Supercape

GM "There are all manner of dead risen" said Ludwig, calmly. He turned his back and started wandering the empty fallen rocks, almost aimlessly. "Ghosts spectral, and the flesh of the fallen. And yet, I cannot quite reach my beloved...." he said, mournfully. "I cannot stop, you see. I must have her back, so terribly taken from the world. I cannot rest until she is in my arms once more. Ah! her taste!" he sighed. "The ghost you saw...was it her? Beautiful and pale, dancing on still waters?"

GM The music stopped abruptly, and left in its wake a hauntingly beautiful silence that echoes around the masonry. Despite the entropic ruin of the place, the acoustics were still splendid. The white mask like face turned to FAscimile, apparently eyeless but clearly seeing all the same. "It is I" he said, in what must have been an Austrian or Germanic accent. "Strange to see the living. Even if you are not quite flesh, not quite blood, and not quite bone" he explained, in reference to Fascimile's stony state. "You witch-man! You bring de dead back to dance to yer tune!" grunted the Gravedigger, and yet for all his ferocity he was still. "Only one, I seek. My love, lost to cruel men and cruel kings" sighed Ludwig silently. "And what do you come to this place for? Why do you seek me?"

GM The Doctor looked awkward. "Expected? No...well, no exactly expected...." he mumbled. "I mean, I did discuss theoretical possibilities of using corrupted Daka crystals to harness unstable metadynamic energy" he explained. "Purely theoretically of course. Well, purely theoretically with a bit of highly detailed explanation on how to do it. Including prototypes" he conceded. "Look, it all seemed like a good idea at the time!" he blurted. "I mean, look at those guns! Magnificent! Look at that polychromatic glow! They must be very powerful. Thank goodness it is so unstable and those weapons wont last. Phew! No need to worry about them falling into the wrong hands, they are sure to blow up in a massive explosion sooner or later!" he said. "Probably sooner..." he added.

GM Bedlam Police Dept... "Oh sweet Jesus and his band of merry men" groaned Slate, mangling his theological and historical figures. He poured himself some more cold coffee and popped some paracetamol. "I gotta a helluva hangover, lady. And I tell ya, I ain't getting no damn younger. I gotta get up three times in the night. Doc says I got a prostate the size of a plum, and as for my back passage, let me tell me ya...." He clammed his mouth shut at the thought and swigged down his stone cold coffee. He was irritable. Well, more irratable than normal. Short on sleep, hungover, and drowning in the crimes of Bedlam City. Which included suspected arson, apparently. "What can I do for you, anyhow? You got a name for me or something?" he said, half hopeful.

GM "Impressive" said Doctor Norris North, studying Replica carefully. "As for the glass...woman. Or thing. I am not sure I can. I am not sure anybody can" he said, studying it carefully. "It is, at least to some degree dangerous. And also potentially very useful. Is it sentient? Does it die? Many many unanswered questions..." He gave Doctor Tweed a stern look. "And not, I think, questions that are entirely safe if left completely in the hands of ASTRO labs and our friend here..." he said. "Still, we shall do what we can, I am sure" he conceded. "I am no expert, but it may be that just as the form of the glass is mercurial, so is the cognitive architecture. Not that artificial intelligence is my area of expertise" he added, hastily. "However, I do have others to call in on in that department. And we always have ASTRO labs. Where, I suggest, we head now before this becomes a media storm" he suggested to both Replica and Doctor Tweed. "Unless you object?"

GM Violence was surely in the air, and yet it might wait a moment for the music. Ludwig was playing in the centre of the state and playing divinely quite lost in his art. He was of average build with a mop of long unkempt red hair and was Dresden in fine 18th century style. And yet his clothes hung in a scruffy manner. His face was faceless. As if he was wearing a white porcelain mask.

GM "Crash and slash" muttered the Gravedigger grimly. Whilst still hurt, and hurt badly, he had at least had time to catch his breath. "Dont be such a meanie" muttered Pixie right back. "Its beautiful. The music, I mean!" "Much as hate 'im, he has talent" conceded the Gravedigger. "I don't know what we should do" explained Pixie. "Nothing about this seems right. But doing nothing definately feels wrong" she concluded, with perhaps accidental wisdom. "I got me a plan. We go in and cut off his head!" determined the Gravedigger. "Seems right!" With that, he started to get up from the ground...

