Supercape

Synth "I had to make it right" countered Synth. "You can't be agents of AEGIS, or the government. You aren't are you?" he insisted, with growing unease. "Nobody would shoot on the guards. I can't say I like being locked up in Blackstone, but I know they do a tough job. A dangerous job. And, by and large, they do it well..." Officer "Adolf" Gibbons aside... "So the ruse is up! Who are you?"

Initiative: 1d20+16 18

GM "I ah errr...yes..." blubbered the delivery boy, producing said document to sign. "I...errr...excuse me miss, but we at the office are dying to know. Who are you?" he blabbered. "I mean, this envelope has been lying in storage since...well, I don't know when. I mean, years. Longer. With explicit instructions to give it to you, on this day, at this time, at this location" said the boy, scratching his head. "Its been like an office mascot, or something, that has. We don't have records far enough back for it. Just the instructions. We kind of had a bet that it was all a big hoax. I mean. Are you that person?" he asked, almost suspicious.

GM Mr Erasmus Murke entered the room, with the tap of a cane. He looked like a thoroughly unremarkable man, of middle age, without unduly handsome or ugly features. He wore a neatly trimmed beard, a moderately expensive suit, and, despite being indoors, a bowler hat. His only defining features were blind milky white eyes, and the tapping of a cane. "I am pleased to meet you, Sir" he said, with a slight smile. Mr Murke knew his way around the carefully positioned furniture of the main office, and sat down in a comfortable leather chair as tea was served to all. Once the servant had left, Mr. Murke leaned forward to study Dreadnought; a curious thing, as the man was clearly blind but seemed to scrutinise the giant all the same. "Mr. Walker...is it?" he asked. Mr Fiddle gave a smile. "Perhaps it is his name, Mr. Murke. I suggest we proceed on that basis for know" he said, turning his attention back to Dreadnought. "I shall be honest with you, Mr. Walker. Mr. Murke here may be blind, but has an eldritch way about him. He is an oracle of sorts, able to see the future, albeit in an unreliable manner. He foresaw your arrival, and arranged for the letter to be delivered at precisely the right moment and location" he said, with a glimmer of self satisfaction. Mr. Murke did not change his neutral expression, but remained studious, listening carefully. "I would still hear your honest account of the matter, however. From whence you fell is a mystery to both of us" asked Mr. Fiddler, inviting Dreadnought to answer.

OOC for this

GM Dec 5th, 5.48 AM, Freedom City Junior Ballet "Special delivery, special delivery!" A young man, not yet in his twenties, just off his bicycle, came into the practice hall waving an envelope. It was a chilly day, but he was sweating. Part of it, surely, from a morning of bicycling, but perhaps coming into a hall full of lithe women stretching might also excite his inexperienced hormones. He tried not to look too much, and read out the address on the envelope. "Miss Cor-reen Conrad? Miss Correen Correen Con-rad?" he blurted, looking around without trying to let his eyes linger on any one form in particular. A few dancers gave a little laugh at his glowing cheeks. The envelope in question looked rather old, and had elegant inked handwriting on. It felt, and indeed was, rather antique.

GM Snowbird had fight in her head, but not in her body, and was smart enough to know it. "Hell no, I ain't going to Blackstone!" she answered. "I want to cut a deal. In writing. Immunity to prosecution, blah blah blah" she said, yapping with her hand. "The only person I won'r rat on is Flare. Other than that, well, I'd prefer to lose my reputation than my liberty" she explained, thoughtfully. "All I did was sell a few high tech weapons. Look, I can hook you up yourself, if you want. I got Hypervolt tasers, Silent explosives, Thermal lances, or Clown carbines. Whatever you want. You are a superhero, right? Don't you want a cutting edge utility belt? Plus, i can slip you all the tip offs you want about gun running in the future. Deal?"

Rev For herself, Rev took in some greasy, oily food. In rather liberal amounts. Eggs and bacon. Somehow, her limbs seemed to pull the fat out of her blood stream and use it for their own power needs. Such was the mystery of biomechanical interface techno-cybenetic hardware. Yeah, that made her a B.I.T.C.H. She turned her attention to Fax, remembering his comment about a bike. Perhaps there would be room for a little speed here...her heart gave a pump of joy at the prospect. "You gotta tell me about your bike" she said, putting on her best eager winning smile. "I love to drive. I'm not much of a student, but I know my way around an engine like nobody else!" she boasted. It wasn't quite true of course, but she did know a lot.

