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| The Siege of Lame Deer; HFC | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 21 2010, 03:10 PM (1,249 Views) | |
| Forge | Apr 21 2010, 03:10 PM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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Date: March 10 Time: Noon In the depths of his mind, Forge was strung up in chains. He was suspended by long chains that held his arms to some impossibly high ceiling that was just beyond his range of sight. His legs were held as well and anchored to mooring points just as far away. There was an iron manacle around his neck that stretched it to the maximum length for the maximum pain. That was not the worst part. There were hooks, wicked and cruel, that dug into his flesh and stretched the skin almost to the point of ripping. In every cell, Forge was feeling agony and torment. These wounds were purely mental however. They rending of the hooks and the grinding of the metal cuffs around his ankles and wrists would not show upon his flesh. “You won’t succeed,” Forge sneered through gritted teeth. Shadow King finally deigned to appear to Forge in his mind-scape. “I’ve heard that tune before, White King,” Farouk said. “You’ve been locked away for days. You don’t know what I’ve been up to.” Shadow King opened up the channels in Forge’s mind to allow the captive Cheyenne to see what had been accomplished in the days since he had been sequestered away in the dungeons of his mind. Forge received a glimpse of the physical realm. The large machine had been constructed in the basement of the gymnasium. Members of his tribe and the folk of the town of Lame Deer were clamoring about like bees in a hive. Forge’s body was at the center of the machine. Electrical leads and probes were attached to his body and inserted into his skin. The machine was completed and nearly ready to activate. Forge also got glimpses in his mind of another machine across the town, constructed in the hardware store. This was a device that Farouk had made to block out any telepathy besides his own. Teleportation into and out of the town would also be negated. Shadow King was sure of his plans but he was also hedging his bets against the Hellfire Club. There were sentry stations set up inside the store fronts that could be manned by mind controlled townsfolk. They could open fire on any uninvited guests that tried to make their way to the hardware store. “Monster,” Forge sneered. Shadow King laughed in Forge’s face. “There is nothing you or your pampered friends can do. With the help of the information in your mind, we’re going to drain the electricity within one hundred miles to allow me to breech the astral plane and infect every mind on the planet. In fact, I owe it all to you, Little King,” Farouk laughed. In the real world, the mayor of Lame Deer placed his hand on a control panel. He activated the initiation sequence on the machine. It hummed to life as it began to draw electricity from all around. It was even drawing in radio broadcasts and cell signals. There was a transmission dead zone situated immediately over the gymnasium and it was growing. Soon enough, the construct would have enough power and Amahl Farouk could possess every mind on the planet. |
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| Max_Coleridge | Apr 23 2010, 03:31 AM Post #2 |
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Darkforce Manipulation, Teleportation
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It hadn’t taken Betsy and Max long to compare notes on their odd conversations with Forge; the subtle wrongness in his behavior and sent up red flags. After studying the situation, they agreed to call the teams together and the emergency signal was sent out. As the members filed in, the Shroud sat behind the pilot’s chair, his attention focused on the thin clip-board sized computer screen in his hands. He was silent as they came and settled in; the Shroud was comfortable in silence and never bothered filling it with pointless chatter. When they were finally in the air, Max swiveled his chair to face them. With a touch of a button, the slender computer projected a hologram. Colored lights seemed to hang in the air, creating an image of a typical small town so life-like that it seemed as though they were looking through a window in space pointed down at the little town. “This is Lame Deer, the White King’s hometown. He left for a vacation there a month ago. The White Queen and I believe that something has happened to him.” The scene of the small town shifted. Where the first image had shown the town as vacant, the new image showed small groups patrolling the streets, shotguns in hands or baseball bats resting on shoulders. But as odd they were, what disturbed Max even more what looked like robotic sentries placed or patrolling the streets also. In his gut, he knew they were Forge’s handiwork; whoever or whatever not only had him… but he was participating in their plans. To save Forge, they might have to fight and overcome his mechanical genius. “This was recorded just before the area blacked-out, as though something were manipulating all communication frequencies,” he paused