We were like gods once... BIG UPDATE Friday Nov 5!
- Thread starter ledded
- Start date
ledded
Herder of monkies
Dang, it's gettin' to where I can't swing a dead cat without hittin' another Alabama native on these boards anymore.papakee said:
Glad you could stop by, and I'm happy you're enjoying it so far. Frogbot is run by our usual GM, who I think takes the opportunity provided by yours truly being a secondary GM to take out all of those PC frustrations on me
. I couldnt create or write something that nutty, OldDrewId is a real treat to GM; all of his characters have been unique individuals (check out the Medallions Story Hour, link in my sig, if you haven't. Creepy action set in Birmingham AL, can't beat it. Drew's a genius).And on the Cap'n question...
While folks like to draw parallels to existing comic-book icons, nobody has based their character off of a specific existing super, except by maybe borrowing their 'schtick'. However, that being said, you didn't think that there was going to be a WWII superhero action game without at least one boy scout hucking a big shield, did you?
Stay tuned to find out...
ledded said:Dang, it's gettin' to where I can't swing a dead cat without hittin' another Alabama native on these boards anymore.
Try a live cat...they tend to cling inwards a bit more, making the area threatened by your swinging a bit less.
ledded said:
Agreed. On all points presented.
ledded said:However, that being said, you didn't think that there was going to be a WWII superhero action game without at least one boy scout hucking a big shield, did you?
Nope. Hell, even Jonrog's Heroes of Tesla or whatever it was titled had a boy scout hucking a big shield...Captain Texas, or was it General Texas?
LOL.
Peterson
Stay tuned to find out...[/QUOTE]
ledded
Herder of monkies
We were like gods once... [Racing the devil himself]
Smitty lay there in bed, musing at the cigarette smoke curling up from his hand. He could feel the warmth the body lying next to him, a feeling of comfort that forced a slight smile to his otherwise grim face. Man, I could get used to this, he thought.
He suddenly sat straight up and cocked an ear towards the window.
There was something, a sound at the limit of his unnaturally enhanced senses that didn’t fit with the incredible racquet a small town had become to him. An abnormally resoundant crash, a strange scream, an increase in underlying tension in the faint babble of voices coming from a distance away. A buzzing vibration came to him also, a dim rumbling that did not fit in at all. Not anything a normal man would even pick up, but normal men didn’t have anything close to the senses that Smitty did.
Swinging his legs out of the bed he stubbed out his smoke, reaching for his pants.
There was a muzzily affectionate murmur and a slight movement, as if stretching, from the covers behind him.
“Mmmm luv… good lord, up *again* are we? Mercy, man, what are you, some kind of machine?”
Margaret turned then, and laid a concerned hand on Smitty’s back.
“Oh. Oh bloody hell Smitty, I… I didn’t mean…”
Smitty turned towards her, his mechanical eye gleaming as he smiled warmly, the tiny pistons and gearing of his left arm whirring softly as he reached back. He could hear the buzzing increase, getting louder in his enhanced hearing.
“S’Okay Maggie. I know whatcha meant”, he replied, patting her bottom and standing up.
“Thought I heard somethin’ ”.
He stalked over to the window, picking up his shirt from the chair on the way, and opened it, training an ear out into the night.
Margaret began humming to herself as she dressed, pulling her shift over her naked form as Smitty watched her appreciatively. He picked up her hastily discarded dress as she looked around confused for it. She blushed as she caught him watching. He smiled sheepishly, then tossed the dress to her.
There. He heard it again as the wind shifted and brought it to him. A swell of voices. He could detect something… panic. That’s what it was. He looked over the rooftops toward the pubs, and saw, even at this distance, light flickering as if from fire, a thin column of smoke barely noticeable trailing into the dark night sky. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and where there’s fire, the guys are bound to be in the friggin’ middle of it. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. The buzzing was becoming a roar now, and even audible to the normal people.
“Anything wrong, luv?” Margaret asked him as he stood there, stock still, a look of concentration on his face.
Smitty turned to her, suddenly overcome by a feeling of dread and worry as he looked at her soft face, her tousled hair.
“I’m not sure, Maggie, but I think somethin’ is going on… I need to, well I have to go. I don’t wanna, you see, but…”
An understanding smile curled her lips as she drew on her stockings.
“Oh, I understand luv, duty and all that.”
