Another rule is that if a hero does a heel turn and becomes a bad guy, they gain 50% or more power level. Conversely, a villain who turns good loses a good half of their power or more.
Okay, look, the every other part you came up with was _great_, but I _implore_ you to pick another name! Call him The Inverted Triangle if you want, but not.... That other thing, please.
I know you're somewhere over in the British Isles, so that probably doesn't hit you the same way it might hit a guy from North America who is active with BACA, but Dude... Too close., way, way, _way_ too close....
Here's a short alternate history:
The character's name is Taino, the flag is that of Paid to Rico, and the additional bits to the flag are surrounding Island Nations that have allied with PR after this guy and a military coup restored the native Taino people to rule over the small nation and protect anyone who joined with them.
There. Quite possibly my shortest entry ever.
Thanks for keeping the tradition alive, Sir. Now sit right over there and let me show you how that works...
I appreciate the thought, but seriously guys: I only play for fun. See you guys know the superhero stuff; it's second nature to most of you. I _don't_ really know it, so- while this and "dumb criminal stories" are tied as my favorite threads, I use this game as more a writing prompt than a superhuman generator. You guys are keeping your hand in at whipping up characters off the cuff, and I am,just keeping my hand in at writing on the whole. Accordingly, my stuff runs long becauase I am fleshing out a moment, or a story, or a world, morw than just a character.
I know doe whatever reason, detail trips a lot of triggers, so I announce straight up that I play for fun, period, and as I play a bit outside the intent of the game, I disqualify myself immediately so as not to take anything away from shorter, punchier entries that focus on the point of the game.
Dont be hard on yourself! That was an _awesome_ image, and now that a winner has been selected, I want to take a minute to post the story it inspired in me:
The Finals.
Again.
Carrey Porter was used to getting this far. He started doing the fighting tournaments when he was eleven; he first got to the finals at age fourteen, and he had made it every year since. Most folks figured Carrey had a knack for World Fighters Showdown- and there was no denying that he did! Even though the game was almost two decades old now, he had been playing it since he was five, when his grandparents- thinking all videogames were for kids- had given him Frog Crossing and World Fighters Smackdown as gifts for his fifth birthday.
Of course, the old Game Box II had been passe for some years, but Showdown had really caught on, and it seemed that every console had a port of it; he even had the World Fighters Showdown VI on his VR setup. Pretty sweet, if a bit dizzying.
Ports, though, weren't enough. He worked all summer when he was 12 and saved every dollar to buy an old refurbished cabinet from that place behind the bowling alley. It wasn't the deluxe version; it bore the black side panels and white-on-white face that ran from the simple header to the floor, framing the screen-- bit it _was_ World Fighters Showdown III: The Next Generation. It was the first game with an expanded character roster, and he couldn't play it enough if his dreams of finally proving he was the best in the world were to be realized. Expanded roster or not, he stuck with his favorites: the Beast, hailing from the jungle of Africa, and Padre, the monk with the secret from rural Spain. Sure, he kept his skills up on the new characters, and was actually noted for his skill with Bedrohung, the cyborg from Germany.
But the original cast-- those were the characters in every edition of the game- well, except for 'Showdown IV, when the programmer who designed the Beast demanded a share of the profits, which the publishers avoided by dropping the Beast from the line up. Apparently they worked something out, though, because the Beast appeared in the next two sequels and eventually was downloadable for the console versions of IV ( "but not the VR version," Carrey often complained).
Still, Showdown IV introduced the Tag Team Tournament, which apparently just wasn't going to go away, and which required him to find someone else just as good- _almost_- as he was. Not _quite_ as good, because there could be only _one_ world champion. The winning team would face off against each other, and the world champion would be decided in a three-out-of-five three times endurance battle.
Ziggy had been Carrey's partner for the last six years. Ziggy was good- _extremely_ good!- but not quite as good as Carrey. Or maybe he was. Maybe Carrey could beat Ziggy not because Carrey had a knack for the game, but because he had a knack for the players. That was the thing people didn't really appreciate: the same way that a player with years of practice 'just knew' what a computer-controlled opponent was going to do next and could begin preparing even before the computer did it, the same seemed to apply for people, at least, it seemed that way to Carrey. He could bait an opponent without even thinking about it; once he played against someone a few times, he just got a feel for them.
At least, it had always seemed so, in every bar, every arcade, every bowling alley, every place that had a World Fighters Showdown machine and people to challenge him... right up until the same place every year: right up until the finals; right up until he got run over by the Park brothers, Chun and Seung or, as they were known in the circuit, the Korean Express. World Champions in Tag Team every year they entered (which, Carrey noted resentfully, was the same sixteen years in which he had been making it to the finals), and not just _good_, but good enough to be smug about it: they would take turns being World Fighters Showdown champion. One year, Seung would simply bow out at the start of the final elimination; the next year Chun would do the same.
It was maddening! It was as if beating everyone else was more important than being _the_ world champion. Sure, Ziggy was Carrey's best friend since second grade, but if they ever won the final Tag elimination, Ziggy was going to get the battle of his life!
And here the Park Brothers were, their giggling and insulting eyes laughing uproariously at him over perfectly polite smiles. Carrey and Ziggy extended their hands, as did their opponents, and everyone shook all the way around. The brothers each snorted their derision to both of their competitors. An official reset the game machine, and the match began.
Carrey had won the coin toss for him and Ziggy, and opted to let Ziggy go first, squaring off with Chun. An official-- dressed in this year's costume to make them stand out-- most years they picked a character from the game and dressed that way, but the fans had started doing the same thing, so they took different tack the last couple of years and dressed in open-faced morph-suits with black sides and flanks and a swath of white down from the head to the inside of the legs, with stylized representations of the Swift / Solid / Fierce strike strength buttons-- they looked like stylized cabinets from the re-issues ordered by low-budget places like bars and bowling alleys. Chun and Zig took their stools, the official confirmed they were ready, then reached into the slightly-modified for the event cabinet and restarted the system. He backed quickly away while the warm-ups and diagnostics ran across the screen. Soon the familiar "game over" screen came on, and the official reached forward and pressed both the Player Select buttons, then stepped out of the area, back behind the few dozen people who paid for spots right in the pit.
The match started. Carrey looked at the screen and just _knew_ what Ziggy was going to do: Chun began a feint and even as he started, Carrey knew that Ziggy was going to fall for it- it was almost as if he could _hear_ Ziggy in his own head: "he's jumping in! I can't believe a player _that_ skilled is going to open with a jump! He must be underestimating me! I can do a snatch and flip as he comes overhead, turn it into a suplex for fifteen percent damage and an almost guaranteed stun, and while he's stunned I can unleash my Flame Fandango move at maximum for another twenty percent damage and still leap away before he can recover-!"
