Simple game for that will cause much pain and suffering amongst those of us that suffer from altitis, and possibly help those suffering from writer's block.
Steps are as follows:
1. A person posts a Primary/Secondary Archetype.
2. The person who posts next has to come up with a name and short concept blurb.
3. The person then repeats step 1.
4. ???
5. PROFIT!
As an example:
Archery/Storm Summoning Corruptor
Kenneth Coginostro was a nobody. A guy with an old family name but no connections. With limited funds and no ratings, he used crappy gimmicks and a buffoonish on air persona to try to drum up some interest in his almost completely ignored WSPDR weather segment. But when a disgruntled villain attacked the studio after Ken's latest report of more cloudy days happened to be wrong for one torrential downpour filled night, Kenneth was struck by a blast of electricity while holding his signature bow and arrow...but astonishingly lived, the bow and arrow similarly failing to incinerate, and instead crackling with power. Ken woke up in a hospital and discovered that he could hear the sounds of the spirits that governed the weather...and something in the mild mannered reporter snapped. Determined to pay back everyone who ever held him back, Kenneth Coginostro took up his elemental powers and the enchanted bow and began a reign of terror known only as Reap Da' Whirlwind!
For our next contestant:
A Stone Melee/Electrical Armor Tank
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
All he ever wanted to do was rock. He lived it. Breathed it. The Chemical Brothers were his family. Nine Inch Nails his religion. Metallica and Marilyn Manson were the gods that he praised. Someday, he was going to shatter the heavens and storm the gates of hell with the perfect sound. That was the dream.
Zack shook his head. His fingers cradled his battered electric guitar, caressing the strings. He worked the effects pedals, once, twice. But nothing came out. Or if it did, he couldn't hear it. He was deaf, the doctors said. Everyone in Paragon City knew about Maestro, the Council's composer of chaos, the villainous virtuoso.
Zack never expected to be caught on the sidelines in a super-powered battle. The heroes saved his life, but not before he'd taken a full blast from the villain's powers. The doctors told him he was lucky to be alive. The only permanent damage was to his hearing. But without the music...Zack didn't feel lucky. He didn't feel lucky at all.
He put down his instruments. He shut them all down, and put them carefully away, lingering on the mixer and synthesizer board. Zack closed his eyes.
Then he put a gun to his head and shot himself.
The sound echoed through the garage. He couldn't hear it. But he sensed it...somehow. Just as he sensed the bullet...floating in the air, away from his skin.
Slowly, Zack opened his eyes.
The bullet was embedded in...it looked like stone of some kind. He was surrounded by pieces of stone, gently orbiting his body, floating in a field of lightning.
Zack put the pistol down. He lifted his hands, and watched as the stone clustered around his fists, drawing tighter with brilliant sparks of blue. He had powers, Zack realised. He had powers. With this, he could be more than a musician. With this, he could be a hero.
For the first time in weeks, Zack smiled.
"I am," he said, into the silence, "the Electronic Rock."
* * *
For our next contestant:
A Force Field/Assault Rifle Defender
-- Acyl
Eileen Carter liked heroes, liked living in Paragon City, and liked knowing that, of all the places she could have grown up and become a lawyer, the Big P was by far the safest. After all, how many other cities could claim such a staggeringly high per-capita figure of superheroes?
None. And handling their cases in court was a full-time job.
Safe as she felt, she learned, one late-working night in late October, that it had all been an illusion. On the way to her car, precariously balancing a load of files -- this 'Superball', she felt, somehow enjoyed swamping the legal system, because there was no way this many claims could be filed against a single hero without him deliberately encouraging it -- she was accosted by thugs.
"Gimme your purse, lady."
Eileen did what any Paragon City native would have done: she struggled. After all, there was always a hero right around the corner.
Not this time... and when she woke up in the hospital, told by doctors and friends alike that she was lucky to have survived, she decided that, regardless of how many heroes there already were, there simply weren't enough.
She needed to extend their reach. She needed to make sure that nobody else suffered like she had. She needed to empower the heroes to keep the scum under control. She needed... to set a Bulletproof Precedent.
= = =
Next up: Fire Melee/Electric Armor Scrapper.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
MCNICHOL: "I don't see what the big deal is."