She sat up on the bed and gave him a wicked grin, her voice a soft drawl that set pins and needles on Smitty’s goose-pimpled flesh as she idly traced a pattern on the bed covers next to her.
“I do ‘ave a feeling you’ll be back though Smitty”
He swallowed hard, trying not to grin like an idiot but not succeeding, and crossed the room towards her, kneeling and taking her hands in his.
“Hitler himself couldn’t stop me, babe.”
“Babe? Babe? Oh I get it, now you scurry off to your mates and it’s ‘that broad’ and ‘babe’ and ‘did you see that dame’, you brutish Americans…” she prodded him, smiling.
He shook his head ruefully at her jibes and then suddenly kissed her deeply for several seconds.
“You know it’s nothing like that.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath and cleared her throat. “Ahem. Well. Um, I think very well that it’s not then…”
The rumbling at the back of Smitty’s hearing kept getting louder, then realization struck him like freight train. Planes, oh Jesus God almighty damn, a *lot* of planes…
He sprang towards the window, eyes straining against the gloomy night time England sky, buttoning his shirt as fast as he could. Smitty could hear them now, their engine noises strangely muffled, but definitely planes. Blooms of red and yellow light began to appear in the distance, maybe a mile outside of the town. Where the damn airfield and the ESS hangers are…
He turned to Maggie, who sat looking scared on the bed.
“Grab your things. It’s a raid. We have to get out of here”, he shouted to her, realizing that they were on the fifth floor of this old hotel.
“What? A raid? But where are the…” she began, and was interrupted by the loud wailing of a siren, its claxon announcing, late, that bombers were overhead. A few fitful sputters of anti-aircraft fire sprang up in a place or two, but nowhere near what there should have been in Smitty’s estimation.
Maggie grabbed her shoes and bag as Smitty snatched up his rifle case and rapidly swung it over his shoulder. The sound of bombs detonating in the town nearby shook the room and dusted their hair with a fine sprinkling of plaster, Maggie stumbling under the shaking floor.
“Damn”, Smitty breathed.
“Oh Bollocks” cursed Margaret, realizing as Smitty did just how bad this had gotten.
“Oh dammit Smitty, go help, I’ll be fine, I can just…” she began bravely, shooing him away.
He quieted her with a finger laid on her lips and spoke softly.
“The hell you will.”
He swept her up into his arms and with a running leap landed precariously on the window frame, leaning out holding the frame with one hand and his other wrapped around her. People were running now, confused at the late warning, scurrying about to posts and shelters, near panic evident in their voices to Smitty. He estimated from the sounds of the incoming bombs that they didn’t have much time, and remembered the nearest shelter down the street and a few blocks over. Too far to run, and they both realized it.
He turned to her as he bunched his legs under himself, bombs bursting just down the street from them, people screaming, sirens blaring, and giving her his best comforting “trust me” smile, spoke.
“You might want to hold on with both hands...”
Just as he began to move, she stopped him by grabbing his chin and kissing him forcefully.
“For luck?” she said, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
Smitty gave her a lopsided grin.
“I don’t believe in it”, he replied, then sprang off the window frame towards the ground.
Margaret let out a terrified squeak as the wind tore at their hastily donned clothes, then Smitty’s powerful left arm snatched out at a window frame and he twisted, pushing his body with incredible grace and agility, curving their descent and causing them to arc up and across the street.
There was a moment of sheer weightlessness at the top of the curve, a few seconds of thrilling absence of gravity, only spoiled by the detonation of bombs pursuing them down the street.
Then gravity, ever the harsh mistress, pulled them with rocketing speed towards the buildings on the other side of the street from their hotel.
“Ohlordalmightygodwhoartinheavenhallowedbythynamethykingdomcomethywillbedone…”, Margaret babbled near incoherently at the certain death rushing up to meet them.
Smitty grabbed a washing line strung between the buildings, smoke burning from his metallic hand as he used it to once again swing their momentum straight up into the side wall of the building in front of them, the burning line snapping as he let it go. Smitty’s feet were a blur of movement prior to contact and they hit the wall with a surging rush of upwards movement, his feet tearing old bricks free as they fought for purchase on the vertical surface. They crested the top of the wall and bounded, hitting the opposite roof edge with a spray of masonry before immediately taking off into a dive across the street.
