Supercape

GM The Shuffled Deck was a bit of a maze, when it came down to it, but Robin could work out the angles for the most part. The difficulty was first not being noticed, but given most people were nursing drinks or cards (or, often, both) nobody was paying a whole heap of attention. So far, so good. The fire escape ran from the basement to the top floor, and judging by the way Amber had keeled off, she was probably near the bottom (figuratively as well as literally). And here was the seccond problem. Locks! Sure, she could blast the door down with a few shots from the justice blaster - but it would make a sound. The locks were not exactly high calibre, but they were still locks - and barred her way up and down the escape...

GM "Good golly. Dimensional travellers! Well that is interesting!" said a smiling Ms. Wells. "Always nice to hear about them. I am afraid...ah....my activities in dimensional exploration are...ah....discouraged" she said, delicately "...unless sactioned by the Ministry of Extraordinary Affairs" she added with a touch of sadness. "But hearing about other dimensions is quite another matter! Delightful! Always such extraordinary stories! Why, on my first hop, I ended up in a dimension where America had declared independence from the British Empire! Haha, unbelievable!" She ushered them in. Delta noticed a silent man in a rather nice tweed suit who looked rather like he was a guard for Ms. Wells. Or possibly a minder. Professor Ether was a tall man with a pointed chin, pointed nose, and a face that was angular in a most remarkable way altogether. He was dressed in a jacket and shirt, with a bow tie. There was a touch of eccentricity about his atire, though. As if he could not quite conform to usual dress codes. "Good afternoon. Why, this is a most remarkable day!" He gave Delta a good long look to the exclusion of the others. "You, sir, have a most unique look about you. Not, I think, steam powered, despite your glorious melding of steel and flesh. Pray tell, Sir, what is your story?"

GM And so... Ms. Henriette Getrude Wells lived not far away (by design of all parties). Walking distance, in fact. Another little jolly walk through Greenwich park until one came to Blackheath, where Ms. Wells lived in a rather small, but still expensive, house. It had a neat garden, neat bricks, and smoking chimney. Steam pipes wiggled their way elegantly over and through the architecture, much as creeping vines did. "Thats rather clever" said Zip, a little begrungingly. Upon ringing of a rather spiffy copper doorbell that hissed and dinged and trumpeted, Ms. Wells opened the door. She was a middle aged woman with a robust kind of build - full of solid energy whilst being neither fat nor slim. Her face was plain and inoffensive, bar an enthusiastic energy that seemed to spark from her eyes. "Good afternoon...my, this is an unusual set of house callers! What a day! Why, I was already entertaining! I hope Professor Ether will not mind a little disruption!"

Thats a comfortable hit - presuming it is indeed a blast! Post away!

Round 1 22 Gauss - 5 HP 19 Robots [2] 14 Triborg At the moment, the Robots are 100' in the air above Gauss. And Gauss is up!

Lament Danish? Danish? Who speaks Danish? Apart from the Danes, of course. Languages had never really been Lament's forte. Why did hidden maps of mystery always had to be written in some obscure language? Why not English, for once? No! Always Latin, or Greek, or Atlantian or something. Well...I suppose it fits the bill! English was a bit dull. He had used plenty of pseudo languages and phrases in his shows. Fortunately, this time, he could read it. How does that work? MAGIC! he might have thought it was done with smoke and mirrors and hypnotic suggestion, but he had an inkling this was real magic! Well, North it was. He shuffled gently out of the Castle, and, still getting to used to magic (And magic boots), he leapt northwards!

Time for initiative please! Robots: Init: 1d20+3 19 Triborg: Initiative: 1d20+1 14 Even if you dont win initiative, feel free to respond IC, with some choice words! For reference, the two robots are indeed Foundry Robots (DC 25 Tech Knowledge to recognise them). Mark 1 type. For this thread, they are not minions. (Dont worry, you wont be going against the Foundry full force in this thread!) For stat reference:

GM "The cops? Man, you really playing it stiff, ain't ya?" replied the Triborg. "By the book. By the numbers. Well, I tell you what, that ain't always the way to deal the hand" he added, defiantly. "Puh-puh please! help!" whimpered the man in one of those three cybernetic arms. "You got your help..." answered the Triborg, angrily, pointing with yet another of his arms at the sky above. And from above, there were two robots descending from the skies on jets, still high above. They were somewhat clunky but shiny, man sized, and man shaped. And even at this distance, Gauss could see their arms were designed more for the attached blaster cannons than for delicate hand work...

