James Howlett

AKA Logan,Patch, The Wolverine

  • Setting: created from Terrinoth
  • Species: Mutant
  • Career: Warrior
  • XP Spent: 150
  • Soak: 1
  • Wound Threshold: 16
  • Strain Threshold: 11
  • Brawn: 4
  • Agility: 3
  • Intellect: 2
  • Cunning: 2
  • Willpower: 2
  • Presence: 2
  • Brawl: 2
  • Coercion: 1
  • Perception: 1
  • Resilience: 1
  • Riding: 2
  • Stealth: 2
  • Leadership: 1
  • Vigilence: 2
  • Painful Blow: 1
  • Grit: 1
  • Dual Wielder: 2
  • Second Wind: 1
  • Berserk: 2
  • Abilities: The nose Knows - Once Per Session may spend a story point as an out of turn incidental to track a target or gain advantage
  • Stubborn - add setback to engaged attacks targeting them
  • Desire - Quest for unattainable inner peace
  • Fear - Fear of loosing it in a berserker rage, killing everyone around him.
  • Strength - Never backs down from a fight, honourable
  • Flaw - Quick tempered

* Heroic Ability: Miraculous Recovery

  • Origin - Mutant Ability
  • Primary Effect - Heals all wounds each round
  • Upgrades - Improved
  • Total Ability Points - 1
  • Available Ability Points - 0
  • Retractable Claws - Brawl
    • +2 damage
    • 3 crit
    • engaged range
    • Vicious 1
  • Leather Riding Jacket
  • +1 soak
  • 2 encumbrance
  • Backpack
  • bedroll
  • pope
  • zippo lighter
  • wineskin (filled with some illegal alcohol)

Into the Rift

A worthless bar 20 miles from Edmonton, the night is calm with the warm mountain air drifting down from the Rockies.

10PM, it's dark out. Beer in my hand, still cold, cigar's almost spent; I can smell him, he's nervous. Smells like piss, been staring at the waitress for almost an hour now, I recognize that stair. Like a young wolf stalking its prey for the first time. Probably the first time he's ever thought of doing something this stupid before. His movements' telegraph like a movie based on a bad book.  Definitely carrying a knife, doesn't hang like a gun, no gun powder or gun oil coming from him when he passed by me the last time he went to take a piss.

She's getting off her shift now, says good night to the bartender as he hands her an envelope, I'm guessing it's payday. Makes sense, it is Friday; he's following her out. I follow leaving payment under my empty cup. I hang back just enough to not let him notice. But his pals see me follow, ones carrying a 44 special the other has a sawed off resting where no man should leave such a thing. Figured this might be a gang initiation, though I don't recognize their markings. This is not their turf, not that that ever stopped me before. I ignore them letting the nose keep them referenced. Can't let the young lass get to far ahead of me.

She fumbles in the dark as she finds the door key. Looks like someone smashed the light that lit this side of the parking lot, wonder if there's more of them out there. Gangbangers, and they call me an animal.

“Hey lady let me help you” the skunk calls out to her, pulling a switchblade from his pants. “Listen Bub,” I call out from behind him as I light my cigar, this lets the lass know I'm here, lets her see my face as I let the lighter stay lit longer than necessary, “Drop the knife and you and your buddies beat it before I call the cops.

He turns from his prey nearly jumping out of his skin, his knife flashes, it gives her the chance to jump in her car, but the car doesn't start. I ignore his comments as his friends come from behind; they're being cautious, circling around, count five of them so far. Why's the car not starting. Don't think there getting the hint. Guess I'll have to make it a little more obvious. “Kid, drop the knife or I'll you'll regret it!” I'm not asking nice. “Who's going to make me pop's? You?” the kid with the knife spits on the ground. His friends chuckle, the engine finally starts, she looks at me. I smile and nod, she understands and hits the gas. I yell at the kid, this keeps their attention on me as she speeds to safety. “Old bastard lost our @$$” another hollers, the sent of gun oil is stronger now, the toys are out to play. “Let's teach him a lesson boys!” another yells. Possibly the leader of the pack Two of them come at me, knives in hands, I dodge effortlessly as I grab the arm of one of and throw him into the guy with the shotgun. 'Boom' the gun goes off, there's a scream as one of the other's takes a hit to the leg. I do a forward roll on the ground closing in on the skunk, as bullets fire where I was just standing. A swift uppercut sends the poor shit hurtling across the parking lot. I could hear his jaw shatter against my solid fist. Brass is softer you know. “Johnny?!” one of them yell in surprise.

'Bang, bang, bang.' One of the bullets connect passing through my rib cage, I feel my lung collapse as the bullet exits the other side. Lucky shot. I stagger back for just a second, let them think they have won. Gives me a chance to correct the cigar in my mouth, it is a Cuban one after all, the real thing. Picked it up only three months prior, don't intend on going back for more any time soon. I drop to one knee, letting them get close as they surround me. I listen carefully, I hear their heartbeats, two of them are racing, scared. Three of them, hearts of killers, almost excited as they yell to their palls to finish the job.

'Stay calm Logan, you don't need to leave any bodies tonight, just take them out, let the cops sort it all out'

'SNIKT' I pop the claws as I swing about lifting off the ground, pushing in a sweeping ark, my claws catch several of the guns, shredding them, I catch a few hands, half a face, one of the guns explode as I connect with the gun powder and a spark goes off. Most of them drop screaming. But where is he, where's the ring leader?

Tires squeal behind me, “shit,” I mutter roach is getting away. Gotta move fast, thankfully the good ol' healing factor is one step ahead of me as usual, the wound is all healed up and I'm breathing just fine again. Across the parking lot and onto my bike, hitting the ignition button I had McCoy install on the gas cap, the modified Harley roars to life.

Isn't to long and we're traveling South on the Yellow Head, he's pushing past 170 KPH I'm nearing 200 as I catch up, pull behind and wait for him to unload his last round; there it is. I rev past on the drivers side, letting my claws bite through the gas tank, though the back tire, along the door, and finish the front tire. I watch as the car careens out of control. Flips over as it rolls in the ditch, I look behind as the car erupts in a warming fireball, the kind that will burn all night, and no one's going to give a shit. Certainly not this guy.

A smile creeps onto my face as the thought of another young lass gets to go home safe, as another putrid scum bag won't have another chance to prey on another.

“What the hell?” It's too late no time to slow down, or avoid. Some sort of black hole is in my path, and I'm already going down it's gaping maw. “F#%*!”