Amelia

Edited, TA Before spending any points, please re-tool Mister Strix's Super-Senses powers. I realized that his olfactory Blood Awareness costs almost double what it would cost to just enhance his overall sense of smell/taste. So please get rid of the Blood Awareness, replace it with the following power for the same 6PP cost, and for ease of bookkeeping, fold it together with the 2PP Darkvision I had originally listed separately: Super-Senses 9 (Acute Analytical Extended Tracking Smell/Taste, Darkvision, Extended Hearing, Extended Vision, Microscopic Vision 1 [Dust], Drawbacks: Power Loss [Daylight]) [8PP] Mister Strix has 10PP to spend. Please increase his base Attack bonus by +1, from +3 to +4. That leaves him 8PP. Please drop his 2 ranks of the Luck feat. In hindsight, he may be the unluckiest character I ever built. That leaves him 10PP. Please drop his Attack Focus (Melee) by 1 rank, from 5 to 4. That leaves him 11PP. Please purchase him 3PP worth of feats: 2 ranks of Evasion, and one rank of Improved Initiative. That leaves him with 8PP. Please spend 1PP on a third Feature rank. I recently discovered a Feature called "Deathly Aura," listed in the 3E Power Profiles book (specifically, the chapter on "Death Powers"), which matches one of his Complications, and specifically states that, while the effect can be a source of Complications, it provides enough of a net benefit that it should be purchased as a Feature. Please include the Feature description in a spoiler block under the power, like so: Features 3 (Deathly Aura, Touch does not leave prints, Wounds do not bleed) [3PP] (spoiler) Deathly Aura: Your touch is inimical to simple forms of life: small plants wither and die when you touch them, or even just walk over them, and small insects perish upon touching you. Although an inconvenience at times (and good for a Complication), this is a net Feature, good for, amongst other things, a circumstance bonus to Intimidate checks. -Power Profiles, page 36 (/spoiler) Please edit his Intimidation skill to reflect the circumstance bonus. Intimidation 4 (+8, +10 Deathly Aura) That leaves him 7PP. His three Regeneration powers currently read as follows: Regeneration 5 (Recovery 5 [+0, Recovers over time like a living creature], Feats: Regrowth) [6PP] Regeneration 12 (Recovery Rate 12: Injured 6 [No rest], Disabled 6 [1 round], Flaws: Limited [Weaknesses inflict Incurable damage]) [6PP] Regeneration 2 (Resurrection 2 [1 day], Flaws: Limited [Does not resurrect while decapitated or staked through the heart; Requires extra time and outside aid to resurrect from being completely burned or dissolved]) [1PP] Please invest 5PP into them, so that they instead read as follows: Regeneration 5 (Recovery 5 [+0, Recovers over time like a living creature], Feats: Regrowth) [6PP] Regeneration 14 (Recovery Rate 12: Injured 6 [No rest], Disabled 8 [No rest], Flaws: Limited [Weaknesses inflict Incurable damage]) [7PP] Regeneration 10 (Resurrection 10 [No rest], Flaws: Limited [Does not resurrect while decapitated or staked through the heart; Requires extra time and outside aid to resurrect from being completely burned or dissolved]) [5PP] That leaves him 2PP. Please buy him a second rank of Super-Strength for 2PP. That will change the power to read as follows: Super-Strength 2 (Lifting Strength: 36, Heavy Load: 3,680 lbs. [1.84 tons], Drawbacks: Power Loss [Daylight]) [3PP] This will also increase his Grapple bonus by +1.

Mister Strix popped open the window, then grabbed both children with one arm and clutched them close to his chest while holding their blacked-out mother over his shoulder. He leaned his head down and whispered to them. "You hold on tight, and so will I. Keep quiet and close your eyes. It'll be scary for a second, but that's all. I've got you." He stepped onto the windowsill, crouched, and jumped. His inhuman strength carried him and his charges up onto the roof of the neighboring building. Despite leaping several stories while carrying several hundred pounds, his landing didn't make a sound. He gently laid the mother down onto the roof, and then placed a hand on each child's shoulder. "Stay here, stay down, and stay quiet. We'll take care of this gang like we took care of the last one, and then we'll come right back up here for you. You'll be safe. I promise." With that, Mister Strix turned away from the children and jumped back down to their apartment window.

Strix was in a vampire-coma for five years with a stake through his heart, so back when he "died," this kid would've been in grade school. I took an alternate route. Also decided to experiment with some first-person narration.