"Don't! Don't do it, you idiot! It's a-"
It didn't matter that tournament rules prevented them from speaking; that each player succeeds or fails on his own merits. Carrey didn't even get to finish _thinking_ it before it all played out on the screen: Chun had indeed fainted; what looked like a leap instead arced forward and low into a tumble. Ziggy had been guarding high to charge his air grab maneuver, and didn't see it coming until it was too late. "At least keep up the button charge on the Fandango!" Carrey screamed in his head. He glanced at Ziggy's hands, and wonder of wonders, he _was_ keeping the mid-high punch button held down, even as Chun's fighter- Chun had chosen the Beast- crashed into him at low height, grabbed him and threw him in the air, moved straight into the thousand claw slash which Ziggy's character fell directly into, then moved to grab-
"Now!" Carrey screamed in his head. "Now! Now! Now! If I have taught you _anything-"
Ziggy released the punch button just as the final frame of the thousand claw slash flickered out, and as Chun's Beast reached for a second grab, the corner of the screen filled with flames and Chun's Beast, totally open, took full damage. Even before the Fandango finished, Ziggy went into an elbow dive-- "perfect!" Carrey was excited now; "but don't forget that he won't be stunned and his sweep is the longest in the-" and, as if he was hearing that lesson for the thousandth time, Ziggy initiated a swinging drop kick, an attack that would either force Chun to guard high or it would strike the Beast even as his sweep failed--
The next bit was unnerving. Chun turned _away from the screen_ and looked Carrey dead in the eyes. Even as he did so, he set up for an aerial uppercut, knocking Ziggy's fighter out of the air. All told, Ziggy's avatar had lost sixty-six percent of his damage meter, and his Rage Gauge was only half full.
Chun went directly into the Flying claw maneuver, certain to take Ziggy' s dazed character out with a claw-kick-sweep combo but then Ziggy released the two buttons he had been holding: high kick and low punch. If charged for a full ten seconds, with the swordsman Ziggy was using, the Special unleashed was devastating. Instantly, the swordsman began to disappear and reappear all over the screen, thirty times, with a rapier thrust at every momentary appearance.
If Ziggy had been playing anyone but the Park brothers, he would have won, no question. But Chun was no ordinary player- no one here was an ordinary player. Chun was one half of the Korean Express, the undefeatable team that travelled here to New Jersey every year, and every year left twenty-thousand dollars richer and with a handful of advertising sponsorships to boot.
Chun rolled his joystick in a low half-circle forward, setting up for one of the Beast's signature moves. Instantly the character on the screen leapt forward, prone on the ground, driving himself forward with powerful thrusts of his suddenly-bent-backwards legs. In an instant, he had slid across the screen, under Ziggy's attack, and at the precise moment the Teleporting Sword Slasher ended, the Beast's arms reached out and grabbed the swordsman by the ankles and yanked and twisted, pulling him flat onto his abdomen and face-- another twelve percent damage, but Chun quickly followed up with a prone grab and curled forward-- as the beast somersaulted forward in a roll, still holding the ankles of the fallen swordsman, he rolled all the way across the prone character, curling his opponent backwards in a modified "throw" maneuver called the Spine Breaker.
Chun completed the roll, and instantly fed in the commands for a modified throw maneuver called "the Throat Ripper." The Beast grabbed for the swordsman at the moment the frame glitch would cause the swordsman to appear prone and dazed, Ziggy did the impossible: he pulled off the inputs for an Ultimate during the single frame gap between recovering and the prone glitch caused by the Spine Breaker. Rather than prone, the character appeared standing in a deep forward lean, sword slicing forward in left-right arc: The Abdominal Slash, and after the pummeling he just endured, his Rage Gauge was full. Slash, slash, slash, slash, slash-- animated as a combo, it was technically a single attack- unblockable if your guard was down and you were within throw range. Ziggy's character should be prone, with "Beast Wins!" growing across the screen, but somehow he still had two percent of his damage gauge. Carrey knew it was useless: a slap would do two percent, but the damage Ziggy was dealing to Chun's avatar was unprecedented. Carrey was so shocked he couldn't even be impressed-- what was supposed to be an unvoiced congratulations was just gibberish in his head. Chun's eyes were wide in surprise-- if nothing else, this would be the first moment in history that either member of the Korean Express looked like he was contemplating losing.
Carrey's internal monologue spouted more gibberish, for some reason, angry-sounding gibberish in spite of how he felt about the turn of events. Chun turned and looked dead into Carrey's eyes even as his hands delivered the final blow to Ziggy's swordsman: three Venom Spit attacks: Medium, Low, High. Thanks to the swordsman's character graphics, he was guaranteed to hit one of the final two; his animation would not allow him to slip between the low and high the way most of the other characters could. Even if Ziggy tried to block-- well, any blocked Special Attack did two percent damage to the meter. It was more a matter of how Ziggy wanted to die at this point. "Nobly," most fans thought. "Stupidly" was Carrey's opinion: never give up; go down fighting. The pinky on Ziggy's joystick hand reached out and pressed and held the Player 2 button. The swordsman on the screen went into his Taunt routine: he extended an arm, sheathed his weapon, threw his head back and began an animated laugh. He got a full second and a half before the medium-high blob of venom splattered into his midsection, then he dropped to the ground and the familiar "The Beast Wins!" floated up from the center of the screen.
Chun's eyes directed pure hatred at Carrey. Unblinking, daring him to react. "Coaching is forbidden!" thought Carrey.
Wait--! No; no; he did _not_ coach. On top of that, he didn't _think_ it either! The gibberish-- "am I thinking in Chinese now? Has the stress gotten to me? Did I have a stroke at twenty-eight?!" poured through his head. The gibberish melted away, and he thought-- very loudly, he thought--
"How the Hell am I thinking on top of myself?!" Then his mind burned. "You will be punished!" Then it was all done. Everything was quiet in his head. It actually took a few minutes for the noise of the crowd-- the thousand or so people who had been watching the gigantic overhead monitors and were going berserk at the turn of events-- to come back to his consciousness. Shaken, he patted Ziggy on the shoulder, and squeezed it for a moment in an expression of appreciation for the incredible near-upset Ziggy had managed to pull off. There was a four-minute break between rounds. An official stepped forward, opened the cabinet, and paused the game. "That was incredible, Zig! How did you manage to pull this off?! I can't tell you how proud I am of you right now!"
"I reckon it was all the drilling the past few months, Carrey" Ziggy drawled. I swear, I was half panicked after I blew the opening, but then-- well, it all kind of came back; it was like I was just sitting back and watching my hands do whatever I was told-- everything came back. Kinda like a classroom test, you know when you get to that one thing and you can hear the teacher going over it in your head? It was like that, 'cept of course, it was you and not some kinda Showdown teacher." He looked thoughtful for a minute. "Naw, I reckon it was 'zactly the same, since you was kinda my Showdown teacher, so yeah-- it was like that. I wouldn't 'a thought of none of it, 'cept you'd already drilled into me, and I could hear it playing out in my head each time like we was playin' against each other."
"I don't care how it worked, Zig! That was _amazing_! We might actually have a chance! Look at the screen! Chun's at _twenty percent_! Twenty! Maybe 18! We have never had them below fifty percent left on the first man when we lost our starter! Dude, we've got a chance!" Even as he said it, he could feel.... _something_....
