Paragon Vanguard

If you don't care about the sets, AR/Dev works well without a nuke, as some have said. I don't consider full auto a nuke, but I suppose that is what was put in place as the "nuke". AR is an awesome sniper set, with putting range on slug , gives you two good hits to pull mobs into your mines, and mines relieve you of pesky minions and Lt's. The one that replaced time bomb (cant think of the name of it) now has a detonator and works superb in my opinion. Caltrops keep them guessing and not attacking, wash, rinse, and repeat. AoE damage, you can stay pretty safe, and clean up from a distance. I do it all the time but I use Full Auto as well. It would work without it. I have not built a pure sniper yet, but this thread has put it back into my thinking.

As the title stated. I have some very successful corrupters, not knocking the set at all, but sometimes I think I am missing the main reasoning behind choosing a corrupter outside of "secondary fits my concept". So, as the title states, what is YOUR reason for choosing corrupter over say blaster or some other archetype? Appreciate any serious reply. 🙂

The vast majority of my characters were created on paper a long.....long.......long time ago. I used to draw them and their stories when I was younger, even up into my 20's. I have been so pleased that CoH allows such a large diversity of appearance and mix match power sets. I have never used the random creator, because I have always had a specific toon in mind. I do have some that I have never drawn, but very few original to CoH. I love the idea of letting the random creator do it's thing, then tweaking it! In the end, I am a "Concept Player", in that I know what I want when I create the character, then match clothes and power sets to that toon.

Regen is alot of fun, but it requires paying attention and understanding the build. You should be willing to utilize revive as a weapon, as you revive immune to damage and debt. This does make it difficult to be a primary meat shield though. Get your resist up and maximize your damage output, and you have a fun toon. I love my regen scrappers, I need to make a regen brute. Regen is one of those concept powers, like MM, that you have to make work to what you are looking for, but I think in building it, as I do have 2 regen scrappers who work different, you need to figure out what you want to get out of it. Don't let people talk you out of trying to make it work. It isn't for everyone, and there are days I dont want to work as much. Those days you want to immerse yourself and be a bigger part of your play, it is sweet fun.

It is in no way flawed. You should give it a go and not listen to what "everyone else" says, especially in General Chat. My main tank has done and does very well with /SS. Rage is very useful with the cool down being of very little worry. If you haven't destroyed your mobs by cool down, it takes only a moment to pop back up, and you should be ready for another Rage with only two recharges slotted, and as said above you can double rage up if slotted more or/and with proper sets. The aesthetics are a must have for some concepts. While it is true that the fighting pool can enhance the set, it cannot replace it. Fighting Pool can enhance any set to be honest. So I dont feel that is a viable reason to not try it. I would adventure to say aesthetics and concept can be a big determination in your set up. I truly fail to see how the rage cool down can effect a toon enough to make it unusable. With Invuln/SS, Paragon Vanguard was fun to play from 1st level to Incarnate. Pick a set, and you will have negatives and naysayers. I HATE Unstoppable. I still like Invuln. Go figure. 🙂

I don't usually complain, in fact I like what the team has done up to this Issue. The mob revamp has turned incarnate into ..... well, nothing. Pretty much negates the fact that the toon is suppose to be very powerful compared to normal people/super people. Mobs.....not special named bosses, just regular ole mobs, now have an "equal" feel. That would be fine if we got something in return, besides debt. I don't mind the debt badges. I dont mind playing it on hard mode, but come on, sometimes you just want to relax with a minimal amount of worry. My shield brute, who I was just starting to get going, now gets pretty much executed walking into X8 mob (he is a low level incarnate). I see where he will do better in time, but you have to earn the xp and the cash to get there. Maybe if they could have tied the new mob powers to incarnate level shift? Or am I missing something? For the record my main invuln/ tank, Paragon Vanguard, is doing fine. He is pretty much incarnate max, set maxed, etc. But you gotta kill stuff to get there. It isn't just the mobs that made me not like this, but it is what effects me most. I give this patch a D, at this time. Maybe a D+. It could have been thought out better, it really feels forced, no matter how long it took. With that said, I have not played this Issue enough to really judge it, so that D may be too low. Edit Update: I tried other spawns and did much better with my /shield brute. Just fyi. I may give it a C but there are things to work out, like "TIP" "TIP" "TIP" constantly showing up. I know things can be buggy when first put out there. Still would like to see enhancing mobs a little more thought out. Still have other new content to try out that may negate all my negativity (which I dont like to be negative, especially toward this awesome team). Love you guys, and thank you for the hard work. I hesitated writing this, and in the end I may be in the vast minority on how I feel, and my feelings may change. I know nothing will be changed back, but in the future maybe take some of this into consideration, if it is even read. Thanks for reading! My 2 cents, not really worth a dime! 🙂

