“Gotta get that address changed I guess,” you mumble to no one in particular, shouldering the bathroom door open. The face that looks back at you from the mirror is far from unattractive. Hell, it could even be pretty good with some work: gentle blue-green eyes laden with bags and crust, a plump, wide mouth made for smiling with some dry white gunk at the corners, a strong jaw sporting two days of unshaved sparse stubble, thick, light brown hair smushed flat in some places and sticking out in others in a way that disguised its slight waviness. “A few pounds lighter wouldn’t hurt either,” you tell your reflection. The cold water helps wash some of the acrid oil from your skin and snaps you out of the drunk sleepy fog. A little, at least. You check your phone, fingers dragging deftly across the touchscreen while you amble back to the kitchen.

[Message from Dheeraj H.]
[Message from Liam]
[14 Facebook Notifications]
[2 Missed Calls]

Against your better judgement, you decide to check the text from Dheeraj, the guy you handed your half-baked resume to the other day. To your surprise, it reads,

{James, it’s Dheeraj from Bean City. I called but I guess you were busy? Would love for you to come in for an interview, sometime between 4 and 6 is fine. Look forward to hearing from u}

Your phone knowingly blinks 2:17pm at you.

>Mix yourself some hair of the dog.
>See what’s going on online.
>Spend some time getting prettied up.
>Go for a walk.
>Write in?

>>46599156
>Go for a walk.

>Go for a walk.

Time to start losing them pounds.

>>46599156
>>Spend some time getting prettied up.

>>46599156
>Spend some time getting prettied up.

>>46599156
>Mix yourself some hair of the dog.
Trust me, it works.

I'll break the tie here with go for a walk. Future notice, I'll cut off voting at 15 minutes for the next while, might shorten it once things get rolling. Writing now!

“Fuck it, I’ve got an hour to burn,” you rationalize to the familiar feeling of your worn loafers slipping on, “probably do me some good, actually.” Your leaving-the-apartment routine is still new, but scooping the keys, wallet, and headphones from the dish seems like it won’t take too long to get down pat. The jack slots easily into your phone, and you switch on some Little Dragon, remembering at the last minute to tuck a jacket under your arm; what was the saying? “If you don’t like the weather in Rain City, just wait a minute.”

The apartment stairs tumble by a bit too fast as you roll up to the front lobby of your building. An elderly Chinese man shuffles in through the door in attire more suited to a retirement home or mental ward. A cursory wave and smile on either side, then off you go out the front door. The April sun is hotter than you’d expect; the slightly dirty white undershirt from the night before is more than enough to keep you warm. You pause for a moment, deciding to right rather than left down Cherrywood. You’d gone left every night since you’d moved in, might be time to find something that isn’t a bar. Trees line the road, busy even on Sunday afternoon, and you feel the hangover start to slip away from what seems to be good vibes alone. “It’s hard to be anything less than great on a day as beautiful as this!” you think out loud. One block seems to blend into another, local produce markets, cafes, and abandoned shopfronts starting to look the same within minutes. You know that you’re headed towards University Heights, and turn left, bringing up your phone.

[2 Message from Liam]
[16 Facebook Notifications]
[2 Missed Calls]

>>46599843
You tap the screen, and the texts from your brother come up. The first one.
{sup big nig hows the new digs?}
You’re not sure when your sixteen year old whiter than snow brother started acting hood, and even less sure of how you feel about.
Second message.
{bruuuh your city is lit af} accompanied by a link to a news site. You hit the link, and a video comes up on some clickbait new site. It’s a shaky cellphone video of two costumed capes battling in the street, the iconic Rain City Spire in the near background. The one figure you recognize instantly as Parallel, green and black striped costume unmistakable as it jumps and dives in 5 identical copies. The other is one you’d never heard about until arriving in Rain City. A tall, male figure in a sharp black suit and green tie, lasers flashing brightly from the eyes of the elaborate cobra helmet he wore. Snakehead.

You put the phone away after checking the time. 3:21. “Woah, time flies,” you think, again out loud. Something you’re going to have to work on, you think not-out loud. Rain City Bay opens up before you, the beach maybe three or four blocks down the street.

>I’ve got time to check out the beach.
>Better head back.
>Call Liam, you haven’t talked to him since you moved in.

>>46599864
>Call Liam, you haven’t talked to him since you moved in.