“onearthasitisinheavengiveusthisdayourdailybread…”
His arm shot out for a handhold on a flagpole, enough to turn their momentum so he could plant a foot and spring back across the street. Bombs detonated under the muted roar of Nazi bombers. People screamed as they ran and building facades exploded outwards spraying bricks and rubble.
“andforgiveusourtrespassesasweforgivethosewhotrespassagainstus...”
Metallic left arm clamping down fiercely on an awning, twisting so hard that their feet flew over their heads as they swept further down the street. A huge ball of smoke billowed in front of them and they flew feet first through the hellish stench and heat of an exploding shell, Smitty spinning his body in mid-air to give Margaret cover from harm.
“andleadusnotintotemptationbutdeliverusfromevil…”
A corner looms ahead and Smitty hits the building in front of it, changing their momentum so that he is able to run across the surface in a wide semicircle, taking the corner and then leaping once again across the street, left arm outstretched and wide grin on his face.
“forthineisthekingdom…”
Grabbing at a drain spout which wrenches free under their weight, using the change in movement to careen on a long section of squealing gutter like a twisting metal rope, they traverse the street once again.
“andthepower…”
Smitty’s feet crash hard into the wall, legs pumping in a dizzyingly fast sprint and spitting pieces of brick and mortar as they scrabble and fight for purchase enough to make another sickeningly high leap.
“andtheglory…”
Clipping the top of a lower building and tumbling in mid air, they sailed towards the next, Smitty reaching out with his left arm to take the teeth-rattling brunt of impact on the building’s corner in a shower of burst stonework, pivoting their weight around towards the front and then pushing off with incredible force.
“foreverandever…”
Tumbling in mid-air, Smitty spies the open door to the shelter starting to close, bombs bursting down the street behind them as he lands on a lorry top and skips, rolling across the pavement, sliding feet first holding Margaret in both hands through the doorway as it is slammed shut behind them.
He grabs up the man at the door along with Margaret, without breaking stride, gets his feet back under him and sprints with incredible speed down the nearby steps as the bombs blow out the windows behind them. Smitty jumps over the railing and lands on the next, sliding down it on one leg folded under him holding both people close as rubble tumbles down the steps. His feet hit the floor in an impossibly fast patter of steps to slow them down and they come to a stop just in front of large group of people, all staring at them, mouths agape in wonder.
“amen”, Margaret finishes breathlessly.
Smitty gently puts her down, kissing her forehead with shaking lips and then bending double and resting his hands on his knees as he puffs huge breaths of air. He is covered in nicks and scratches and soot, several fingernails are torn out and his feet are a dirty, bloodied mess, but he is grinning like a school boy at a mostly unharmed Margaret as she stares at him with wide eyes.
“Oh... oh my, Smitty. I can’t believe… you... I… we… you are just a man of many… talents… aren’t you” she gasps, incredulous.
Smitty pants a few more times, collects himself and stands, adjusting his rifle.
“Stick around babe, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet” he quips at her, winks, and then tears off up the steps, his feet actually leaving prints on the wall for several paces as he uses it to make the turn without slowing down.
...
Smitty lay there in bed, musing at the cigarette smoke curling up from his hand. He could feel the warmth the body lying next to him, a feeling of comfort that forced a slight smile to his otherwise grim face. Man, I could get used to this, he thought.
He suddenly sat straight up and cocked an ear towards the window.
There was something, a sound at the limit of his unnaturally enhanced senses that didn’t fit with the incredible racquet a small town had become to him. An abnormally resoundant crash, a strange scream, an increase in underlying tension in the faint babble of voices coming from a distance away. A buzzing vibration came to him also, a dim rumbling that did not fit in at all. Not anything a normal man would even pick up, but normal men didn’t have anything close to the senses that Smitty did.
Swinging his legs out of the bed he stubbed out his smoke, reaching for his pants.
There was a muzzily affectionate murmur and a slight movement, as if stretching, from the covers behind him.
“Mmmm luv… good lord, up *again* are we? Mercy, man, what are you, some kind of machine?”
Margaret turned then, and laid a concerned hand on Smitty’s back.
“Oh. Oh bloody hell Smitty, I… I didn’t mean…”
Smitty turned towards her, his mechanical eye gleaming as he smiled warmly, the tiny pistons and gearing of his left arm whirring softly as he reached back. He could hear the buzzing increase, getting louder in his enhanced hearing.