He turned to see the Korean Express staring at him, all four eyes (and one set of glasses) filled with hatred and an absolute hunger for revenge. An air horn sounded. Sixty seconds. Ziggy moved back and Carrey sat at the stool his teammate had blessed with incredible luck. Things were looking good. "Not for _you_!" he thought to himself with a heavy asian accent.
Ziggy assumed the position behind the stool Carrey had occupied so he could watch the rest of the match. Seung likewise stood behind Chun. An official stood between the players and confirmed their readiness to resume. Once assured, he unpaused the machine and familiar letters floated across the screen. "Round Two...... The Beast...... Versus..... Bedrohung!..... 3....2.....1......BEGIN!"
Chun was cagey-- extremely cautious, launching ranged special attacks one after the other, at different heights and different speeds. It was straight up unskilled cheese, but with at best one-third of his damage meter remaining, he was content to resort to the unskilled practice of spamming damage from a distance: even a blocked Special Attack did two percent, after all.
Carrey soaked up roughly ten percent of his damage bar before he had a plan of attack. He snarled at himself for his brief indecision. He couldn't believe he just floundered after Ziggy had won them the best lead into the Korean Express in the history of the tournament. What was _wrong_ with him?! His head cleared and he became painfully aware of the disappointment he was certain he would see in Ziggy's face if he glanced behind him. He initiated a rocket leap with the cyborg, which carried him easily over the spammed venom spit attacks.
Chun responded by having the Beast stand and Carrey was certain his opponent was charging a Thousand Slash attack to go off as soon as the airborne Bedrohung was in range, and - "of course! This is not just the best anti-aerialist attack Jimseung has, a forward-leaping character cannot block! All eleven hits will score twenty-eight percent damage!"
Who the Hell was Jimseung? What is wrong in my head?! He risked a furtive dart of the eyes to the left and saw Chun with his head turned directly towards him, toothy grin and a spider-to-the-fly look in his eyes. "I am!" He thought, but with that crazy Chinese accent. Holy crap! Th- Am I thinking with a Korean accent? Jimseung is Beast! Why do I -" Chun was still staring that creepy stare directly into his eyes. That meant he didn't notice when Bedrohung abruptly stopped his rocket thrust and launched an aerial Long Arm-- he turned to the screen just as he unleashed the Thousand Slash attack and his face fell.
From precisely this point- just premature of the apex of his leap, the Long Arm hit low-- ankles low. The cybernetic arm extended behind the rocket-propelled hand and the steel fist struck the Beast in the shins, well under the slash attack animation that Chun's avatar would be trapped in for another two full seconds. His gloating turn away from the screen cost him not just another twelve percent of his damage meter, but an automatic drop in throw priority-- the penalty for being knocked out of the Thousand Slash attack.
Rather than let the arm retract as Bedrohung began to drop to the ground, Carrey did a quick quarter-circle down and back then pushed forward with the Low Punch button and the Fierce power button, causing the cyborg to grab Beast and pull himself almost instantly toward his opponent. A quick quarter circle down and then backward with a long press and hold on the high kick button and the cyborg rolled his body feet-first, crashing into the Beast with his rocket boots in full blaze...
And doing twenty-eight percent damage. It was a risky move, as it telegraphed itself badly, and if (as it usually did) failed, it left Bedrohung open, off-balance, and in this case, directly next to his opponent: in range of anything he might care to offer up as a counter-attack. But in this case, with the Beast's throw priority temporarily lowered and the timing putting Carrey in just the right spot during the precious two frames when the Beast was ending his attack animation but unable to begin a defense or attack animation.... It had been _more_ than enough to KO Chun's Beast, and he himself had suffered only ten percent. He was going up against Seung's character with ninety percent of his damage bar intact and the flurry of uninterrupted Fierce-Level attacks had almost completely filled his Rage Gauge. He would have Ultimate Attacks available long before Seung possibly could. If only he could get as lucky as he did this round; if only he could get as solid a read on Seung's plan as he had on Chun' s... "No. Your luck is over here." He thought to himself- why the Hell am I thinking in Chinese?!" Only derisive laughter echoed through his mind. "I have never stressed this hard... I have never had this good a shot! My cheating will be punished! What the Hell? I know I'm not cheating! God; I can't stand the tension...."
Seung replaced his brother on the stool, but instead of psyching himself up, he spent the entire four-minute break staring daggers into Carrey's eyes. "Enjoy your last few minutes as a champion!" Carrey retorted, unable to think of anything better. "That was weak." He thought to himself. "Yes; it was" he agreed, with an accent.
Ziggy patted Carrey's shoulders hard. You got this!" He boosted. "Me and you, all the way, Carrey! The hometown boys!"
"Your companion is a fool" he thought to himself. "Ziggy? Dude, I love that guy! What's wrong with me?"
At that instant, Seung laughed and turned to the screen. The official confirmed that they were ready to play and unpaused the machine. Carrey barely noticed the words floating across the screen. He was getting a bit rattled at himself; his mind had been going to some strange places since this match had started.
At some point he was aware that Seung was using Ray, a street thug / hometown hero character from "East Coast, USA!" Odd choice; he wasn't a particularly popular character. Every sequel was precluded with rumors that Ray was being replaced by a 'better" character, yet he had been in every version of the game since the original. His specials weren't particularly... "Special," except for that wierd Delta Kick thing that chained perfectly with itself. The Shuffle Punch could be absolutely devastating-- if it ever actually hit someone. That thing didn't just telegraph, it called you before knocking on your door to deliver the telegraph. Carrey couldn't recall the last time even a nine-year-old had fallen for it.
Ray's big advantage was speed. His high-powered moves weren't any better than anyone else's, but catch an opponent in just the right frame before they touched the ground, and a skilled Ray player could walk him all the way back to the corner with a seemingly endless rapid-fire assault of light and medium-strength attacks that chained flawlessly up to the game's maximum thirty-two hit combo limit. The problem was that few people were fast enough and skilled enough to enter the repetitive sequences flawlessly. Even Carrey shied away from Ray when he had the choice. Sadly, he realized that Ray, more than any other character, suited the Korean Express's relentless, mechanical approach to the game. There was a good chance that he was going to lose thirty seconds in. Even a blocked flurry, comboed long enough, would easily charge the Rage Gauge. The trade off for Ray's weak and limited specials was God-level Ultimates.
"I suddenly don't like my odds." He thought. "They will get much worse, cheater!" He finished.
Okay, that crap had to _stop_. He was starting to think there was a whole extra person in his head. More laughter.
Fifteen seconds in and he hadn't found an opening. As expected, he was steadily blocking an onslaught of attempted long-chain combos, barely finding the cues for when to block low and back to mid- he admitted that it might just be pure luck; he wasn't convinced he actually _had_ seen all the cues. Maybe he was, after sixteen years, finally getting a read on Seung. Or maybe this was exactly how he himself would play Ray. Who knew? The important details here were that he was at ninety percent with a full Rage Gauge and Seung's Ray was completely untouched and-- aw, _crap_! Seung's Rage Gauge burst into flame.....
