Supercape

So you guys are up. The Lemurians are fairly low PL but lets see how it play out.

Dust Devil makes his choice. Three spears in the back (and they have affect insubstantial) on a flat footed Dust Devil! Three spears in the back: 3#1d20+2 6 12 12 with Dust Devil been flat footed his defence is 13, so he just avoids the spears!

GM And so...at the Vicarage. Revd Root opened the door. He was a tall vicar, thin, bearded, with deep blue eyes. He must have been in his late fifties, with grey hairs nearly overwhelming the few dark ones. He wore thicked rimmed spectacles and modest clothes that suited his profession well. "Yes? "Afternoon, your Reverendness" smiled Mr. Walker through his own thick beard. "Got some qu--some interesting folk here to ask you a few questions!" Root dropped his glasses over his nose and peered ontop of them. "Well, they certainly are....interesting!" he said, a little stiffly. "I'd ask you in, but I think you might break my house" he said to Dreadnought. "Ill get the tea..." he dissapeared for one second and...with apparently blistering speed, stepped outside his home with four mugs of quite respectable tea in his hand. "Now then, what would you like to talk about? I am supposing this isn't a theological conversation - unless you feel seem exorcisms are needed for all the ghosts" he started. "If so, I am afraid I am C of E. No exorcisms here...."

No worries!

Sgt Shark "More teeth than me?" grinned Sgt Shark at the sharks. Although it often looked like he was grinning. In a not very nice way. "I will eat your bladders!" he snapped at the Sharks, showing all his wicked teeth. The intoxicating fragrance of the disgusting Sea Devil filled his nose. If she made a threat, then they must follow through with it! He swam forward like a dart. This was his environment. He was dangerous enough on land. But here, he was king. At least, in his own head. And now, his blood was up. He felt his mouth fill with bloodlust, and visions of rending and biting filled his brain. In a moment, he was on a shark, clinging to its dorsal fin. He lunged froward, his mouth clamping over the flesh of the Shark's gill, and his claws raking over the skin. To his immense pleasure, blood filled the ocean...

Sgt Shark will swim to the unwounded one (move action), then attack! For this round, as he is in his favoured environment, adding +2 to Defence Bite Shark: 1d20+12 32 Bang, a critical for a DC 30 Toughness save. If its ok with you, as his blood is up and these are sharks, making that lethal damage.

GM The next day, the next evening... It took some questions, a little cash, and even, in one case, the promise of a stuffed parrot, but Justice managed to work through the sleazy bars, hustlers, hobos, and (in the case of the last item) the slightly insane. Amber was singing tonight in some crumbling venue called The Shuffled Deck where a drunken band played to a bunch of poker players. It was, predictably, popular with crooks and villains. Including... ...yes. By unfortunate (or perhaps fortunate) coincidence, Blowfish (and bodyguards) had arrived to drink and play. Justice stood in the shadows outside, scanning the building. Its security was mediocre architecturally, but it was fairly clear that with this kind of venue, with this kind of customers, guns and knives would be present. Although it seemed, from her questioning, that the "private room" where the high steaks were played (on the upper floor), no weapons were allowed. Bar fists. Amber sang there on and off. She was a reasonable singer, above average even. But her increasing use of alcohol had diminished her reliability and even, her performace. From what Justice could glean, she was getting increasingly erratic and desperate.

No problem. Thats kind of the default procedure here - its really impossible to keep track of "old sheets" in threads. For myself, I usually give the heads up if PL shifts just to alert the GM (it might mean a small shift in difficulty) - or when something really pertinent shuffles in the sheet (such as being an underwater thread and gaining immunity to drowning!)

Lament "Jutland, eh? A secret Cave, eh? Not so secret from the eyes of the King, it seems!" "I will indeed, O King! Tears should not be stolen!" a bit like Children...but this is probably the best way to solve that problem. Not the ideal way. But the best way. At least, that was what he told himself as he put on the seven league boots. "Secret Cave. Jutland. Yes indeed, I will stride there with most strideful striding!" he said, proudly, ginerly shuffling his feet. "However, if I may ask...how may I find the secret Cave? I fear it may be secret!" he asked, politely, with a big and humble bow.

