Supercape

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...

GM "Hmmm" whispered the Gravedigger, stroking his stubble. "Dat be making no sense. Which is why I believe ya! A liar be making some story dat making sense!" he chuckled. "And anyways, this place be making no sense at all. I be chasing the witchman all year, then we ended up...here. An' I dont know how long we be here. An' I don't know where here be..." "But You be lucky to have bed of silk!" he laughed now, and even if it was a hearty jocular laugh, there was a trace of envy in it. "If you speak Latin, I 'ave a job for ya!" he smiled at Pixie, with a few missing teeth and at least one tooth of gold. Well, if he was called the Gravedigger maybe he could get gold from less than admirable sources... And so... "'Ere! See it with ya eyes!" The Gravedigger had taken them a short distance through trees and graves, to a hanging basket wover from wood. Inside, a rotting decapitated head. The skull started moaning in Latin, almost screaming. "Oh dear!" said Pixie. "I think....I think the Gravedigger has been...torturing him!" she gulped to Fascimile. "Im? Im?" retorted the Gravedigger, who heard that plenty well. "It not an IM! It an IT! And it know about the witchman!"

Given Comrade Frost has been to Hel and back (the Norse version), and given just how good Morgens supersenses are (Analytical, Acute, Accurate Detect Divine and Magic!), this is enough for her to automatically distrust him for now. This is, in essence, a complication based on Comrade Frosts background and hence Comrade Frost - 2 HP. (Unless anyone feels otherwise!)

GM "Good golly! I wouldn't miss this for the world!" refused the Duke, not keen in the slightest in being dragged away by Dreadnought. Dr. Sin did not shut him up this time, either. Morgen considered the words carefully. "Death, it seems to me, is as natural as the turn of seasons. But in my age the seasons did seem to turn to quickly, and many lives were too short by even our measure" she explained, mulling over the barrage of new concepts, offers, and seductions. "Why then, if you have immortality to offer, do you not share it with all?" she asked the company (but especially Voin, who appeared to dangle it). "Is it cruelty? is it vanity? Or do you take from some to feed others?" she asked, suspicious now. "We do it to survive" answered Dr. Sin, quick and insistent. "The most primal and natural emotion we have" he added. "Is this wrong?" "No, it is not. But it may be destructive all the same" answered back Morgen, not one to be intimidated. She turned to Comrade Frost. "The world may well be better than it was. I would hope so, given the time it has had. But...you have the stain of something on your very flesh. The stain of death, of the lands beyond, even if you are alive!" she declared. Comrade Frost could feel that scarred enucleated eye socket examining him. She had some kind of eldritch sight (as Dreadnought well knew; she had torn her own eyeball out and fed the flesh to eldritch flames to gain it), that was clear. "I trust you not!"

Perhaps not fighting white yet (and it will not be a regular dust off) but it is probably imminent so proactive initiative rolls would be sensible ?

GM "Squeeze 'im? Ya, I'll squeeze 'im...till his heart be still in me hands..." clarified the Gravedigger grimly, clenching a fist to make it quite clear that murder was on his mind. A thought struck him out of his morbid determinations. "Say, do you speak Latin?" he asked. "I do!" piped up Pixie, appearing in a flash of nothing right by them. "I speak everything!" The Gravedigger, despite his iron will, could not surpress a flicker of surprise. His machete came up as a reflex, but he did not swing. "Spirit! What are you?" he demanded. "Oh I'm not a spirit. Im Penny. Penny Coin. Yeah, my parents had a sense of humour" she complained. "They also call me the Puzzle Pixie!" "How come you be here?" he asked Pixie, before considering that this question might also be addressed to Facsimile. "How come both of you be here?"