“S’Okay Maggie. I know whatcha meant”, he replied, patting her bottom and standing up.
“Thought I heard somethin’ ”.
He stalked over to the window, picking up his shirt from the chair on the way, and opened it, training an ear out into the night.
Margaret began humming to herself as she dressed, pulling her shift over her naked form as Smitty watched her appreciatively. He picked up her hastily discarded dress as she looked around confused for it. She blushed as she caught him watching. He smiled sheepishly, then tossed the dress to her.
There. He heard it again as the wind shifted and brought it to him. A swell of voices. He could detect something… panic. That’s what it was. He looked over the rooftops toward the pubs, and saw, even at this distance, light flickering as if from fire, a thin column of smoke barely noticeable trailing into the dark night sky. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and where there’s fire, the guys are bound to be in the friggin’ middle of it. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. The buzzing was becoming a roar now, and even audible to the normal people.
“Anything wrong, luv?” Margaret asked him as he stood there, stock still, a look of concentration on his face.
Smitty turned to her, suddenly overcome by a feeling of dread and worry as he looked at her soft face, her tousled hair.
“I’m not sure, Maggie, but I think somethin’ is going on… I need to, well I have to go. I don’t wanna, you see, but…”
An understanding smile curled her lips as she drew on her stockings.
“Oh, I understand luv, duty and all that.”
She sat up on the bed and gave him a wicked grin, her voice a soft drawl that set pins and needles on Smitty’s goose-pimpled flesh as she idly traced a pattern on the bed covers next to her.
“I do ‘ave a feeling you’ll be back though Smitty”
He swallowed hard, trying not to grin like an idiot but not succeeding, and crossed the room towards her, kneeling and taking her hands in his.
“Hitler himself couldn’t stop me, babe.”
“Babe? Babe? Oh I get it, now you scurry off to your mates and it’s ‘that broad’ and ‘babe’ and ‘did you see that dame’, you brutish Americans…” she prodded him, smiling.
He shook his head ruefully at her jibes and then suddenly kissed her deeply for several seconds.
“You know it’s nothing like that.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath and cleared her throat. “Ahem. Well. Um, I think very well that it’s not then…”
The rumbling at the back of Smitty’s hearing kept getting louder, then realization struck him like freight train. Planes, oh Jesus God almighty damn, a *lot* of planes…
He sprang towards the window, eyes straining against the gloomy night time England sky, buttoning his shirt as fast as he could. Smitty could hear them now, their engine noises strangely muffled, but definitely planes. Blooms of red and yellow light began to appear in the distance, maybe a mile outside of the town. Where the damn airfield and the ESS hangers are…
He turned to Maggie, who sat looking scared on the bed.
“Grab your things. It’s a raid. We have to get out of here”, he shouted to her, realizing that they were on the fifth floor of this old hotel.
“What? A raid? But where are the…” she began, and was interrupted by the loud wailing of a siren, its claxon announcing, late, that bombers were overhead. A few fitful sputters of anti-aircraft fire sprang up in a place or two, but nowhere near what there should have been in Smitty’s estimation.
Maggie grabbed her shoes and bag as Smitty snatched up his rifle case and rapidly swung it over his shoulder. The sound of bombs detonating in the town nearby shook the room and dusted their hair with a fine sprinkling of plaster, Maggie stumbling under the shaking floor.
“Damn”, Smitty breathed.
“Oh Bollocks” cursed Margaret, realizing as Smitty did just how bad this had gotten.
“Oh dammit Smitty, go help, I’ll be fine, I can just…” she began bravely, shooing him away.
He quieted her with a finger laid on her lips and spoke softly.
“The hell you will.”
He swept her up into his arms and with a running leap landed precariously on the window frame, leaning out holding the frame with one hand and his other wrapped around her. People were running now, confused at the late warning, scurrying about to posts and shelters, near panic evident in their voices to Smitty. He estimated from the sounds of the incoming bombs that they didn’t have much time, and remembered the nearest shelter down the street and a few blocks over. Too far to run, and they both realized it.
He turned to her as he bunched his legs under himself, bombs bursting just down the street from them, people screaming, sirens blaring, and giving her his best comforting “trust me” smile, spoke.
“You might want to hold on with both hands...”
Just as he began to move, she stopped him by grabbing his chin and kissing him forcefully.
“For luck?” she said, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
Smitty gave her a lopsided grin.