Aw, _crap_. Carrey was pressed hard against the right wall, miraculously shifting his block from mid to low and back at just the right times. That was going to fail eventually, though, and the instant Seung got an opening, an Ultimate was coming. Carrey was even sure he knew just one. The Omega Kick- basically the Delta Kick chained three times- wouldn't work this close in. Sure, the last kick would get him, but at this close range, the first two would strike too high to actually touch him.
It would be the Flaming Shuffle Punch. Every bit as humiliating to get tagged with, but with seriously-ramped-up damage and Ray bathed in fire the whole time for that extra gaudiness. It couldn't possibly miss: it was a modified uppercut that started at the ankles so it would connect with anyone who was close enough, and brother, the animations were on top of each other; you just couldn't get closer than that. The upper cut finished with Ray's fist extended well over his head before it looked back into the next cycle, and the sliding movement element that gave it the name and Carrey's avatar being already pinned to the wall at the edge of the screen meant that Seung's Ray would just juggle him for all four uppercuts in the Ultimate cycle. Easily sixty-five percent damage with there; possibly seventy. At best, he would come out of this with twenty-percent of his damage bar, dazed, and his Rage Gauge snuffed.
"Screw it!" Thought Carrey, face twisting with the mania of frustration. "I'm doing _something_!" He refused to go down without struggling through every painful inch of the fall. He had been charging both mid-height attacks and the Fierce button. Why not? They didn't take him out of the blocking stances after they were pressed, and they might be useful. The first two-thirds of the controller input left him in Block anyway. Go for it. Die swinging.
Carrey dropped the joystick to the straight down position, rolled a quarter-circle back and up to the hard back position, then dropped without rolling it back to down and repeated the quarter roll- entering the inputs so fast an observer couldn't actually tell what they where, but the slamming of the joystick could be heard twenty feet away. He continued on, dropping the controller for a third time to the straight down position, hoping, just _hoping_-
Seun screwed up. Was it a botched input? A failed button? Carrey would never know; he was busy. All he knew was the miracle he needed was playing out right before his eyes. Just as he dropped the joystick to the down position for the third time- the commit point at which a miracle happened. Instead of Seung taking him out with an Ultimate- he got the miracle. Seung... stopped. Not for long- maybe two frames. He stopped pressing buttons and held the joystick at neutral for just the briefest instant, a horrified look on his face even as he did it.
Carrey rolled the joystick down and forward in a quarter circle, releasing both mid-height attack buttons as he did so. Bedrohung- Menace; the German Super-Soldier cyborg, raised a forearm in a defensive position and the back of his jacket ripped open and four jet nozzles extended out beyond the tattered edges and ignited. Ultimate!
Ultimate Knee Kick, specifically. The cyborg flew forward, one knee forward, into Ray, grabbed him by the shoulders as his knee sank deeply into his animated opponent's abdomen, then flew nigh-instantly to the wall at the end of the arena three screens away, smashing Ray into it and crushing him with his knee. The moment the pair hit the wall, Bedrohung, hovering in front of Ray, shoulders still clasped in steel hands, began to pump his legs back and forth- left, right, left, right- driving his steel knees over and over into Ray's middle. Carrey spammed the Fierce button like a crazed woodpecker, rapid-fire presses in an attempt to extend the duration of the attack while the combo counter climbed.
Seung seemed to snap back to attention as the two characters flew across the screen and began waggling the stick furiously in an attempt to shorten the attack. Seung won the input battle and threw Carrey's Bedrohung, Carrey's zeal for a few more strikes had cost him the fifteen percent Finisher. Still, the first smash and eleven additional strikes- and as an Ultimate- had been ridiculously effective, and had left Ray's damage bar at forty_five or so percent. Carrey was overjoyed; it was rare to get the full twenty-second charge it took to bring the initial slam up to forty percent, plus two percent for each additional strike over four--
No time for gloating, though. Whatever had thrown Seung off his game had been shaken away, and even at these odds, either of the Park brothers was still an incredibly dangerous opponent. He thought for just a moment he saw the player to his left sweat. Was that glistening brow just his imagination?
What he had _not_ seen was Chun slowly move from behind his brother, slide gently around behind Ziggy, and come to stand just behind and to the right of Carrey. Ziggy hadn't bothered to enforce the protocol simply because at his height of six-three or so and Chun's height of five-five, Ziggy could still see the screen fine. It was unfortunate that Zig was so easy-going and so intent on the big screen over the game cabinet. Actually, Carrey noticed in his periphery, _everyone_ was watching the big screen well-above the cabinets. This was the most exciting Finals match in years, and no one wanted to miss the action.
That also meant that no one noticed what Carrey himself, and what Ziggy's ... generous proportions (Ziggy made no secret of his love of food- particularly confections- or his disdain for exercise) would likely have hidden from anyone who might just have happened to _not_ be watching the big screen.
Chun had initiated a Flaming Shuffle Punch. Not because he had any real hope of hitting Bedrohung at this distance, but because each blocked uppercut pushed Bedrohung back one-fifth of the screen, and he would have to stay blocked until the entire move was finished. As soon as the Ultimate started, he took his right hand from the buttons and carefully extended his arm toward Carrey. Simultaneously, Chun extended his left hand toward Carrey. "Burn, Cheater! Burn!" Carrey yelled at himself, confusing himself,enough that he nearly lost his concentration. Then both of the Park brothers extended an index finger and touched him at points halfway from his temples to his ears
And there was an audible snapping noise in Carrey's head. For the single, tiniest instant, he was locked inside his brain, out of communication or even input from the world outside of his mind, and for a split second, he was wracked with a spasm of pain not reflected by his unresponsive body.
And an instant later, he was God.
He understood _everything_. He understood that the Park brothers were both prions, that they could communicate telepathically, that they had been cheating for years by silently coaching one another during gameplay. He understood that they could also insert a small amount of confusion into an opponent if he was close enough- enough to throw off his game. They could read an opponent's mind and know his intentions even before he could put them into action, making it ridiculously easy to dodge, defend, counterattack. They could, by working together, inflict pain and even lock another Psion away from his abilities for a short period of time.
He also understood that _he_ was a Psion, though he had never been aware of it, and it was that unawareness that kept it from manifesting until now, in the company of two other psions. He also understood that they thought he had been coaching Ziggy telepathically, as they had been picking up some of what his anxiety had pushed toward Ziggy, though this was merely a result of their own abilities. Carrey had, just those few minutes ago, absolutely no idea who to make his thoughts appear in another person's mind. The Park Brothers had been crawling through his mind trying to assess his abilities and to distract him with confusion.
He understood that he had caused Seung to pause briefly, and that had made them decide to act. He understood that the stunt they just pulled was some kind of mind bar meant to lock him away from his abilities, and he understood how they had miscalculated.
He knew they had miscalculated because they believed that he was both aware of and in control of his abilities. What they had intended as a lock against his abilities was actually the psionic shock that awakened his defenses and brought to him a keen awareness and understanding of his abilities.