>>46599864
>>Call Liam, you haven’t talked to him since you moved in.

>>46599864
>Call Liam, you haven’t talked to him since you moved in.

>>46599864
Calling Liam!

A quick scan over of the beach is enough for the time being. You sit down on a fire hydrant and pull your phone back out, dialing Liam’s number from memory. Four rings.

“Ayo senpai, what’s slappin?”
“Why the fuck are you talking like that, Jesus,” you can’t help but chuckle. He might be a jackass, but his antics always get a smile.
“Chill nigga, chill. Don’t want you to go crazy and have to move again!”
“Ah, fuck off.”
He laughs. You swear, every time you hear his voice it sounds less like some little high schooler and more like the beefy hockey player he was quickly turning into.
“Seriously,” he said seriously, “how’s that all going? Called Doctor Hanford since you moved in?”
It gave you pause. You hadn’t, but you hadn’t needed to either. Maybe it was the therapy, maybe it was the new locale, maybe it was not having that whiney girlfriend around anymore, but you hadn’t felt even a tremor since you left Calgary.
“Doing good, was gonna fully settle in before I started dragging out the dirty laundry you know?”
“Yeah, yeah. You see that video I sent you? Shit’s lit af.” He actually said ayy eff in conversation, Christ.
“Yup, crazy stuff. Good thing Cherrywood’s not too close to that kind of shit.”
“Cherrywood?”
“My neighbourhood. It’s pretty nice I guess, not as nice as Mount Royal but all things considered I can’t complain.”
“That’s hood, that’s hood,” he replied idly, attention clearly somewhere else. “I gotta run, practice. Call Hansen, aight? Seriously.”
“Get going,” you deflect.
Liam hung up, and you slip the phone back into your pocket.

You press play, spaced out vibes filling your ears. You consider calling the doctor as you start walking back to the apartment, but you dismiss the thought. You really had been feeling at ease for a while now, even before moving. Breaking up with Hannah, it felt like a load slid off your shoulders all at once, no longer being obligated to tolerate the seemingly endless complaints. An errant prick of sudden cool on your cheek breaks your train of thought. Another, and then another. Seemingly out of nowhere, grey clouds speared through the formerly clear sky, rain already beginning to fall. “Guess that’s why they call it Rain City,” you start mumbling to yourself before you consciously cut off your monologue. You pull the windbreaker over your white undershirt and hurry home under the mounting torrential downpour.

Shoes kicked off, wet jacket draped over the pullup bar, beer-sweated clothes shed, you pick your way around the scattered plates and get a hot shower running. Doctor Hansen had recommended finding some sort of athletic outlet to help blow off steam before you left Calgary. It’s pretty hard to find a team to join when the only person you know in town is the bartender at the Tin Roof, so you’d purchased a used bench and some equipment off craigslist. Stay chill and get fit at the same time? Seemed like a deal. Your naked reflection gives you mixed feelings: you’re definitely starting to see some muscle emerge in your upper body, but your beer gut remains. Maybe it’s all the beer, you muse as you step into the delightful hot shower.

Twenty minutes later, you’re giving yourself a once over in the mirror. Shaved and slightly revived, your face looked ten times better than it had when you woke up, though that wasn’t saying much. Dark jeans, a clean white tee with some trendy design splashed across the front, and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up seemed plenty good enough for an interview at a coffee shop. You gather up your things and throw on a proper jacket with a hood: the rain is coming down even harder outside, somehow.

>Grab some road juice. An Irish coffee, just enough to bolster your confidence.
>Practice basic interview questions on the bus, though it might make you more nervous.
>Browse /ca/ (capes) on the bus, distract yourself so you go in acting natural.

>>46600550
>Practice basic interview questions on the bus, though it might make you more nervous.

>>46600497
>tfw f.a.m. corrects to senpai in the middle of dialogue

>>46600550
>>Practice basic interview questions on the bus, though it might make you more nervous.

>>46600550
>>>Browse /ca/ (capes) on the bus, distract yourself so you go in acting natural.
At least it's better that PHO right?

>>46600550
>Browse /ca/ (capes) on the bus, distract yourself so you go in acting natural.

>>46600620
I barely noticed, it fits perfectly.

>>46600598
>>46600658
>>46600672
>>46600812
Breaking the tie with >browse /ca/ because muh exposition.

