to herself. This is a first… I’ve never stayed and waited for the police to arrive before. Of course, she had no intention of being here when they arrived. She looked into the car’s rear window to check on the girl one last time. The girl smiled weakly at her, and Sorina smiled back with a reassuring wink. Then, Sorina ran toward the marina side of the parking structure and leapt over the wall and down to the street below. As the police arrived, she vanished without a trace into the shadows of the night. Seconds later, she had vaulted over the fence to the marina slips and, with the grace and stealth of a panther, made her way undetected to Langston’s yacht. She paused only long enough to pull the ammo clip from the gun she had taken from the bodyguard and to throw them both into the water. The closer she came to finishing her task, the more anxious she grew. A predatory smile crossed her lips as she approached the yacht. With his preference for raping little girls, Langston couldn’t risk traveling with a large retinue. And with his bodyguard now in custody, Sorina was certain that Langston was now on his own. She took a moment to carefully scan for surveillance cameras or other security, but she wasn’t surprised to not find any. Again, with Langston’s predilections, he couldn’t afford to keep records of his “visitors.” Sorina stepped softly from the slip onto the transom deck at the aft of the boat, careful to keep her booted footsteps silent. In a few steps, she had entered an opulent lounge. A few more took her to a stairway that curved down to the cabin deck below. As she quietly slid open the door to the main cabin, Sorina could hear water running in the shower from the bathroom to her right. She padded across the softly carpeted floor to the large, circular bed. She laid down on her right side, facing the bathroom door, and stretched out seductively, propping her head up on her right hand. The water stopped, and a few moments later, Langston stepped out of the bathroom. He was dressed in a bathrobe and toweling his hair. He nearly cried out in shock when he saw Sorina lying there. Surprised, you wretched son of a bitch? Sorina mused as she felt her lips curling into a fiercely wicked smile. “Who the bloody hell are you?!” Langston roared as the towel slipped from his surprised fingers and fell to the floor. “I know I’m not what you were expecting, handsome,” her exotically accented English and wicked smile were flirtatious and dangerous at once, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have some fun, does it?” In one fluid flash of movement, Sorina spun herself forward and lifted herself to stand up in front of the bed while her hands drew her batons from their holsters. “More precisely… it will be fun for me. I seriously doubt you’ll enjoy it very much.” For a moment, Langston looked almost amused. “You cheeky slut…” His eyes moved to the sticks in her hands. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, incredulous, his voice rising in anger and frustration. Sorina saw him glance ever-so-slightly at the door, and laughed. “If you’re thinking that your bodyguard will be walking in here any moment to save you, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. He’s having a very bad night… but not as bad as the one you’re having.” “Bah… I don’t need anyone to protect me from a woman.” Langston was sneering and took a step toward her. “Normally, when I don’t get what I’ve ordered, I send it back. But, since you clearly need a lesson in respecting your betters, I’ll be happy to make an exception.” She laughed again, a deep, hearty laugh, as she raised her sticks and adopted a defensive stance. Infuriated, Langston lunged at her, his arms outstretched, his hands curled into grasping claws. Fueled by adrenaline and rage, he charged across the room in the blink of an eye. But against Sorina’s uncanny reflexes, he may as well have been moving in slow motion. She took a half-step to her left, turning her shoulders parallel to Langston’s path and easily avoiding his clutches. In the same instant, she brought the stick in her right hand down, hard, on his right wrist while smashing her left-hand stick into his throat. He would have yelped in pain, but the sound was quashed as his windpipe buckled. This time, she didn’t have to think about it. She swung both sticks in pair of vicious arcs. Her right stick hammered the back of his right knee; her left one delivered a perfect rabbit punch – slamming into him exactly where his spine meets his skull. Langston collapsed, his leg unable to support him, his breath ragged and stinging in his throat. He lay there, groaning, stunned, utterly defeated. Sorina smiled as she looked down at him, literally and figuratively. Getting savagely beaten by a woman was a humiliating punishment for such a misogynist, but it didn’t even come close to being enough. “You’ve raped children…” she hissed, “murdered their innocence… shattered and scarred them forever… devastated their families. Even with all your wealth, it is a debt that can never be repaid. But it can be avenged…” She kicked him over to lay face down on his stomach. She considered her final move with great care and a single purpose in mind. Mustering her strength, she dropped to one knee, driving the tip of her baton into the base of his spine like a stake into a vampire’s heart. His whole body convulsed, and a resounding crack told her she’d struck her mark. Clive Langston would never rape another child. Just as he had maimed his victims and left them still breathing, to live each day with the scars he had inflicted upon them, so had she left him. That was justice. He would also never walk again. That was Romany vengeance. A few short hours later, the rising sun peeked over the Italian Alps as Sorina Ionescu’s Winnebago pushed eastward. Despite her huge vehicle and the mountainous terrain, she was making good time. She’d be in Torino just in time for breakfast. She reached out, picked up her phone, and pushed one button. After two rings, the line connected. “Papa...?” A moment passed as she listened. “Yes, papa,” her native Romany rolled gracefully off her tongue, and a satisfied smile touched her face, “you can tell them. It’s done. Yes, papa, I’ll be there in a few days. I’ll see you then. Love to mama… I love you, too.” She drove into the golden rays of the morning sun, and reveled in the love of her family, letting both wash away the ugliness of the past day.