Sentinels were not made to be better or worse, they were put in to fill a Concept Void. From there the team found ways to make them more viable. I don't see sentinels as "blaster like" or "scrappper like", though they can be close to "blapper like" if you will. Think Iron Man, and that type of comic book character and you have what a sentinel is. Not Wolverine (scrapper) and not Cyclops (blaster). Sentinels were considered a bit meh at first, though I did defend them even then. They were worked on and made much better to my surprise! NOTHING is perfect, just check the forums on any AT and you will see people unhappy, but they do fit what they were meant to be. I have plenty of sentinels, and in fact fell too much in like with them that I made too many and had to trash some (I will claim it was only trial runs). As was said above, it may not be an AT for your play style if you can't seem to find joy in them, but I have concepts that I could not play as anything but a sentinel without losing something of them. My 2 cents, usually not worth a dime.

Go concept thinking. Who is this character? You will be surprised how much fun it can be to try and make them work. The only thing I have yet to really make work, and I am not done yet, is a no pet MM. I wanted the whip for the concept, and it has been utterly challenging, but doable. I say not work because I am not ready to do +4 x 8 solo, and doubt I ever will. I have considered giving in and getting the demons, but no...... I WILL MAKE THIS WORK!

I think you need to let the builds come together. There is no perfect build for everyone, but there are ways to make every build perfect for what you need. I do concept builds, meaning, I think of what I want the "character" to do then set about making it do just that. I am by far NOT an expert on builds, but I think what you want is out there if you let the build come together correctly.