Writan now.

>>46600812
It's probably a bad sign that I mentally correct to senpai when I hear people say f.am in real life.

>>46600917
We better be smugger than those pricks that browse PHO then.

>>46600951
The fuck is pho? Like the Vietnamese soup?

>>46601475
ParaHumans Online, the big message board/forum that dominates the setting.

Almost done, I'm a slow writer.

We need more word filters.
Lit and af need to filter to something.

The thought of grabbing a drink for the road crosses your mind, but you dash it just as quick. You flash your Rain City University bus pass and in an instant, you’re shuttling down 10th Street towards your interview. Rain streaks the windows so heavily you’d swear you were underwater. Earbuds in and music bumping, you decide to shake off the nerves by browsing /ca/ on your phone. Might be good to read up on the local capes, keep an eye out for trouble. You flick open Clover and search for Rain City general. Glancing up, a diverse crowd packs the bus, made equal by being wholly absorbed in their cellphones. Just like you. /rcg/, here we go. You scroll through the thread, glazing past the rampant shitposting looking for something, anything interesting. Some stuff about the local Protectorate branch welcoming a new member from the ranks of the Wards. {Decider’s a shitter, bet that slut isn’t even a blaster-3,} reads one post. Another replies {>hating on based Decider, go back to smoking crack nigger,} accompanied by a photograph of a young woman in costume. It was a flattering get-up, but hardly revealing. A skin-tight metallic grey jumpsuit with armour-padded shoulders, chest, and knees was capped by a full-face mask, with an iridescent-looking visor in the shape of a shallow, upturned chevron. Bright, nearly white bolts of pink energy emanated from her fingers at some unknown target. “Pretty badass,” you muse under your breath, a tactical shitpost forming on your fingers at the same time.

{>implying Snakehead could beat Blackfeather}
You tack on a smug pepe resembling the semi-famous Calgary cape for good measure. Hopefully some local edgelord would post info on the mysterious local villain in response.

Before your devillish plan can come to fruition, the bus stops. You look up, and the automated voice chimes “10th and Borden.” You scramble to get off the bus, silently thanking some stranger for getting off at the same stop as you. It was already a minute past five, you probably would have kept going otherwise and missed the already generous window for the interview. You strike out into the rain, stopping at Bean City, the only place that responded to your resume. Its surroundings were pretty run down: from what you’d gathered The Bricks was a pretty rough part of town, but beggars can’t be choosers. You step inside.

Dheeraj was already sitting at one of the many open tables; the only customer was a very homeless looking fellow huddled in one corner, reading a paper and definitely not smoking crack behind it. The middle aged Indian man shakes your hand as you sit down, “glad you could make it, we’re pretty short staffed. You know, people leaving for the summer.” You glance to the window. Rain is coming down so hard it might as well have been December. “Let’s get this done quick, it’s already getting late.”

He reads through the basic battery of job interview questions. What’s your experience in the work force? Hm, interesting. It says here you’re a trained pianist? My son takes lessons, maybe you can show him a thing or two huh? And why do you think you’d be a good fit for Bean City? Well, I can’t argue with that! Try as you like, you can’t seem to focus fully on the interview, though Dheeraj barely seems to notice. Your attention is occupied by a young half Salish-looking woman of maybe 22 tops behind the counter who, though apparently boredly grinding coffee, is giving you the odd look that lasts just a moment too long. And by odd, it’s really odd; something about it puts you on edge.

“Well, consider yourself hired!” You’re pulled back to the autopilot interview. “I’ve got your cell number, I’ll text you your shifts later tonight. When can you start?”
“Tomorrow!” you respond, surprise barely restrained. How the fuck did I manage this?
“Glad to hear it! If you’ve got time, I’m sure Marcie wouldn’t mind showing you around the shop.” He turns to look at the young woman who now was very much ignoring the two of us buried in her cellphone. “Oi! At least pretend to work while I’m around, Christ sake.”

You quickly check the time on your phone. 5:36. Next 24 bus comes in 4 minutes across the street, otherwise it’s walk through The Bricks in the near-dark to find another bus home and miss your workout.

>Sure, I can stay and have a look around.
>Nah, I better get headed home, things to do.

>Sure, I can stay and have a look around.

>>46601824
>>Sure, I can stay and have a look around.

>>46601824
>>Sure, I can stay and have a look around.