WONG: "Just watch the footage. You'll see."
MCNICHOL: "Right, right. And? What's the problem? It's just a bunch of tinkertoys, I've seen this before."
WONG: "Shh. Be patient. Keep watching."
MCNICHOL: "Okay...HOLY SHI---!"
WONG: "Mm-hmm. That's what caught my attention. I've submitted a report on it, but I wanted your take. What do you make of it?"
MCNICHOL: "They're not supposed to do that...wait. Rewind, rewind. Go back to around one twenty five."
WONG:"About here?"
MCNICHOL: "Yeah, play it slower, this time."
WONG: "This do?"
MCNICHOL: "Yeah...right, okay. That's a Fifth Column flamethrower. See the igniter assembly and fuel tank?"
WONG: "I see it."
MCNICHOL: "We know the Clockwork got into a Column depot last week. This is obviously from that."
WONG: "And you don't see anything strange about this?"
MCNICHOL: "Well...the Clocks always build new Clocks out of whatever. Tesla Prince plus flamethrower, and we have a...Toaster Prince. Or something. No big deal."
WONG: "Mm. Let me roll the tape a bit more."
MCNICHOL: "Yeah, yeah. More toasty Clockwork action, right."
WONG: "Please. Just keep watching."
MCNICHOL: "Okay, okay. Jeez, you need to...what...what the HELL?"
WONG: "Mm-hm."
MCNICHOL: "What the HELL is it DOING?"
WONG: "Exactly what it looks like."
MCNICHOL: "But...but that's not POSSIBLE. A flamethrower can't DO that!"
WONG: "Oh yes. It can't. Normally. Psi division says it's a telekinetic field. Contains the ignited fluid from the flamethrower and shapes it into...well. What you see."
MCNICHOL: "You're joking. You're 'ing kidding me. That's crazy."
WONG: "C'mon, Leon. We know the Clockwork King animates his creations through telekinesis in the first place. This isn't really that much of a stretch."
MCNICHOL: "Ehhh, I guess. You're right. Still...that's just freaky as hell."
WONG: "Mm-hm. You want to know the best part?"
MCNICHOL: "Yeah?"
WONG: "This is security camera footage from Overbrook. Faultline. This particular Clockwork's been hanging around Yin's Market."
MCNICHOL: "What, one of that Penelope kid's bodyguards?"
WONG: "Yes. I think it was made specifically for that purpose. A Knight for the Clockwork Princess."
MCNICHOL: "Okay. Okay. I can see that. But why the whole bit with the flaming sword?"
WONG: "Haven't you read any fantasy? The hero always has a flaming sword."
MCNICHOL: "Yeah. You know all about flaming swords, don't you?"
-- PPD Special Investigations Report CK-345 Annex B (Transcript)
* * *
For our next contestant:
A Plant Control/Psionic Assault Dominator.
-- Acyl
It was just another day at the lab. Except this lab shared space with Vernon Von Gruun's old project samples. As was prone to happen with all works of SCIENCE!, an explosion was inevitable. But that wasn't my fault, see? And really, who could have predicted the Rikti monkey brains would fall off the shelf into the Devouring Earth samples? And just because I forgot to turn off Dr. Charleston's particle accelerator doesn't make me culpable for the resulting radiation bombardment. And really, all things considered, a psionic plant that can talk to others of its "family" is the -least- dangerous thing that could've happened...wait, you mean I'm not in trouble? I'm getting promoted?! What...oh man...wait. What do I call it?Uh...it's a Mind Altering Substance.
Next On:
Rad/Ice Blaster
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
Once upon a time, there was a girl.
With ice powers.
She was warm in the winter and cool in the summer - she could dress how she liked. The boys were disappointed, but this was Paragon. It wasn't like they didn't have other skirts to chase.
And then, one day, her field team was asked to chase some Freaks - some very crazy Freaks, that wanted to blow up the giant nuclear reactor at the center of the same city they lived in.
A terrifying thought, and an utterly miserable day - strenuous physical activity in jeans and a sweater while being bombarded by atomic radiation would have anyone ready to stick their head in a freezer for a few minutes.
And then it got worse - because when they stepped outside, in the middle of February in Rhode Island, she was still sweltering.