Ward Mitchum stood a few yards away from the congregating mass, under the canopy of trees that blocked the drizzle of rain falling on this grey day. He couldn't see much, just a bunch of black umbrellas with their own canopies blocking the rain. She was loved, it was not in doubt by anyone, except maybe her. The pastor preached his sermon of love and forgiveness and a place for all of us, but Ward wasn't so sure there was a place for him. He could hear the blubber of heartache from the nearest the grave, but it didn't stir much in him. Nothing stirred much in him right now. This wasn't how it was suppose to end. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the preacher said, and this time cries of anguish. "It's 1992 Ward! You need to live a little," she said, slapping his face lightly. His features were still smooth back then, but her features were excellent. Her blond hair blew in the wind as she hung it out of the passenger side of his grey Mustang. The yellow sundress she wore popped in the wind. Her 19 year old body still firm and strong. "I am already doing 85, and we if we get stopped we may not get into the Police Academy," he said, glancing over to her, but only a glance. "Well, do 92," she said with a laughter. He pushed it to 92 mph, unable to say no to her. "Now we lay her down, but she is not forgotten," the preacher droned on, with other words that one said at a funeral. He was hardly listening. The man went on to say something about her trials were over and whatever else to make one feel good. He had been to too many funerals as a PPD officer to even really listen to it anymore. He was sure they got it all from the same book of funerals that they probably got online at a discount bulk price to pass about to each other. "It's almost 2000," she said, smiling up at him, her blond bangs playing as if they were about to go into her eyes, but never dared to. "Yeah,' he said, a deep frown on his face. He wasn't happy since he and Rebecca broke up. She said he was too serious, too engrossed in his job, and that she could not take waiting around for him anymore. "Well, Donald is overseas, his choice, and you are single now, so you have to kiss me," she said, putting her drink down and grabbing his hand. She lead him to the dance floor where they would finish the millennium together, ending with one friendly kiss and a gorgeous smile, a smile that only she could deliver. The crowd lined up and tossed dirt on the casket, though Ward was not sure how much of it was still dirt. The rain was turning everything to mud now, but at least the grave site was covered by a large canopy provided by the PPD. It was the least they could do. She had given years of her life to them, always with a smile it seemed. Always eager to give more. Some officers gave a glance his way, and nodded. Most others had no idea what sentimental interest he had in this congregation. No idea how close he was to her. "It's okay, Ward, you didn't take advantage of me. If anything, I took advantage of you," she said, as he looked out the window of the small 3rd floor apartment, the smell of too much alcohol still permeating the room. "You still love me?" Of course he did. Both smiled, then laughed. Ward rolled his eyes at her attempt to entice him. Her fiance had sent her an email saying how he was not coming back to Paragon City, that he met a French lady and was in love. Donald apparently had trouble remembering that he had asked her to marry him. She asked him to go out that night to forget, and talked him into more drinking than he was used to. She could not bear to go home alone to a lonely apartment and that he could sleep on the couch, but it didn't happen exactly like that. "Then come back to bed, it's all okay," she said with a big smile on her lips. "Friends with benefits?" They were not really compatible, but he did love her, even with her long pretty locks now very short. The Office played on the television as Ward went back to bed. The limousines and black rentals and police cars began to pull off, one by one. Not the long line that brought her and her casket here, instead a look of it's all over, so it's time to leave. Some of the PPD upper brass still stood around talking, their umbrellas appearing almost intertwined from where he was. He saw the Police Chief glance to him time to time, but he did not make any gestures. Ward would not have responded anyway. It wasn't long before the rain was driving them to their own cars. Still Ward looked on, as the cold drops began to beat on him even through the canopy of leaves they had to filter through. His uniform was protection enough. "It's an honor you dummy," she said, tickled by how he was always solemn about even the best of things. She had already married and divorced by 2012, long having forgotten or cared about Donald. "It's more Academy and I have to finish getting my degree," he told her, bringing a shake of her head. The bangs were longer now, and her hair was a little past her ears. Her blue eyes accented every highlight, or did the highlights accent her blue eyes? He sat at her kitchen table as she fixed some coffee for him, black with no sugar. The house was huge, something she got in the divorce. The windows were big, and the morning sun shown through bright and warm. She was unable to have kids, but she wasn't sure she ever wanted kids. Ward wondered if that may have been part of the problems with her ex-husband. "Magistrates hunh?" She asked. She was part of the coroners office now, having furthered her own education. She wasn't rich, but she was secure, something Ward was pleased about since she lived alone. She said lived free, and he believed that was exactly how she felt about it. "You will do it, so stop pretending its something to bounce around in your mind," she said, smiling as she put the coffee in front of him. It was Saturday and she was still in her Wreck-it Ralph pajamas. Too old to be a kid, but still too young to be old. Ward finally made his way to the grave. He would not come here again. It was a show of respect, but he knew she was not there. It was just a body now, cold and stiff and not her. The cemetery worker stood back and gave him his moment. The uniform he wore was known. He was a Magistrate. Judge, jury, and sometimes executioner if needed. People always gave them space. They didn't speak that day, but he saw her in the crowd, clapping at the new PPD Magistrates. It was much harder to pass than the Academy, but he had made it through. She waved at him and gave him a wink, her blond hair now partially streaked with grey. It didn't change how pretty she was, in fact if she had ever decided to dye her hair, no one would know she was in her 40's. Of course she would not dye her hair. Ward chuckled as she gave a "woof woof" gesture with her fist, and held his diploma up to her, before turning and locking eyes with his wife, who also smiled broad. The two stood together, friends until the end. Ward felt the hand on the crook of his arm. She was crying silently, not blubbering like some. She had given him his space, Linda always knowing when to back off and when to come close. She leaned her head on his arm, and some would think it was him comforting her, but it was not. She was comforting him the only way he would allow. "Cate was a good friend, to both of us," she finally said, trying to shield Ward from the rain with her umbrella, having to reach high to cover his head. Linda was a few years younger than Ward. She had met Cate working at the coroner's office, and the two became friends before Cate introduced Ward to her. Cate "just knew" the two would hit it off, and they did. The three spent 2019 in Cancun, a place Cate wanted to go at least one more time. It was fun, but Cate left the two lovers to enjoy it as many times as she accompanied them. "I am happy on the beach you two, now get out of here," she had said, waving them off. Cate was diagnosed with cancer not long after. He always suspected she knew before. She was "going to beat it", she had said with confidence, and Ward was sure she would. With the way she faced it, Ward was still sure she did. "Dying isn't losing Ward," she had said only a few weeks ago. Her hair was gone, and she looked tired, but Ward could see only how beautiful she was. She died on Monday, and was buried on this cold rainy Wednesday. Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace. Wednesday's child is full of woe Ward just nodded, looking at Linda and offering a consoling smile. With a slight shrug of acceptance, Magistrate 310 lead his wife away from the grave. Hey, hey, hey-ey-ey Come on try a little Nothing is forever There's got to be something better than in the middle Me and Cinderella We put it all together We can drive it home With one headlight -Jakob Dylan

