Supercape
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Looking at the DC for the ritual, Design - 10 + PP Cost = 14. And to take a -5 penalty would half the time to 8 hours. And taking 1 would still automatically pass. Ritual - 15 + PP Cost = 19, Again, taking 1 will still pass. So, I guess its about 10 hours of drunken reading off Lovecraftian tomes, +1 HP, Sickened status? A few posts to narrate? ( I guess with you kicking off)
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So broadly speaking, going to the Black Flag, looking horrible Lovecraft spells up in her library, and getting drunk all night. If its ok with you! Ritual feat used for: Concealment 4 (Normal Sight, Extras: Continuous Duration, Flaws: Passive) [4 PP] Thats 16 hours to research, and 1 hour to perform which seems about right, timewise? Also, if its ok, Ill use her Drunkard status to get blind drunk during the ritual, and thus inflict sickened status on her until she sobersup (if you feel that is appropriate) Checking with you before making ritual rolls
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"It might indeed, my good friends!" answered Flintlock, pleased. "I think it would be most wise to look. But perhaps under cover of spell, unseen and unheard, hmm?" she said, drumming her fingers together. She wished she had not drunk as much as she had. For a spell might be in order. And the sorcery she knew was not for the sane or sound, it was for the mad, and terrible it was. Rites to summon Dagon, the Unspeakable one, and to hear the insane piping music at the centre of all things unknowable. Which meant getting more drunk. "To the Black Flag! I have books to read and rum to drink. And you are welcome to say, Mr. Jeff, food, and lodgings, and me crew will treat ye well enough. You will have to stomach Gutboy's cooking, though..." "He's French" she added, as if that explained anything.
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"Ah yes, a fine idea!" replied Flintlock, slapping her thigh. Something she should have thought of. "Following the trail. Finding what was stolen. But, as you say, as one path is illuminated, it too is obscured. Whence the black market?" Of course, she had dealt with Black Markets in her days. Singapore had a brutal one. The Bone Bucket. Plenty of blood and guts and unpleasant internal organs had spilt on the stone floors there. Sometimes, it seemed more dangerous and violent to sell your stolen goods than to actually acquire them in the first place. Still, it had been over a century since she had fought her way of the Blood Bucket with her crew by her side. It was probably not even open still. And if it was, it surely had changed. If it had not, that was probably worse still, given the manner of her last clashing of blades at its doors. A better bet than starting a war with the Singapore military, that was for sure. "Jeff, help a lady out. Where could I find the black markets of Singapore? Mayhap you hear a loose tongue or two?"
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This was hellish. Spinning paths, spinning shadows. For a moment Pitch wondered if she would be wandering forever. That's the path to madness. She clenched her fist. Nobody would get the better of her! The maths of the situation, if indeed there was any maths to it, was beyond her. Breathing in, she summoned forth Tazel, drawing him from her belly, out of her blood and bile. She spat out fire, smoke, and the terrible demon, bringing him forth to float in front of her. Fortunately, she did not need speak. The demon was bound to her blood, and they spoke though that connection, without words. So, caught in a maze, you and me both! And not so simple a one. Whilst I am sure you would enjoy me wandering these forests forever and a day, I am equally sure that you would not. So tell me, and tell me true, what would you want? Because together, we can follow two paths!
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"Its a key" said Pitch, silently. Surely the stone was used to rotate the maze; a maze it surely was. In more than just three mundane dimensions, she guessed. What exactly was this island? what was in its stones, its roots, its bones? Surely it was something special, wild, and dangerous. What else would have attracted a rock star? A reclusive, half mad rock star with an obsession with the occult? Still, the only way out of a maze was by moving. The only sure thing was that staying still would not get anywhere. Well, perhaps even that was not certain, but it was a fine principle to stick to. In any case, bum leg or not, pained and red flesh or not, movement was action, and action was her fire. Onwards then! Towards the tree-cast shadow!