Mostly, though, he was aware of exactly how powerful he was, and how hilariously outclassed the Park Brothers were. They were cavemen with rollerskates amongst the more pedestrian cavemen. He was a diesel-driven locomotive, and their day was not going to go at all the way they expected it to.
He pushed back at Chun-- hard. He felt Chun's defenses snap like a brittle shaft of sun-dried straw. Chun clutched briefly at his head, staggered, and fell. Instantly, the official was next to him, cradling his head and slapping his face. He took a radio from his belt and called for assistance. Weirdly, no one thought this was strange. It was unusual, but not unheard of for some of the fans to simply faint under the tension-- particularly those that hadn't eaten for a day or two, too absorbed in the action to notice the passage of time.
"No; don't even think about it!" Carrey's mind sent back to Seung-- Carrey had sense a desire to leap to his brother's aid. This would have caused the officials to stop the game and declare a rematch. Carrey wasn't interested in anything but victory, here, in this moment. "He will live; I have done to him what you thought you could do to me. Try it again, and I promise you that he will not survive the trip out of here."
Seung lashed out in anger, attempting to drill deep into Carrey's pain centers-- "Stop that!" Carrey chided, delivering a psionic "slap" across Seung's psyche that caused him to reel physically. Carrey politely paused his character and waited for Seung to recover. "No; I do not want to win _that_ way" Carrey pushed the words into Seung's mind. "I want to take you down. All these years-- all these years you have been cheating, coaching, assisting, clouding my judgement and my actions! No; you _will_ suffer for that; I promise. But tonight, you win or lose based on your _skill_ versus whatever the Hell I feel like doing to you. Do you understand? One tiny tendril probes my mind, and I will leave you paralyzed, locked entirely in your head. " For a brief instant, Carrey paused his play again and ran electric agony through Seung's pain centers. "Or possibly _worse_. Now play!"
An official, confused by the faltering play on the big screen, stepped between them and paused the machine. "Are you okay to play?" he asked Seung. "Under the circumstances, we can call the game and set up a rematch if you wish to be with your brother."
Seung glanced past the concerned official and across to Carrey. Carrey sat motionless on the stool, but he made certain that Seung saw the room twisting and distorting around him-- reality itself was now his to play with. Seung watched as electricity sparked and raced up and down Carrey's body. He glanced at Seung with raging coals in his eyes and an abyss surrounding the small pit in which they sat. "I play!" Seung said hastily. "I play!"
The official started the unpause timer from ten seconds and stepped away.
"Excellent choice," Carrey cooed inside Seung's mind. "But first, let's make sure there's no more cheating, okay?" Seung felt an iron door slam shut in his head as if it were a physical blow. Gone. He could not feel the crowd; he could not feel his brother. He could not read the surface thoughts of the man seated next to him.
3.... 2... 1.... Begin!
Carrey became irritated. Then he became angry. Then he became _furious_. Seung--
wasn't very good. His play was average for one of the casuals at the bar in the middle of the week. It was just... average! How the Hell was this possible?! Carrey probed into Seung's mind. It wasn't a front; it wasn't fear. He just wasn't good. Apparently his brother wasn't any better. All this time-- All these years, they were world champions based entirely on _cheating_! On reading their opponent's minds-- not just knowing their opponent's next moves, but even knowing what particularly countermove their opponent might be most concerned about, and using that against them. Carrey, it turn out, really _was_ the best in the world! Robbed year after year by a pair of telepathic grifters!
It was incredibly hard to keep himself from lashing out, from releasing all this rage into the crowd around him. This wouldn't do; this would not do! He couldn't defeat a Seun who was playing so absolutely mediocre in the finals! He would not get any recognition beyond being the jerk who took advantage of a guy too distracted with worry over his brother's condition to play well. There was no glory in that!
There was only one thing to do. He had been robbed of the sensational feeling of finally defeating his rivals, but he would not be robbed of the glory of being champion, of having clawed his way to victory! He reached into Seung's mind and knocked Seung into the driver's seat. "Move over, you cheating turd! Let me show you how the game is played." For the next sixty seconds, Carrey played both characters, controlling Seung's character through the simple expedient of controlling Seung himself. He put on an incredible show of blocked combos and just-missed Specials and Ultimates and barely-dodged finishers, creating for the record what was probably the greatest, most skillful game ever to be captured. This would, for the record, go down as the greatest match ever played by Seung Park (which, Carrey had to admit to himself, did rankle a bit), but at the two-second mark on the countdown (one second was, after all, a bit cliche), Carrey's Bedrohung, down to a pixel's width of damage bar, would miraculously deliver a forty-five percent Ultimate to Seung's character-- a bit of overkill, being as how Seung's character had only fifteen percent of his own damage bar-- but it made for great theater. Besides, he thought to himself, in competition, there is no kill like overkill.
The crowd went nuts; the PA announced Carrey and Ziggy as the new world Tag-Team champions, and announced that the final match between himself and his partner Ziggy would begin in two hours.
"You can have it, Zig." Carrey thought, absolutely bitter with rage. All these years-- all these years, he had been the best-- and he didn't even have a chance to prove it properly thanks to those cheating little---
Then something went really, really sideways in his head. "No; there _is_ a way to at least get the vengeance I deserve!" He walked into the crowd, changing slowly as he moved through them until Carrey was gone and a large, powerfully-muscled man strode the path he began. He was completely naked. He walked up to an official hovering near the rear wall of the venue. "Yo-wah clothes," he commanded in a heavy Austrian accent. "Give them to me." Unable to stop himself, the official stripped and handed the morph suit to Carrey, who stripped and struggled into it. Then he turned and walked back into the crowd. Tired of the fight against the crush, he mentally nudged everyone he encountered to the left or right, out of his way. Tiring of that, he simply reached out with his mind and _threw_ them out of the way, parting them like Moses parted the Red Sea. The confused crowd watched in horror as what appeared to be an official strode through the gap, burst into a colorful flame, and began to reshape the room, causing it to sway crazily, the walls pulsing and undulating as if alive; gravity no longer made sense.
Carrey strode to the slumped, crying form of Seung Park, still on the stool in front of the arcade cabinet. "Are these tears of a bitter loss, or of the humiliation of being ridden like puppet?!" he demanded. Seung remained silent. "I have changed my mind," Carrey spoke into Seung's head. "You and your brother have earned my wrath, and so much more! Your brother will _not_ live to see tomorrow! Not after everything you have taken from me! But don't be afraid--" Carrey consoled. Suddenly, Seung flew straight up into the air as if he had been jerked by the chin. He stood, spinning slightly in front of the entire audience. "You," Carrey started again, "will not have to watch him die." Then Seung spun in two directions at once as if he were a wet rag being wrung out. There was a series of sickening snaps and pops cracking through the silent auditorium, then Seung's lifeless body fell to the ground in a broken pile.
The audience screamed and panicked and attempted to run anywhere-- everywhere-- all at once, but found they could not move a single muscle between them. "You will all be fine in a few minutes." Carrey barked into their heads. "You are merely in my way. Be glad that Head Games has no quarrel with you."