GM "My wife?" replied Winchester. "I can't say we have the best relationship" he mused, thoughtful. "Speaking frankly, that is. She wanted children. I didn't. She drinks too much and spends too much, but....we have been together twenty years and she has been faithful" He mulled it over. "She doesn't know about my fling, either. And as far as I can see she is too...dependant on me to leave. If you speak to her, it would have to be most gentle. She can't suspect..." "That floozy, though. She could well be on it. Said her name was Delilah. Met her in a Jazz bar called the Bad Beat. She came on strong - too strong really - and we ended up at her place. Or at least, she said it was her place" he muttered. "I have no reason to trust her at all" he added, indicating that it was with her that her suspicions were most strong. "Three nights of carnal lust, a week ago. Then nothing. She doesn't want to see me anymore" he added, anger creeping into his voice. "What do I know of her? Other than she is hot, and likes Jazz, I couldn't say. We didn't do too much talking..."

GM Mr. Walker reddened at Voin's reply. "I..ah...I meant no offence, Miss" he blabbered. "Its a common enough saying, and us old folks don't always remember what to say and when to say it..." He wiped his brow. He was repentant, surely. He just had habits of speech. "I'm not sure who saw her past. She used to hang out at some ruin of a church in the hills. Spooky place. And this is spooky times, so consider that double spooky now. We need scooby do!" he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. "The retired Vicar, Revd Root. He has the keys to the ruin. Not that you need then, its so full of holes. I think he tried to convert Morgen once. He didn't try again. But they did get friendly enough. I think she was using the Ruin to..camp...I guess!"

Snakebite The streams of time were getting very confusing. And she was hurt, tired, angry, and cursed. She wasn't thinking straight at all. She was lifting herself up, then lying down. Then...thank goodness...she was herself again. Whetever that meant. She stood up and dusted herself off. A ritual, almost, to focus her mind. And no, she couldn't see or smell the herbs here. Which was something in between a calamity and a disaster. Arguably, it was both. "I've got a bad feeling about this..." she said to "Isa "I don't suppose you know where those herbs went? Or can get some more?"

GM "Ill double them" said Winchester, clearly, in response to Caroline's rates. "How's that for negotiation?" He flipped a business card to her. TYRONE WINCHESTER Director AMERICAN DATA MAGAGEMENT Complete with contact details, including his mobile number. "I can't make you trust me. You don't know me" he said, astutely. "But, you can trust my wallet" he added, and pulled said item out. A day's advance was slammed on the table. "Trust the green. Maybe you will trust me in time. I'm not lying..." He say back, frowning. "The thing is...it's not just my wife. Its my reputation. If it gets out I am blackmailed when I deal in data security, it's a big blow. I don't like getting punched. Not without punching back..."

GM "Oh, Professor Phineas was a strange one. Influenced by that woman, Henrietta Wells" he sighed, lamenting the history. "He was experimenting with electricity for the purposes of inter-dimensional travel..." he started. "Now then Dean..." stepped in a thin, short man with a rather splendid moustache and rather dull clothes "...the Ministry of Extraordinary Affairs has quite clear rules on this matter. And discussing them in open..." The Dean did sober a little, but he was still drunk, and his tongue still wagged. "...Nonsense!" he mumbled. "Professor Phineas Ether was driven mad but his experiments. Probably sent his mind to a different dimension! He is of hardly any use to anyone, the poor soul. Rather deranged to begin with, but now his mind has veritably snapped" he explained. "We have at least kept him out Bedlam. Confined to his own quarters, as I said" This seemed to pacify the thin man, although there were certainly beady eyes and beady ears on the whole business. "I am not sure it is worth your time seeing Professor Ether, but he is certainly the man who used to know all about this electricity fad" he conceded. "Professor Ether...I saw him last time I was here..." hissed Zip. "He was the one I told you about. I showed him the dimensional hopper before!"