Mister Strix flew across the Bedlam City skyline as a cloud of mist, blending with the foggy night of late fall. I've started from a better position than most when it comes to investigating the Bedlam City Mafia. The son of Scarpia capo Mo Giordano couldn't help but see some faces and hear some names while growing up in that house. And these days there are more old faces than new ones. Admittedly, even with that head start, I'm only barely starting to put together the big picture, and I'm still lacking in details. But every time I manage to ambush one of Dad's goons, every time I get a taste of their blood, I steal another piece of the puzzle. He set down on the roof of a warehouse on the Greely docks with all the noise of a gentle snowfall. His black eyes watched for the Gorganzua button-men, their precious cargo, and anyone else with designs on it. I wasn't surprised to learn that the Scarpias already knew about the incoming Gorganzua cargo. The one thing everyone in Bedlam has in common is that none of us are good at our jobs. As a crimefighter, I'm still an amateur, while The Mob is every bit as incompetent and short-sighted as the city's legitimate administrators. True professionals wouldn't have bled the city dry like they have. I don't expect the Scarpias to interfere tonight. They're greedy, but they're also cowards. Whatever the Gorganzuas are bringing in, it's probably not worth starting a war over, and I think even the Scarpias know that. But I need to know what that cargo is. Even if no one else makes a play for it, it's probably still a piece I'll want to take off the table.

...

Slight edit to my last IC post.

The plan for Mister Strix is to have him grab all 3 civilians and either jump directly up to the roof, or over to the nearest building. He could even zig-zag a little, hitting the side of the next building and then jumping up from there. He's got Wall-Crawling, Leaping (90ft standing long jump or 45ft standing high jump), and enough Super-Strength that his Light Load is 612 pounds, which I'm almost certain is higher than the weight of this entire family. Just lemme know when to post IC.

It seems like this scene is starting to stall out. Do you guys not feel like you have enough to go on?

"I think we can all agree that I'm doing the people a favor by hiding myself from them. If given the chance, wouldn't you prefer to forget you'd ever met me?" Imagine how angry she'd be if I'd told her the whole truth. The blood of the dead men is already turning sour and bitter as the last echoes of their lives fade away, but her blood is by far the sweetest I've tasted yet. She's not human. Not entirely, anyway. There's a vigor and vitality there not to be found in the veins of any mere mortal. I want more... No. More... NO. "The passenger died quick, but the cop took his time with the driver. The man was at his mercy. He could have tossed him in the back seat of his squad car and taken him anywhere. But he tortured the man to death right here, on the street, out in the open. I don't think he cared what it looked like, or who saw him. And somebody must have seen him. Someone always sees. Someone always knows."

Meanwhile, in Bedlam City... Mister Strix found a severed human arm in a dumpster behind a Wunder-Chuk, one of fourteen Bedlam locations for the otherwise failed fast-food burger chain. This probably isn't even the worst thing anyone's ever found in here... Someone was dumping pieces of dead people all over town, someone who wasn't doing a very good job of hiding them, or who just didn't care all that much whether they were found or not. Previously, it had been a leg, most of a sternum with a couple ribs still mostly attached, and numerous organs. Strix kept picking up the scent of human blood during his nocturnal patrols. It was necrotic blood, nothing to stir his appetite, but enough to engage his curiosity and sense of duty. But the trails kept cutting off in seemingly random places, as though the body parts had appeared out of thin air. The dead blood left behind in the discarded limbs and viscera tasted sour and bitter, but he endured it in the hopes that the embedded psychic resonance might give him some clue as to the identities of the victims, or something to elaborate on their fates. But so far, their deaths had been so traumatic, he'd gleaned little beyond the bewildered agony of their final moments. The days-old acrid stench from the severed arm led him to a small, shabby, two-story townhouse converted into a retail space, on the border where Downtown Bedlam bled into Hardwick Park. The sign across the top of the building read "HAWTHORNE BOOKS & CURIOSITIES." The smaller sign on the door said "CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE". Mister Strix dissolved into a cloud of mist. The door was locked, but it wasn't air-tight. And, unlike some other vampires, Mister Strix did not need an invitation.

As long as mutual consent is involved, it's up to you all what each of your PCs knows about the others upon first meeting, assuming they haven't met before. Last I heard, Set and Temperance definitely have a history, but none of the three players involved can remember whether or not Grimalkin has ever met Set or Temperance. Temperance seems to have a secret identity, so Trollthumper should clarify when she shows up whether she's in costume or not. As a guide, feel free to compare your PC's skills (or roll, if you want) with the existing reputation threads, assuming they're still current: Grimalkin / Lynn Epstein Set Temperance / Eliza Oxum

It almost goes without saying that Grimalkin gets a Hero Point for all this crap.