and added, “something that Forge is quite easily capable of; including,” Max continued with a frown, “somehow blocking me from creating a portal straight into the town.” He wondered just how long Forge had been working on that problem, just now or if it been a little insurance policy against him (just in case) for a while. “Before the black-out, we isolated two massive energy signatures in the town – here,” a huge squat building suddenly glowed, “the town gym, and here,” another building lit up, “records indicate that it’s a hardware store. Psylocke will take her team to the gym, I will take mine to the hardware store.” When the teams were set and everyone knew what to do, Max thought, just like their fight against Apocalypse, he would open a portal for Betsy to steer the jet through. They would be landing before anyone could see them coming. |
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| Betsy Braddock | Apr 23 2010, 06:08 PM Post #3 |
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Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
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The White Queen went through the pre-flight as quickly as she dared, while the rest of the Inner Circle members accompanying her joined herself and the Black King on the plane. It was sadly not a patch on the wonderful craft that the X-men had, but it was still sleek and efficient and would serve its purpose well, until Max could open up a portal to cut the distance to Lame Deer down to almost nothing. It had been a while since piloting was the only career she had desired, since she had first sat in the pilot’s seat at the tender age of fourteen, but there were some skills that never quite left you and she hoped that she would not fail now, when so much was at stake. The plan had already been carefully formulated and Betsy had taken pains to familiarise herself with the layouts and plans that the Black King had obtained and so only half listened in to what he was relaying to the rest of the Club, keeping her focus instead on prepping the plane then bringing it around for takeoff. The telepath was worried for her King, the prickles of anxiety bubbling at her uncomfortably, under the layers of confidence that they would be able to succeed in their plan. The Hellfire Club had undergone strain from outside forces, but in many ways it had only served to strengthen what could sometimes be a somewhat tenuous alliance between the two Courts, who would often follow their own avenues for the overall benefit of the Club. Betsy did not like flying into this situation ‘blind’, as the distance between Lame Deer and New York City was too great for her to use telepathic probing to teach her a little more about the situation, beyond what Max had learnt. It was something she preferred, having a mental insight beforehand as it was simply second nature to her and deep down she hoped that whatever was blocking the Black King’s teleportation, would not block anything else… “Shroud, we’re ready for takeoff,” Betsy said over her shoulder to Max, then cast her eye towards their assembled teams. “If anyone has any questions you’d best make them quick as we have a good element of surprise here and I don’t want to see it wasted.” Nudging the mic in her ear so it rested more comfortably, Betsy allowed herself to lean back for a moment, relaxing for a brief second before the engines of the jet roared into life, the wings adjusting for what would be a mercifully very short flight. |
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| Shatterstar | Apr 24 2010, 09:53 AM Post #4 |
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It was not ideal, but it was better than the alternative. Something had happened to his King, and Shatterstar was going to be part of the team that made it right. It was a much better situation than what Shatterstar was suffering through with his brother and the pale imitation, Arthur. He had been more than furious with that. He didn't much like situations that he could throttle into submission. Was there a word stronger than loathe? Megaloathe? Shatterstar megaloathed the fact that he was powerless to reclaim or restore his brother. He was more than willing to go. He had amassed a rather large set of blades and weapons in his relatively short stay with the club. (Well, actually, the 8 months spent at the Club was a very long time for Shatterstar.) He had wanted to use them. He wanted to cut people up and blast them apart. He had wanted to feel the rush of gunfire popping up and slicing through it with his blade. He was built to be a fighting machine, even more so than his brothers. His powers were destructive. It wasn't mere luck, or even electrical blasts. For even electricity can be harnessed and used for productive ends. Shatterstar's power did nothing but break and batter. His cloned body was tweaked and tucked to perform. Dancing was an imperfect substitute to bloodshed. He was a champion, and he wanted to prove it again. "What paralyzed the deer?" Shatterstar mused, as he ran his finger down a particularly dazzling claymore. He was wearing all-white, a now standard choice for him. He had hopes that by the end of this day, his suit wouldn't be so pristine anymore. |
