Supercape

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...

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...