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"It does, although my alley is dirty, rotten, and smells of stale booze and the water of drunkards" she laughed. She had certainly spent enough nights staggering out, trying to forget about tentacles and bubbling horrors, singing, drunk, and decorating the cobblestones with her excrement and vomit. "My leaf is turned, Sir, at least, part-ways. The age of piracy is past, and now me eyes are opened. Horrors in this world, horrors in others. Something I would not see on land or sea" she said, a little more grim in manner. "If 'twas just a regular Pirate, well, I would let ye good folks sail to that mystery, but this seemed out of the normal, beyond ken, it seems. Pray tell, should I be looking? and if so, where would you suggest?"
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Time to flip a coin? Directness of action was her philosophy; why wait? seize the day, seize the moment. Live fast. Try not die, but if you do, leave a good looking corpse. Rock N' Roll. She was not taken in, or indeed, averse to the light. Anything could be a trick. Anything could be a trap. Demons did not belong to fire, or light, or darkness, or cold. They belonged to corruption. The socket, however... ...could also be a trap. But it was something that could not be ignored. For her own piece of mind. There was nothing to lead her, nothing to say "do" or "don't", but there would always be the wonder if she did not... ...do what she did. Seizing the moment, she jammed the stone in the socket, forcefully and firmly.
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Sure thing. Id probably allow a reflex roll DC 20 for somebody to act / shoot whilst doing that, but you can go ahead. Unless they Ace that roll (DC 25) you will also get partial cover.
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Silence! Grumbling inwardly, bubbling with rage that would surely never resolve, she cursed her disability, her further, and the damn root that had brought the whole thing up. She was ill disposed any way, the events of the island sniping at her reserve, such as it was. And she was not full of reserve at the best of time. She had an itch for some pounding angry punk-rock music. But...silence! Standing up with her cane, she tapped the ground, tapped a tree, and pulled air into her lungs...giving a primal scream to test out the sound of the forest.
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She can!
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"The Cthaat Aquandingen! Never would i have thought I would see this horror, although I confess many I time I would have wanted to. And yet, now it is in my hands, I almost dread to read it..." Slowly, the tome opened. The skin of the book was unpleasantly moist. Inside, in shaky writing, Latin, inked, with some parts ineligible, and some parts that once read one wished had been eligible, was the description of the Deep Ones and Dagon. Strange and nauseating signs and illustrations were scribbled in margins and over text. Much of it was incomprehensible, insane, but if one read carefully, some cohesion could be found, although such patterns would be worse to the mind that mere insanity. As the only one present who could read Latin, it felt to Captain Flintlock to read the tome. She was glad the rum was in her veins. She had sailed many strange shores, and knew, of course, about the Deep Ones and Dagon, but still, the lore in the book was disquieting. One was left with a sense of complete insignificance, or perhaps worse, in the blackness of the cosmos. "Aha, here, Me hearties..." she said, weakly, and with diminished mirth. She stabbed her finger at a repeated phrase. "A ritual to contact Dagon! Not a pleasant thing, but by doing so, we shall know him, and where his...constituent parts...are. More importantly, they shall be vulnerable!" "I shudder to do such a thing, but it must be done. By contact Dagon, we can destroy the heart. But the heart may be far away. This is a job where we must be two places at once..."