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| Blackout | Apr 24 2010, 04:32 PM Post #5 |
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He had a funny little bruise on his thigh, purple-blotched and stark against a milk-white expanse of skin, patterned in amongst freckles scattered random like stars and moles like planets, one big galaxy of blemishes. That scar might be an asteroid belt, that ingrown hair a black hole, swollen and red. This bruise could be a burst blood vessel. Purpura. Bleeding beneath the skin. It could be a hundred different diseases. A rash that wouldn’t fade under pressure meant septicaemia, symptomatic of meningitis, of endocarditis, lymphoma or encephalopathy, blood swelling to the surface, unable to escape, your brain slowly poisoned by your own body. Bruising easily might indicate leukaemia, Von Willebrand, renal failure. Lucian wore his pockmarks like labels. Beneath him he felt the swell of mechanics ticking and buzzing and shuddering all electrified and condensed into runnels of wiring, a forest of tangled pipes like veins, like roots all bound up together. He felt the minute shifts and clicks of metal ligatures creaking, giving way and settling, those barely perceptible tacks of pressure, joints warming and expanding as the jet heated and readied, responding to the Queen’s pre-flight checks with subtle sighs and purrs. Lucian rubbed a hand across the panel next to his seat. Forge, his liege, his lordship, the White King; the almighty one… this vanishing act of his was intriguing because it was something abnormal, something out of place. He’d noticed the change in personality, the tiny shifts in behaviour, in body language, verbal inflections and mannerisms and conduct and everything that defined those individual nuances. He eyed the shifting hologram, fingers poking into his jugular. His pulse fluttered at a steady tempo, the regular seventy beats per minute of a perfectly healthy heart rate. Paranoia still tugged at him. Today he was afraid of bacteria, of the cuts on his fingers, of infection turning them red and fat with puss. He’d seen people lose whole hands that way. Any surface might be crawling with pathogens. Holographic people moved as hard light with baseball bat weapons and big old shotguns, little toys on the display. And robots, beautiful automated things with their distinct jerking movements, ugly stiff metal things, all joints and electronics and programming. Nanites swelled under his skin like bruises, like purpura, black veins under the surface. He wondered what he could do with one of those mechanicals if he got hold of it. What sort of things he could shape it into. How he could enhance it and manipulate it and dig into it’s circuits and rearrange them. To Shatterstar he muttered, “Polio,” all matter-of-fact and straight-faced, leaning towards the clone, eyes fixed on the robot-shapes. “Multiple sclerosis or West Nile or palsy. The nervous system shuts down. With viral infections it gets into the brain. Kills the motor functions. By the end of it the lungs collapse.” Lucian straightened and hoped they wouldn’t be away long. He didn’t like confrontation, not the violent type, not when it was out of his control. |
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| Cordelia Frost | Apr 28 2010, 08:36 PM Post #6 |
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Nervously, Cordelia sat on the plane, picking at her fingers, trying to calm her mind the best that she could do naturally. Popping a pill may do that for her, but with her worry, she couldn't afford to hold any of her powers back for this, not while they would be needed. Never before had she taken on something like this, openly going to what could be a very hostile environment to fight people that may not be reasonable. But even with her nerves, her mind skipped over the emotions of the people in the plane, like walking past a store full of tvs and catching glimpses of shows. Try as she might, slips of emotion came from all the men on the plane, not gifted with the protection that the White Queen could afford to have over her mind. Shatterstar had a sense of excitement about him, almost crackling with energy, while Max seemed almost worried, if she thought her king could be capable of such an emotion. But the one that disturbed her the most, Blackouts mind whispered out, its fractured flitters slipping through, almost as creepy to feel as his eyes were to see. There was no lying that Cordelia was anxious, maybe even a little scared about this. Last time she had faced death down, she had been lucky to have a vengeful ex to shove in front of the hordes and an quick escape way to flee with but here, she was going into the danger zone, to help save the White King. She almost didn't know why she had agreed to go on the mission other than a sense of pride and a desire to show that she wasn't a failure, the other sister, but she wished that she could be back in the club, away from here. Well, it was too late, so she would have to suck it up and deal with it. Pulling back a strand of dark hair that had freed itself from the tight bun on her head, Cordelia breathed deep, trying