She doesn't freeze things, anymore. She melts them, instead. It's easy, when it's so hot out. Don't you think it's hot out? She doesn't dress like this for fun, you know - the drool is disgusting.
Well, okay, yes, she can kind of make ice, still. It just doesn't last. Hot Ice never does, after all.
* * * * *
Next Victim: Demons/Trick Arrow Mastermind
===========
===============================================
"V, did you do something foolish?"
"Yes, and it was glorious."
He's a legend in old St. Martial, he is, that bane of the rich and the vile
He'll sneak t'rough their castles to deliver fresh justice minus jury or judge or a trial.
He's brilliant and witty, always armed with a joke or a ditty, a real friend to the beggars they say.
He's an arrow-slinging sensation, with one for every occasion, but only robber barons need fear the visits he'll pay.
His right hand once oppressed the "lessers", till his soul, it did fester, and he wound up down in the Pit.
His top men were gracious and ever efficacious, so their replacements have their names and that's it.
And the last of his band, who all lend a hand, bounce happy and snappy and free.
They're fiery new faces to fill in empty old places, and they call them the Merry Monsters Three.
And they all bend their knee to the Prince of Thieves, so you see, though he's never, ever aloof.
For he robs from the rich to give to the poor and they call him the great Robbin' Hoof.
***
Boss: Prince John
LTs: Little John and Fryer Tuck.
Minions: The Merry Monsters
Coming Round the Bend, it's an Energy/Elec Armor Stalker!
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
Meet Emily Evans.
She's cute, huggable, and endearing. Her dark, reflective eyes hide behind glasses that magnify them, making them appear larger than they actually are. She's shy, almost painfully so; most times, people completely fail to notice that she's even there. She's a student at Rogue Isles University, majoring in childhood education with a minor in sociodynamic engineering. She has a crush on one of her classmates, an older student who doesn't even realize she's alive.
Emily wanted only to have a normal life -- as normal as one could, growing up in the Isles. She probably would have, if it weren't for Wyvern forces having a throwdown with some Freakshow while the local Marcone group cheered them on. Emily was caught in the crossfire.
Some say that Lord Recluse himself was moved by her plight. Others, that she was always a mutant and just needed a trigger to bring out her real self. The Fortunatas aren't saying, but then, they never do. All anyone knows for sure is, Emily wasn't the same after that incident.
It's always the quiet ones.
Meet Emily Evans. If she's smiling up at you, schoolbooks in hand, swaying back and forth on her feet, consider yourself lucky. She likes you.
If you don't see her... stop. Listen. That faint crackle in the air? The hum of power with no discernable source? That might just be... Dyna Moe.
Cute will never feel safe again.
= = =
Next: Empathy/Dual Pistols Defender.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Some people call him the Space Cowboy.
Some people call him the Gangster of Love.
His friends call him Maurice...
Because he speaks of the properties of love.
* * * * *
And spinning the Wheel of Pain lands us... a War Mace/Super Reflexes Brute
===========
===============================================
"V, did you do something foolish?"
"Yes, and it was glorious."
He worked on the railroads in the 1800s.
He leveled the rails by the simple expedient of placing a long shovel underneath it and dancing on the end of the handle, letting a coworker place gravel underneath.
He had a wicked temper, and annoyed a Native American shaman.
He was sealed inside a cave for 120 years in suspended animation.
He is
Gandy Dancer.
Next:
Dark/Pain Corrupter
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll
*takes a crack at it*
Everyone thought Teddy was a normal boy, he went to church, helped out around the house, did everything a good little boy should.
At least... that’s what everyone thought.
No one knew about Teddies secret friend, the one that showed him all those cool tricks, how to summon the binding dark, how to hurt the bullies, how to make the other kids treat him right.
But no Timmy is bored, he wants to see what else his secrets friends power can do.
And all Timmy has to do is give mommy and daddy a little black thorn.
Next: hmmm..... Demon sumoning/Traps
Dr. Egon Stantz was Professor of Paranormal Engineering at Paragon City University. As a faculty member at PCU's Occult Studies Campus in Salamanca, he conducted extensive investigations into the Croatoa phenomenon - looking for a way to lift the mystical blight from the town.