GM "I lived all over, son. Shootin, lootin, and worse" he said. "An outlaw can't stay still for long. As for my boyhood, well that was sour. Ah..Ah Ain't going to be talkin' about that" he scowled. "And i'll shoot you dead if you ask" he added. "Don't think just cos' we jibber-jabberin' we are friends. Ah ain't got no friends, and freinds ah did have ended up dead one way or another" "Soon as you try to stop me, I'll shoot ya. I don't mind the talkin', least not for a little bit, but don't think I ain't a killer. Ah am. I gotta kill murderers, that's ma curse, and not one I'm objectin' too. As for everybody else, well...nothing stoppin' me from shootin' em dead neither" he explained grimly. "As for why I came here. I guess its some Red Injun' Shaman or witch-doctor or somethin', same as them that gave me this curse" he muttered.

GM "Joseph, I know" replied Morgen, her burnt eye socket studying Comrade Frost carefully. No eye was within it, just scar tissue, but it still seemed to be looking straight at him. Through him, maybe. "He saved my tribe from ice countless seasons ago" "I don't know you or Klara, but if the Giant...Joseph...be your friend, then you aren't an enemy of mine" she added, inviting said Giant...said Joseph to vouch. "As for these men, they best speak for themselves. Is it true?" she said, angrily, at the Duke and Dr Sin. "Why it is a fasci---" started the Duke, looking sheepish and compensating by his usual bluster and vagueness. "Silence! I will not tell you again" snapped Dr. Sin, before turning on the charm to Morgen. "Your cocoon, lady. Your cocoon. Not your blood" he said, almost relishing the word blood. "It preserved you from the years. We harmed you not at all. We wished to understand your coccoon, and...yes...wished to harness it. If you let us, you can share in our wisdom, and use it for yourself!" He turned back to Frost with crafty eyes. "The lady is not immortal, you see. Merely able to harness the ice and fire of aeons past to go into a suspended animation. Murk may argue that suspended animation is immortality, but once free, she most assuredly is not!" He offered Morgen his hand. "And yet, lady, with what we have learned, immortality can be yours!" he said, offering his grand prize with triumphant eyes.

GM "I'll sleep when i be dead" muttered the Gravedigger. "But not then either, maybe" he added, as the horror of the situation seeped in. "I be making my work the killin' of the dead. Them not be natural" he explained, angrily. "As for ya business with the witch-man, ya best be tellin' me all" he added, insistent now. "I bin huntin' 'im for...for long time. And I ain't bin getting any more dan close. If ya knows him, then get them tongue waggin' and tell me whats ya know!" he demanded.

GM It was not entirely clear if Gravedigger understood the more complex vocabulary spoited by Facsimile. He gave a sniff. "Zombies, ya. Corpses. The undead, brought back to dis world. Be foul things..." he mumbled, swinging his machete. "And plenty of dem. I...I cannot be remembering how long I have been..." He shook his head, irritated with himself. "Not my bed. I ain't be havin' time for sleepin', not round 'ere. I canna say where dat bed come from, but it be mighty strange..." he considered, stroking his beard. "Maybe it be a pleasure to meet ya, maybe it not be. But even if ya made of stone, ya don't seem to be one of de undead. That mean's I ain't about to slice ya up!" he laughed. It was not exactly a cruel laugh, but neither was it without a hard edge. "I be after vengeance, ya see. I got a man to kill. A man dat be summonin' the dead...."

Not with his skills!

GM As expected, the two colliding corpses exploded in a fetid shower of bones, rotting flesh, and most unpleasant noxious gas. "Hey, that guys...finger....nearly hit me!" complained Pixie. "At least....I think its a finger. Its all shrivelled up and...no...I don't think I want to take too close a look...." she whispered, horrified. There seemed to be no more grumbling from the ground, but a voice did call out. It has a low, rumbling quality, and had a thick Jamaican accent. "So, de Livin' be here. Bin some long year since I seen Livin'..." Behind one of the taller gravestones, some distance away, the speaker appeared, bathed in moondlight. He was not exactly filthy, but he was ragged...long dreadlocks, torn clothes, and barefoot. In his hand he had a large machete that looked both rusty and robust. "Dey call me Gravedigger" he said, by way of introduction. "What 'em call you?" "

For now...nothing!