to keep her mind focused. The images on the screen showed what looked like a vigilante patrol to her, but Cordelia hoped that Betsy would be able to take them out. Her telepathy was vastly superior to Cordelia's empathy, although the two were different, they shared similarities. However, she was glad to be in the Queens team to go to the gym, to help out. If she did well, then it would be very favourable to her, but if she failed, it didn't dare to be thought about. Her mouth dried in anticipation of leaving the plane and mounting the rescue mission, a slight tingle of fear caressing her spine. Cordelia hoped that she would make her king proud. Fear was a debilitating emotion, but if she managed to embrace it, she could wield it against her enemies. Listening as Lucian explained a reason behind the name, she tried her best not to let her nerves show. Screwing up was not an option when they were going in blind here. |
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| Forge | Apr 29 2010, 11:41 PM Post #7 |
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The Shadow King had spread himself out among the citizens of the town of Lame Deer. He had even managed to take in a handful of drifters and the scant tourists for that time of year. It was a new experience for him, having so many minds under his thrall. Farouk had an army of hands under his control or that many eyes to peer through at once. For the neophyte such a feat would be daunting, but Amahl Farouk had been around. He was a premier telepath and the astral plane was his plaything. The minds of normal humans were easy enough to break. Even against those that had mental blocks and resistances he could find the cracks to slip through, like mercury. At that moment, Farouk was residing in the body of the mayor of Lame Deer. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back slowly. Shadow King was relishing the hum of electricity coming from the construct. To him it was like the countdown before New Year’s Day. It simply represented time ticking away on the clock before the celebration of a brand new day. On this brand new day, however, the only celebration would be on the part of Shadow King. The entire world would fall under his control. The mayor’s head came forward quickly and his eyes snapped open. Somewhere near the edge of town, one of the mind controlled sentries had seen a black portal open in the distance. A sleek jet blazed through the opening and entered the airspace over Montana. The Hellfire Club had come out to play. Farouk easily slipped inside the mind of Forge. He was weak and still enslaved within his mind. “Just like you said, your comrades have arrived,” Shadow King said. Forge raised his head slowly. There was a thin smile on his lips. “They’re going to tear you apart,” he whispered. There was a noise building up from somewhere in the hidden depths of Forge’s mind dungeon. It began as a low rumble and it came rolling in like thunder. The sound was Shadow King’s laughter. “Don’t you see? I’ve already won. I don’t have to defeat them now; all I have to do is delay them. Your wonderful machine is powering up.” The laughter died down but the echoes still rang out. That cruel sound would be one that stuck with Forge for a long time. “Here. I want you to see this. It will be too good to miss,” Shadow King said. The psychic entity was able to patch Forge into the sights and sounds that it was privy to. Suddenly, it was as if Forge were free and in the sunshine. He was driving a Jeep at a breakneck pace along the road leaving the town. There was another man standing in the back of the vehicle holding onto the roll bar for support with one hand. The other was holding onto an item that Forge recognized from his time with the army. It was an anti-aircraft rocket propelled grenade. Farouk had boasted that his mind slaves had stolen several military grade weapons but he didn’t image that. The driver of the Jeep skidded into a stop on the highway turning the vehicle sideways so that it was perpendicular to the lanes. The man in the back pressed his eye to the sights and honed in on the jet. He pulled the trigger and with the slightest recoil to the operator, the rocket spiraled through the air toward its target. Trapped within his own mind with only this temporary window Forge hoped that the Club could pull off an escape. He knew that if they did survive there would be townsfolk driven by the malicious Shadow King to stand in their way. Forge knew they were mobilizing all over the town and taking key positions. Time was not on the Hellfire Club’s side. |
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| Shatterstar | May 2 2010, 12:13 PM Post #8 |