>>46601824
>Sure, I can stay and have a look around.

>>46601824
>Sure, I can stay and have a look around.
What kind of work do they do here anyway?
I'm just waiting for the boot to drop. I know we're getting shanked by a bum eventually.

You'll have to force your players if you want the MC to be an alcoholic, bruv.

Woops, should've mentioned I started writing 7 minutes ago.

“Sure, I can stay and have a look around,” you reply. The girl, Marcie, noticeably sighs.
“I’ll leave you two to it then. Don’t book anything for tomorrow James, I’ll probably have you train with Jordan, he’s a great guy.” The slightly portly Dheeraj pushes up from the table and put on his coat. “I’ll be in touch,” he says over his shoulder with a half-wave. A little bell above the door jangles, marking his exit. The light, poppy music coming over the single speaker all of a sudden seems overbearingly out of place with the empty cafe and torrential rain. You look over to the counter; Marcie is already engrossed with her phone once more, idly wiping at the clean countertop.

Mustering up some courage, you put on a smile and walk over, “hey!” She looks up with those unplaceably unnerving eyes,
“Hey.”

The air sits quietly, unwilling to hold onto even a single word.
“I’m James, I’m going to work here,” you blurt, brain scrabbling to fill the still.
“Yeah, I heard.”
What’s this chick’s issue? you wonder to yourself. You feel a little tremor at being ignored, a slight bump in your heart rate, but swallow it with a deep breath. Confidence bolstered, you move behind the counter,
“Care to show me around? Might win me some points if it looks like I know what I’m doing on my first shift,” you joke. Not even an inkling of a smile.
“Sure,” she responds, putting down her phone.
“There’s the espresso machine. Grind up beans, put hot water on beans, coffee comes out,” she points to a nozzle protruding from the old, but still majestic Italian contraption, “nozzle. Steam comes out, try not to burn your shit. Makes lattes, cappucinos, whatever. Not a lot of people bother with that fancy stuff here though.”
She continues the half-baked tour, “display case has cookies, cakes, and stuff like that, price for everyhting is programmed into the til so don’t worry about memorizing it.”
A thumb jerks backwards to a battered door.
“Our stuff gets delivered every Tuesday, you’re a big guy so they’ll probably make you help unload. Extra cups and shit’s back there too, if you run out.”
She stops there, looking at you uninterestedly. You notice her hand straying towards her phone.

>Take the hint and leave.
>Try to learn about local goings-on.
>Try to get her phone number.
>Write in.

>>46602456
>local crap

>>46602456
>>Try to get her phone number.
me horny phone no. get

>>46602456
>Try to get her phone number.
I like seeing MCs fail. Or worse, manage to win at nothing.

>>46602456
>Try to learn about local goings-on.

>>46602456
Try and sneak some free stuff out with you

>>46602456
>>Take the hint and leave.

>>46602456
>Take the hint and leave.

Lets not be weird creeps

>>46602456
>Take the hint and leave.

>>46602456
>Take the hint and leave.

>>46602456
Man, what a cunt.

>GTFO
Writan.

File: d6hse5q.gif (902 KB, 500x750)

902 KB GIF

You can take a hint when it’s this overt.
“I’ll let you get back to work then, see you around?”
She responds with a shrug, “yep.”
You skirt around the counter and make your way to the door, a glimmer of annoyance fleeting across your brow. The urge to make a snappy quip bubbles up from your gut, but is frozen in place; you can feel her gaze bore into your back as you sweep out into the rainy street. A few cars zip up and down 10th, but the majority of traffic has dispersed by now. It won’t be dark for another hour at least you figure, checking the time on your phone. 5:51. You don’t bother waiting for the light to turn, hustling across the rainslick pavement in a lull between cars. In the light of a neon sign, you check the bus schedule posted to the shelter, still simmering just a little.
Fuck. Next bus in forty-five minutes. You weigh the options and decide to cut down to Broadway. It’ll mean walking out in the rain a bit more, but busses run a lot more frequently there. Puddles dance like the lightshow at a nightclub with each step, reflective surfaces shimmering with an assortment of colours. The Bricks has a certain charm in its own way, garish lighted signs that had gone out of style twenty years ago suddenly finding themselves back once more in vogue. A car zips by, breaking the ambient quiet of rain and distant traffic. You tuck your chin into your jacket and pick up the pace, driving towards the relative warmth of the bus. As you approach broadway, the rude buildings grow slightly more polite, newer construction. A weight you weren’t aware you were carrying lightens a hair, you straighten up a little bit, your pace becoming more relaxed. The negative impression your encounter with Marcie left is already slipping out of your mind.

