Greywind

I've always used my own and incorporated stuff from different stuff. I have Vibora Bay and San Angelo. Never got around to building Millennium City.

Somewhere Signature was a disad in Hero.

Instead of wishing something were so, wouldn't it be better to channel that into making your own world, instead of wishing someone would create the world/write the source book/etc.?

Not since the accident I had with the superglue.

On his knees?

Page 211-12

I'm seeing a character like Captain Britain, only using the Confederate Stars-and-Bars instead of the Union Jack.

Hunteds don't have to put in an actual appearance to have an impact on the game.

Doesn't work that way with Multiform. With OIHID, sure.

Darkness/Flash/NND: 1 hex area, doesn't work against anyone with eye protection or covered nose/mouth.

How they are built depends on the bias of the adapter.

In the basement.

6th, pg28 Note the second sentence. And the example from the same page: So, yeah, you pretty much still need the Complications if you want parity with the rest of the players.

How do Complications NOT give points? Because if you don't have them, that is still points your character is short.

The nu-41 Awesome Dude is not the same Awesome Dude that appeared in Awesome Comics #1. He more closely resembles the power level of the Awesome Dude that was running around prior to the Multi-Dimensional Collision Crisis. Nobody wants to play the starting power level Awesome Dude.

I don't have a problem with fluff for flavor. A paragraph here or there from time to time. Fluff is better suited to genre books and settings. 1-3 short stories before you get into the rules is too much. BattleTech has short stories between each different section of the rules, across seven or so rule books. Seriously inflates page count.

No. Because you are not going to manage a fully acceptable version. Limiting the amount of points in trying to create those published characters, at best, you are going to have watered down homages, and not an actual reflection of the character in question. You are much better off creating your own characters in which your preconceived bias of the published characters won't be brought into question. If you absolutely have to have a DC or Marvel clone running around, fully admit that it is only an homage and don't use the published character's name.

All the more reason not to mess with published characters.

One thing that bothers me in rule books is an excess of fluff.

Judging from his appearances, he seems like an ambulance rider to me.

How about just using the OCV/DCV grid that shows the die roll required? "I have an OCV of X. I rolled a Y. (Looks on chart) I hit a DCV of Z."

The forums saw a major hardware/software overhaul in the not-too-distant past.

The wooden bench was uncomfortable to sit on. No matter how she adjusted, Theresa couldn't overcome the fact there was no padding. Not for the seat, nor for the back. She was still wearing Jason's long coat. She had refused anything from the sheriff, since all they had available was intended for prisoners; orange pants, shirts and jumpsuits. The sheriff had taken her statement. He had asked her questions. No matter what he asked, her story that she gave in her statement didn't waver. Questions about her and her life she obfuscated or outright ignored. They had taken pictures so that there was a record of the state of he clothing. A female deputy had taken the pictures. She had ordered Theresa to take off her clothes so that they could inspect her for wounds or bruises. Theresa refused, saying that she had been camping rough and was bruised from that. Close enough to the truth in her mind. She didn't want to press charges. She just wanted the situation to go away. Theresa knew that they were discussing her by the way the sheriff kept looking at her. Jason turned to her and smiled warmly. One of the deputies had his lunch out on his desk. The smell of food was causing her stomach to rumble. The sandwich Leah had given her was hours ago. She looked up from the burger only to find the sheriff staring at her. She pulled Jason's coat tightly closed. She started reading the bulletins hanging on the wall for what seemed to be the thousandth time. She was startled when the sheriff asked, “Well, Deputy?” not ten feet away from her. “Nothing, Sheriff. No wants. No warrants. She hasn't been declared missing.” “Thank you.” The sheriff turned to look at her. He was an Indian. His hair was silver and his face lined. The sheriff's eyes seemed to bore into her, trying to find her secrets. “Well, Miss Gardner,” he said kindly. “I have no reason to hold you, although I wish you were more willing to help.” “They didn't hurt me. I just want to get on with what I was doing.” Theresa was frustrated. Part of her wanted to cry. The lessons Burt, her stepfather, had taught her kept the tears at bay. The sheriff nodded slowly. “All right. Is there any way we can get in touch with you if we need to?” “I...” her mouth started moving, but no words seemed willing to come forth. Jason smiled warmly at her again, locking his eyes with hers. “She'll be with me, Sheriff. If you need to get in touch with her, just call me,” Jason said. Theresa didn't understand it, but she felt relief. She nodded in agreement. Jason held his hand out and helped her once again to her feet. There was more said between the two men, but Theresa didn't catch any of it. One moment she was standing in the sheriff's office, and the next Jason was helping her into the back seat of the Range Rover. Jason slipped into the front and cocked his seat back a little before locking his belt. Leah drove the car out of the parking lot and out on to the road, headlights slicing through the dark. Night had already fallen, the sun having sunk behind the mountains. Theresa dozed while Leah and Jason talked quietly. About twenty minutes down the road from the sheriff's station, Theresa jerked awake. She said, “You can pull over and let me out here.” In the rear view mirror, Leah gave her a questioning look. Jason turned in his seat. “I can't do that, Theresa,” he said with a smile. He reached back and gently laid his hand on her leg. “Why? Because you gave the sheriff your word?” she asked nervously, dropping her chin to look at his hand where it lay atop his coat. “No,” he said gently. “Because I gave it to you.” Once again a sense of relief flooded her. “Besides,” Jason said, getting himself re-situated. “Your coat didn't survive the hunting knife. You want to get out here, you aren't keeping mine.” Theresa smiled to herself, hearing the humor in his voice.