Snakebite Neil, damn you! What exactly was his game? Cassie's trust in him was wavering. He had been the focus of much attention in the bowels of the temple, and now he had gone and stolen the potion. If it was not for the fact that he had saved her life she would be in the mood for vengeance right now. With the visions coming, she was not exactly sure if they were of the past, present, or future. But perhaps the vision was of the birth of the ring. Was it blessing, curse, or both? "<A vision>" she said to the villagers, believing right now was the only choice. But a vision of what? She was no oracle or psychoanalyst, able to discern meaning from abstract images. She just had her intuition, her speculation, and this could well lead her down a very very wrong path. "<Perhaps, Doji, you might understand this? A man, a woman, and a beast?" she asked. "<The man is trying to...sacrifice....the woman? The beast tries to stop him, and the woman kills herself....>" She mulled the words as she said them. Perhaps the ceremony was to kill the beast, or imprison it. But the woman had killed herself, rather than been killed. A ceremony done half right...

no ferrous metals detected!

GM "You are the problem!" said an increasingly desperate Triborg. He spun one of his surprisingly flexible cybernetic right arms at Gauss and fired a blast of yellow energy straight over her head. Perhaps he had been firing a warning shot. But it was close, even at range... "Let me go! I know this seems bad...but I have a friend to rescue!" he pleaded with Gauss. "And I don't have time to explain in detail. This man is from the Foundry...!" he shouted. "Any moment now they will be trying to rescue him. And they are going to be a LOT worse than me!"

And for your heroic HP reward! A blast in the face! This is at long range, so with penalties: Power blast: 1d20+4 10 missing!

GM "Weepy drunk works" smiled Dick, sympathetically. "I've shed a few tears myself over some smooth jazz. But tonights band got a more frantic beat. Lets keep it excited but not violent" he said, as a suitably frantic and violent drum solo kicked in, terminating in some more applause. "I don't owe that woman anything, bar the promise that she isn't getting her teeth knocked out in my club" he conceded. "And I don't owe you or your client anything either, I suppose. But I'm a kind hearted drunk" he said, taking another guzzle of whiskey. On this, his friends agreed. Dick was a good sort. "I'm not going to clean up Bedlam. I don't think anyone is. But I can maybe wipe up the odd stain. And you seem like a good hearted girl, even if I can't trust you quite yet. So ask me what you want, like you said - asking costs nothing. And maybe ill even answer. And maybe the answers will even help!" he laughed warmly. Jovially, he poured her another drink.

For being suitably heroic... Gauss - 5 HP - Unharmed

Yes please! Flight opposed roll: 1d20+5 21 However, I will also roll his concentration against DC 17 as you are disrupting his flight Concentration: 1d20+1 5 In other words, he goes tumbling. If you beat his opposed roll, you can catch him / slow him down (or whatever you wish!)

GM "Working?" replied an inquisitive yet slightly cautious Dick Young. He poured her a stiff whisky. Very stiff. Dick ran a Jazz bar, and knew a lady who loved her booze when he saw one. "Nothing wrong with a drink. Nothing at all. As long as you are the right type of drunk. The ones who laugh, or fall asleep, or even fall over and lie in a gutter muttering at the stars. As long as you ain't the type who pulls out her fists, or a gun" he added. "That woman there is bad news. Honey trap. I've seen her fleecing men for money every week. Sometimes more. And even the odd woman. I don't think she's too particular about age, gender, or anything else but the size of the wallet" he explained. "Now your turn...who are you and who you working for, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked, as the band started up a staccato beat. "I don't want no trouble here. Ive got a bar to run. So I'd rather you enjoyed the show that started asking the wrong questions to the wrong people..." he added, again, with genuine warmth.