Then he walked out into a brand new life. Gotta make a quick stop at the clinic first, though. There was one last Park Brother he needed to see...
And Thanks, Rich, for taking up the torch for long posts.
I am with Doc D (which, honestly, is not unusual in most things): you are setting up a bleak, must-lose-and-endure-anyway campaign, and as a thought exercise, it can be a lot of fun.
As a gaming experience, though, it's kind of depressing. Most choices will be centered on minimizing attrition by horrible means, and victory conditions are "continuing to inflict the horrors of the world on as many people as possible for as long as possible," even while knowing that the survivors probably won't stay alive anyway.
It's hard to get stoked for.
However, the last couple of decades have seen a shift in society that makes me crave societal collapse through global peasant uprising, wherein the richest world controllers and other cash sinkholes are stung up by the ankles and beaten like stainless steel pinatas, followed by a mass exodus from business, reliance on anything,that costs money they will,never have, etc-
People start ripping up pavement and planting food. Society is for the middle,and,upper class, and built,on the backs,of,the day-to-day grunt.
What happens globally,when they have all had enough of supporting the non-contributors, and simply stop?
Besides, they have better odds of living through this one.
Most or my characters were like Christopher's: not particularly "effective" except dor their particular Schtick.
They all ended up with solid Endurance and often higher ED than PD, though, just because I thoight Constitution-- the over well robustness and wellness of a character- was a hallmark of the broad-shouldered, square-jawed, chiseled,cheeks HERO type. We disnt even use the Stunning rules for the first few years: the high CON was just part of a HERO concept for me.
I think if everyone's making their characters at about the same level of efficiency, it's more fun than when one person is minmaxed within an inch of their life, and even moreso than when it's everyone but you minmaxed.
Repair shop called; said parts wouldnt be in before next Friday, so I picked up.
Can't do much, as it was foinf into the shop because it won't charge. My daughter has the same phone, so we have worked out a deal where we swap batteries so I have the phone for emergency use.
Enoch stepped out of the wall- slowly, carefully. The aging machinery behind him had been making unpleasant noises since the Eldenwise had started them up, but as their labor increased, so, too, did the protest of the great metal beasts. Some hummed and hissed menacingly while others creaked or chirped or simply screamed a shrill, endless cry. Toward the end, before the room had turned inside out, the metal beasts had begun to rattle and clatter and breathe smoke- so much worse than the dust they coughed when the Eldenwise awakened them; great black clouds of it, filled with scents Enoch had never before experienced.
"This," he reasoned, "must be what the air is like without the filter." Unconsciously, he adjusted his filtration mask and the hoses that projected from it, the hoses that increased the surface area of the filters and which collected untainted water from the air itself. Then the room turned inside out.
"Almost! Be ready!" Yelled one of the Eldenwise. "It will be ready soon!"
Enoch began to question himself for the first time since the quest had begun. He hafted his axe partly in habit and partly to reassure himself. He, like all the other candidates, had been trained from birth, strengthened, and taught the ways of war and personal combat by the Eldenwise, the oldest members of the tribes, who kept alive in themselves many secrets of the past. He had heard tales that the Eldenwise had advised the tribal chiefs since before his grandfather's grandfather's grandfather had been born, and untold years before that.
Always, in all tribes, the Eldenwise were the same: studious, critical, cautious, scholarly. And every year did they come together to select the cleverest child and the strongest, fastest child from each tribe, and it was a great honor to have one of one's own children selected. These children would be trained the rest of the lives: the brightest children would learn the mysteries of the past and other knowledge long-since dead, dead perhaps even before the Burning that poisoned the air and boiled the seas and resulted in the desert lands in which Enoch was raised. These children would go on to become the next of the Eldenwise as their tutors aged and died.
The warriors had a different lot. When they were ready- when the Eldenwise had declared them to be at the peak of their training and reflexes and the various elixirs had grown their bodies to be as durable and strong as possible, they were drawn together, and these banded brothers were ordered to fight one another, to the death.
The Eldenwise watched; always they watched and judged and scored and after days of sequestered discussion, they would determine if the survivor had been worthy. "There remains only a chance for two," they have always claimed, "and that which survives tells us of a mighty warrior, beyond all human ability, and as great as the tallest of the black ruins in the valley below. Only that warrior may pass, escorted by the brightest of the Tenderwise. Each the other will serve, and each the other will protect to the best of their abilities." Then they would pass judgement. Enoch wondered how horrible it must be to turn and fight and ultimately slay men who were raised with you from childhood- men who were closer than clan: men who were your closest brothers. Enoch shuddered as he wondered what it must be like, in a world with far-too-few people already, to have done this soul-crushing thing..., and then to be found unworthy....
The unworthy were allowed to return to their tribes, but so far as he knew, none ever had ever done so. "Who could?" He wondered aloud, softly. Those who had gone before always seemed to orefer a self-exile out into the Sands, and perhaps to the Great Glass Sea beyond that.
"No distractions!" Screamed one of the Eldenwise. "The time is here! Stay alert!"
Enoch stared dead ahead, the small form of the chosen Tenderwise just visible in his peripheral vision. The Tender's eyes were beyond wide open, a look of absolute incredulity bursting through his features. Enoch suspected his own face would look the same, if only he understood what was going on. He had seen these strange metal forms in the ruins all his life, and had no idea that they were slumbering beasts.
The air in front of him simmered and glowed for a moment, and the strange metal creatures began to howl and vibrate in agony. "We've not much tolerance, and less time! It has to be now!" Screeched and Eldenwise.
"I know!" another screamed over the cacophony. "But the power is weak! We are _trying_!"
Enoch stared again at the air in front him, not knowing what to expect. He thought again about what it must be like. He counted himself blessed that he had not been found unworthy. After countless years, the Eldenwise has found a warrior they believed to be worthy: a giant of a man, possessed of unparalleled strength and stamina, able to wield his axe almost faster than the eye could follow.
His axe. He loved his axe. He had been trained to love his weapon, and the ruins were scrounged for metal again and again, until the forges produced a weapon that Enoch felt was perfect for his combat style, and large and durable enough to counter blows easily-- an important distinction, as he was now charged forever with protecting the Tinderwise who was selected to travel with him.
The air shimmered again, and for a brief instant, he believed he saw something that was not there, but even as it caught his attention, it disappeared. Suddenly it was back- a spot of color in his world of rust and dust and char-- and it began to grow.
Color. An amazing expanse of it: green and blue and a crisp clear horizon unmuted by the all pervasive poisons of the dust. He stilled his wonder and focused, tensing for the leap. He gestured to the harness pack he was wearing and the Tinder obediently climbed into it and strapped himself to the giant. Enoch himself went over everything he had been taught until he could repeat it: one evil man split the world from its Destiny. There was another path where that man was stopped by a great warrior and a brilliant Elden- no; that was certainly what he was, but that was not the word they had used... A "Scientist." A great and mighty warrior and a brilliant scientist, and a team of men and women of incredible, magic-like power. Enoch must find this team, join them, bond with them, and when the time comes that a great evil threatens to turn the destiny of the world toward the Great Burning, he must enlist their aid and risk his life to prevent it at all costs.