Re: Superhuman women and normal women To bring the thread somewhat back to it's original topic, there was one thing I couldn't help but notice watching Ghost Rider. Every time Eva Mendes was on the screen, the focus point of the camera was directly between her breasts, which were invariably on display with her half-buttoned shirts. Mind you, this is not a complaint. Quite the contrary, Mendes' beauty was one of the highlights of the movie. However, such things do beautifully demonstrate (entendre intended) the "sex sells" mentality. Blackjack

Re: Running jokes in your campaign One of the campaigns I'm involved in (not MidGuard), having been running for over two decades, has a rich and extensive history. Some of it is very funny. First, he have an homage to one of our long-retired heroes, MetalMan. Whenever someone references the origin of their character's powers, someone inevitably announces, in their best "movie trailer announcer" voice: "Trapped in a raging junkyard fire..." Second, an inexperienced but enthusiastic GM decided to start a Champions campaign based in Australia. In the heroes' first adventure, we came to a bank vault door. After our team's brick made several attempts to break the door open, the GM told us that the door had 80 DEF (again, he was inexperienced). Thus, was introduced into the world the newest and greatest of supermetals (and punchlines): Australium! Same campaign, next session, it is 2pm on a street in downtown Sydney. We are battling a band of supervillians, and our brick, desperate to hit a high-DCV opponent, asks the GM where the nearest car is for use as an AoE attack. The GM tells him there are no cars on the street - at all. Now, whenever the GM presents an improbable or possibly contrived situation, we refer to there being "no cars in Australia." Finally, a character built solely around combat and with little "real world" abilities is referred to as a "wombat," and their combat abilities, especially their specialty, as their "pouch." Blackjack

Re: TK & Martial Arts? *puffs out his chest, flourishes his cape, and activates Soliloquy Mode* "Who am I?! I am Blackjack... Nerd Master and Middle Finger of the Left Hand of God! BWAHAHAHA!" *This moment of silliness brought to you by the pound sign and the square root of -1.* Blackjack

Re: TK & Martial Arts?

