Hugo Fowl

Heard this was the last rodeo for Fox. Praise be to him of orange fur, he shall be missed.

I've been busy between my irl campaign, my apartment move and work but I saw the email notifier.


 

5 hours ago, Peypeypeypey said:

Guerra surveys the conversation intently, like a father letting his kids fight a bit before breaking it up. Henry's question catches his attention. "Well, Master Cordova has more than enough money to buy any information on the market, so long as it's useful. Unfortunately for us, The Rat is a notorious, shall we say, obtuse person to deal with. From our intel, money is never at the forefront of his mind, so bribery might not work on the likes of him. Furthermore, Master Cordova may be a bit hesitant to give you a large sum of money in such a potentially dangerous area." He pauses to think for a moment. "However, some financial leverage may help immensely, if only to show that we mean business. Normally, this is the type of thing I would clear with Master Cordova, but if it's for the good of the mission, then I see no reason to deny the request."

He extracts a large wad of bills and places it on the table in front of him. "Shall we say $10,000? For mission expenses, new clothes if you need them, and a substantial investment in this character?"

"That should do it." Henry said swiftly as he added for the benefit of the rest.

"Much as I'd love for him to share out of the goodness of his heart, this should help immensely." He then took the cash and split it up, taking $3000 from the pile as he spoke.

"This should be enough considering what we want. Not that we're gonna offer all of it at once, but a little negotiation should go a long way. If you need anything else, nows the time."

5 hours ago, Peypeypeypey said:

Viantius slowly drags himself ashore, lute dragging behind him like an anchor. He coughs profusely, water-logged and miserable. "Of course my first mission is on a damn boat." He rants, at no one in particular. "Drow aren't built to swim. That fish guy? He would have loved sinking!" He takes a deep breath, looking around to see if he can find his companions. "Does anyone know where we are?" He asks loudly to the beach 

Corvo landed.

With a wave, he dried and cleaned the bardic dark Elve as he spoke aloud.

"Glad someone else made it. As to where we are, your guess is as good as mine."

Inwardly, Henry sighed.

Give a kid powers and they think the solution is to punch everything away. There was a reason there were more metahuman gangs then there were people who could actually make a lasting solution-Henry hoped to change that. Thankless as it was and less glamorous than some first page spread, punching some villain out on the newspaper it would only ever be a symptom. Violence just begat more violence and it was always, inevitably the lowest on the totem pole who'd pay for it.

Desperation and frustration made criminals and powers gave them the ability to make the world pay for both. One needed only to look at the City itself and its current state for that much. More on topic he added, with an innate compliment.

"Ideally I'd want either Mercury or Voyd with me. In a crowded club, full of people and potential violence the both of you are best suited to deal with things in a non-lethal fashion. Especially if guns are drawn. Last thing I think we can all agree on is this going south and our first public appearance to be a press conference for some dead person at his bachelor party or something while we were there."

He then added.

"Not that I'd say no to some muscle Ray." His lip quirked as he added. "That and it's nice to know we have some folks who won't jump the gun at the first hurdle we face-most of the time, asking nicely won't work which means the universal language."

He then spoke aloud in curiosity to their handler.

"How much can we take in bribe money?"

Just now, OMFG said:

OOC: Sorry for my hiatus, was just too caught up with the Fantasy Draft!

 

IC:

 

Try as they might, they were not able to overcome the great force that is mother nature. Not even The Angel Steve's magic infused sails were able to keep the ship upright enough to prevent the inevitable. Capsizing. With a great howl, the wind rocked the ship back and forth, and wave after wave crashed into the side of the ship. Eventually, the ship was overtaken by the sea, flipping head over tails, it's contents spilling out in to the ocean.

 

Slowly, the storm passed, and the passengers of the ship managed to hold on to whatever they could for dear life, floating through the seas in a semi conscious state. Those who could swim, were able to assist the others, those who were less than adequate at swimming, floated. 

Time passed, nights turned to day, and eventually they found themselves washed up on the shores of some sort of island. White, sparkling sand surrounded by tall Palm trees that poked the heavens. This island appeared to be uninhabited, showing no signs of previous life.

The storm washed over and all that Corvo could think of was gratitude.

Gratitude that his group was safe below, save for the one who helped him with the ship because these were terrifying conditions. And then all too soon it seemed, they were flipped upside down.

The water was oppressive, his lungs burned for air.

He was still bound to the wheel. 