GM And so, later, at 17 Goodge Street For such a part of London, with high estate prizes, the offices of Fiddler Law were indeed spacious. A testament to the skill, energy and finesse of Mr. Ebeneezer Fiddler. The door was a good eight feet high, and the ceilings tall. There was, admittedly, no where to sit, however. There was a certain musky dusty quality to the air inside, and the windows were shuttered. It was dim and old, although in truth it suited the offices, full of tomes and books on law and various related disciplines. One could spy books on medicine, philosophy, theology and history within the endless shelves. "Tea?" offered Mr. Fiddler, indicating to his gobsmacked young assistant that he would like some. "If it suits you, sir, I would like my assistant and pupil, Mr. Murke to join us. He is a main of extraordinary perception, and irony given he is quite blind" he smiled. "A polyglot too. I have yet to find a language Mr. Murke cannot speak..."

GM "I think, Mr...Walker, is it?....that this discussion best be at my offices. It has a reasonably high door, although I think you may have to stoop a little" he said, still gazing up at Dreadnought. "And I doubt any chair of mine could accomodate you, to be frank. Nonetheless, I have some fine port and a most excellent selection of French cheeses, so it would not be all discomfort" he said, apologising and bowing deeply. "I can tie these fools at the Yard up with enough legal knots to make their intestines cartwheel" he said, proudly. "As I see it, they have nothing to arrest you for. Suspicious, no doubt. No doubt the intelligence services will be snooping around sooner or later. Let us pray it is later, for the government spies are of considerably keener intellect and will want to utilise you for some purpose or another. I would imagine you would be a formidable engine of war, for instance. But propoganda might also be on their mind..." he said, tapping his cane on the ground. "Thus, whilst our situation is not critical, our time is limited. Lamentably interest will breed around you, like a fungus, and I am sure that the sorcerer, the man I spoke about, will be up to some plan of exploitation, one way or the other. As I understand it, your appearance created an Eldritch energy he would capitalize on. But enough of me wittering on about things outside my field of expertise. Shall we be on our way?"

The Red Rat Horsepoop! cursed the Rat as SLAVE sparked inside her head. She honestly had no way of knowing what was going on. The machevellian machinations of the computer? The shockwave of the explosion? The strange interference that seemed to permeate the entire area? Who knew? But of course she was a spy. So paranoid explanations were true, in her eyes. And in this case literally in her eyes. SLAVE was keeping her from something. And it must surely be something important. SLAVE must be, somehow, connected to the whole thing. Something historical. But there was nothing for it. She could hardly hang around with the plebs crushing in. And there was only one destination to find the answers. So it was towards that destination she ran.

GM "Liverpool, eh? Well, they must put something in the water up North, eh?" said Ebeneezer, blatantly not believing it. He wiggled his eyebrows and gave Dreadnought a wink. "Now then, Detective Hale, I must confer with my client in private! Chop chop!" he said, ushering the police out of the courtyard. Such was Mr. Fiddle's great bluster and air of upper class authority, buttressed no doubt by his formidable reputation and legal prowess, that there was barely a mutter of discontent from the police as they shuffled out. And once they had done so, he turned to face Dreadnought. "Now then sir, I do not know if you are a supersitious man. Or at least keep an open mind about the infinite mysteries of the universe. Perhaps theological considerations might bar such thought. Nevertheless, your arrival, sir, has been foretold!" he wiggled his eyebrows. "And, lamentably, your arrival has also created an opportunity for a rather dangerous villain. I daresay I know not much of the occult and so on. But I know enough to say that there is Eldritch force running through this world" he said, in hushed tones. "What say you sir? And what should I call you? On that matter, other than your arrival, I know nothing of you!"