GM The palm went straight through the rib cage, to the sound of exploding and cracking bones. The corpse let out a hiss of escaping gas, which smelt somewhat of methane. It then sank like a deflated balloon, crumbling around Facsimile. "Yay!" yelled the invisible Pixie. The kick took the skull of the second, and the might force of Fascimile sent the head sailing into the sky, so fast one might imagine it hit the giant moon (possibly, given the strange setting, it did!) The other two corpses, quite mindless, continued marching towards Fascimile, rotting arms out-stretched!

Fort Save DC 15!

All fine!

GM The uglies, as he put it, paid little or no heed. Four of them started crawling out of the soft earth. Rotting corpses, full of maggots and disease. Hardly study, but ghastly to the nose and too the eye. "Pew! These guys stink!" said Pixie, helpfully, before once again turning invisible. "You smash em! Just make sure they don't explode on me!" she commanded. The four corpses were halfway out of the earth now, pawing and burrowing. At least one of them snapped a fingerbone as they hauled their rotting flesh out towards the moonlight...

GM "That's the last thing I remember too" said Pixie, holding her chin and contemplating the most bamboozling of predicaments they were in. "This place is creepy, isn't it? Like, it's not really earth. Oh dear, I hope we aren't in the Puzzle Box..." she said, excited and anxious at the same time. "It was the bone, right? The enchanted bone from that mean witch? That was the key. And now we are in a graveyard. That can't be coincidence..." As if on cue, there was a movement of earth between them. Something rumbling in the greavedirt. Another...then another.... Something was rising from the grave's!

GM Something in the back of his head told him that something was a little off. Like the substances here had a slightly different flavour to his brain than normal. But nagging oddness aside, his powers seeme to work quite well enough. The gravestone was indeed stone, and nothing more or less. His flesh and bones duly turned to stone - not, it should be clarified, in the manner of petrification, but as per his normal powers. Fluid, functional stone. A few dead leaves fell from the trees in the graveyard, and a light breeze wafted. "Hmmm...yeah...rrrrmmm....you can stuff your pipes up your....whaa!" woke Pixie from her slumber, starting straight up. "What happened? Where are we?" she complained, patting herself down. "Where's the puzzle box???"

GM "What! Let me go! You can handcuff me!" protested Treestock, although all the evidence was quite to the contrary. Replica had indeed, with great skill, subdued him and applied the said handcuffs. He directed instead his attentions at the Glass Girl. "Help me!" "Of course my love!" sang Glass Girl, her voice faint but almost melodic. She was fast, the glass woman - fast and agile. She slid to one side and then, in a quick movement, ran past Replica. She did not quite pick Treestock up, but rather scooped and shoved him towards the secret getaway tunnel. It was a bumpy ride for the old singer, who yelped and screamed as he was being manhandled (and at quite a pace...) "My gun!" he protested as his shoulder crunched painfully into the side of the tunnel. But Glass Note did not understand, or did not care. His precious golden pistol lay on the floor of the basement, by Replica's feet.

Cool potatoes! Round 2 24 - Glass Girl - Unharmed 23 - Replica - 2 HP - Fatigued 10 - Gold Note - Handcuffed, Bruised. So the Glass Girl will, as rush Gold Note, and he will not resist - hence, both moved to and down the escape route! She has speed 1, so will move a full 60' with them both. As its a bit of a rough ride for Gold Note, Ill give him a bruise.

OOC for this

GM It had been quite an adventure and had ended with Penny Coin (also known as the Puzzle Pixie) finding a peice for her puzzle box. This peice being an enchanted bone. When inserted into the mysterious box of infinite puzzles... Well, lots of strange stuff with dimensions and magic and this and that happened. In a blaze of light. And then... Well, Facsimile woke up in a lovely silk bed with a start. His dreams had been most peculiar and best left for the man himself to describe. But peculiar they had been. As lovely as the silk bed was, the most peculiar thing is that he woke up in a graveyard. The air was cool and dry, and the smell of rain and earth lingered faintly. Up above was a moon. A very big moon, twice the size of anything he had ever seen. To his left, he heard loud snoring. Penny Coin was asleep, snoring loudly, clutching her pillow and mumbling about the Elf King and whistling pipes.

If you would!