GM The rest of the business day at Silberman's Books was uneventful. The same couldn't be said for the evening, or the following day. Lynn Epstein had intended to sleep in that morning, but she was awakened prematurely with a frantic telephone call from the employee who was supposed to open the store that day. There had been a break-in, or, at least, there appeared to have been a break-in. There was no sign of forced entry. But the fixtures in the mens bathroom were completely demolished, the bathroom door was knocked completely off its hinges, and there was water all over the main floor. The door to her office was likewise destroyed, and the furniture inside was scattered, as though a bulldozer had cleared a path to the vault. The secret door was hanging open, and the vault contents were in disarray. Only one thing was missing, and Lynn knew what it would be before she looked. Sitting in the book's place was a single ten-thousand dollar bundle of cash. While Lynn spent the remainder of the day juggling police reports, insurance claims, and even some local media inquiries, Eliza Oxum was getting her assignment from the civil engineering firm she'd signed on to as a temp after graduating university. "Ever hear of 'Bedlam City?'" asked the "administrative project specialist," a chubby middle-aged Indian woman, and, judging from the photographs on her desk, mother of three. "If Wisconsin ever needs an enema, that's where they'll stick the hose. The skyline is like zits on a middle-schooler's face, and the biggest pus-pile of them all is the Gorman Tower. They ran out of money before they could finish building it, and every year, we do a cost-benefit analysis for them to let them know that they also cannot afford to knock it down. Practically a copy and paste job." She handed Eliza a stack of papers and a plane ticket. On Eliza's way out the door, while scrolling through news feeds on her phone, she noticed a weird coincidence. There was a blurb about a recent Sotheby's auction in New York, where an anonymous bidder paid fifty grand for a 500+ year-old copy of some religious storybook she'd never heard of. Apparently part of the reason the bidding went so high was that, while the text and pictures dated back to the fall of Constantinople, carbon-dating of the paper they were written on proved it was over three-thousand years old. It was like if William Shakespeare had chiseled one of his plays over the Code of Hammurabi. The paper would've been even more valuable without the manuscript written on it, especially for scientific study of how it could possibly be so well-preserved. Meanwhile, last night, someone had broken into Silberman's Books, an "alternative" semi-witchy, semi-hipster bookstore/coffee shop right here in Freedom City. They trashed the place and stole a copy of the same book, or another volume in the same series; it wasn't clear from the reporting. But both articles used the same name for it: "Scivias." The news on Silberman's said their copy was "old and rare," but it didn't elaborate much beyond that. That detail from the auction about the paper being so much older than the text rang a bell in Eliza's memory. She'd read or heard a legend before about a book like that, a cursed book that drove people insane. Eliza wasn't the only person, or even the only Freedom City based mystic of supernatural descent, who noticed that same coincidence, and knew that same legend. The teen god and social media sensation Set had a number of search engine alerts set for such things, and this morning, many pieces of a dangerous puzzle were falling into place for them. Set knew Scivias, the three-volume masterwork Latin anthology of religious visions, morality plays, and songs that Saint Hildegard had written over a thousand years ago. Set also knew the story of the Greek merchant sailor who had taken his ship all the way down to Cape Agulhas, the southernmost point of the African continent. The ship vanished, but returned three years later, running aground near the Straits of Gibraltar. The Greek was the only survivor. His diary was the only clue as to what fate had befallen him, because he'd gone insane and bitten off his own tongue. The journal was full of half-coherent rants about islands appearing and disappearing, sirens who taught him their songs, and the great tentacled monstrosities those songs summoned up from the ocean depths. The songs the Greek had written down didn't seem to make any sense. Parts of them didn't seem like sounds it was physically possible to make. The bundle of scrolls drifted around Europe and Asia Minor, and everyone who spent time around it seemed to eventually suffer terrible nightmares and auditory hallucinations. Actually studying it seemed to accelerate that process. The Eastern Orthodox Church tried to burn the scrolls, but the pages wouldn't catch fire. They tried to blot out the text, but the pages wouldn't stain. Eventually, they settled for rubbing the text until it faded past the point of legibility, splitting the pages up, and re-using them in new manuscripts, hoping that dividing them and covering them with holy words would dilute and diminish their power. Right before the Ottomans seized Constantinople, some monks escaped the city with the books, and they've been missing ever since. No one knew how many there were, or what exactly had become of them.