GM Replica was half-right. In a matter of minutes, in a sprinkling of seconds, in a mound of moments, a car pulled up. It was, she noted, a rather beat up, second hand, completely unremarkable car. Either it was possessed by someone a little econonical with his or her economy, or it was driven by someone who wanted to draw absolutely no attention whatsoever. Out stepped a white-faced Archibald Tweed. "Oh my" he is comment, and several times he so commented. But the driver was another man. An unasmmunig middle aged man with spectacles and moustache, an inquisitive twinkle in his eyes, dressed in a rather bland jacket and turtleneck. Aside from his slightly seventies feel, he was, like his car, a man who looked quite ordinary. With Archibald looking awkward, the other man stepped in. "Allow me to introduce myself. Norris North. Doctor Norris North. I'm helping my freind Doctor Tweed out..." he said, firmly, whilst Doctor Tweed looked even more shameful. "Quite a little mess here..." he said, examining Treestock. The ambulance was surely only a minute or two away, but it seemed Doctor North was a medical doctor, and he performed some smooth first aid before looking at Replica. "Care to fill me in?" he asked.

We shall see what mysteries marinate in a medley of marvels.

GM And so... As it turned out, it was not much further at all. A tramp through dust and mud, grey moonlight, and dotted gravestones. Avoiding the shuffling zombie and skeletons is spasm - or, if the mood so took them, crushing skull under boot and parting rotting head from rotting body with swift swipe of machete. And then, in a time that felt both short and indeterminate (my, how things felt strange in this strange place) they came up to a colloseum. Of sorts. For now it was crumbling rock, half collapsed, with patches of virbrant green moss and vaguely poisonous-looking creeper vines. And from its unseen centre, obscured by fallen masonry in repose, came beautiful violin music...

Starshot Pressing the advantage, Starshot advanced forward. In the back of his head, he was already wonderinghow to get inside the actual compound. Well, getting in was not going to be a problem with time. The problem was getting into the compound in time. Before advantage was lost. He pushed this from his mind, lest it distract him. Laser beams and blaster bolts were flying around, but he pushed these thoughts away to. Was this really any different from hunting a beast of muscle and bone? Just because it was electronics and steel, the same spike of adrenaline...the same thrill....was fuelling him. "You're terminated!" he yelled at the Robot (an unwitting reference. He hadn't seen any earth films since 1941) and ran straight into the Robot, launching a flying kick with all his strength...

In which case, as no immediate entrance to the Compound right now, lets see if we can finish off that robot! Startle Robot2: 1d20+10 27 for Move Action Startle Then an all out power attack, fully shifted. AOPA on Robot: 1d20+12 14 Im going to have to reroll that with an HP AOPA reroll: 1d10+22 26 now I hope that hits! If it does, DC 28 Toughness Save. EDIT: If a move action is need to reach the robot, forgoing the startle (should still hit!)

GM With all the smashing and flying and so on, Bitey's cage has smashed. Not that Bitey could do anything about it other than complain, in Latin. Propelling oneself along the ground by means of your jaw only was a virtually impossible task, even if you were just a rotting head without any matching body. "He ain't happy. But at least he isnt getting poked around...by which I mean tortured...by our friend" muttered Pixie. She was hoppiong slightly from left to right, uncomfortable when she recalled how the Gravedigger had treated the skull. And doubly uncomfortable since the Gravedigger was also smashed about himself now. Was the pain of a living body the same as that of a dead one? "Witch Man he ain't made of steel, like you and me are" muttered the Gravedigger to Fascimile. "He no warrior. He be a sorcerer, and me sure 'im bleed like any man. And if not, me got this..." he explained, indicating his machete. "Me enchanted it, y'see. It make anything bleed!"

GM "Safe, sure...." And but a moment or two later... "Safe! Safe! I want safe!" whimpered the Doctor as he was hoisted up to the roof of the warehouse. "This is most assuredly NOT safe! I might fall! I have sensitive person disorder!" he complained. "What if I get shot AND fall! or fall...and am SHOT!?" he asked, blabbering away, his tongue loosened by adrenaline. "There he is! Mohammed Misi! My first cousin, fathers side, by all the swine in Egypt!" spat the doctor. Mohammed was deep in discussion with a few other thugs, all of whom looked concerned. One thing of particular note is that they carried rather scruffy looking guns. Not your regular ballistic variety, oh no. Instead, guns that looked like they had been dragged out of a 1960s Sci Fi film...