Everlasting is the rp dominant server.

I did a little digging through the night, entered a few back doors and listened to the illegal card game talks. I have a knack for them not knowing when I am there, and some inner knowledge of how to stay there with them not knowing I am there. Not much was happening at the first few card games. Normal underground mook talk to be honest. 'This chick is easy, that broad is classy'. It depended on what game I was listening to as to who was classy and who was easy. It wasn't until 2am that I came across the two men in the alley talking about the boss from New Orleans. They weren't debating hooking up with her sexually, but instead they were debating hooking up with her criminally. Batts was not pulling my leg when he said she was neck deep in the underground of New Orleans. He may have mislead me on why she was tracking him though. He didn't steal her money, according to these two family members, he stole her heart. He stole her heart and she wanted him dead now. Still, that seemed too simple for such a complicated bunch. I was betting Tony the Bat was not hiding from her, as he said he was. He was looking for her, and figured to use me to find her. I am guessing the winner of this one would be whoever found whoever first. The loser would be dead. My next thing was to find out why Tony wanted her dead. I don't know the exacts of Amede's motives yet, but I could find Tony easier.

The black hat sat low, the glasses with the red lenses not only covered my eyes but also assisted in seeing in the dark. It wasn't magic, it just took whatever light there was and evenly dispersed it. The black trench coat I wore was not seasonal, as it was a hot summer night, but no one really saw me. I learned how to stay out of sight in the military, but that is another story I may never tell. I wore a grey shirt, a nice shirt really, cotton and soft and helped to keep me cooler, but for the coat. The trench coat was sleeveless, so that also helped. The pants were thick dark jean and tucked into boots. The boots were very utilitarian, high and also black. I was no longer the private detective Daryl Drudge. I didn't speak some code word or magic name or anything as some of these heroes speak. I am not super. If I did have a super power it would be my inquisitive nature. It would be that I had an uncanny need to dig into other people's business. No, when I say I become someone else, it simply means I am now the Kibitzer. It is an alter ego that merely keeps people from knowing who I am. I could easily just as well been John Doe. Kibitzer fits who I am though. Kibitzer, someone who imparts unwanted advice, but it is also synonymous with a busybody, a buttinski. It all fits me. It is what makes me a good detective. I needed to find out more of Amede, and according to Batts, she was neck deep in the underground of New Orleans, and actually had some connections to Paragon City. He didn't know that when he decided to rob her poker games in New Orleans. He knew that now, and now he was laying low. Lucky for him most people wont talk to some prostitute from New Orleans. They didn't really have that much respect for what many called the swamp mafia. Not their real name, it was derogatory. I don't know if they have some kind of name, like The Family or The Mooks even. Not even now. I just knew Amede had tried to play me for a fool. She was probably playing others for a fool as well. Daryl Drudge alone can only get so much information. However, the Kibitzer has a way of finding things out that few others can.