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Joint Post between Shroud and Shatterstar “Mrs. Steed and Shatterstar, you’re with me,” the Shroud said, delivering commands to those around him regardless of Court color; such things were irrelevant when they worked and moved as one. “Blackout and Cordelia, with the White Queen. We’ll,” he began then fell silent. Outside the jet a rocket-propelled grenade spiraled toward them. Luckily, they were still out of the teleportation dampening zone, but only barely. “Shatterstar,” he snapped the White Knight’s name like a whip crack that would hopefully bring all his assassin skills to bear, “your queen and king need your service.” Before the deadly young knight, an inky portal spiraled into existence. “Jump,” he commanded; time was short and just like Longshot, Max knew that Shatterstar’s engineered instincts would tell him what to do. The White Knight was about to respond to his fellow Knights answer. A knife jammed between two vertebra would cripple just as easily. Shatterstar had more knives than Lucian had disease. But his attention was pulled away. The Black King was announcing something, and he had heard his name. He would have preferred to stay close to his Queen. He had already lost his King and he didn't want to risk her... The other King stopped. Something was attacking the jet. He had seen this before. In Pakistan, surface-to-air anti-aircraft ordinance was popular. He hadn't ever used one himself, but he had seen the end results and he did not want to experience it personally. He hadn't ever really thought on how he wanted to die, but he did know he didn't want to die today. His hands flexed and his claymore went from being a toy to a tool. Most people would be reticent to jump out of moving jet without a parachute, but Shatterstar was not most people, and he had just been given a mission. He leapt through the swirling darkness, and just kept going. One moment he was in the plane, and in the other, wind whipped across his face. The metal blade of his claymore began to glow bright blue. He had to overcharge the blade to make sure that the shockwave was large to intercept the RPG. Small blue spurts of energy erupted from the metal. He couldn't do this consciously, to plot out when exactly he was going to intercept the grenade. But his conscious brain wasn't his entire brain, and his engineered subconscious brain was quite adept at doing this. He released the energy, bright blue waves of energy emanating from his blade. A red explosion mixed itself in when his target was hit by a cresting wave. His mission was complete and the more familiar parts of Shatterstar's cognition began firing up. He realized that he didn't have a parachute and he didn't know how he was going to land. This was problematic in Shatterstar's head. He fell through the air, his legs and arms tucked to his side. He may be plummeting, but he wasn't going to go out flailing about. He felt another familiar sensation, and he landed rather softly on the ground. The Black King had opened another portal for him. He needed to transverse the rest of the distance on foot. |
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| Emma Steed | May 2 2010, 04:56 PM Post #9 |
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A rush of anger flowing through her body as she hang up her phone, the information on the other end not what she was hoping for. It had been over a week since giving her assistant the simple task of finding what she wanted, over a week and still no success. It was obvious to Steed now, she would need a new assistant. At the moment however, she was needed for something else, the White King was missing. Someone had taken him, messed with his mind. Who, she thought, who would have such the audacity to cross the Hellfire Club. Placing her phone in her lap, Emma looked around at the members who came along. The teams were a unique bunch, with many different specialties, most of them, more than willing to use them to get their way. Betsy would lead one team and Max the other, the olive skinned beauty imagined it would go over rather smoothly, at least she wanted it to. Gracefully climbing into the jet Ms. Steed placed herself in the first available seat, in times such as these it didn't matter who she sat near. Running her fingers slowly upon the arm rest she began to try and let her anger pass, her inept assistant would not cloud her mind, this mission simply couldn't be compromised. Emma sat in a dead silence, listening to the voices of those around her, making plans, talking strategy, and though she herself was quite the manipulator she knew that the rest of her club was more experienced with these things. She would help alright, she would see to it that her presence was useful, but the planning could be left up to the rest. "Ms Seed and Shatterstar, you're with me" the Black King said. Emma met his eyes with hers and tilted her head ever so slightly. She was glad to be with her king, he knew her and she knew him, and Shatterstar.. he was cute. These small feelings of comfort were not to last however, the jet, it seemed was under fire, the golden skinned Brit didn't know from who, but it was clear the mission was going to be a little different than she thought. Portals began to open around her, Shatterstar and Max working to fix the situation. Emma readied herself, gathering her thoughts as blue/purple energy swirled around her head and disappeared, taking a look over her shoulder she watched as Shatterstar let from the plane without hesitation, moment later the bright blue burst of energy and a crackle could be seen and heard from the sky…. This was going to something to remember, she thought. |