Re: TK & Martial Arts? First, I want to thank all of you for your input on this discussion. Second, as the player in question, I do have to make some clarifications: 1) the character is SPD 6, not SPD 8. 2) she does have two TK powers: one is 33 STR and one is 10 STR w/ fully Invisible Power Effects and Fine Manipulation. Both of these have a Limitation that they can only be used to simulate "luck." For example, neither can be used to lift a pen off of a table or push a button, they could make the pen start rolling toward the edge of the table and drop onto the button below... This is important because, under most circumstances, she CANNOT use either for a standard attack. A person can't be punched, grabbed, held, or thrown by "luck," though they can trip and fall (Legsweep) or loose their grip on a Focus (Disarm). Block could probably go either way. However, she has to use her normal STR (15) for actual "attacks" with her MA because hitting someone for 33 STR isn't "luck." Even not taking any of the above into account, if you look at the rule cited on page 230 of reFREd, it says that using MA with TK should require Fine Manipulation. In this case, that means that to use her MA with her TK, she'd actually have to _loose_ a DC - from 15 STR to 10 STR TK, and that she can't use the 33 STR TK w/ MA at all... Thankfully for me, I _never_ intended to use the 33 STR TK with her Martial Arts - it's for causing "lucky" or "unlucky" things to happen, not direct damage. Again, thank to everyone for their input. It's always great to draw on other people's thoughts and experiences. Blackjack

Re: A villian came up and bit me There are other factors to consider. A _team_ of people, working together, _always_ has at least some advantages over a single indivudual. For one, a team can overwhelm a single individual. Even with Defense Maneuver, or high defenses, a single indivdual can only do so much against a variety of attacks from numerous sources and strange angles. There are many ways within the HERO rules system to give your characters an advantage over a statistically more-powerful adversary: Coordinated Attacks, Multiple Attacker bonuses, use of skills like Analyze, Deduction, and Tactics. Also, as a GM, you can devise scenarios that allow your players to use their Non-Combat skills or abilities to improve their chances. On a more character-driven note, it has been my experience that players - like most people - will often rise to whatever challenge you set for them. That is a large part of the nature of heroism in the first place. It's easy to be brave when you know you have an equal or better shot at winning. It's when you're outgunned, outnumbered, and your back is against the wall, that a person shows their true colors. The X-Men prevail against the Juggernaut not by doing STUN or BODY damage to him; they out-think him, find ways to turn his strength against him, and most of all, they simply don't give up. In the case of your players, don't be afraid to test their mettle. Let them be bloodied a little or even defeated - temporarily. Let them learn and grow from the experience, and when they face your villain again, they will be smarter and stronger for it. Most of all, when they _do_ defeat your villain, the victory will be infinitely more sweet. Good luck to you and your players - it sounds like they're going to need it. Blackjack

Re: Would you like your character? Well, Nightwolf, and White Dragon are too cool and Jinx is too sexy to hang out with a guy like me... (Just kidding) Most of my other characters, in their public personae, are professionals in subjects that interest me. Silhouette is a 28 INT super-scientist. Peregrine is a former US criminal prosecutor. Lotus is a renowned criminal psychiatrist who worked her way through college and med school as a CSI (it helps to not have to sleep). Dynamo is an engineer. Yeah, I have a LOT of interests... Anyway, I'd probably love talking to any of them - I'd be fascinated by their insights on their professions. As for hanging out with them or befriending them... I'd probably have the most in common with Peregrine.

Re: La faune nocturne de Paris: A Short Story of Zl'f & Le Magister

Re: 1905: The New Century Campaign The cowboy strode confidently off the gangplank. He touched the brim of his hat in silent salute to the young messers Katanga and Englehorn as he passed them. He took a deep breath, inhaling the innumberable aromas of the busy seaport and then exhaling with a quiet, satisfied sigh. His steel-gray eyes scanned the bustling throng as he adjusted the string tie around his neck. He then fell into step behind Flashman. /OOC: Great intro, Chuck! I'm looking forward to the game.

Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character

Under the description of the "NO LOS Needed" adder to Mind Link, it says that with the adder: "The character can do this with a number of persons equal to his INT/5 and he must define these persons in advance." (5th Ed. R, pg 205). If a character wants to use this adder to Link with one person at a time, does he have to first purchase Mind Link at the base 10-point level: "Character can link with any one mind in a group of minds, defined when he buys the power" or is that included in the 15-point cost of the No LOS adder? Thanks for your attention. Blackjack

Re: 1905: The New Century Campaign Following Treb's good example, I have _finally_ finished a brief story to introduce my character for this campaign: Elijah "Eli" Harrison, a former Rough Rider and current Pinkerton Agent. I hope you enjoy it and that it gives you some insight into this character. *** The train car rocked viciously underneath him, jolting him from half-asleep to fully awake and alert, and knocking his hat from his face to the floor. “Blast it!†he muttered as he reached to pick up his hat. Another sharp lurch and the hat skittered another two feet. His mouth clamped shut before a more ungentlemanly epithet escaped his lips. Even though he was alone in the compartment, his upbringing as a true Southern gentleman ran far too deep. His manner, along with his mild Georgian accent, often set him apart in the rugged and ruthless Territories of the American West. Still, he reflected, being out here on the Frontier has changed me. I reckon if Ma could see me now, she’d hardly recognize me... The thought made him smile as he scooped up his hat and perched it back onto his head. The knock on the compartment door brought him out of his reverie. A porter slid the door open. “Mr. Harrison, sir..? You wanted to be notified when we were fifteen minutes out of El Paso.†“Yes, of course… Thank you,†the man replied as he handed the porter a modest gratuity. Despite the irregular rocking of the train as it thundered along its track, he quickly and expertly gathered his belongings. Closing the compartment door again, Harrison opened one of the two saddlebags that were his only luggage. He quickly strapped the gun belt around his waist before covering it with his duster. He then left his compartment and starting making his way to the back of the train. It was time to go to work. He had been watching the length of the train for several minutes when he felt the huge machine begin to decelerate. Any minute now, he thought as he reviewed his plan. He’d been chasing Mortimer “Mad Dog†McClendon for five months now, ever since the hired killer had ruthlessly gunned down a Texas Ranger – and his wife and son – in Dallas. “Mad Dog,†he thought ruefully. It was a right proper moniker for someone who’d murder a man in front of his family, and then would kill a defenseless woman and boy in cold blood. Here, less than ten miles from the border of Old Mexico, McClendon was far too close to escaping justice for Harrison’s taste. That was about to change. Harrison knew McClendon was on this train, had even seen him just last night. He couldn’t risk apprehending McClendon on the train, but if his quarry was true to form, he’d take advantage of the train slowing as it approached town to slip away. Sure enough, the metal leviathan slowed to a near creeping pace, and Harrison saw a figure leap from one of the cargo boxes, rolling roughly to a stop on the ground. McClendon rose to his feet and started to dust himself off as the train caboose caught up. Harrison then leapt from the tail of the train, slamming McClendon back to the ground. With a snarl every bit reminiscent of his nickname, McClendon leapt back to his feet, only to see that Harrison was already standing, just a few feet away, his hand on the grip of his Colt Peacemaker. “Mortimer McClendon, you are hereby bound by law for the murder of Matthew, Elsa, and Arthur Epps! Stand down!†McClendon snorted with derision. He spit on the ground and went for his Smith & Wesson .45 revolver. With a flash of his arm, Harrison drew his own weapon and fired. A loud clang of metal rang out, followed by a yelp of pain as Harrison’s bullet ricocheted off McClendon’s gun and drove the weapon from his hand. Ignoring the vile curses spewing from McClendon’s mouth, Harrison stepped up to his quarry and viciously slammed the butt of his pistol into the murderer’s jaw. Remarkably, McClendon barely staggered under the force of the blow, until a second, well-placed follow-up punch finally brought him to his knees. Harrison quickly tied McClendon’s hands together, stuffing his handkerchief into McClendon’s still-swearing mouth. Harrison roughly marched his captive the last couple of miles into El Paso. *** Eli Harrison sat quietly at the bar of the saloon. He let the noise of the card games and the piano player wash over him, his senses wary of danger but ignoring the cavalcade of humanity around him. The sheriff had been nice enough to make room for McClendon in the local jail until a Marshall could arrive to escort him back to Dallas. He wondered about the wisdom of taking McClendon alive. The Pinkerton Agency’s reputation had suffered in recent years for its work in strike-breaking, so he’d been ordered to make every effort to bring McClendon in alive. Harrison understood the logic of it. He’d spent years wrangling with local badges who didn’t appreciate having a private eye catch the bad guys they couldn’t, especially when that meant having to defend himself in a gunfight that left his opponent dead. He shook his head, forcing the thoughts from his mind. Today had gone well, and McClendon’s capture meant a hefty payday. He pushed the half-finished beer away from himself as he rose from the bar… … only to nearly run into one of the sheriff’s deputies. “Mr. Harrison, this telegram was brought to the sheriff’s office.†Ignoring Eli’s surprise, the deputy handed him the cable and turned away without another word. Eli looked down at the paper, still not believing the words in front of him as he read it repeatedly. ELI… DO NOT RETURN TO FRISCO. REPORT TO WASHINGTON DC OFFICE ASAP. WILL BE BRIEFED THERE. THE LCOL SENDS REGARDS. A long, slow whistle escaped Eli’s lips. The reference to the Lieutenant Colonel was a particular surprise. It had been years since Harrison had even seen the Old Man. He’d obviously made a greater impression on his former commanding officer than he’d realized. Now, once again, Eli was being called into service. Given the high office the Old Man now held, Eli could be certain of one thing: such a summons would undoubtedly lead to an unprecedented adventure. He picked up his saddlebags and walked directly back to the train station. He had a ticket to buy and a train to catch. ***