“I don’t believe in it”, he replied, then sprang off the window frame towards the ground.
Margaret let out a terrified squeak as the wind tore at their hastily donned clothes, then Smitty’s powerful left arm snatched out at a window frame and he twisted, pushing his body with incredible grace and agility, curving their descent and causing them to arc up and across the street.
There was a moment of sheer weightlessness at the top of the curve, a few seconds of thrilling absence of gravity, only spoiled by the detonation of bombs pursuing them down the street.
Then gravity, ever the harsh mistress, pulled them with rocketing speed towards the buildings on the other side of the street from their hotel.
“Ohlordalmightygodwhoartinheavenhallowedbythynamethykingdomcomethywillbedone…”, Margaret babbled near incoherently at the certain death rushing up to meet them.
Smitty grabbed a washing line strung between the buildings, smoke burning from his metallic hand as he used it to once again swing their momentum straight up into the side wall of the building in front of them, the burning line snapping as he let it go. Smitty’s feet were a blur of movement prior to contact and they hit the wall with a surging rush of upwards movement, his feet tearing old bricks free as they fought for purchase on the vertical surface. They crested the top of the wall and bounded, hitting the opposite roof edge with a spray of masonry before immediately taking off into a dive across the street.
“onearthasitisinheavengiveusthisdayourdailybread…”
His arm shot out for a handhold on a flagpole, enough to turn their momentum so he could plant a foot and spring back across the street. Bombs detonated under the muted roar of Nazi bombers. People screamed as they ran and building facades exploded outwards spraying bricks and rubble.
“andforgiveusourtrespassesasweforgivethosewhotrespassagainstus...”
Metallic left arm clamping down fiercely on an awning, twisting so hard that their feet flew over their heads as they swept further down the street. A huge ball of smoke billowed in front of them and they flew feet first through the hellish stench and heat of an exploding shell, Smitty spinning his body in mid-air to give Margaret cover from harm.
“andleadusnotintotemptationbutdeliverusfromevil…”
A corner looms ahead and Smitty hits the building in front of it, changing their momentum so that he is able to run across the surface in a wide semicircle, taking the corner and then leaping once again across the street, left arm outstretched and wide grin on his face.
“forthineisthekingdom…”
Grabbing at a drain spout which wrenches free under their weight, using the change in movement to careen on a long section of squealing gutter like a twisting metal rope, they traverse the street once again.
“andthepower…”
Smitty’s feet crash hard into the wall, legs pumping in a dizzyingly fast sprint and spitting pieces of brick and mortar as they scrabble and fight for purchase enough to make another sickeningly high leap.
“andtheglory…”
Clipping the top of a lower building and tumbling in mid air, they sailed towards the next, Smitty reaching out with his left arm to take the teeth-rattling brunt of impact on the building’s corner in a shower of burst stonework, pivoting their weight around towards the front and then pushing off with incredible force.
“foreverandever…”
Tumbling in mid-air, Smitty spies the open door to the shelter starting to close, bombs bursting down the street behind them as he lands on a lorry top and skips, rolling across the pavement, sliding feet first holding Margaret in both hands through the doorway as it is slammed shut behind them.
He grabs up the man at the door along with Margaret, without breaking stride, gets his feet back under him and sprints with incredible speed down the nearby steps as the bombs blow out the windows behind them. Smitty jumps over the railing and lands on the next, sliding down it on one leg folded under him holding both people close as rubble tumbles down the steps. His feet hit the floor in an impossibly fast patter of steps to slow them down and they come to a stop just in front of large group of people, all staring at them, mouths agape in wonder.
“amen”, Margaret finishes breathlessly.
Smitty gently puts her down, kissing her forehead with shaking lips and then bending double and resting his hands on his knees as he puffs huge breaths of air. He is covered in nicks and scratches and soot, several fingernails are torn out and his feet are a dirty, bloodied mess, but he is grinning like a school boy at a mostly unharmed Margaret as she stares at him with wide eyes.
“Oh... oh my, Smitty. I can’t believe… you... I… we… you are just a man of many… talents… aren’t you” she gasps, incredulous.
Smitty pants a few more times, collects himself and stands, adjusting his rifle.
“Stick around babe, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet” he quips at her, winks, and then tears off up the steps, his feet actually leaving prints on the wall for several paces as he uses it to make the turn without slowing down.
...
Last edited:
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