The lights of Broadway are barely a block away, when a deep metallic clang echoes to your left. You start, but brush it off.
“Probably just some bum jacking it in a dumpster,” you chuckle, a skip almost sneaking into your gait.
A second bang, third bang, pique your interest; muffled laughter is what really grabs your attention. You smoothly double back, peering down the alley. A handful of figures in street clothes, three by the looks of it, are standing partially behind a dumpster. The figure nearest you leans up against it, occasionally slamming a fist against the weathered metal hull, creating an echoing clang. More laughter follows.
“Fucking skids,” a scowl tugs at your lips as you start back on your way.
Another clang, definitely louder and bigger than a fist this time. You wheel back around, fist clenched, ready to hurl a few fuckwords at the errant urban bumpkins. Whatever clever and biting insult you were putting together, it falls apart in your mouth; the clang *wasn’t* a fist slamming a dumpster. It was a kid. One of the figures, now illuminated by an overhead light, has a boy no older than Liam pinned up against the dirty trash container, elbow driving into his gut. It doesn’t look pleasant.
“What the fuck did we tell you kid? This is Meatgrinder’s turf! You want to come through our town, you gotta pay up!” The hood drove his point home with another elbow jab. You can see some words forming on the kid’s lips, but they falter under the assault. The other two thugs jeer and stand around, one of them recording the action on a cellphone.

>Try to talk things out.
>Call the police.
>Charge in, hoping to catch them off guard.
>Scrounge around for something to use as a weapon.
>Write in?

>>46603376
>Scrounge around for something to use as a weapon.

>>46603376
>>Scrounge around for something to use as a weapon.

>>46603376
>>Charge in, hoping to catch them off guard.
fuck brat

File: The Main Event.jpg (185 KB, 342x484)

185 KB JPG

>>46603376
>Better shut that mouth 'fore I fuck it, boi.
>You got sum purdy lips.

>>46603376
>>Call the police.

>>46603376
>Scrounge around for something to use as a weapon.

>>46603399
>>46603403
>>46603650
Looks like we gettin the gat
Or you know, a wet piece of plywood which is infinitely more likely given the scenario.

Writing

>>46603672
or a wet rusty pipe

>>46603672
>Rain City
>Salish
Where in the PNW are we?

Trigger event ho.

>>46603849
I think Salish is some hippy dippy injun language spoken up in them liberal places. Y'know, Seattle.

Sorry guys, this one will take a little longer, got chatting with my pops about some work stuff.

>>46603975
If Soma can get away with one hour updates, you probably don't have to worry.

Not one to be seized by indecision, you swiftly cast about for something, anything to give you an edge over these chumps. Unless you wanted to try fending these hoods off with a dirty grocery bag or cigarette butt, the wet sidewalk had nothing for you. With growing haste you scan the alleyway, but see nothi-there! Nestled in a pile of soggy newspaper and other street loam is your best shot: a discarded umbrella. Not the shitey collapsable kind, an old-fashioned one with a wooden handle and everything. With a burst of speed you close the gap in a flash, snatching it up. The covering is totally shredded and broken, but the crook handle looks solid enough; you flip it around so that the heavy wooden grip is at the far end.
“Hey, what the fuck?” Exclaims the one thug as he slithers from his perch atop the dumpster, fists tensed and rising into a threatening stance. The tormentor turns to sneer a tyo but maintains his grip on the kid; the third one hefts what looks like a bat and looks for a way past her comrades.

Give me a d20 roll, bhoyos.

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>46604027
you fucked up now, thugs. we got an umbrella.

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>46604027
>Nat 20
>We don't trigger.
>It's just the life of a mundane vigilante in Worm.

FIGHTAN THEME https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U83IDXKOIoE

>>46603849
Canada, that's all I'll say.

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>46604027
come on

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>46604027

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>46604027

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>46604027
Fuckem up

>>46604204
Not with that roll, we won't.

>>46604086
>>46604044
>>46604065
Top rolls 11, 10, 7. Gulp.

Writing.