GM Hawthorne sighed and slid the suitcase full of cash off of the counter. "Well, I can see how you would have trouble maintaining your private collection, with such...limited facilities. A sudden windfall like this would have helped with that. Might have taken this quaint little boutique to the next level. Oh well. At least you brew a fine cup of coffee." He turned around, in a manner no doubt practiced and calculated to maximize the billowing of his overcoat behind him. "Patentibus." The door opened on its own while he was still several steps away. When he reached it, he turned back around and tipped his hat to Lynn. "If you come to your senses, you have my card. Lehitra’ot." He winked at her before sauntering back out onto the street. Once Lucien Hawthorne had left the store, the espresso cup he'd been levitating dropped to the floor and shattered.

GM Hawthorne clutched his chest in mock pain, then picked the bundle of cash back up off the counter and bounced it in his hand. "Deceit! M'lady, thy treachery hast cut me to the bone!" He smiled wide. "Well, I guess I'll just have to put this back in its place." He lifted his briefcase up onto the counter, flipped open the catches, lifted the lid, and turned it halfway around so that the contents were visible to Lynn. It was filled with more fresh cash. The bundles were stacked in a two-by-two-by five arrangement, with one missing. Hawthorne dropped the bundle into the empty spot. "Well, look at that. It brought friends." He closed the suitcase, snapped the buckles shut, and turned it on the counter so that the handles faced Lynn. "Two-hundred thousand dollars. Four times what you could get at auction in your wildest dreams. Forget paying your electric bill. I'll buy you a house."

Heritage: Per Grimalkin's Knowledge check results:

GM "Resurgemus." Lynn heard the sound of wind chimes, and caught a flash of light from the corner of her eye. "Volant." The espresso cup glided up into the air and gently fell into the outlandishly-dressed visitor's waiting hand. He sniffed at it appreciatively before taking a sip. "Delicious." He let go of the cup, and it floated beside him as he walked back to the counter, his hands still full with cane and briefcase. When he reached the counter, he took his hat off and swung it through the air in front of him as he bowed, his every gesture exaggerated to the point of parody. "Lucien Hawthorne, at your service. And you must be the lovely and erudite Miss Lynn Epstein." He extended his hand to Lynn, as if to shake hers, but then tried to bring her hand to his lips for a kiss. "We are cut from the same cloth, you and I. For I too am a purveyor of the occult, a collector of secret histories and forbidden knowledge. Recently, it has come to my attention that you have in your possession a certain book, a hand-written volume of Scivias dating back to just after the fall of Constantinople, though the recycled parchment upon which it was written is far older. It is a niche item, to be sure. I doubt there is much call for it here. But it would be the crown jewel of my personal collection, and I would pay handsomely to indulge a lifelong dream." He reached into the opposite breast pocket from where he'd stashed the money clip, and this time withdraw a bundle of fresh hundred-dollar bills that looked like it had just come out of the bank vault. The paper wrap hadn't been broken yet. With another flourish and another smug grin, he fanned the bundle with his thumb, and then he set ten-thousand dollars in cash on the coffee shop counter. "What say I just go ahead and pay your utility bill for the next year?" He raised an eyebrow, leaned back, and sipped at his drink, which hovered obediently at his lips.

Actually, even though it's not quite time for you guys to come in yet, @Gizmo, @trollthumper, go ahead and give me the same skill checks for Temperance and Set. Knowledge: Arcane Lore, Current Events, History, and Theology/Philosophy, raw Int if you don't have skill ranks.

I'll edit the opening posts in the IC and OOC threads to add more character tags as more PCs join the story. Heritage, if Grimalkin is in the store, then I'm assuming that, with her Extended Hearing, she can hear the "gentleman" whether she's out on the floor or locked away in her office. If you decide for whatever reason that she's not in the store, let me know, and I'll roll with it. But if she is, then give me some Knowledge skill checks, for Arcane Lore, Current Events, History, and Theology/Philosophy. If she lacks skill ranks for any of them, just do a raw Int check for those.