GM "Very well" said Zip, gingerly unclipping the dimensional hopper from his belt and cautiously offering it up for the Dean to examine. And examine it, the Dean did. He peered at it with his monocle, and made clucking devices. "Why, Sir! What I remarkable piece of engineering!" he said to Zip. "Your small stature obviously hides an intellect of the finest calibre! Come fellow, take a look at this!" The surrounding professors came to look at the hopper much to Zip's irritation. "Yes...yes...look...well I never!" The Dean took off his glasses from his nose. "Why, I would scarsely believe such technology was possible outside the very particular walls of this institute. I do believe sir, that it runs on Electricity!" he said dramatically. There was much gasping and awe amongs the professors. "A novel idea, surely" said one. "But electricity has no real practical applications in modern society! Why, only Professor Ether was ever foolish enough to think it might be of use!" "Or mad enough!" chortled another, to much qluiche like laughter. The Dean gave a little nod to Zip. "Why yes, electricity! What a clever little trinket you have there, Sir! Might even get you an undergraduate position!" he added. He gave Delta a more friendly smile. "Why, poor Professor Ether. Went quite mad with his experiments, you know. Confined to his laboratory now, under medical supervision. Had to be sedated. Quite heavily, I regret to say...."

GM "This morning" said Winchester. "I got something through the letterbox" He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. Inside, some photographs and a typed letter. Curiously, no demand. But "FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW. MUST BE COMPLETED BY DEC 26th" The photographs were more revealing and of a carnal nature - quite explicit. Mr. Winchester was fornicating with a young woman. "They got me" he grunted. He did not have shame, but rather frustration and being caught like this. "Whoever they are. I deal with...information, you see. Electronic information. Quite what they want...I don't know. But they have got me" he sighed. "And I dont want my wife seeing those...." he said, pointing to the photographs. "WHatever you need to stop this, you got it. My guess...they want something sensitive I have. Blackmail the blackmailer, you might say..."

GM "Why there, Mr. Goose! Pleasure to see you? Port?" rumbled the Dean. His breath was ripe with port, and it was fairly clear that he was either a superb actor or at least moderately drunk. "Not for Lunch, dear fellow!" said Mr. Goose politely with a smile. "Mr...Delta, was it? Why, what a splendid hat you have!" said the Dean happily. "I am always at the servce of a man with a hat like that!" He took out his reading glasses. "Well then, lets see your contraptiontamation!" he bumbled, keen to get on with demonstrating his mastery of concepts. "I am the Dean of astract concepts, my good fellow. I doubt there is something I cannot give my expert eye to!" he said proudly. Zip pulled at Delta's illusionary coat tails. "This buffoon is president of the royal society of buffoonery!" he hissed quietly. "I'm NOT giving a dimensional hopper into his fat fingers. He will break it!"

GM The attendent blinked, then blinked again. "Do forgive me sir. Quite a remarkable act of prestidigitation, if I may so Sir. Quite remarkable indeed" he said, level headed and impressed at the same time. "Indeed, why, I dare say even the Fellows of the Institute would have a hard time beating that!" chuckled Mr. Goose. And on this, everyone was quite agreed. Why, a little light applause circled around the entrance hall. "Let us find out, then!" said Mr. Goose, beckoning them into the luncheon hall. What splendour! For there was sparkling crystal glass around the walls and, yes, in the ceiling too. Strange plants from distant lands grew in the four corners, and a marvelous long table with white sheets, silver knives and forks, and twinkling chandeliers greeted them. Roast beef was being served, and many men (mainly old, mainly rotund, mainly white haired, but all most certainly well dressed discussed this and that. The science of this reality was obviously different, for it seemed that Steam was a hundred times, or more, more powerful than in their home reality, whilst electricity was erratic, and nuclear energy essentially unheard of. Yet, even despite these variables, it was clear that these were learned men. "May I suggest the associate Dean of Abstract Concepts?" suggested Mr. Goose. "Personal friend of mine. I play Bridge with him at the Royal Scientifics Society" he suggested, giving a subtle nod towards a red nosed elderly gentleman of generous girth who was pontificating with his colleauges on whether truth was non false, of falseness was not true.

