Supercape

Starshot Starshot could feel the initiative slowly slipping. Surprise and pace were potent factors... but are lost, sooner or later.... Then, it would degenerate into a grinding brutal slug match. And then, they would struggle. No time for thinking. Action is needed! He jumped five six feet in the air, and pulled back his fist. There was a cinematic pause of slow motion, and then he came down, slamming his hard cybernetic fist straight down, like a hammer, on to the robots head...

Move action: Startle Robot Startle Robot: 1d20+10 25 Standard Action: Punch Robot! Punch Robot: 1d20+12 32 well that certainly hits. It may even be a crit although I suspect Robot immune to crits. Its DC 23 or 28 depending.

GM It was a short, hot, and moderately unpleasant taxi ride to the outskirts of Cairo, through bad traffic. The taxi driver, A fat sweaty middle aged man had a terrible habit of chatting about this, and chatting about that, having the radio pump out bad music at loud volumes, and taking no hints that he should shut up. Still, Ahmed gave him a tip. Just to be safe. The roads on the south of the city had become bad and infrastructure was patchy. Things were better by the cool waters of the Nile, however. Beggars and peddlars still flocked around the pair, brushed off by both the Scarab and the Doctor; speaking Arabic was quite the boon here - it made it clear they were not guilable tourists. The warehouse was in poor repair, by the nile, looking virtually abandoned. However, two young thugs in leather jackets and sunglasses lounged outside, smoking stong cigarrettes and listening to arabic music on a radio station. "My cousin's thugs! I asked him to keep an eye on the place. But this...this doesn't look right at all!" said the doctor.

GM The poor scientist gulped. "Ah..Ah...yes...sure....I'm sorry!" he babbled, as he felt his bluff land flat on the ground and get solidly stomped to death. And an ignoble, ugly death at that. He decided not to try any such nonsense again. "Certainly! In which case...." Cairo! Ancient city of history, culture, and religion. But my, it was hot hot hot! Doctor Ahmed Misi seemed quite at home after the quick plane ride across the world. "Ah, Cairo! How I adore thee!" he said, clearly relishing a bit of Shakespear. And, if one ignored the head, it was indeed a rather adorable city. "It...may not be easy" he conceded. "I have stored the crystal in the city. An old warehouse on the Nile, in the South of the City. There are interested parties, even here. Like my cousin, Farouk" he said. "He is a crook and a thief, and has been pressing me for the crystal ever since I opened my mouth to him. Curses for my wagging tongue!"

Mr Murk "It is very interesting" said Murk with a smile. "Although I am not an oceanographer" he conceded, slowly and warmly. "My interests and field of study are somewhat...more exotic" he conceded. Approaching an immortal, particularly a young one, was a delicate matter, he had found. And the fact that this woman - as he understood it - was blessed with powers far greater than mere immortality meant a particularly delicate touch was needed. "Take, for instance, certain jellyfish like the Turritopsis dohrnii, or hydra. Functionally, biologically immortal. It is these questions of immortality that interest me. What would it mean for a man - or a woman, beg your pardon - to be immortal?"

Mr Murk Mr. Murk approached carefully. He was, of course, quite blind, but between a walking stick and his uncanny senses, he could see Tsunami's soul blazing in his mind's eye. He wore dark glasses, of course, to help conceal his blindness. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am" he said, as he enjoyed some rather delicious daal. "Are you enjoying the conference?" he asked. As for himself, despite his vast experience, science was never something he had applied himself too other than in the most shallow of ways. He only hoped he would not be asked some complex question on thermal currents or nitrogen osmosis. Or a thousand other terms he had registered but not understood today.

GM The building did indeed burn, and burn furiously. The night sky was lit up, and smoke filled the air. Of course, this was an Iron works, and some contingencies had been made for even the worst of fires. It was brick and steel rather than wood, at least for the most part. Whilst windows and furniture burned, the best part of the masonry did not collapse. True, some of it did...and no doubt some Architect or builder somewhere had skimped slightly on the safety paremeters of the buidling. It looked, however, like the building would survive. Burnt, blackened, and horribly damaged, but upright. The smoke, however, was thick and unpleasant. It would be a devil of a job to see your own hand inside...and oxygen was no doubt in thin supply. The scuttling robots, however, appeared mindless. Neither the Lady nor Wadjet could see them inside, but they made no attempt to follow the heroic pair, or do anything other than what their limited programming allowed. Protect the grand giant robot, Barrelhouse... Wadjet was also correct. No alarms. But fire brought attention. And tonight, it was in the form of a group of five punks who had been loitering and spray painting graffiti and kicking over trash cans. One might well call them vandals, because that was indeed what they were. "Woah! Awesome!" said their leader, a short muscular girl of twenty years age with a horrible collection of facial tattoos that appeared to inform the viewer that her name was "Destructor". She seemed very impressed with the fire. "Did you do that?" she asked Wadjet, awe in her voice at the perceived act of arson.