Anthony "The Bat" Batts entered my office carefully, almost as if he figured it was a trap. True to his name, he had a well used bat over his shoulder. His eyes scanned my room quickly, and then fell on me. "You been asking about me, so why not ask me," he said. My hand stayed close to the revolver, but I relaxed a bit. He was not here for hostile reasons, and I could see it in his face. The truth was he looked more like a cornered rat, though a large dangerous cornered rat. "I suppose Jonny couldn't wait to tell you I was asking about you," I said. "Jonny knows what's good for Jonny, and you asking about me aint good for Jonny," he said. I motioned for him to take a seat in the chair across from my desk, and to my surprise he took it. He leaned the bat on the chair by him, and sat back. He wasn't relaxed, not really, but he was more relaxed than he had been when he came in. It was almost as if he was thinking there would be more folks in here waiting on him. "I know you aren't telling me that you hurt Jonny," I questioned, and I really wanted that answer. Jonny was a low life, but he was an informant, and when your informants start getting hurt it makes others not want to inform. "Naw, he aint hurt. He did what he was suppose to do," he said. "Mr. Anthony," I began. "Call me Tony," he said, cutting me off quick. "We aint doing business, we just talking." Tony was dressed like a button man, his suit was very nice, nicer than my suits. He didn't wear the hat, but his hair was slicked back and very black. He did look part Italian, but something about him said he was not full Italian. I could not put my finger on it, but chances were he had to deal with that all his life. "Tony it is. I was asking about you because I have a client that is trying to find her sister. She feels you may know something about it." I put it on the table. If he was here, he knew what the deal was already. He would play his cards, I would play mine, and we would see who busted. It was obvious by his face that he was a card player, because poker face was definitely his game. "Amede hired you," he said, and that caused my own brow to furl. My poker game was not to his level for sure. "It is Amede I am looking for," I said, and there was a very slight hint of confusion on his own face. Maybe we weren't playing the same game. Both of our faces then dropped all pretense and we knew we definitely needed to have a discussion. "Amede don't have no sister," he said, the wheels in his head obviously turning now. We were both wondering what we had gotten ourselves into.

"It's cause you don't know nothing about your client," Mrs. Wendy said matter of fact like. I just looked at my secretary a moment as I poured some bourbon over a couple of ice cubes in my drinking glass. She frowned, as she does when I drink, but it was late enough in the day to not be ashamed of a drink. She knew I hated when she told me something I really should have thought of on my own. "If your hitting the street tonight don't drink more than one," she admonished, though she didn't even want me drinking the one. I would have a second before she got off at 5 o'clock, but she was right. I was hitting the streets. Or more importantly, the Kibitzer was hitting the streets. Yes, she suspected, though she did not know for sure that I put on the mask. It was not something I wished made privy to anyone. One part embarrassing that I dressed up as some Halloween clown so no one knew who I was, another part for their safety. I didn't want every crook I fingered coming banging on my not so well secured door. Some of them don't need to use a door, for that matter. I clinked the ice cubes around as I swirled the bourbon, purposefully making the noise when she popped her head in to say she was leaving. She's a good secretary, and a great woman, and her husband was a very lucky man. No, I didn't have any romantic feelings towards her. I have known her for so long it would be like having romantic feelings for your sister, or cousin, or some such. Wendy was pretty and classy in her own way though. The put on frown she showed at my show of defiance made me smile. "No more," she said, then offered her own smile as she closed the door. I heard her go down the stairs and the bell ring behind her as she left. I don't know my client, not well enough. And I wasn't travelling down to Gretna Louisiana to find out about her. No, that wasn't what I needed to do. I probably needed to have another discussion with her, and get to know her some better. Maybe a drink or two in Atlas, away from the docks and the Italian gangs. Tony Batts was a good start, but I hate going into any conversation without the full story, and right now I didn't have the full story. I was thinking on this when I heard the bell ring over the door down below. I knew Wendy did not come back, she rode the rail and if she forgot anything she would just pick it up tomorrow. I put my hand on my Smith and Wesson .357 that I kept in a holster attached under my desk. It was small protection against supes, but supes weren't really my business. No I had a feeling who this was. By the broad shouldered shadow I saw on the wall as he crossed through Wendy's office, it could only be one man. "Come on in Mr. Batts," I said.