Easily dealt with by teleporting out, but the moment he went up for air, once more he went down. The sea was callous and his wings and jacket felt like weights, dragging him to the depths.

Jessamine transformed then, wrapping around his arm into a clawed gauntlet similar to the one he usually wore. With the claws, he managed to snag himself a floatation. From there, all he could do was hold on and agonize how he felt like he failed his friends as the storm raged on and he desperately searched for the rest of them.

Time passed.

Corvo woke up.

Land.

He sat up quickly and regretted it, his head pounding as he went to work cleaning himself with Prestidigitation. The salt would be removed, his body and clothing were clean again.

He found his hat.

Jamming it on his head, he spread his wings and took off into the sky.

If he was on this beach, hopefully the rest were too. He would scout back and forth till his eyes bled if he had to.

11 hours ago, Bergy_Berg said:

"Wow, so all of you were for going into the bar and doing this, but now that we actually have to do it there's only one of you with any real conviction? I thought heroes backed up their big talk."

Mercury leans back in his chair, one of his legs bouncing quickly enough to tear part of the seat cushion. "Other than Ray you fucks aren't filling me with a lot of confidence." Another deep sigh, as he was beginning to feel the stress well up inside him. He reached into his pocket and firmly grasped a small charm.

Henry had no idea what he was talking about.

But he felt it deserved some response as he said calmly. "We get one shot at this, not just for hunting a rat but also setting the standard for how we're going to be perceived. Now we could go in, full costume and just kidnap him. Between your speed and Voyds portals we actually stand a great chance. But then what?" He turned to face him as he kept going, weaving the tale as he kept on.

"How much do you think he'd look on any of us with any sort of fondness, more so if we decided torture was the best way to make him talk? Even if we didn't, the fact we took them will be resented and the perception of it will taint them among their contacts. Unless-and this is a wild idea, we ensure that their anonymous nature remains just that and create a good first impression for the times we might need them again. That's the real world, where people don't think beating up on a problem is enough to make it stop."

It was why he earned his P.I. liscense, why he considered himself a detective first and a vigilante second. He'd fought before, but that was never his goal. It always felt good but it didn't nothing about the issues that drove people to crime in the first place nor stopped the real villains untouched by the law. For every petty thug hungry and angry, there was a kingpin fat and goading them on. For every addict, lost in the throes of habit there was a dealer who took even their souls(in one case, literally) and walked away secure. Well, not so long as he was here.

He did extend an olive branch though as he added. "Don't see why we can't do both though. I'll be frank,this mission is going to be delicate and it seems like quite a few don't do that. Kids right...We do need folks willing to join in to talk. But we don't need everyone and some look like they prefer a straight fight. Could we do both missions at once? Send me and one more to the bar and the rest beat the shit out of that gang?" He looked to Guerra in curious expectation.

"I'm down for half and half." Henry decided immediately, considering it was his first suggestion.

"Plainsclothes would mean we could talk without the mark being spooked, with costumed backup buying us time to switch if we need an escape. Though who will be who is the question. Personally speaking, I'd prefer to be backup-no one generally sees me unless I want them and it's a skill I've worked hard on....But I also have experience with this sort of meeting. So I'll volunteer for plainsclothes if we go that route."

"Well whoever wants to join? Feel free or go below!"

And taking rope, Corvo lashed himself to the wheel just in case.

Thanks for the comments guys. Trying my best to experiment with different styles of matches beyond just the usual fight/comedy stuff I do.

"Radios might be a bit much. Mostly because who carries those in public? If you have a cell phone or something that might work better-no one's going to be suspicious looking at their cell phone." Pointed out Henry, much more in his element. He added with a critical eye.

"Also, I'd suggest plainclothes work for this. We go in as vigilantes, we'll be treated as them and our target might be spooked. So maybe half as backup, the other half as contact?"

Just now, JohnnyChany said:

Great setup and pairing, Hugo Fowl. Am I reading it right that a god's power is connected to how many people believe in and worship him/her?

Pretty much. It's the basis of how I wrote this match and it's a pretty old concept used by a lot of writers far better than I. And sometimes, worship creates entirely new gods. Like gods of Trains, Car Gods, etc. 

Just now, Macklemore said:

Would Odin's omniscience allow him to know everything there is to know about Randall?

Odin isn't that kind of god. Actually some scholars believe he's the archetype of the old,wise wizard figure that Merlin and such came from. Mostly because the stories of Odin all entail his search for greater wisdom. In context of the fight, he doesn't have it but he knows what Randall is and Randall knows of Odin. It's basically old man Rocky Balboa who's been around the block vs Mason "The Line" Dixon, young and fresh.