August 14th Delhi...World Oceanographic Conference Delhi was hot and humid. And this was summer. Combined with the pollution and dust, it was almost unbearable - and quite a jolt to the conference members who were discussing environmental aspects to oceanography. It was sunset now, and the blazing sun had at least receded somewhat. The Hotel "Golden Sky" was hosting the conference and even now the air conditionoing systems were working full blast. Mr. Murk had left the Club Immortus and assumed the form of an elderly Indian scholar, white hair, white moustache, elegant suit. Even cloaked in the Murk, his appearance changed, he was sweating. He had missed most of the talks this day, including some drama when the remarkable Victor Finn collapsed halfway through his guest talk on shark ecology. The poor fellow was in hospital recovering from dehydration. Now, it was tea, a most wonderful assortment of curries and spiced foods, and light drinks. Mr Murk could not resist greed when it came to Indian food. His belly was full and his tongue quite happy. He rounded it off with some Cobra beer, although he had no intention of intoxication tonight. His real interest this evening was the young woman called Tsunami. Through process of divination and his vast network of contacts and information, he had come to know her as an immortal...

Give me an attack roll!

GM "I'm not threatnin' da girl" smiled the Gravedigger threateningly. "Ya know when I'm threatnin'" The bridge of earth looked impressive, however, and the Gravedigger was thusly impressed. "A bridge! Ver' 'Andy!" he nodded, picking up Bitey in his basket, who once again wailed in misery. "'After you!" he indicated with his machete. The lake was crystal clear and shimmered in blue moonlight. Hardly a ripple crossed its surface, and when it did, Fascimile thought he could see skeletal fish swimming in its depths. A chill swept through the air halfway across the lake, and the moonlight somehow became clearer. From the ether, the moonlight condensed and formed the image of a woman in the garn of the early thwentieth century. Not corpreal, not alive. Somewhat like a ghost, one might say. "Who crosses!" she whispered, barely audible.

Looks good!

That looks good - except for regen flaw? I am a little reticient about aproving a flaw: medium on a variable power (as you could hypothetically just switch around until you find a medium) and am mindful that earth/soil is practically everywhere in this thread!

GM "Bitey! Ha, I like it!" Evem the Gravedigger seemed to approve, silently, of the name. Pixie talked Latin some more with Bitey. The conversation was not warm, but it was less chilled than before. And at least Bitey was not wailing in torment as previously. The rotting head still looked both disgusting and insane, however. Pixie finished up talking to Bitey and relayed the conversation, in Romanian, to Fascimile. "He says he is Octavio Rumus, sage and scholar. Or something like that. Sounded a bit like sorcerer if you ask me. Said he had made...errr....spells or wards or something so he would not...err...die when he died. Sorry, Latin isn't really cut out for these concepts" she blustered. "Or maybe I just don't translate so well. Anyway, it seems this violin player, Mr. Ludwig Necromme, reanimated him and tricked him into revealing his secrets" she explained. "He isn't exactly happy with this Ludwig, I can tell you that much..." "Enough talking! You speak English now, ya hear! No with the secrets!" demanded the Gravedigger, wagging his finger and gripping his Machete. "What did em skull say? And how we getting across de lake? I 'ope you swim good!" he cackled.

In which case, you note nothing!

Could you throw me another DC 15 Fort Save? If you make it, a DC 10 WIS check.

GM The Gravedigger gave a broad toothy grin. "An we shall see if that be so" he answered, voice rumbling and deep. And so, we see... More trees and stones past. Many more. If felt like time here was stretched, hypnotic, or maybe didn't exist at all. It was not an entirely unpleasant state, but neither could it be called pleasant. Every now and again, a skeletal hand popped from the earth, or a rotting corpsed lurched out of the moonlight. They were easy enough tpo run away from, punch, or...in the case of the Gravedigger, chop head off. "I'm tired. I'm, bored. And that nasty old skull says we are only halfway there..." moaned Pixie. It was hard to say how long they had been trudging under the moonlight - and the moon had not shifted, although it had surely been hours. They were by a mirror still lake now, and apparently they had to cross. Pixie, however, said she needed to wait as her feet hurt. "More 'n ya feet be hurtin by the time we finished" muttered the Gravedigger. It was not a threat, but it was grim. "Oh you are soooo grumpy" muttered Pixie back. In Romanian, just to be sure... "How are you doing, Captain Copy?" asked Pixie, much more cheerfully, to Fascimile.