Re: 1905: The New Century Campaign My contribution to the New Century Campaign: Elijah "Eli" Harrison - one of the last generation of the Old West-style lawmen. It looks like he's going to our team's ranged combat expert. *** Elijah "Eli" Harrison Player: Jeff Spurgeon Val Char Cost 18 STR 8 14 DEX 12 15 CON 10 10 BODY 0 13 INT 3 11 EGO 2 13 PRE 3 12 COM 1 4/7 PD 0 3/6 ED 0 3 SPD 6 8 REC 2 30 END 0 30 STUN 3 6" RUN 0 2" SWIM 0 3 1/2" LEAP 0 Characteristics Cost: 50 Cost Skill 24 +3 with All Combat 6 Pen Skill lvls: +3 vs. Hit Location mods with pistols 2 Pen Skill lvl: +1 vs. Range Modifier with Rifles 3 Acting 12- 2 Animal Handler (Equines) 12- 3 Breakfall 12- 3 Climbing 12- 3 Riding 12- 3 Concealment 12- 3 Conversation 12- 3 Criminology 12- 7 Fast Draw 14- 3 High Society 12- 3 Interrogation 12- 0 Language: English (idiomatic) 2 Language: Spanish (fluent conversation) 3 Lockpicking 12- 0 PS: Law Enforcement Officer (free) 11- 1 PS: Dancing 8- 1 PS: Play Harmonica 8- 0 KS: United States Law (free) 8- 1 AK: The American Southwest 8- 3 Shadowing 12- 3 Stealth 12- 3 Streetwise 12- 0 TF: Equines 2 WF: Small Arms Skills Cost: 87 Cost Perk 1 Fringe Benefit: Licensed Pinkerton Agent 1 Fringe Benefit: Weapon Permit 1 Reputation: Pinkerton Agent (Law Enforcement and Public Officials in United States) 8-, +1/+1d6 Perks Cost: 3 Cost Talent 4 Lightning Reflexes: +4 DEX to act first with pistols 6 Combat Luck (3 PD/3 ED) Talents Cost: 10 Total Character Cost: 150 Pts. Disadvantage 15 Psychological Limitation: Driven to uphold the law (Common, Strong) 10 Psychological Limitation: Chivalrous (Common, Moderate) 15 Social Limitation: Subject to Orders; May be required to undertake dangerous missions (Frequently, Major) 10 Reputation: Pinkerton Agent, 11- 15 Hunted: Mortimer "Mad Dog" McClendon - gunslinger and assassin 8- (As Pow, PC has a Public ID, Kill) 10 DNPC: Esther - Sister 8- (Normal) 0 Normal Characteristic Maxima Disadvantage Points: 75 Base Points: 75 Experience Required: 0 Total Experience Available: 0 Experience Unspent: 0 Background: Elijah Harrison was born in 1872, a generation after the end of the American Civil War. The Reconstruction was giving way to the American advent of the Industrial Revolution, while the grandson of a wealthy Georgian plantation owner found himself surrounded by family and friends still clinging to a dead way of life that was decaying all around them. Though his parents and younger sister fought to maintain the illusion of antebellum aristocracy, young Eli saw no future in the remnants of the past. He left the plantation at sixteen, taking advantage of the growth of the railroads to explore the rapidly growing and ever-changing frontier of the United States. He found himself in the still largely lawless territories of New Mexico. It was a place where a gun was sometimes the only justice, and where a gentleman either learned to be more barbaric, or made the world around him more civilized. He eventually joined the Pinkerton National Detective Agency in 1895, and soon developed a reputation as one of their most skilled fugitive recovery specialists. Ten years later, when President Teddy Roosevelt was looking for someone to recommend to Professor Erik Thorssen’s new international enterprise, Elijah Harrison’s name was at the top of the list. Quote: “The law is what defines civilization. Upholding the law is the most noble of endeavors.†*** Enjoy!