Experience and cunning vs power. 

As a scribe once said, this was a bad land for gods.

America was a melting pot and it made it absurdly easy to melt away among the masses unseen. But it brought with it a deep sense of melancholy, seeing how swiftly the people flocked to new gods, only to forget and discard them in a pattern repeated since before clay tablets was regarded as the best thing ever. God's of Iron and Steam, bloody gods of the road fed more sacrifices upon metal grilles than all of his colleagues in South America could ever dream of, gods of wire, voices in the air soon turned discordant as a thousand-thousand prayers, curses and more became so much white noise for those of his kind.

And yet he was here and it could have been worse. His chosen people had carved their mark on history, represented by scribes of silver-color now, he supposed in flashy battles and such that baffled the old god. But there was *something* there he supposed, sitting in a crowded theater filled with the young and old, transfixed at what he saw. There was a disconcerting tendency to mix his wife's brothers character with his son by the mortals, but there...As he looked around at unknowing worshippers,all believing then in him and his sons? Well, he felt something akin to gratitude, certainly enough to treat himself that night to a steak dinner.

You took what you could from a land flushed with gods. And while he reminisced on the old days, recalling horns of mead, the finest cuts from Andrimnir's roasts? As he sliced his simple salt and peppered steak(middling grade), with some potatoes on the side? It never tasted better than that moment, the juices savored as he sighed with bliss.

Nothing worse for a god than being forgotten.

------

He was old, but not doddering just yet. The old god woke up with a deep sense of forboding in the air as he rose from his bed. As he got ready mechanically, he grabbed the remote by his bed to switch on his cheap television, seeking the news station as a vapidly, pretty reporter smiled with a grin that was far too wide to be genuine as she shared the morning news. A traffic jam, some athlete caught in bed with some actress, all the scandalous and shocking news of the day delivered from a face that looked like a parody of beauty as she displayed a little cleavage for the viewers.

Finally, as the old man was putting on his jacket she said what he had been listening for.

"-And in other news, riots today hit an all-time violent high as a standoff turned bloody in the streets with fifteen hospitalized and twelve confirmed dead as a result of trampling and gunfire from authorities. People are advised to remain in their homes for the duration as police strive to restore order."

The old man did no such thing as he stepped out of his apartment and for the first time in years,neglected to lock the door behind him.

If all went badly, it wouldn't matter anymore.

And he knew exactly where he was now, following the scent of violence and pain all the way up to some dive bar, little more than a hole to store cheap booze and drink it till you die. Not his particular tastes, but very much to his. The floor was sticky and black as tar, the sort that a mop would commit suicide over and require the use of a pressure washer. The tables were metal(easier to clean and sturdy), all of them bolted into the floor in varying places as booths in dark corners were only ominously illuminated by neon signs, curvy women perpetually kicking upwards forever and ever in shades of red, green and blue. The smell of beer was strong and sickly, just managing to mask the more familiar scent to the old god as a juke box in the corner wailed out it's tunes for the price of a dollar.

[Randall Flagg's Theme]

He found the man he had come to see dancing on the floor. All alone, save for a withered corpse in his arms as he twirled and shuffled in old cowboy boots like some macabre line dancer. All around like some undertaker's sick joke, the corpses of bikers, a waitress and more sat frozen in their chairs in a state of decay. Food for maggots wriggling in the flesh as flies buzzed and swarmed thick in the air, eager and feeding.

He noticed him of course, raised a hand in the universal motion of 'one moment' and only when the jukebox finished it's song did he deign to pay attention. He had an easy grin on his face, of a sort his berserkers might have worn but with an underlying nastiness that could not be hid. It was a smile that might be seen on the sort of person who fed maggots to the elderly, who had a lead foot at children crossing the road. It was a smile fit for the Lie-Smith and he gave an exaggerated bow to the old man.

"I was wondering if you'd come here. Or whether or not you'd just up and die in your bed like the rest of your kind. Would have been easier for you."

The old gods voice was raspy. It had been a smoggy day and the bars miasma didn't help as he retorted in a voice like old steel drawn. "You obviously don't know me well if you thought I would go gently into that dark night. Especially to you."

The other laughed aloud, like a racous carrion crow as he stared at him. It was obvious he didn't consider him any kind of threat and it showed in his scorn.