On the night of April 27 2005, Dr. Stanz and a team of graduate students set up an experiment at the stone circle in the center of Salamanca. Dr. Stanz shrugged on a set of utilitarian coveralls, then strapped a light fusion power pack to his back. The reactor would power a proton emitter and other equipment on his body during the test. As sensors and cameras recorded his movements, Dr. Stanz started pacing round the henge.
At precisely midnight, as Dr. Stanz completed his sixth circle, he vanished.
He never returned.
On the night of April 27 2010, workers at the PTS facility in Cap Au Diable sounded a full alert. Over the space of precisely six minutes, temperatures in the conduits rose dramatically...and stopped.
Then the heavily sealed access corridor to the plant's core exploded in a hail of cold iron fragments. Through the waves of heat walked a lone figure, dressed in what had once been a tattered bodysuit. On his back was a bulky power pack, its casing carved with intricate runes.
The workers yelled for him to stop. He looked at them, and smiled through his ragged beard. His eyes glowed.
The first man, he incinerated with a stream of infernal energy from the device on his back.
Then he threw another of his devices to the ground, a simple metal box with smoke rising from it. As it hit the ground, it opened.
This, and nothing beyond this, was recorded by the plant's security cameras. When an Arachnos team finally arrived on the scene, they found nothing but the ruined access corridor. No blood, no bodies.
Nothing.
But now, word is spreading through the Rogue Isles. It is said that if you have a problem of...a strange nature...if you have difficulties with something weird, and your propects do not seem good...
There is a man whom you can call.
The Ghostblaster.
* * *
Go-go Gadget Random Idea! Illusion/Sonic Controller!
-- Acyl
(First off -- dammit, Acyl, I couldn't stop laughing. Kudos, man. That was awesome.)
* * *
"HELLO, PARAGON CITY!"
The crowd let out an inarticulate, enthusiastic roar.
The lone, solitary man on stage frowned and leaned closer to the crowd. He was wearing no microphone and there was no equipment on the stage with him, but his voice echoed across the open-air auditorium as though from fifty-thousand-watt speakers. "I'm sorry, what was that? I can't hear you!"
Another roar.
"That's better," the man said, nodding. "I can almost hear you now. Paragon City, are you READY to ROCK?!"
He waited half a beat while the crowed chorused "YES!", then raised his hands. The crowd fell quiet, anticipating. He pointed at the back of the stage, and a drum set appeared in a swirl of lights, followed immediately by a slim drummer dressed in black, bald and expressionless. The spotlights -- again with no visible source -- gleamed blue off his shiny dome.
Next the man spread his hands to either side, his back to the audience. Two more figures appeared, identical to the first; one held what could only be described as a bitchin' axe, the lights winking from the frets; the other held a mighty bass guitar, almost as big as he was.
The first man swung back around to face his audience and grinned. "Hold on to your seats, kiddies," he said in that booming voice. "I'm the One Man Band, and it's TIME TO ROCK!"
* * *
Next up: Axe/Willpower Tank
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Can you imagine what it's like... cutting the SAME HEAD for five years?
I didn't want to be a barber anyway. I wanted to be... a lumberjack!
Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! The Fir! The Larch! The Redwood! The mighty Scots Pine!
The plucky little Aspen! The great limping rude tree of Nigeria!
The smell of fresh-cut timber! The crash of mighty trees!
With my best gal by my side...
With my best gal by my side, we'd sing, SING...
Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay!
Monty the Lumberjack
next up: Kin/Rad
Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky?
That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry-
NO QUARTER!!!
-- "No Quarter", by
Echo's Children
(Thanks, Sofaspud. =)
* * *
Look, I'm NOT a perv, alright? I ain't some stinkin' pedo.
Sorry. 's just...I get that a lot, ya know?
Okay, I admit it was my fault. I ain't exactly an English major 'ere. I thought I had it right when I submitted the paperwork. And it ain't like there's spell-check in real life or whatever.
C'mon, you see what I was thinkin', right? I mean, the accident left me with these funky radiation blasts. And the power to make stuff go really really fast.
So I needed a good superhero name to go with that, right? Rads and speed, yeah? I ain't exactly up on all the science geek stuff, but I figured this name would work. And it'd be recognizable, yeah? People would know it, since it's been on the news and all.