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| Betsy Braddock | May 2 2010, 05:13 PM Post #10 |
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Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
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“Well, that’s charming,” Betsy uttered, her face going white at the oncoming rocket. She had remained silent for their short trip, leaving the members of the Inner Circle (or at least those participating in the idleness) to chatter away. Something about deer and polio…Good grief, she did have some charming sorts under her rule, didn’t she? The White Queen wondered for the briefest second if she should make her Court have etiquette lessons, so at least they would know when to not embark on such random conversations. Betsy wondered if this was what driving a bunch of children to school was like, wittering into mobile phones and wasting time and all. If Steed had been in her own Court, then the purple haired telepath would have shoved that phone somewhere unmentionable, but she trusted Max’s rule and refrained from passing comment on the rook. Her main attention was on the flying of the craft, as despite the shortness of their flight, it required her concentration, as she didn’t want to bring them down on the edge of a gully or on any parked vehicles. That might prove problematic. Shroud was on form as usual however, teleporting her faithful Knight out to deal with their welcoming gift. Betsy had to say that she was incredibly relieved, having braced for impact and mentally started accessing how bad an emergency landing would be at this point in time; she was not the best at them and the one that cost her her career as a pilot was still something of a sore spot, but not one she had to relive today, along with the cracked rib and concussion that had come with it. Trying to push away the worry for Shatterstar that ate at her, the telepath brought the jet around as the sky lit up outside of the jet, momentarily blinding her. Spots danced in front of her eyes as she steadied the jet, feeling very much relieved as she spotted a stretch of land that would do. It was narrow, but it was the best she could find and they did not exactly have the time to be circling around, hoping that a magic little runway showed up. “I suppose that offs our element of surprise…” Betsy commented wryly, the jet setting down with a bump and she rocked forward, the harness bouncing her back on to her seat lightly. As always when heading into a fight, she was wearing the purple armour that her King had created for her, that he repaired and worked on often, improving and maintaining the suit, so that it was light as silk on the Queen’s skin, but hard and impervious to many forces, allowing her to deal out mental attacks, usually before the suit could buckle under particularly heavy blows. Getting up from her seat fast, she turned to the others. “You know who you’re with, so – wait…” frowning, Betsy’s brown crinkled lightly in confusion as she reached out with her mind to try and find Jonathon, only to be stopped by…something. Something was keeping her out of the tow. “My telepathy is being blocked in some manner. I can’t reach the White King.” It made sense really; why devise something to keep out the Black King, then not take into consideration her own rather potent abilities…Looking towards Lucian and Cordelia, she gave them a look to be ready to move and went for the weapons supply. Back in the attacks by Death on Paris and London, she had been cocky and had decided she didn’t need a weapon. Pulling out a jitte, she tested the club in her hand; while it would not be as efficient as a gun would probably be, well they weren’t there to kill anyone now, were they. “Lucian, Cordy, keep close and keep your eyes out for me. Right now I’m effectively blind.” |
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| Max_Coleridge | May 3 2010, 06:39 PM Post #11 |
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Darkforce Manipulation, Teleportation
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OOC - The Hardware store group will start posting - HERE - now, The Dark Town. Also, in that post, Max put a dome of darkness over the town so the only light is from the streetlights. It should create a lot of handy shadows for the HFC to use. |
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| Narration | May 5 2010, 07:50 PM Post #12 |
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Darkness swept over the town, and lights clicked on overhead. Most of the lights merely illuminated the empty streets, some found storefronts with broken windows, drainpipes and security bars wrenched away with forceful bloodied hands... in the middle of one street a tricycle lay toppled over on its side, a tire spinning slowly... someone had been here recently... ... something... But some of the lights shone on metallic shapes created by the possessed mad thinker who had come here and spread this evil among the townspeople... They were mostly human shaped, though not all were. There had been almost enough fleshy bodies here to do what needed to be done, but some of the work... The town's new master had gleaned much knowledge from the White King, but his mind was extra-ordinarily attuned to such things, not so much the townsfolk, so much of the most intricate work was beyond their skills. So the robotic creations had been needed to do the job. And, now that that job was done, the robotic creatures were set on defense, and as the Hellfire Club made their rescue attempt, defend they would. Converging on the spot like a metallic plague, skittering, clattering, slinking, sliding, they came, their tools repurposed into weapons, their minds mechanical and unreachable, their hearts clockwork and merciless. They came, and as they came, they spelled mindless death. |