This is why he stepped into the scene that appeared like a magic globe in the center of the room, even as the immobile roaring metal beasts themseves began to burn and die and as he heard at least two of the Eldenwise scream in agony-- he could not afford to look back, lest the chance be lost forever to the last of men.
"Now!" One of the Eldenwise demanded. "It must be now!" Enoch leaped into the alien scene that filled the center of the room and at once was surrounded by darkness. He reached forwars with his free hand and felt a purchase- stone! A ledge of some sort. He pulled himself forward even as his mind told,him that 'up' and 'down' were no longer relevant. After painful effort, light shown through the lenses or his filtration mask, and he felt upon his shoulder the caress of the coolest beeeze he had ever known. He paused and carefully turned his head to tale stock of the situation. His head and shoulder protruded from some massive barrier of shaped stone, like those found in the ruins, but shot through with color- red with hints of gold and white and grey. He shut down his fear, ignore his confusion, and braced himself for the exertion of pulling his weapon hand through.
Enoch stepped out of the wall- slowly, carefully....
As the saying goes, "We still know where the pitchforks are."
But societal collapse has never been a salutary experience for the bulk of the people involved, whatever started it and whoever perpetrated it. Mobs will turn on whoever they decide is to blame, whether they're responsible or not. People will flock to whoever appears strong enough to offer them security. Such "strong men" are usually ruthless and exploitive, and often ambitious, prompting factional violence over remaining resources. Much knowledge, practical, historical, artistic and philosophical, is lost in the chaos.
Something better may eventually emerge, but if it happened today it's unlikely our children and grandchildren will live to see it.
I am with Doc D (which, honestly, is not unusual in most things): you are setting up a bleak, must-lose-and-endure-anyway campaign, and as a thought exercise, it can be a lot of fun.
As a gaming experience, though, it's kind of depressing. Most choices will be centered on minimizing attrition by horrible means, and victory conditions are "continuing to inflict the horrors of the world on as many people as possible for as long as possible," even while knowing that the survivors probably won't stay alive anyway.
It's hard to get stoked for.
However, the last couple of decades have seen a shift in society that makes me crave societal collapse through global peasant uprising, wherein the richest world controllers and other cash sinkholes are stung up by the ankles and beaten like stainless steel pinatas, followed by a mass exodus from business, reliance on anything,that costs money they will,never have, etc-
People start ripping up pavement and planting food. Society is for the middle,and,upper class, and built,on the backs,of,the day-to-day grunt.
What happens globally,when they have all had enough of supporting the non-contributors, and simply stop?
Besides, they have better odds of living through this one.
I am with Doc D (which, honestly, is not unusual in most things): you are setting up a bleak, must-lose-and-endure-anyway campaign, and as a thought exercise, it can be a lot of fun.
As a gaming experience, though, it's kind of depressing. Most choices will be centered on minimizing attrition by horrible means, and victory conditions are "continuing to inflict the horrors of the world on as many people as possible for as long as possible," even while knowing that the survivors probably won't stay alive anyway.
It's hard to get stoked for.
However, the last couple of decades have seen a shift in society that makes me crave societal collapse through global peasant uprising, wherein the richest world controllers and other cash sinkholes are stung up by the ankles and beaten like stainless steel pinatas, followed by a mass exodus from business, reliance on anything,that costs money they will,never have, etc-
People start ripping up pavement and planting food. Society is for the middle,and,upper class, and built,on the backs,of,the day-to-day grunt.
What happens globally,when they have all had enough of supporting the non-contributors, and simply stop?
Besides, they have better odds of living through this one.
Bad news for those of,you who like to read absurdly long posts; great news for those of you who do not!
Phone is going into the shop tomorrow; don't know how long,it will be there. Last,time,was about three weeks, and I have no reason to assume that this time won't be the same.
I have not fallen out of love with you people; I am just offline.
Bad news for those of,you who like to read absurdly long posts; great news for those of you who do not!
Phone is going into the shop tomorrow; don't know how long,it will be there. Last,time,was about three weeks, and I have no reason to assume that this time won't be the same.
I have not fallen out of love with you people; I am just offline.
The problem,is the ensuing discussion about what is _most_ correct; asking "how to" is like taking the NCLEX all over again:
Every answer is correct, but which is _most_ correct? For my money, it's the simplest. I have an appreciation for elegance. Thus, in this case, I would probably use Change Environment or, if using it defensively, to with Doc's Barrier suggestion.
However, I in actuality do neither, because about the time 4e hit shelves, I snagged a copy of Fantasy HERO (the original; not the 4e one), and _immediately_ cribbed the Create rules into the Champiins rules. For me, that is the most elegant solution for creating something. Apparently after publishing 6e, Steve decided it was, too, and tossed a variant of them into one of the APGS.
You should check out the 1988 flick with Rowdy Roddy Piper called “Hell Comes to Frogtown.” It’s a lot like your virus with some other mutation stuff and general silliness thrown in.
I would be content with creating a barrier of water. I would be content with the SFX being "water" and applying the usual environmental effects. It would be DEF 0 with enough BODY to soak up damage, should people decide to try destroying it rather than swimming through.
If the barrier was in a hole, then once the DEF of the barrier was overcome, the water would still exist and fill the hole.
The game didn't bill itself as build the game you want. The game billed itself as build a superhero.
Shortly afterward, the game creators offered a tweaked version of the rules and said "build yourself a spy according to these rules." Fans said "this is exactly like the superhero rules!" but it wasn't. Very, very similar, at least in key high-profile bits of the system, but not the same.
Then the original rules were tweaked again and they went back to "build youself a superhero." Then those rules were tweaked and,altered here and there and we fot "build yourself a superhero," and more variants and twesking of the superhero rules and spy rules lead to "build yourself a sorcerer" and "build yourself a cold war operative" and "build yourself an intergalactic adventurer" and even "build youself a mech."
And each one of those rules sets was _different_ in fundamental-for-their-intended-purposes ways, while retaining a lot of key similarities to the rules set that inspired the tweaks. Unfortunately, they were similiar where the system is the most obvious, which lead to a lot of claims of "it's the exact same game!"
Sometimes, this was hyperbole by folks who noticed the similarities; sometimes it was sincere from folks who sae the obvious similarities and too few of the differences.
One thing lead to another, and we have the world's biggest set of "build yourself a superhero" while we run around proclaiming "build anything you want!" While each subsequent edition has gotten more and more complex, and has, in its own way, tried to invent a balance that has never once existed within the rules, very little has been done to move it away from superheroes fundamentally; there have just been a thousand options dumped on top.
Absolutely _none_ of these are necessary to build "6d6 magic missile" or 3d6 HKA battle axe."
They are just a bunch of points-sucks (for "balance") and options laid on top of Optic Blast and WolverClone and called "fantasy stuff...."
You _can_ make fantasy, and you dont have to squint super-hard, but you do have to pretend a lot of options are absolutely necessary, and ignore that you are using a system that, no matter how hard it has tried, to this day is optimized to make superheroes.