>>46604246
Look on the bright side. At least if we get fucked up, we're that much closer to triggering.

>>46604246
i didnt roll do too i dont know what the rules for rolling are

>>46604246
Oi, Jim. You already got our powers decided or will we choose them?

>>46604261

You should see Wildbow's RPG logs, using Weaver Dice. It's hilariously lethal. The best one was the one which was the setup for a Spiderman-esque teen hero.

Then shit got real.

https://m.reddit.com/r/Parahumans/comments/4dycpc/wildbows_lausanne_rp_details_sessions_25_26/

You shift the umbrella in your grip, eyes darting from thug to thug. Never having been in a real fight before, you’re suddenly stricken by uncertainty. The first stalks towards you, a wicked grin cut across his face,
“A fucking umbrella? I’m gonna have fun with this little hero,” he cackles dirtily, knuckles cracking. You shift your weight backwards just a fraction, subconsciously recoiling. Your eyes continue to shift between assailants. The kid’s eyes lock onto yours, an unbounded despair glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. Contact is broken; the goon drives his elbow into the kid’s side again. Cool summer rain is soaking through your hood, but it’s to enough to stem the burning on your brow; hot pangs of anger creep into the corners of your mind, and you plant your feet firmly. A primal “fuck you!” rips from your lips, syncing up with a sudden lunging swing. Wooden handle connects with flesh, the umbrella clatters across the thugs outstretched arm and glances across the top of his head.
“Shit!” He yelps, blindly covering his head in defence. You capitalize on it, beefing him twice in the gut before can retaliate. You surge forward again, knocking him down with the weight of your body.

Bat girl hefts her namesake, swinging the high-tech club at your face. It catches the lapel of your jacket; you managed to lean out of the way just in time. The crook jabs towards her opened flank, barely connecting and causing you to stumble forward. The bat arcs downwards in an overhand swing made ineffective by close quarters. Fortunately your momentum absorbs most of the blow, but it still throws you off balance and you careen into the wall. Swiftly bouncing back, you bring the umbrella up at the last second, catching the bat mid-strike. Shove back, bat girl adjusts her grip. You swing left, she knocks it away and follows up with a haymaker that grazes, flecks of water slashing at your eyes like a dozen aquatic crows. No matter how much you swing, she’s just too fast. Brow burning with growing anger you grip the umbrella firmly with both hands, crashing it down over head like the hammer of the gods. Bat girl manages to bring an arm up to keep it from her head, but she is still driven back by the heavy blow. Chest heaving, mouth twisted in a snarl, you step towards her, absolutely singleminded.

She glances over your shoulder, and your eyes follow. At least they would, if it weren’t for the stiff jab that sends your head reeling. The third hood had dropped the kid, and now advances on you, pulling a pocket knife from the pouch of his dirty hoodie. You struggle to regain your footing, but a swift sweep of bat girl’s signature and the wind goes out of your lungs. The ground is wet and dirty, your hand scuffed and bleeding from where it tried to slow your fall.

“Kid! Run!” your weapon held loosely in one hand, you trace fingers across a hot trail leading from your mouth to your chin: blood. The hood unfolds his pocket knife and crouches down in front of you. His face could have been handsome in another life; years of drug abuse, smoking and fighting had left it a pockmarked ruin.

“Some fucking hero huh,” he sneers, “you ain’t even a cape. What the fuck do you think you are? A fucking umbrella samurai?” Bat girl laughs uproariously at the non-joke, prodding you with the rusted club.
“This is Meatgrinder’s turf, asshole. You just fucked with Meatgrinder’s guys, you know what that means?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, it looks like he’s going to let the knife do the talking.

>>46604411
This is a point I was about to raise.

I have been rolling random power-sets for the last week or so and came up with one I like.

HOWEVER, if you guys would like to roll for one, I think that could also be really fun. I have an enormous table of powers ready to go.

>>46604758
lets hear what you got first

>>46604758
Shoot us what you've genned. Although you could hook a brotha up with them tables anyway, fampai.

File: Ultimate Powers Book.pdf (2.49 MB, PDF)

2.49 MB PDF

>>46604771
>>46604782
The one I generated was pretty basic actually. Ability to control/create electricity, with reistance to mental attacks (static) rolled in. A few nifty tricks to be learned further down the line too. It's simple but iconic, and kind of ties into the whole "give in to your anger" schtick I've got in mind.