GM The man walked in, fast. He was trying to keep his cool, but he clenched and unclenched his fists in a most agitated manner. He was not cool. He wasn't agressive though, just...frustrated. He ignored the mess. He clearly had other things on his mind. "Cruz, I presume. I'm Tyrone Winchester" he said, introducing himself with a well eloctued American accent. "I got a problem, and everybody else is too drunk, too stupid, or too lazy to help me with my problem" he said, falling into the chair and pressing his hands together, hard. "And I got till Christmas day to sort it out. So if you can sort it out, Ill pay you. A lot" he said. It sounded like he wasn't best pleased with paying anybody anything, let alone a lot. It sounded like it wasn't his nature. But, on the other hand, he sounded like he was in a jam, and he needed to get out of a jam. Badly. "Someone's blackmailing me" he said. "I need to know why, I need to know how. And I need to have it stopped. And a bonus if you stop them hard..." he said, unambigiously clenching his fists.

OOC for this

GM Saturday 22nd Dec, late evening We wish you a merry S**tmas, we wish you a merry s**tmas, we wish you a merry sh*tmas, and a $£%!ing new year! Yes, it was that glorious time of year in Bedlam, when the drunks prowled the streets spreading violence and badwill to all men. And women. And dogs. Of course, some people tried to celebrate it, but cynicism knew no bounds in Bedlam, and Ms. Caroline Cruz could hear a bunch of louts singing outside. Drunk. She knew drunk, of course. She knew it very well indeed. But that was not her concern right now, for she heard some banging on the door. "CRUZ! CRUZ! ARE YOU IN THERE? ARE YOU IN THERE?" It was not an unfriendly voice, but not friendly either. It was a low, panicked and desperate voice. And it belonged to a man in an overcoat, gloves, and hat. Dark skinned, darked hair, moustache, thick rimmed glasses. Slightly rotund around the girth but one would not call him fat. He was of average build and not blessed with good looks, but one would say he was well dressed. Rich, even. And of course Rich people had money. Money to spend on investigators. Even at this time of the evening.

Lament "Grendel's mother! Then, O great King, we have it!" said Lament quite uncertain whether they had it at all, but quite certain that it was a good idea to appear certain. "Now, all we must do is locate this theiving thief who has mastered thievery!" he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Despite the stakes, he was rather enjoying this most novel of experiences! "Where, do you think, oh wise King whose widsom is mose wisery, do you think this scoundrel would be found? I promise to determine the truth of the matter, and rectify the insult! For I do not merely do this for the children, King! No! Even if you had not stolen - ah - in response to being stole from, then I would gladly help you, for to live without tears is grevious and ugly a wound!"

GM "Amber? I don't know" said the Wall. "Maybe in a gutter. Maybe in a bar. Maybe singing in a club. Could be cut in lots of pieces and buried in Mexico..." "If she knows dirt on Blowfish, then she is keeping a low profile. If she is sensible" commented Kidd. "Or, maybe Blowfish is paying her to stay low. Might make sense, and he always was soft on her..." "....but we better keep this quiet. If Blowfish does find out she talked, then she might as well be buried in Mexico. Some parts of her, anyway..." Both the Wall and Kidd grunted at this. Blowfish might have been cunning, he might have several stategies and tactics. But it was clear that fear, intimidation and sheer brutality was certainly on his menu.

GM "Ah! A scientist!" replied Mr. Goose knowingly. "Well, I suppose the poor little fellow, being so diminished in his physical nature, might well devote his energy to intellectual development" he pondered. "Veritably, better than the other way around!" mocked Zip. The walk was relatively short at their brisk pace, and soon they were at the Institute which was really rather splendid. Copper and brass pipes conveyed steam and parcels from one building to another in a feat of wondrous engineering. They went to the main building, where, it seemed, luncheon was being served. "May I help you?" said the attendant in the hall, dressed in black tie, slicked back hair, and an attitude that he was quite uncertain about whether he desired to help this riff raff at all. "Why, my good man, I am Mr. Arthur Goose, member of the Etonian Amateur Engineering Society" said Mr. Goose quite proudly. "I would like, if I may be so bold, to take advantage of my annual luncheon at the institute, and mayhap have words and discourse with some of the good Professors during our meal!" The attendant raised an eyebrow. "We do have a dress code, Sir..." he said, eyeing up Agent Lulu, the ASTRO scientist, Delta, and Zip....

I'm going to suggest a scene cut to next day unless you want to play out the conversation more. If that works perhaps a gather info roll? We can cut to the singer's haunt