"And what are you gonna do about it? Hmm? Old man like you? Hasn't been a true worshipper of yours since the White Gods son was hot news. Your kind is going the way of the Dodo and you'll be missed just as much. Hadn't you heard?" He spread his arms wide,gesturing all around as he said coyly, doing a little spin on his cowboy booted heel with a laugh.

"It's my year. My time now. This is your serving order and it's time for all your kind to leave. No one cares about god's anymore. Nihilism is the new black and I've never felt so strong."

"Perhaps not. But that was never our role." The old man's voice was calm, standing before the walking avatar of suffering as he spoke. "People believe Ragnarok was a bad thing. The death of the world, the ship of nails and all that. It was never meant to be. Ragnarok is a final hurrah. It's a time when a parent steps down, entrusting the future of the world to his sons in the knowledge it will be better. It is knowing that death comes when it does, that all things have a life and no more to mark the world. To fear the end, to believe it something to be terrified of are the ramblings of a child who is scared of their own shadow. I do not fear death old one..."

His one-eyed glare fixated on the other, firm and clear as he continued.

"And I do not fear you."

His hand flicked out to the jukebox as immediately a song played out. Because if you had to go out, why not to Led Zepplin?

[Odin's Theme]

The Dark Ones smile faltered briefly before he laughed. "You can't kill ME. Y'aint got the power for that."

"Oh I'm not going to kill you." The old gods voice had changed-more firm, an old accent of a land never forgotten filling the void between them. In his hands, a staff of ashwood was gripped, two ravens flying in to land on his shoulder as a wolf padded in snarling. The flies had retreated and for a moment, the lines were drawn.

And Odin, All-Father spoke with all the judgement and majesty he was known for as he pronounced sentence on the Dark One.

"I'm just going to kick your ass until you're shitting through your mouth."

The setup: Randall Flagg vs Odin All-Father. The stakes are humanities souls or at least this particular city. Flagg has to defeat Odin. Odin has to beat him up enough to drive him out of town or disincorporate him.

Join us for a battle I had to call...'Old Gods for New Times.'

"Mission one."

53 minutes ago, corvette1710 said:

Good match, Hugo!

I just have a question: Are the Orks' broomsticks painted red?

They are.

The Beaters are dressed in purple, one of the chasers has a mounted Shoota and the Keeper is a Klanka Mech riding a broom the size of a log.

3 hours ago, OMFG said:

Like a arrow flying through the air, The Angel Steve glided upon the water at a hasty speed, their destination coming closer and closer.

The weather favored them, as they sun shined warmly, the breeze guiding the ship along smoothly. It was practically the preferred sailing weather, optimized for efficient sailing. 

This however, would not last long. One particular morning, upon awakening gone was the clear blue skies, replaced by a gloomy mass of cumulonimbus, or storm clouds. The calm sails were now pulling to and from with the sharp wind that was tugging them in all directions at once. Sea foam spraying up against the sides of the ship, water lapping up and over the guard rail.

It seemed a storm was upon them.

"Boy, if we had to do this with crew and such we'd be in trouble. As it is with the magic of the boat helping, all we really need is two people at the helm to hold on and keep our course. Everyone else can go below and...Batten down the hatches or something." Corvo finished weakly before he added more seriously.

"Any volunteers? It's going to be very dangerous. I nominate myself as one unless anyone else feels they can do better in which case I'll concede. I say it mostly because if I fall off, I could teleport myself back on deck."

Just now, Fox said:

EDIT: Also, the version of Dracula here is from the Games category.

Ah shit. That's my bad. Sorry Fox.

Just now, Z451 said:

Tell me about it, matter of fact Universal should be hitting themselves over what they did to the Mummy franchise at this point in time.

Don't bring up the Tom Cruise Mummy movie....

It never happened.

7 hours ago, Bergy_Berg said:

Mercury's head quickly snapped back and forth between Huntsman and Bastille as he addressed his new associates.

"Look, I get where you're coming from. But the Heathens don't sound like they're connected to the gangs. So the Rat might not be that useful to us." He could feel the sweat accumulating on his brow under the goggles. It had been a while since he last spoke to a room full of people.

Mercury took a deep breath before he continued, as he tried to settle a heart that felt like it was racing at 1000 beats a minute. In fact, it might very well be going that fast. "If the Heathens are out there killing people based on rumors of gang activity, or offing someone just because they lifted a watch, then they need to be our first targets. When someone thinks there's a purpose to murder they do it a lot. How many people die while we track down the Rat?"