How about you guys roll one, and if it blows ass, we default to lightning one? Sound reasonable?

Tablewise, I'm using the old Ultimate Powers Book from the Classic Marvel rpg, imo the best supers system there is.

>>46604840
I'm down. What do we need to roll?

>>46604840
im more then ok with Cole McGrath powers but im willing to roll just to see what we get

>>46604865
>>46604893
To start, a 1d100 to determine number of powers/potential powers. (note that I may have to fudge a little, because this system can get absolutely nutty)

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>46604899

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>46604899

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>46604899
Blood Control is always my go-to when I contemplate being a cape in this universe.

>>46604930
>>46604973
So I guess that's 3/5 powers.

>>46604930
Alright, that's 3 powers! I'm just gonna go witht he first roll to speed things up.

I need 3d100, then another 3d100. Seperate posts, please.

Rolled 4, 11, 86 = 101 (3d100)

>>46604985

Rolled 85, 100, 54 = 239 (3d100)

>>46604985
ok

Rolled 37, 85, 28 = 150 (3d100)

>>46604985

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>46604985

>>46604999
the trip 9's
and nat 100

thats my best roll of the day

>>46604973
>implying Amon wasn't the best villain in the entirety of the Avatar series

>>46604996
>>46604999
Okay, so first power: Resistance to mental attacks. Not much of a power in itself, but can easily be thematically combined with others.
Second: Weakness detection! We can find physical weaknesses in our opponents, and if we spend some time studying them, mental and even Power-based weakness.
Number three: taking the second set of rolls because the initial result doesn't really work. Martial supremacy! This power allows us to take our fighting ability to superhuman heights, turning even an untrained fighter into a dangeours opponent. For a trained martia artist, this power could be used to karate chop a battleship in half.

So, a mentally resistant fighting master that can detect our opponent's weaknesses.

Do we like that? Or do we want electricity powers?

>>46605080
I like the one we rolled for honestly

>>46605080
I'd say the one we rolled fits really well with our trigger event. We went flailing for a weapon, found a umbrella, and after we got our ass kicked became the master of all things martial.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>46605080
Karnc or Cole

im rolling a 1d2
1 Karnc
2 Cole

>>46605080
we must become baseball bat man

>>46605080
We are literally the Karate Kid:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karate_Kid_%28comics%29

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>>46605097
>>46605106
>>46605139
>>46605143
Not!Shizuo Heiwajima it is! I love it. Th odds of getting a cogent powerset is pretty low and we struck gold.

Writing.

>>46605173
The best part is that we aren't obviously a parahuman.

>>46605143
We could also be Kenshiro. All we need is a leather outfit and rippling muscles..

>>46605143
i say more this

http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Karnak_Mander-Azur_%28Earth-616%29#Powers

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“Fuck you.”
Knife man pauses and cocks his head, inches from your face.
“What the fuck did you say to me?”
The burning in your brow has engulfed your entire conscious. Doctor Hansen is going to have a field day with this one.
“I said FUCK YOU!”
With a jerk, your leg snaps out horizontally, sweeping out knife man’s feet. Before she can react, bat girl is already doubled over, gut wrapped around your fist.
“Pulling a knife with a fucking kid around? What the fuck!” The words leap unbidden as a hail of blows drive the now disarmed knife wielder back through dirt puddles and piles of trash. He raises his arms in defence, but you’re beyond control now. You keep up a steady barrage of kicks until he’s no longer resisting. Eyes hungry, you wheel on bat girl. A shrill battlecry rings through the air as she rushes towards you. Your eyes fix on her body, and motion around you seems to slow to a near standstill. “Her left arm is dominant, so she’ll swing to the right,” some deeper part of you whispers, “look at the way she avoids putting her full weight on her left leg. Ankle is probably mildly sprained. Aim there.”
The motions seem natural: bat whistles but it’s too slow, body dropped low, foot sweeping at her ankle, connection, she howls, elbow cracks across her jaw, guard down, shot to the neck.

Bat girl crumples to the ground, gasping for air, unable to stand. You’ve never felt this angry before, not even when you trashed Hannah’s house. But it’s a different kind of rage, a measured, sharp instrument like you’ve never experienced before. The first goon you beat down with the umbrella is using his comrade’s defeat as a chance to flee.