Re: Millennium City Thanks, Aylwin! I appreciate getting the final word.

Re: Millennium City Thanks, John. I appreciate it!

Re: Millennium City

Re: Millennium City OK, I have a question. There is a recurring picure of a meta throughout the Champions sourcebooks who I have yet to identify. She's a female character in a white bodysuit with a cape whose only apparent power is Flight. Specifically, she is pictured one pages 22, 50, and 135 in _Millenium City_ and page 158 in Champions. As often as she shows up, she must be a significant character at least in Millenium City, so who is she? Thanks!

Re: Harrington Center: A multi-purpose public building Yeah... and the adventure was a lot of fun, too. My character, Artemis, and the other PC, Raptor, spent a nerve-wracking night chasing ersatz Zorros all over Hudson City trying to keep them from causing all kinds of mischief - all culminating in an attempt to kill the Mayor, the Governor, Antonio Banderas (yeah, him ...) at a fund-raiser held at the Harrington...

OK, I understand that, under normal conditions, when a moving character suddenly encounters an obstacle, he has three options: stop, Move Through it, or try to use Casual Strength to avoid it/move it aside. (FrEDR pg. 366) I also understand that, once a character has declared his attack, and a target takes or aborts to a defensive action, the attacker cannot generally change his action in reponse to his target's reaction. Now, a character declares a Move-By/Move Through, Passing Strike, etc. His target throws up a Force Wall or in some other way puts an obstacle in the attacker's path. I understand that if the character wants to continue the attack, he must get around or go through the obstacle. If however, the attacker wants to stop the attack, can he do so (stop moving, turn and avoid the obstacle using the rest of his declared movement, etc.), or is he committed to finishing the attacking now that he's declared it? Assuming the attacker _can_ choose to stop/avoid finishing the attack, I would presume that ends his action just like completing any attack would. Is that correct? Thanks!

Re: What would you do with this base? Actually, I think it's pretty cool, Hermit. Good work.

Re: Need a Superhero HQ? - Try this one Some VERY cool stuff, GA. Thanks!

Re: Hero Machine Thread