Enoch stepped out of the wall- slowly, carefully. The aging machinery behind him had been making unpleasant noises since the Eldenwise had started them up, but as their labor increased, so, too, did the protest of the great metal beasts. Some hummed and hissed menacingly while others creaked or chirped or simply screamed a shrill, endless cry. Toward the end, before the room had turned inside out, the metal beasts had begun to rattle and clatter and breathe smoke- so much worse than the dust they coughed when the Eldenwise awakened them; great black clouds of it, filled with scents Enoch had never before experienced.
"This," he reasoned, "must be what the air is like without the filter." Unconsciously, he adjusted his filtration mask and the hoses that projected from it, the hoses that increased the surface area of the filters and which collected untainted water from the air itself. Then the room turned inside out.
"Almost! Be ready!" Yelled one of the Eldenwise. "It will be ready soon!"
Enoch began to question himself for the first time since the quest had begun. He hafted his axe partly in habit and partly to reassure himself. He, like all the other candidates, had been trained from birth, strengthened, and taught the ways of war and personal combat by the Eldenwise, the oldest members of the tribes, who kept alive in themselves many secrets of the past. He had heard tales that the Eldenwise had advised the tribal chiefs since before his grandfather's grandfather's grandfather had been born, and untold years before that.
Always, in all tribes, the Eldenwise were the same: studious, critical, cautious, scholarly. And every year did they come together to select the cleverest child and the strongest, fastest child from each tribe, and it was a great honor to have one of one's own children selected. These children would be trained the rest of the lives: the brightest children would learn the mysteries of the past and other knowledge long-since dead, dead perhaps even before the Burning that poisoned the air and boiled the seas and resulted in the desert lands in which Enoch was raised. These children would go on to become the next of the Eldenwise as their tutors aged and died.
The warriors had a different lot. When they were ready- when the Eldenwise had declared them to be at the peak of their training and reflexes and the various elixirs had grown their bodies to be as durable and strong as possible, they were drawn together, and these banded brothers were ordered to fight one another, to the death.
The Eldenwise watched; always they watched and judged and scored and after days of sequestered discussion, they would determine if the survivor had been worthy. "There remains only a chance for two," they have always claimed, "and that which survives tells us of a mighty warrior, beyond all human ability, and as great as the tallest of the black ruins in the valley below. Only that warrior may pass, escorted by the brightest of the Tenderwise. Each the other will serve, and each the other will protect to the best of their abilities." Then they would pass judgement. Enoch wondered how horrible it must be to turn and fight and ultimately slay men who were raised with you from childhood- men who were closer than clan: men who were your closest brothers. Enoch shuddered as he wondered what it must be like, in a world with far-too-few people already, to have done this soul-crushing thing..., and then to be found unworthy....
The unworthy were allowed to return to their tribes, but so far as he knew, none ever had ever done so. "Who could?" He wondered aloud, softly. Those who had gone before always seemed to orefer a self-exile out into the Sands, and perhaps to the Great Glass Sea beyond that.
"No distractions!" Screamed one of the Eldenwise. "The time is here! Stay alert!"
Enoch stared dead ahead, the small form of the chosen Tenderwise just visible in his peripheral vision. The Tender's eyes were beyond wide open, a look of absolute incredulity bursting through his features. Enoch suspected his own face would look the same, if only he understood what was going on. He had seen these strange metal forms in the ruins all his life, and had no idea that they were slumbering beasts.
The air in front of him simmered and glowed for a moment, and the strange metal creatures began to howl and vibrate in agony. "We've not much tolerance, and less time! It has to be now!" Screeched and Eldenwise.
"I know!" another screamed over the cacophony. "But the power is weak! We are _trying_!"
Enoch stared again at the air in front him, not knowing what to expect. He thought again about what it must be like. He counted himself blessed that he had not been found unworthy. After countless years, the Eldenwise has found a warrior they believed to be worthy: a giant of a man, possessed of unparalleled strength and stamina, able to wield his axe almost faster than the eye could follow.
His axe. He loved his axe. He had been trained to love his weapon, and the ruins were scrounged for metal again and again, until the forges produced a weapon that Enoch felt was perfect for his combat style, and large and durable enough to counter blows easily-- an important distinction, as he was now charged forever with protecting the Tinderwise who was selected to travel with him.
The air shimmered again, and for a brief instant, he believed he saw something that was not there, but even as it caught his attention, it disappeared. Suddenly it was back- a spot of color in his world of rust and dust and char-- and it began to grow.
Color. An amazing expanse of it: green and blue and a crisp clear horizon unmuted by the all pervasive poisons of the dust. He stilled his wonder and focused, tensing for the leap. He gestured to the harness pack he was wearing and the Tinder obediently climbed into it and strapped himself to the giant. Enoch himself went over everything he had been taught until he could repeat it: one evil man split the world from its Destiny. There was another path where that man was stopped by a great warrior and a brilliant Elden- no; that was certainly what he was, but that was not the word they had used... A "Scientist." A great and mighty warrior and a brilliant scientist, and a team of men and women of incredible, magic-like power. Enoch must find this team, join them, bond with them, and when the time comes that a great evil threatens to turn the destiny of the world toward the Great Burning, he must enlist their aid and risk his life to prevent it at all costs.
This is why he stepped into the scene that appeared like a magic globe in the center of the room, even as the immobile roaring metal beasts themseves began to burn and die and as he heard at least two of the Eldenwise scream in agony-- he could not afford to look back, lest the chance be lost forever to the last of men.
"Now!" One of the Eldenwise demanded. "It must be now!" Enoch leaped into the alien scene that filled the center of the room and at once was surrounded by darkness. He reached forwars with his free hand and felt a purchase- stone! A ledge of some sort. He pulled himself forward even as his mind told,him that 'up' and 'down' were no longer relevant. After painful effort, light shown through the lenses or his filtration mask, and he felt upon his shoulder the caress of the coolest beeeze he had ever known. He paused and carefully turned his head to tale stock of the situation. His head and shoulder protruded from some massive barrier of shaped stone, like those found in the ruins, but shot through with color- red with hints of gold and white and grey. He shut down his fear, ignore his confusion, and braced himself for the exertion of pulling his weapon hand through.
Enoch stepped out of the wall- slowly, carefully....
Duke Bushido reacted to Christopher R Taylor in Could Rules for Hero Gaming System Be Getting To Complicated?
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Rich McGee in Supers Image game
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Scott Ruggels in THE APOCALYPSE!!!!
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Christopher R Taylor in Could Rules for Hero Gaming System Be Getting To Complicated?
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Khymeria in Armor Piercing vs Penetrating
Duke Bushido got a reaction from BoloOfEarth in Quote of the Week from my gaming group...
Duke Bushido got a reaction from DShomshak in Supers Image game
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Old Man in Involuntary vacation
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Grailknight in Should FH Characters Pay for Equipment.
Duke Bushido got a reaction from Lawnmower Boy in A Thread For Random RPG Musings