>Chase the runner.
>Teach these fools not to fuck with you.
>Find the kid.
>Flee.

>>46605344
>>Find the kid.

>>46605344
>Find the kid.

>>46605344
>Chase the runner.
Fucker was gonna knife us, can't just let him go running off.

>>46605344
>Teach these fools not to fuck with you.

>>46605344
>Find the kid.
Kid first beatings later

>>46605344
>Flee.
We accomplished our objective here, now it is time to exfiltrate.

>>46605344
>Find the kid.

>>46605362
>>46605363
>>46605391
>>46605447
Finding and writing.

At this rate we'll end up a slightly less alcoholic Sherlock Holmes.

>>46605491
Sherlock was a drug addict not an alcoholic

but i will discombobulate a bitch

Do you guys want to keep the umbrella or get an umbrella weapon later? Would be handy keeping us dry and it's not conspicuous to carry around

Chest heaving, you pull back from the two prostrated hoods. Frantic footsteps echo through the alleyway, the first goons runs away at top speed. IT takes every fibre of your being, but you don’t go after him. Deep breath. Inhale, exhale. The pulsing cloud of anger dissipates, but the strange clarity you felt before doesn’t. It’s as though you can feel your movements more crisply, more completely, as you stride towards the alley the kid fled down.

“Kid! Hey, kid! It’s safe to come out now, I promise. They’re dealt with for now.” your call hangs in the air unheeded.
“Kid?” An edge of worry creeps into your mind. Had there been more gangsters you hadn’t seen? You feel your individual muscles contract as you tense up for another fight. You nearly jump in the air when the lid of a nearby dumpster blows open, accompanied by a young face shrouded in shaggy blonde hair. The boy peers at you tentatively, then decides it’s safe to crawl out. A bit of scrabbling, and he stands before you, nearly a full foot shorter. He’s freckled, his face much more weathered and dirty than any kid his age’s should be.
“Uh, thanks,” he mutters, wiping some garbage off his sleeve.
“Don’t worry about it. Fucking hate skids,” you fumble to censor yourself, “eh, I mean, freaking. Freaking… dislike.”
The kid spits out what looks like a bit of newspaper.
“Nah, they’re a bunch of shit heads. All of Meatgrinder’s guys are.”
“You okay?”
“Fine. Been through worse.”
You frown a little, he looks like he isn’t lying.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”
“Threeish blocks that way,” he jerks a thumb, “deeper in Meatgrinder’s turf.

>Take kid home.
>Take kid to police station.
>Take kid somewhere safe to talk.

>>46605612
>Take kid home.

>>46605612
>>Take kid home.

>>46605612
>take kid home

>>46605612
Taking him home.

Late as hell, OP. You got a twitter?

“Alright, let’s get you home.” you let the kid lead, following close behind. The youth starts jabbering on about how exciting it was to be saved by someone not from the Protectorate, about Meatgrinder’s gang, and who knows what else. All that you can seem to focus on is the small hairline fracture on the boy’s ulna; its outline shining clearly in your vision. What the hell is going on?

“Hey, are you listening?” the kid elbows you gently in the side to get your attention, “this is my place.” It’s a shabby, run down apartment complex probably built back in The Bricks’ heyday, if there ever was such a time. The kid bounds trudges up the stairs, and turns before unlocking the door.

“Thanks. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t show up.”
You shrug, “don’t worry about it.” You turn to leave, then add, “get your arm checked out by a doctor, it might be broken or something.” He nods, and goes inside.

You pull out your phone. 6:10. If you hurry, you might be able to get the next 101 express back home.

I'd like to keep going, but I'm absolutely bushed form getting up early for work today. I'll be running this again tomorrow in the morning, probably starting around 9ish PST.

I'm on twitter @QmJim, I'll post updates there and in the /wqdt/ if it's up.

thanks for participating, you've been a great audience!

>>46605829
Wait can diagnose anything that would count as a weakness ?can we detect cancer or AIDS ?

>>46605883
thanks for running

someone should archive this if it hasn't already

>>46605925
Got ya famalamadingdong.
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/46599132/

>>46605893
I mean, I think it only extends to combat related weakness. I don't know how you'd leverage AIDS to win a fist fight.

>>46599132
>Rapes of Cain City
Misread that.

>>46605949
Give them a cough by spitting in their mouth?