Except I screwed up. Yeah. I admit it. I can't spell. Go ahead. Laugh.
No, I didn't do this on purpose.
Who in their right mind would f**king name themselves the Large Hardon Collider?
Don't answer that.
* * *
Next up: Invulnerability/Stone Melee Tanker
-- Acyl
I coulda been a contender. My trainer chorted over the fact that punching me felt like you were punching a brick wall. Too bad neither of us realised how right he was until it was too late.
My powers manifested during my first and only shot at the title. And I was disqualified. Metahuman abilites are against the rules in boxing.
But here in Paragon, I've got a shot at a different sort of title. Hero.
Bad guys, prepare to meet the flying granite fists of:
Rocky BalBolder
next up:
Electric Melee / Stone Armor scrapper
Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky?
That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry-
NO QUARTER!!!
-- "No Quarter", by
Echo's Children
I am of Hindu extraction, yes, but the culture is not mine. I am rather thoroughly Westernized. Still, I will not hesitate to draw upon the imagery of my ancestors' myths.
After all, what is a Indian man who can change into a crudely sculpted but animate tiger statue cloaked in glowing lightning to call himself as a nom de guerre?
For me it was obvious: Rockshocksa.
Next challenge: Claws/Energy Aura stalker
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
"Don't worry, sir. We've got the grounds secured, and all the manor's entrances are sealed. Nobody in or out. I've got guys patrolling all floors, including the basement and roof."
"Are you sure," Liddell demanded, glaring at his bodyguard.
"Yes sir," the security man sighed, "we're doing radio checks every ten minutes."
"That's not enough," Liddell hissed. As he spoke, his eyes swept the room nervously, lingering on the windows and closed curtains. "It could still get in."
The bodyguard raised an eyebrow. "...it, sir?"
"Him," Liddell said, hastily, his face going pale, "I mean him."
"Right. Look, sir," the bodyguard said, "if you know something about this person, any information will help."
Liddell sank behind his desk. Nervously, he wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve, then picked up a glass of whiskey. He downed the remainder of the drink in a single pull. Ice clinked as he set the glass down.
"I can't," Liddell whispered, "you wouldn't..."
He stopped, mid-sentence, staring blankly at his empty glass.
"Sir," the security man asked, "what's wrong?"
Wordlessly, Liddell peeled a thin rectangle off the bottom of his glass. Liddell's bodyguard leaned over to see. It was a playing card, the face marred with a ring of moisture.
The Queen of Hearts.
Liddell started to shake uncontrollably, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Sir," the bodyguard said in alarm, "sir!"
Frantically, the security man rushed round the desk, grabbing his employer, trying to steady him.
Liddell stopped shaking.
There was a sharp sound in the air, a distinct two-part clicking.
Then Liddell's head slid off his shoulders.
To his credit, the bodyguard didn't scream. He bit down so hard that he drew blood from his own tongue, but he didn't scream. His hand went into his suit jacket, and came out full of firearm.
"Primary is down," he yelled, into the microphone clipped to his collar, "this is lead, primary is---!"
He didn't finish the sentence. Because that's when the sound came again, cutting him off.
Literally.
A moment later softly glowing appendage reached down, gently lifting the intact microphone from the severed stump of a neck.
A quiet voice spoke into the open channel.
"Stabberwocky."
When the rest of the security guards arrived, all they found were bodies.
* * *
Here comes a new challenger! Fire Blast/Storm Summoning Corruptor
-- Acyl
Once, in the back woods of Montana, there was a wildfire, sweeping across grass and forest towards the banks of the Missouri River. Firefighters from the United States Forest Service were the first to arrive to fight it, to hold it back from getting any closer to settled lands.
Fourteen men were told that, if they could buy only a couple of hours, then ground-bound firefighters could arrive and relieve them.
That support was late, and the fire took them.
Now, sweeping across the nation, there is a scourge, a bad dream of ash and cooking flesh, crossing the horizon like a black cloud of smoke. Because failure, and betrayal, have consequences...
...and if there's only one survivor, that means he alone can find revenge for those
Thirteen Crosses.
Context
Now, roll the bones (literally, picked using dice) and come up with...
Firey Melee/Willpower Brute
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"V, did you do something foolish?"
"Yes, and it was glorious."