Is the door still open?

GM "Uuuuhh....I feel like I bin hit by a train" groaned the Gravedigger. "mmmhh....but I'm tougher than I look, yeah? Me huntin zombies and ghouls, I put enchantment on me body. Make me strong..." he said, proudly. But even still, he needed some help getting up. "I'm hurt. Bad. But I make it, yeah! We can still go...." he said, detemined. He gripped his machete even tighter. "But me not eat suchi again, haha. Dat de truth!" he said, his voice now pale despite his iron will. "Oh dear. You poor man" said Pixie, sadly, appearing by his side in the blink of an idea. "Never mind dat, woman. We got a job to do. And when me find the witch man, me do more to 'im dan break a few ribs..." he grinned, fueled by vengeance.

GM And so... It would be nice to say that the next morning the sun rose up strong and bright, and Bedlam was a happy place, full of the joyful aroma of coffee and fresh danish pastries. Alas, the truth of the matter was that the sun rose through grey dirty clouds, the heat was oppressive and their was a languid humidity in the air that made everyone tired and sleep deprived. The only aroma's were of dirt and sweat and unpleasant polution. Still, the morning papers were alive with STOP PRESS: FIRE AT THE IRON WORKS! ARSON OR DELIBERATE FIRE SETTING? YOU DECIDE!

GM "ASTRO? Damn nerds" muttered the Police officer, although he bit his lip soon enough. "I mean, ASTRO, Damn fine job!" A quick word on the radio confirmed Replica's story. And right now, the Glass Girl had all but disintegrated, and Treestock was unconscious, so nobody could profer a different type of truth. "Ambulance is on its way ma'am. Looks like your man here got skewered bad" said the police officer who, whilst trained in basic first aid, felt that this was well beyond "basic" and well beyond "first aid", and rightly so. "Can't exactly read him his rights, but well make sure he answers some questions when he wakes up..." He consulted on the radio again. "Looks like we have some specialist coming in with regards to .... that..." he added, pointing at the shattered glass on the road.

A good result. We are drawing towards the close (not there yet), so if you have any thoughts on ending or things to add in, post your ideas here!

Fine by me; although doesnt that put him over PL 10?

GM The Squid, mindless (presumably it still had brain tissue, but it was dead brain tissue) started swirling and thrusting its tentacles, creating quite the disturbance on the otherwise placid lake. Spying the Gravedigger in the water, it started swimming towards the sinking man. However, in this endeavour it was outdone; for Fascimile churned through the water and picked up the Gravedigger. Together, they landed on the side of the lake as the defeated Squid once more sank to the depths of the lake. "What...the...hell...." groaned the Gravdigger, wheezing. It was fairly clear he had at least cracked a few ribs. Somehow, whilst dazed and coughing up the lakes water, he still gripped - with an iron strength - his rusty machete. He even jerked his arm, fighting imaginary zombies with it...

Ok thats enough to earn an HP for the rescue and finish combat (as you all safe and sound!) Fax - Fatigued - 3 HP

GM Gravedigger, holding the cage with Bitey in, was not going to argue. He might have got wet, but getting away from the monster that faced them seemed a more important priority. And in this, he was right. For a giant tentacle swung through the air and clocked him full on. It was extraordinary he was not pulverised. Fascimile could swear her heard some ribs crack, and then the Gravedigger was flying through the air, landing fifty feet away with a loud "splosh" in the still lake. He had all the air knocked out of him, and his limbs were stunned. This meant he started to sink. On the positive side, Fascimile still had Bitey and the cage bobbing up and down in the air currents...

So, Frustrated at Fax escaping, the Squid will swipe at the Gravedigger... Swipes at Gravedigger: 1d20+7 24 hitting him. DC 30 Toughness Save. Tough save vs Squid: 1d20+8 15 Ouch! He is staggered, bruised, dazed, and knocked back: Technically this would be an enormous distance, but lets say fifty feet, landing and sinking into the lake!

That works fine, but as it takes a move action to mimic the air, that leaves one action (which I geuss will be "grabbing" Gravedigger with move action, with the intention of throwing him next time?) Unless you surge etc.