For reference, the TRIBORG has flight 5, which is faster than Gauss. At the moment, he is moving all out Rule reference (mainly for myself) All Out: Moving four times your speed is an all out pace, the equivalent of running or sprinting, 120 feet per round for a normal unencumbered human. All out movement is a full action, and you lose your dodge bonus, since you can’t easily avoid attacks. However, if you’re using a movement power (see Chapter 5) you gain a +2 bonus to Defense per rank in that power; so a hero with Flight 5 moving all out gets a +10 Defense bonus for his speed (it’s harder to hit a fast-moving target). I hate movement rules anyway by my calculations, he is travelling at 1000mph, or 10K feet. Thats 1 point of his CON allowance, which will also bring him to a turn in the monorail

GM "Sorry, cape" called the cyborg, still hovering above the track with the fluctuating electromagnetic thread between his arm (or one of them) and the monorail line. "This is a personal kindness to a friend" he said, looking down at the limp man in his grasp. "I'd tell you to not get mixed up in this, but I guess that's not going to fly. So...I'm going to have to..." With that, he sped along the track. There was no question - he was moving faster than Gauss. But...he seemed limited to flying along the monorail line. And there was a curve coming up....

Either / Or works! WIth that knowledge roll ill post IC accordingly; you may recognise a few faces of criminals (ex and current) and cops (ex and current). You also know that "Bad Beat" is what you might call "Switzerland", where cops and crooks can drop off their normal profession and the door and just behave like normal people. Doesn't always work, but thats the unofficial rule. Anything else comes up, ill bear that streetwise roll in mind!

Notice: 1d20+12 26 Shall I wait to post IC until result of that?

GM "They sure are" smiled Dick, full of warmth. He had taken over this joint after it was burned down, along with some of his friends as co investors. There were a fair few ex-cops here, some of whom had actually developed freindship with ex-criminals who also frequented the joint. Dick was an ex cop himself, and between his experience on the streets and in the Bad Beat, he knew a lot of rumours. "I'm Dick. Dick Young" he said, offering his hand to Caroline. "Always nice to see some young folks in here. Most of us have gout and arthritis!" he winked, and his friends grunted their empathy with both conditions. "You came on a good night, Caroline. Now, the Bad Beat always got taste in music, but tonight you got jackpot!" he said, pausing to applause as the band finished another number. "You a Jazz fan or you just come here to drink?" he asked.

Ok, you dodged the rubble! Dust Devil - 3 HP VMX - 1 HP Please feel free to post IC your escape, and also plot where do you go from here. I think its drawing to a close so at this point its largely loose end tying - we can say Dust Devil knows the Mesa well enough to traverse back to "normal" time. Any thoughts on what you would like to end on, please sing out - including, if so inclined, follow ups.

GM Brapadapadum pdum tish! finished the band in a lazy paradiddle movement. There was polite applause, some of it even genuine, but few if any took their eyes of the cards. "Weeerrr going to take a quick break fffolks!" smiled Amber to the crowd giving them a wave. She staggered off in high heels and alcohol, which combined made her most unsteady. The band followed, and didn't look entirely sober themselves (although they had, at least, normal heels). The backstage was just to the left of the stage. It was not, as far as Robin could see, unguarded, but it was somewhat exposed. There might, of course, be other ways in - the kitchens? the fire escape? the ventilation system?

Lament Spooky! Wait!....it might literally by spooky! Is this castle a ghost? Or am I??? Lament let these interesting speculations circle and stew in his head as he wandered the castle. A suit of ancient armour here, a rusted pike there. He quite fancied the look of the pair of rapiers above the throne, but kept with his stage machete hanging by his belt. He could not turn off the part of his brain that pondered new ideas for new shows. Zombo and the Zombie King! Zombo...and the Throne of Games! Ok, he hadn't quite worked the last one out, but he vaguely imagined a throne made out of board games and the like. What he really needed, however, was a clue!!!

Search: 1d20+1 21 boom!