GM Snowbird sighed, singed and smoking. Her pretty cape was ruined. "You frizzed my hair!" she complained weekly, sprawled on the floor. She was about to spit out a witty snark, but thought better of it with the two heroes in the Casino over her, and she in no position to muster any fight. She sighed deeply. "We are just trying to make a living. I have...problems..." she said enigmatically. "I need treatment. Chemicals, drugs. Stuff you can't just buy. Flare is my friend, and she had the contacts. We sell guns, weapons, you know..." she whispered, almost shyly. "As for the guy we sold too...or at least tried to. They call him the Happy Man. The gangs here, the worship him. Say he gives them 'the Buzz', better than the best crack cocaine, they say. Once he hits them, they will do anything for another buzz" she explained earnestly. She even shuddered. "Look, you may not believe it, but I am a doctor and biochemist myself. I seen plenty of things. But I ain't ever seen anything like the Buzz the Happy Man delivers...."

For reference: 20 Spitfire, Staggered, Bruised , Injured, 1 HP 12- Bird of Arms, Staggered, Bruised, 4 HP

GM Detective Hart kept pace with Dreadnoughts words, nodding and tutting and humming. "Leather...gear....swallow....column.....action...." he noted down, underlining each word several times and pondering there meaning with some interest. "Yes yes, I see, Mr. Walker. Very interesting. I shall have to cross reference your account, such as it is, with those of the witnesses, you see. But, and here I am somewhat perplexed by your account, Mr. Walker, no witness saw any balloon or suchlike in the sky. Now, mayhap they were not looking, but this was a major tourist attraction, sir...mmmm...mmmm...." he pondered, chewing his pen. "Not another word, Sir!" came a voice. It was Ebenezer Fiddle, a tall thin rake of a man of about fifty (or mayhap more) years, with a splendid tall top hat, and elegant suit. He had a tall thin face to match his tall thin frame, and twirled his cane this way, and that, in manner that augmented his natural Etonian authority. He had intelligent eyes, but a rather warm smile despite all his bluster. "I must confer with my client!" he demanded, looking at Dreanought. "Gazooks man! I knew you where a tall fellow, but this beggars belief! Why, you must be Norwegian!" he said mouth agape. He shook himself back to self-possession in but an instant. "In any case, I take it you will accept my counsel and service?"

could you throw an intimidate roll for that? some beans will be spilled for PLOT, but just to give an idea bout number of beans so spilled.

GM And later, at Scotland Yard It had proved quite impossible to realistically get Dreadnought navigated through the tunnels and doors of Scotland Yard. At least, without major structural damage to the building, or Dreadnought engaging in complicated and possibly dangerous contortions. The captain had been dismissed, much to his protestations, and Detective William Hart had been assigned to the case. Detective Hart was a young, enthusiastic man, prematurely grey, sharp as a whistle that had been particularly well sharpened by a professor of sharpening, and possessed of some ill fitting spectacles he kept pushing up his nose to keep them from falling off. "Good lord Jesus and Christ!" he swore. "You are without doubt the tallest and largest man ever to walk this earth, Sir! Have you a condition, Gigantism, perhaps?" he asked, wide eyed. Unlike the Captain, Detective Hart seemed more interested in what the blasted hell was going on than making his career or throwing his weight around. He licked his pen and started taking notes in a rather speedy and illegible scrawl. "Can you tell me Sir, in your own words, what happened?" Ebeneezer Fiddle, he had been assured, was on his way, but Detective Hart seemed keen to start before Mr. Fiddle arrived.

Tough vs FIre: 1d20+8 9 dang! she is out in one. Well, you are free to narrate that. If you wish to interrogate her we can just have her disabled etc.

Round 8!!! 20 Spitfire, Staggered, Bruised , Injured, 2 HP 13 - Snowbird, Bruised x2 12- Bird of Arms, Staggered, Bruised, 4 HP Spitfire is up!

GM "I understand you may be in some legal difficulty. Please allow me offer my services free of charge. My source informs me that your arrival is of considerable import, both the cause and solution to matters of considerable gravity. Of course, my source may be wrong. But I remain at your service. Mister Ebenezer Fiddle, Lawyer. 17 Goodge Street. " The handwriting was elegant and resplendent. A few cheers at Dreadnoughts witticism came up much to the vexation of the Captain. A few people came up to get Dreadnought to sign something. "The Giant from Liverpool!" was an oft made request, but many bystanders wanted "Joe Walker" on their sheets of this and that. "Can you sign me %$%£ies?" asked one brazen strumpet, pulling down her blouse to the whoops and cheers of many a man. And the tsks of disgust from many a woman.