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| Blackout | May 17 2010, 10:28 PM Post #13 |
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A little mumble rose into a nervous laugh, Lucian lurching forward onto the edge of his seat, fingertips gouging into the metal framework which buckled under unconscious duress, nanites doing things they shouldn’t, biting away at its molecular structure. All Lucian saw was the white-tipped fury of an incoming missile, his nerves blistering and fluttering in wild agitation. Squirming, claustrophobic and uncomfortable, he gnawed at his lip until it bled, felt the loud snap of pressure popping in the cabin, engines screaming in sudden pitch. Lucian craned to watch Shatterstar step into nothing, skipping on air like an aeronautic ballerina. Beautiful. Horrifying. Lucian imagined mid-air collisions, the plane struck, torn apart, and him, all mangled and burning and falling, landing broken, limbs twisted and contorted, petrified into ugly grimaces and awkward positions. Blasting a long, thin sigh through flared nostrils, Lucian watched, features pale and still, absolutely, frozen in stoic apathy. Terror didn’t suit him. They were not hit. He did not die. Fantastic. He wasn’t so sure about the clone. He didn’t care. Lucian smacked his lips, sucking at them, rubbing his tongue along the layer of enamel at the back of his teeth. Slightly furry. Should’ve brushed before he came out, really. That bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes he’d been munching on was going to eat away something rotten at his molars. If he had a cavity by the end of this he’d be quite cross. Everything jerked, harness chewing at his shoulder, plane juddering as it rolled to a standstill. Lucian crooned at the vehicle, bent over his knees, reshaping the chair he’d vandalised during his moment of horror, pressing down the sides that had rose up like protective ribs around his body. He lingered, toeing at a misshapen lump of plastic, everyone filing away behind him, joining respective rescue groups. A thrill of adrenaline pumped through his gut. He felt like sitting down again. Not moving. Staying sat on the plane away from all these near-death experiences. He was such a spineless little nasty. Lucian crept fingers through his hair, rubbing at greasy strands, twining them into pseudo dreadlocks with nervous twiddles. When everything stilled… when everything was quiet, muffled and dull, he felt it, like a bassy pulse in the gloam. Something you heard in your muscles, tickling and horrible. These mechanical creations, somewhere out there. He could feel them, and he was excited and scared shitless and wanted to touch them and make them do things. Lovely things. Flexing his fingers, he padded close to Braddock, pawing at her uniformed shoulder. He murmured, “Someone’s been a busy little boy,” and pushed past her, stepping into the thick, thick sticky dark. It consumed everything. And these pulsing sensations, they became audial, skittering like bug legs, creaking and clattering and rustling like dry leaves, rattling like bone on bone. Lucian bounced on his toes, sliding long looks at Betsy and Cordelia. A defunct telepath and a useless empath, and a skinny skeleton of a man all skin and ligaments. They were going to die, probably. |
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| Forge | May 18 2010, 04:00 PM Post #14 |
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Forge was allowed to peer through the eyes of the Shadow King’s meat puppets. Forge’s heart went out to his friends and partners as he saw the rocket fly through the air, locked on target. The thin stream of smoke and vapor trailed behind it to cut a swath through the pristine sky. When it seemed like it was going to be too late a black hole, for lack of a better word, appeared in the sky and Shatterstar careened through the air. The clone charged his power through the lance that he wielded and sent a shockwave out to destroy the rocket. The weapon exploded in the air without doing any damage to the jet. Forge cheered out in his mental prison. The Maker hoped that his optimism and joy at the small victory would show the parasite that he wasn’t completely in control. The jet then came in for a rough landing. It wasn’t the nicest touchdown but it looked like something that they could walk away from. Sure enough, the Hellfire Club members emerged from the plane. Half of them at least. The other half, a small team had appeared in town and were traveling across the rooftops. Forge knew that they weren’t out of the woods