GM "I knew it! I'm gonna kill im!" shouted the Gravedigger. He raised his machete before the ramifications of the situation started seeping into his brain. The fact that he had changed to calling the skull "Him" rather that "It" was noteworthy. "If im know where witch-man is, then im better say so...but I be carryin' im...." he insisited, picking up the basket with his left hand. "Now...you get im to say where we goin'...." Pixie gulped and looked at Fascimile, again speaking in Romanian. "What do you think? I mean...its our best bet? Right? This Witch-man, or violinist, or whatever, sounds like he is behind all of this...."

I'm going to be a very slight dick and say as its a natural one and only just meets the DC 10, its a half-success only! (or half fail, depending on your outlook!). But mainly because its a little more dramatic this way!

GM The Gravedigger slowly pulled out his rusted machete, his white eyes fixed on Fascimile whilst he did so. "Ah can give you moment. Ah can give you plenty of time. But Ah cannot wait forever" he said, slowly and clearly. Pixie shuddered, and whispered to him, this time in Romanian, which she knew he spoke. And Pixie spoke everything. "He scares me. That grin. Those eyes. Like nothing will stop him. His mind is on one thing...Vengeance!" she said, worried. "Although I suppose its not our blood he wants to spill...." She spoke some more to the skull in Latin, and raised her eyes in alarm, before turning to Fascimile once more. "...its...ah...complicated. This skull is Roman. I mean, he is from Roman times. A sorcerer or something like that. He said he taught the witch-man...well, I presume it is the witch-man. He said he taught the ways of necromancy to some musician. A violinist. And now the violinist is raising the dead...." she shuddered. "Except I don't know what to believe. This skull...it belonged to a black hearted man. A sorcerer. And it seems his student got the better of him. And...I don't know. Who is lying? What do we do?" she said, wringing her hands. "Oh darn it. The puzzle box is meant to be awesome! Not this!" "What she sayin? What did it say?" demanded the Gravedigger of Fascimile, pointing his Machete at Pixie (albeit more as a tool to point with than a weapon) and the Skull respectively (admittedly, when used to point at the skull, it was in a threatening way...)

Rene "I know how seductive you can be, Ares..." said Rene, giving the god a lusty look. He did, of course, not for one moment harbour any erotic or romantic feelings towards the arrogant God, but he wondered if Ares being subjected to such a look and insinuation from a lecherous old man might disorientate him. He let the moment sink in just long enough. Which was an uncomfortable second. Maybe two. "If the world burns, so do those who worship you. I am sure you could bear such a sting, but a sting it would be most assuredly. I would say it would be so for all Gods. You may wish to consider possibilities..." he said, leaving the thought dangling. Damned if we give them a noose around the neck of any man. The world would be better of burning! No, let us see if we can seduce them. If they want to help, this ceases to be a barter, and becomes a plan.

GM It was true that, in principle, the Glass Girl was faster. But the Glass Girl was also manhandling Treestock. Bruised and battered, she couldnt keep kicking him along like a football. Instead, she had to pick him up in her glass hands. She was stronger than she looked, but did not appear to have inhuman strength. She picked him up with effort, and slung him over her shoulder. Now encumbered, she was no faster than Replica. And possibly slightly slower. Replica dashed out of the escape tunnel onto a street of Freedom City. It was dark, a side road with only shadows and dim distant neon lighting. Not that darkness was any obstancle to her. Or, it seemed, to the Glass Girl. She was running, three of four dozen feet away, onto a main road...

Moving out of combat mode into chase mode!

With +20 Knowledge (Technology) and Skill Mastery, the Scarab realises that he is trying to scam you with his techno-speak. It is true to say that it probably did require some investment on his part, but he is still scamming you by talking techno-gibberish.

GM "Yiah...how much precisely are we talking about?" gabbled the man, his instinct for barter temporarily surpressing his fear. "I mean...it has cost me a lot to develop the compensatory technology. And hyperdimensional shielding isn't easy you know..." he said, complaining about his sunk cost. "And I have a wife..two wives, actually, and five children to support" he added. "I mean, what is suitable compensation?" he asked.

GM "It a skull!" replied the Gravedigger as a shocked Pixie turned away. "It not alive, not no more. I cant understand Latin, never speakin' it. And out of all de dead I killed 'ere, dis be de only one ever spoke anythin'!" he protested, giving the skull a poke with his machete through the wood. The skull screamed again, and the Gravedigger chuckled. "It know somethin' I can feel it! And it will tell! Ask it where de Witch-man is!" he demanded of Pixie. "Or it be sufferin' me vengance!" he threatened. Pixie, rather ashen faced, looked at Faximile for direction...