Greywind

So, what you're saying is that people can misjudge distances, but they can't misjudge distances.

...and yet when you're running and jumping from rooftop to rooftop, misses seem to happen.

Real men don't eat quiche. They need to cut down on the number of new members called "Newbie". They should at least have a number or something.

They really need to do something to reduce the usage of that name.

"Rock and roll is my day job. My hobbies include robbing banks and trying to take over the world ever other week."

Pisces

That has long been an aspect of comics that I don't like. Let the characters have lives, kids, grow old, die. Maybe the kid will be a Legacy. Maybe not.

You need to read more comics, then.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7mksc_wkrp-in-cincinnati-fish-story_fun

Leah wiped at her eyes. “I don't...” Her eyes opened wide. “Move!” Leah wasn't sure what it was or how it worked, but some sixth sense she had let her know when she was in immediate danger. Jason knew the tone of Leah's voice. He didn't question her. Jason's feet worked the clutch and the accelerator. His hand worked the gear shift. He focused on making the car move faster. Turning to look over the trunk of the Corvette, Leah cut loose with an arc of lightning from a raised hand. Jason felt the pressure wave at almost the same moment he heard the premature detonation of the missile that Leah had intercepted. Then the hail of 30mm high explosive fragmenting rounds started tearing into the asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway. “Oh, god,” Leah said quietly. Jason glanced into the dash-mounted rearview mirror to see the tour bus buck and shift under the assault. He adjusted the mirror to catch sight of a twin rotor helicopter. Tracer rounds were catching up to his mother's car. Leah felt the car jump into fourth gear.

Zod-Uf?

EGO for resisting CON for suffering

There are no mechanical rules for such. It's just the implementation of character backstory in play.

Teamwork. It's a skill.

Tara After giving the table one final wipe down with a damp rag and shaking it into the bus tub holding the dishes she had taken off the table, Tara replaced the shakers and ketchup bottle in the middle of the table. She slipped the menus into their holder and let out a heavy sigh when she realized that she would have to refill the napkin dispenser. She lifted the bus tub and carried it to the kitchen window. She placed it into the opening where the dishwasher would collect it from. Tara put an empty tub on the tray stand and brushed back a fallen lock of hair with a finger. She turned and glanced out the window to the gray late afternoon. The low clouds were threatening more snow. Starting to turn for the box of napkins under the counter, Tara stopped when she saw a black limousine pull into the parking lot of the diner. For a moment she was caught up in memories of old hopes and dreams, before the tinkling bell over the door brought her back to reality, and the diner. Two women and a man came in. “Sit wherever you'd like,” Tara called to them. “I'll be with you in just a moment.” “Thanks!” the redhead called back. For a moment Tara wondered who she was to be riding in a limousine. Especially in Nowhere, Maine. Tara went about collecting sets of tableware and place mats. The man helped each woman remove their coat and hang it from a coat rack before taking his own off. The man reminded her of a lawyer. Perhaps it was an unfair observation, but Tara had had enough of lawyers for the time being. The group chose a table in the middle and sat. Both the man and the raven-tressed woman had briefcases that they tucked near their feet. The redhead sat where she could look out the window. “Is it always this cold?” the redhead asked. Tara went about putting down the paper place mats and rolled silverware in front of each. “Welcome to winter in Maine,” she said with a smile. “What can I get you to drink?” She got their orders and moved towards the counter when she realized that a man, apparently the driver of the limousine, had sat at a small table by himself. His coat was draped over the chair across from him with his hat resting atop that. He wore sunglasses and his hair was dark. Leather driving gloves were on his hands. His shirt was a black button-down. Something about him gave Tara pause. He had glanced at her and she felt that he had assessed her somehow. Collecting another place mat and roll of tableware, she gathered a small pot and filled it with hot water, setting those on a tray. She added four coffee cups to her tray, mentally cursing herself that the tables hadn't been ready for customers, but the day had been slow. Tara shook her head to clear her thoughts and got the rest of the things that she needed. The last thing she placed on the tray was a carafe of coffee. Setting the things out on the table and pouring coffee into the upturned cups, she gave the redhead a smile when she tore open the tea bag and poured the hot water over it into its own cup. She used it to warm her hands. Tara moved off to the lone man. She set the mat and napkin rolled around the silverware on the table. “Coffee?” she offered. “Don't stand there. Please,” was added almost as an afterthought. Perplexed, Tara asked him, “Where would you like me to stand?” The man cocked his head to the side and looked up at her, a slight smile playing around his mouth. “Anywhere you like. Just not where I can't see that table, the front door, or the access to the kitchen. And yes, please, to the coffee.” “You a bodyguard?” she asked, pouring coffee. The smile played around his mouth again, without ever fully forming. “I'm just the driver.” “Well, Mr. Driver, what can I get you?” “What's the special?” Tara gave him a quirky smile and said, “Nothing's ever special here.” The driver flipped open the menu and gave it a quick glance. “I'll have the meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” he said sliding the menu back in place.

No. Naturally occurring. You can't hit someone with PD Attack coupled with a PD drain effect and have their PD drained first. Same with an ED attack. I would also translate that to any attack coupled with a CON drain.

Reminds me of Stormlord from V&V.

As I recall, the damage would be assessed fully before the drain hit. So, yeah, you drain his CON. Whether or not he was stunned depends on his CON before the drain.

Heavy Metal always did look like Wez

Sounds like ground for a public indecency charge.

There's a rule about firing guns that applies to ranged attacks in general: know your backfield. Most GM's that I've played with don't go into heavy detail about random misses/collateral damage unless it is to become a plot point later on.

No. They just have to have "GM sense".

So, you don't like women... I like Elmore's style. Doesn't matter what he's painting.

Female trolls are trollops. Haven't you read the Myth Adventures?

Search is disabled.