yet. “Every second they are delayed,” Farouk said, “Is another second that the machine grows to critical mass.” It was true, and Forge knew it. The Club only had to be delayed and part of the distraction was creeping and skittering toward them on legs of steel and rubber treads. The drones weren’t the finest creation to come from the mind and hands of Forge but they were effective enough. They might have been rudimentary creations but they could still kill. They carried firearms and blades scavenged from the town and stolen from neighboring cities. At the edge of town, the two men in the Jeep roared across the scrub brush to encounter the Club. They were joined by the front runners of the mechanical army. They bore machetes and an Uzi. “I know what you’re thinking: You’ll never get away with this!” Farouk said. “I’ve told you before.” Forge agreed grimly. “It is just a game of time.” And he knew that yes, killing the Club would have been a top priority but delaying them in any way possible was agreeable as well. |
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| Betsy Braddock | May 27 2010, 05:42 PM Post #15 |
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Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
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It was frustrating that they could not have gotten closer to the town, but without the aid of teleportation directly into Lame Deer, they were hoofing it instead. Lovely. As always in these situations, Betsy was infinitely grateful for the armour she wore, created by Forge, the very man they were here to rescue, along with everyone in this town it seemed…Not being able to read the minds of those around the town was disturbing to say the least. The White Queen had developed her powers relatively late in comparison to some mutants she had met over the years, but it did not mean that she had not come to be so used to her powers that they were almost like second nature. Without telepathy, she felt blind. It was not a pleasant sensation, particularly not in the cloak of darkforce that Max had brought down upon the town. Peering out into the gloom, she felt Lucian at her shoulder. He was not as fair, pretty a Knight as Shatterstar or Longshot, but he had his many uses that made up for his appearance and strange demeanour. That was one head she did not wish to spend too long inside, she felt with a shudder. All those ‘freaks’ those sort who considered themselves strange and kinky or creeping in their safe little underground clubs with their leather shirts and tongue piercings, kept secure by straps of rubber with safety releases and the safeword…They should meet Lucian and see how amateurish they indeed were. She nodded to him, his and Cordelia’s outlines just visible in the darkness. Time to move out and get into the town proper. Moving out from their sheltered spot by the plane, she looked at it critically for a second. “Lucian, can you make our ride a little…secure, please?” she requested of the Knight, allowing him to get a little creative. If all went well, they should be able to work something out. If all failed…A plane that had been tinkered with was the least of their worries. “But…I would prefer it if I could fly it again,” Betsy added on second thought. You could never know. “We have company,” Betsy grit her teeth as from her vantage point, she saw the approaching Jeep. Oh, how fair, sending a bunch of men in a car with guns after people lacking these useful resources. “Please keep it fast, minimum damage. These people aren’t in their right minds and we need to get to the gym, quickly. We may only have a short window of opportunity after that time,” the White Queen ordered and quickly as the Jeep swung up, breaking from her point by the jet to run for a building. Possibly not the best idea as she was not bulletproof, but this area was darker from the lack of streetlights and she had a better chance of cover over towards where the buildings started. Also, the thought of bullets in the jet, even if they could be fixed, was not something she liked to think about. It was sacrilege. Diving behind some barrels, Betsy smacked into the floor, rolling her eyes and hefting herself up. In addition to the club she had picked up for close combat situations, she was carrying a stun gun but again, close really helped with that. However, her thoughts were answered as one of the men hopped out of the Jeep and came towards her, his face blank and expressionless like a robot. “Oh…Bugger,” Betsy swore and jumped sideways from her spot, diving out of the way as he brought a bat smashing down in the direction of her skull. Rolling, she kicked upwards at the backs of his knees, springing up to her feet and regaining her balance. Now, if she could just get him to stay still, she might be able to stun him without permanently doing any damage. The purple haired telepath just hoped that her teammates were having just as much fun with their own opponents. Impatience gnawed at her through the adrenaline of the fight…They needed to move, they needed to get on form this spot as soon as humanly possible and save the White King. |
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7:25 PM Jul 11