It says, in an elegant ink handwriting. "I understand you may be in some legal difficulty. Please allow me offer my services free of charge. My source informs me that your arrival is of considerable import, both the cause and solution to matters of considerable gravity. Of course, my source may be wrong. But I remain at your service. Mister Ebenezer Fiddle, Lawyer. 17 Goodge Street.

GM "I would suppose so" said the captain. "He might want to be left alone, of accountin' of being a freak of nature and so on and so forth, but his wishes might not be respected, Mr. Walker. I daresay that despite his best efforts to avoid undue attention, plenty of attention would, in fact, and so forth, be due!" "I'm off mister!" said the urchin, giving a jaunty wink and smile. He made a dash for the crowds. Peep peep! Came the whistle of the captiain. "Come back here you rapscallion! I want words with you!" he shouted at the boy who had clearly no intention of listening and besides was most light on his feet. A few chuckles came from the crowd at the blustering face of the captain, and not one impeded the dash of the urchin. "After him lads!" pointed the captain, as three or four burly coppers made to catch the boy. Whilst there endeavours looked unlikely to bear fruit, one would judge the urchin was not garuanteed of escape. "I am afraid, Mr. Walker, I must invite you to the Yard. To take a statement and thuslike" said the captain, hands on his belt in a self satisfied stance. The envelope was blank, but Dreadnought could feel a letter of some manner inside.

GM "On a flying machine? Never heard such poppy cock!" answered the Captain, fiddling with his truncheon. "What was it, a weather balloon?" he asked, suspiciously. "Besides which, I doubt any balloon could carry a man of your size, Mr Walker" he added, pondering the matter. "And come to think of it, I would imagine a man of your height and frame would be a wonder of the world! Ten feet by the looks of you! Never heard of a man so tall! Leastways, not in Liverpool" he added, pulling at his moustache again trying to fathom the truth of the matter. "Something smells fishy here, Mr. Walker, I daresay you are not telling me the complete truth!" he concluded, growing in boldness. A brave little urchin ram up to Dreadnought, all tatters and scurvy, and looked straight up. "Cor blimey, mister! I ain't seen a man so tall, so I haven't! Must be you I'm meant to give this too!" he squeaked, offering Dreadnought an unlabelled and sealed envelope containing some document or another inside. "What's this? What's this?" yelled the Captain, pointing his truncheon at the urchin. "That there is evidence! I'll be taking that, sir! And you, you little scamp...you'll be needed for questioning!" he said. He was clearly more at home intimidating ten year old urchins of rag and bone that ten foot goliath's.

The Red Rat The Rat slid her gun back into her holster without a thought. Literally without a thought, for her head was still ringing. Maybe SLAVE was stunned too...that would be a little bonus. Her hand moved from unconscious muscle memory. Then the ringing subsided, and the fog lifted. A gaping hole beckoned, which would be a fine double entendre under normal circumstances, but right now it indicated her escape. And escape was just what she did, running through the debris and hole, clearing her head of the final echoes of concussive force. And straight towards the mysterious coordinates...

GM "Well you have a point" conceded the Captain. "Never seen a man as tall as you! What are you, Norwegian?" he asked, tugging at his rather splendid moustache as he contemplated the giant in front of you. "Make em tall as houses in Norway, me old Nan used to say" "They drink blood of of skulls, too!" said his white faced second in a hushed and frightened voice. This gave the captain pause for thought. A promotion he wanted, but not at the cost of his cranium being used as a drinking vessel. Maybe a bit of caution was, after all, called for. It would not be long, he reasoned, before the press arrived, if they had not done so already. "Speak up then, Sir! Your name, occupation, and nationality, if you will! I have a job to do. Most irregular this is, sir! And I aim to find out just the why and the whenceforth of it, or my names not Arthur Cobblespring! Which, as it so happened" he added, in a suspiciously loud voice addressing the crowd. "It so happens to be. Arthur Cobblespring. With two 'b''s"!