GM The man who walked into Silberman's Books could best be described as "goth pimp with hipster garnish," the unholy union of a failed stage magician and an even less successful pick-up artist. He wore a long black velvet overcoat with puffy faux-fur trim, also in black. His slacks, suit jacket, and long-sleeved collared shirt were black as well, while his waistcoat and necktie were splashes of red. His dark hair was tied back in a braided pony-tail which almost reached his waist, peeking out from beneath a wide-brimmed black Stetson hat with a red ostrich feather stretching a foot and a half above and behind him. His beard was almost as long as his hair, waxed and styled in a pseudo 19th century fashion. He wore several fine chains around his neck, from which hung a giant gold pentagram and several different crystals. All of his fingers were covered with mis-matched rings. A pair of black snake-skin boots, polished to a high gloss shine, completed the ridiculous ensemble. The man clicked his walking stick on the floor as he strode up to the counter, swinging a briefcase with his other hand. The red-lacquered wood was topped with a silver handle shaped like a coiled dragon. He tipped the brim of his hat to the employee behind the counter and gave them a smug grin. "I'd be much obliged if you could point me toward the restroom, and if you could have a double espresso macchiato and your manager waiting for me when I get back. Assuming the beans are fair trade, of course." The man reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a metal calling card case, and a money clip bulging with a three-inch thick stack of folded bills. He pulled out an embossed white business card, and a hundred-dollar bill, and slid them both across the counter. "Keep the change. Buy yourself something nice." He winked. The business card read "HAWTHORNE BOOKS & ANTIQUITIES," with an address in Bedlam City, Wisconsin.

"And I wouldn't hold it against you. I might even thank you. But you still don't understand. Voices echo. Steps leave footprints." Most of them, anyway. "And actions leave their mark in the blood. The psychic resonance in yours was the quickest way to make sure you were telling the truth, and to find out what happened to them." The man in white allowed himself a half-grin. "Besides, it's not like you would've wanted it back." The man in white waved a hand across his own torso. "For whatever it's worth, they don't generally dress like this, either. Neither imagination nor theatricality come naturally to the type of mind the Mafia attracts." "I wasn't using it on 'you.' I was using it on everyone. Get over yourself." "By 'not normal,' he means the man in white with the big smile. And yes, I understand how that looks. As for how he knew that...I'm curious myself."

Mister Strix's black eyes glared downard to the ground floor where the thugs were pouring into the apartment building. His body dissolved into a cloud of mist once again. The fog seeped into the girl's apartment through the cracks in the poorly-seated window, and just as quickly, it condensed back into the man in white. Everyone in the apartment felt a sudden chill. He ran into the center of the apartment. "They're coming!" he barked, with the same deep reverberation echoing under his voice. "Right behind you, at least as many as before!" He glanced at the couch, saw the unconscious woman, and hefted her up over his shoulder. "Hold them off as long as you can. I'll get them to the roof, then I'll come down to back you up."

The man in white addressed the rest of the group as the exited the church. "Lead the way. I'll let you know if I see anyone following." With that, he turned and leaped into the air, over the roof of the neighboring building to disappear on the other side. Once out of sight, before he hit the ground, Mister Strix relaxed every muscle in his body, going completely limp for a moment, before his body dissolved into a cloud of mist. He flew up into the air and back around, settling on a cruising altitude a couple stories above and slightly behind the group. He kept his gaze moving, trying to spot potential ambushes from all sides. When they reached the apartment complex Sam called "home," the human-sized cloud soared up to the top of the building and circled around it once, checking the roof and the adjacent buildings. Then it descended to the floor of the apartment Mister Strix had seen in the hired killer's blood. Beside the window, the cloud condensed back into a man in white, whose hands and feet clung to the outer wall like an insect. He leaned an ear toward the window and listened.

Mister Strix, Notice check: 21. Hit me.

The man in white turned to the girl. "Keep your money. You need it more than any of us. And I am not for sale." Then he turned back to Judex. "You're right. We stopped these killers, but there could always be more. Alright, we'll extract her brother first. Then the dealer in the Park. Then the warehouse." Finally, he began rousing the unconscious thugs. "I don't see any way of securing the lowlifes. Not physically, anyway..." He pulled one up to his feet by the man's neck, and slapped his face until he stirred. Then he held the man's jaw in a vise-like grip and forced the man to look him in the eye. "Stand still and do what I tell you. Frankie's just a middle-man, and when he finds out you messed up this job, he's going to tell the scary people who hired him, and they're going to kill you, just like you were going to kill those kids. The only way you'll stay alive is in prison. When I tell you to go, leave this place and turn yourself in to the nearest cop you can find. Confess to every crime you ever committed. Everyone you ever hurt, every dollar you ever stole. Answer every question they ask you, and when you go to court, plead "Guilty" to everything they charge you with." He left the man standing, and then he repeated the process with the other eight.