"They're not connected that we know of."

Henry pointed out as he added. "I'll go with the majority. I'd just like to point out that these apparently, violent assholes have evaded authorities and such with an arrogance that doesn't seem to fit them. So it stands to reason, if it's not them...Then who? Who's protecting them from retaliation and hiding them? It's conjunction on my part admittedly, but I'd like to personally make sure. With that said, you all know my stance."

Having said that, Henry settled back-reading the files once more as if they would tell him secrets.

I would watch the shit out of this movie.

Scrooge McDuck is scottish. Also a toon. Drinking games should be child's play.

Also this crazy fucker has done some weird shit and some abnormal-actually, there's a funny thread that explains it better.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/4283775/

Henry frowned in consideration, pondering before he spoke again. "While I'm confident in our strength to stop this gang, it's what happens after that concerns me. I'm more inclined to seek out their various avenues and cut them off before we move in. So we get them all in one, clean sweep rather than miss a few because we rush in and find out later the fact because they blew up a school bus in retaliation or some shit like that." 

Henry read through the files.

Times like these, he appreciated his professional background as he weighed them in before speaking.

"In named order preferably, I would like to do the first,third and second last. The first one will give us information that will enable us to perform the third mission far more easily. Then combined with her backing and our Intel, we should have a more easier time sweeping up the punks without worrying about some falling through the cracks. Good information can save us a lot of hassle down the line."

His opinion given, Henry leaned back and waited for the rest to speak up.

The arena for this particular match was massive, in a way only magic could have accomplished. The unique magecraft of the Ministry resulting in a place worthy of the battle that would take place here in Khazan Cith. Spotlights flashed to life, creating patterns in the skies, balloons of varying colors rose and the spectators- Ah, the spectators.

Robed wizards mingled with excited, chattering priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Servitor Skulls flew in the sky, eye socket cameras recording the pristine field below and avoided magical drones. From the Catachan Regiments to the more recent Fantastic Beast films, wizards and members of the 41st millennium and more came together in a riotous crowd of color and standing, united fans all cheering and raising their flags, emblems of Hogwarts and a jagged, tribal looking skull on a red backdrop clashed as fans cried approval. Hovering in places, drones that resembled insects, birds and other designs flitted freely, their crystal eyes taking in the place as the runes of Virtual Adepts engraved denoted their purpose. Up in the announcers box, two people would be preparing. One of them a famous wizard with his face painted to resemble the Hogwarts emblem. Half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his broken nose, eyes twinkling as he took in the sight before him. His compatriot, a Commisar smiled, unable to hold still as he sipped a mug that had the caption 'Wizards do it with staffs', the smell of rich Tanna tea denoting his brew of choice. Before them, a servitor skull floated, fixated on them as a metallic voice spoke.

"By the Omnissiah's grace, you're on in three...Two...One. Action."

The Commissars grin turned wider, his charm radiating off him like a tangible aura as he spoke.

"Hello sports fans of all ages, races and factions! I'm Ciaphas Cain."

Down below in the arena, an entire half of the stadium chanted aloud 'Hero of the Imperium!' to his visible discomfort. His companion smiled as he spoke more softly but no less discernible.

"And I am Albus Dumbledore. Though I'm not entirely sure. However, what I am sure of is the match that awaits us today here in Khazan City."

Ciaphas grinned madly, removing his cap as he placed it next to him as he took up where his partner left off. "Indeed we do Albus, as the special exhibition match of the Sci-Fi vs Fantasy begins, we're broadcasting live through Internet Spirits, Magic Mirrors and the Adeptus Recordus! No one wants to miss today's game and I do not blame them! Albus, if you could share with us a bit of what to expect!"

Dumbledore smiled like a grandfatherly figure, his eyes twinkling brightly. "It would be my personal pleasure! The rules are simple-two matches, done by factions of either genre. All to be conducted here and each one with some home team advantage-in this case, that of Dumbledore's Army who have chosen Quidditch as their battlefield."

Cain mirrored his grin, leaning forward to the servitor skull as he spoke. "But will it be enough? For these wizards despite their advantage are facing the Orks who upon hearing of this game, leaped at the chance to accept. High speed, violence all seem to favor these belligerent green skins. Also, listen to that crowd! Support seems high for them which is the only time I'll ever say such a thing." He added sternly in warning.

In the crowd, an imperial guardsman looked at the green face paint he was wearing, shrugged and went back to yelling out like a football hooligan.

"But tell me Albus, what exactly can we expect from the teams pre-show tonight?"

Dumbledore hummed in thought and pressed his fingers together with a smile. "Dumbledore's Army will open up tonight's ceremony and from what I hear, they've brought Veela! Clean those glasses gentlemen."

"And don't tell the missus!" Cain chortled as the lights on the pitch below began to shut down.

Shadows covered the field and for a long moment, it feels like a let-down from the wizards side. And then comes a familiar noise, one that goes through the ears and direct to the spine.

Boom-boom-clap! Boom-boom-clap!

Recognition flashes on the features of some of the supporters, as they begin to follow along till the air vibrates with it. Boom-boom-clap! Boom-boom-clap! Boom-boom-clap! And then the spotlights focus on a figure in the arena center. A lone figure, beautiful to behold. Clad in what looks like an altered Hogwarts uniform, a saucy outfit of black leather and red, a wide brim hat on her head but its the item in her arms prompting the subsequent wild cheers....

An electric guitar. She puts her wand to her throat and yells.

"WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU! EVERYBODY NOW!"

And a thousand throats roared in unison as the lights flashed, revealing the rest of the wizards pre-show group. In other, gentler worlds they might have stuck with traditional dances. Here? They combined Veela glamour with power of a different kind and no one was immune to its charm. With a flourish, she brought her pick down on the strings as their sound filled the air, akin to a lions roar.

"WE WILL, WE WILL-ROCK YOU!" Clap! Boom-boom-clap! The guitar riff filled the air, the jamming driving the crowd to wild frenzy as the lead guitarist laughed and sung. The Sidhe could not have done a better job, the lyrics sung along and known by the majority of the audience. When the final guitar solo ended, the lead singer yelled to the audience.

"DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY!"

Laughing from the box, Dumbledore and Cain rose to their feet as they clapped, the former chortling.

"And a very strong beginning from our side! Its going to be hard to top that one!"

"Ah, but don't rule out the Greenskins because if experience is any indicator, they're not going to take that lying down!"

And then the earth shook.

The ground trembles and the Arena does as well. The reason reveals itself as from the opposite end of the arena, charges what would only be a Waaagh. The one leading holds proudly the emblem of the Orks,  the traditional symbol of their kind as they march upon the field. Their tread shakes the earth and they stomp, with their shoota's and their Choppa's before forming a semi-circle around the center of the field. The banner-wielder raises a massive Power Klaw. Silence comes....And then he lowers it, the gesture followed by a thud in unison. Every Ork has slammed their foot into the earth at the same time, creating an echoing blow that makes the arena shudder. The arm raises. The shake continues- This time followed by the entire, Ork supporters in the stands as they move in unison, stomping in their seat in time to the beat. Boom. Boom. Doom. Doom. The Banner-wielding Warboss spread his arms, slowly circling the arena, nodding as the Dance continued, ending his spin as he stared at the Veela.

And promptly made a fist with the Klaw, one thumb up as he ran it across his throat in a gesture none could mistake. The band jeered, insults lost in the subsequent roar as the Ork crowd cheered and the Orks turned and made their way on the opposite side of the field, their leader stabbing the banner into the ground before they let out a thunderous roar, swiftly taken up by their supporters.

"WAAAAAAAAAGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

"No translation needed for that I think Albus." Said Cain with a savage grin. Dumbledore nodded.

"With that strong beginning, I think I speak for everyone when I say- Let the match begin! Place your bets!"

The game began.

The Setup: Dumbledore's Army plays a game of Quidditch vs Orks. All in a Khazan City arena as fantasy and sci-fi characters cheer the other on.

Who wins? You decide!

10 hours ago, Peypeypeypey said:

Cordova watches the conversation, her good eye darting back and forth as each individual speaks up. She thinks on the exchange for a moment, then speaks up. "Perhaps I have spoken imprecisely." She looks directly at Karen. "As registered heroes, it is your sworn duty to uphold peace and justice in this city. You are not vigilantes, and are not authorized to use lethal force unless absolutely necessarily. If you never find yourselves in such a situation, then good. However, I merely want to assure you that we have a legal team on staff that will defend your actions, if they are truly justified. I want you to know that no amount of force is too much in this war." She pauses. "Of course, if you can bring down the criminals without needing to resort to such measures, all the better."

"Do we have any current leads or do we have to show off what exactly we can do?" The detective was curious now.