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GM The Cthaat Aquandingen Latin Version c11th-12th Only three copies of the infamous Cthaat Aquandingen are known to exist. A deeply flawed translation, in Middle English, by author unknown, is held in the British Library. The known Latin copies of this tome are all held, to best of knowledge, in Great Britain. One in the British Library, two by collectors unknown. The authorship of this unpalatable book is unknown. Some of theorised that it was by some Christian clerics, given its text and scholarship, but the content seems quite at odds with any known or practised theology. Some are of the opinion that its origin was in fact in the Middle East, but perhaps this was because of its similarities with the dread Necronomicon, whose author, Abdul Al-Hazred, heralded from that region. What is most remarkable about all three known texts is their physical nature. All three are bound in human skin, which has been confirmed in recent years by histological analysis. This fact has not been made public, for fear of further interest and obsession over the book, whose contents surely justify censorship even to the most liberal of minds. The contents are unnerving, to say the least. The text, written in a poetic and maddening style, nauseating in its imagery, describes the practices, culture and history of "the deep ones", submarine creatures that are a unspeakable offshoot of the more benign atlantean race (of which little is discussed in the book). Amongst the text, which is weighty, are rituals that are meant for (and nobody has yet dared enact them) contacting the strange and malign alien deities of the deep ones, which are beyond human comprehension. The Unspeakable one, Tsathoggua, Yibb-Tsill, and most weight given to rituals concerning Dagon, the God of the the Deep ones that sleeps, half dead, half brooding, beneath the sea, in places unknown. Professor Henry Armitage, 1912, Studies in occult literature
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GM "I didn't know you studied philosophy" said a straight faced Sveta. Or was there a smile there? "Yes Sir! Right away Sir!" nodded a poolside attendant, who was ever so pleased, it seemed, to be of assistance. At least his name badge declared this to be the case. Sveta polished off her own Martini but did not take another. Instead, she somehow slithered closer. Talking in something barely above a whisper. "What, you want me to tell all my secrets? I'm genetically programmed not to, you know..." she answered, boldly, without breaking eye contact. "I'm a spy. Old school. I can't say who for. And in any case, you are smart to know that even if I did, it would be a lie. I wasn't expecting you here. This adds an element of chaos to the mix. And the mixture is chaotic enough already. So I need to know I can count on you if things get....well, violent..." she conceded. "Although I'm not here for violence. I'm here to stop somebody ripping apart the global e-banking system. But, to be frank, I don't know who, and I don't know why. It might not even be one person. Perhaps, for a job like this, it needs several. It certainly needs the expertise of someone with world class software skills, perhaps even some super powered ability to do so. The security, both physical and cyberspace, is tight around the tech here..." "So, have you seen anything unusual with those X-Ray eyes?" she asked, more light heartedly.
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GM The inside of the building was a crumbling as the outside. In winter, it would have a bleak chill. Now it was dust and unpleasant warmth. Flies and beetles scurried around. A cockroach crumbled underfoot. The floorboards creaked, but a teleporter could hop and skip over the worst of the rot. In the ground floor, amongst a peppering of derbis, The Gas Man and a few suited thugs had set up a camp of sort. Provisions, a TV, cards, and the Gas Man's set of grenades. They pulled Jack onto a makeshift bed. A fifth man, neither thug nor mercenary, peered over him. "Mmmmhua. Well, he certainly is asleep" he muttered. He had a southern drawl. The man was short, skinny, and unkempt, but seemed to insist on wearing a white lab coat. "Yeah, well, you make the gas, I knock em out. Thats the deal" shrugged the Gas Man, sitting down and cracking open a beer, feeling pleased with himself. "We shall have to mmmhua, question him of course. Truth serum. Make him gabble like a madman. Which, technically speaking, is what my drugs will make him mmmhua...." gurgled the scientist, prodding Jack lightly. "Yeah yeah. Whatever" said the Gas Man, dismisive but perhaps slightly irritated. "Did you run into any, mmmhua, problems?" asked the Scientist. "No...easy work. Snatch the yapper, drag him hear, let him sleep it off until they catch the voodoo nuclear zombie. Drag him back, he wakes up, can't remember anything...." lied the Gas Man. "mmmmhua, indeed...." lied the scientist, his tic extending to his eye as his spoke.
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Thats good enough to stay unnoticed for now!
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Hui Jan Kai! Her memory was a little hazy, what with rum and centuries, and centuries of rum. Everything blended and blurred. But she did recall some tussles with the Singapore Navy. Some storms, the smell of cannon fire and rain. Cutlasses and sabres, knives and muskets. "Well greetings good sir" Was this coincidence? The knife was still in her hand. Not raised, but not sheathed beneath her skirt either. "I do recall some battles, some chases around these seas. Over many years, but not so much recently. Times change, and enemies can become friends. Or the other way" she conceded. "The Black Flag still sails, wood and sail, and black powder. As do her crew" she explained, without reference to the fact they were undead. "I have come to Singapore to stop...well, truth is, so to speak, I don't know what I am stopping. But methinks it should be stopped. Disappearing cargo, under most mysterious of circumstance!"
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Sure thing! You may want to roll stealth for when you "land" inside the building.
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Pitch ejected the empty clip and slotted in a new one. Sure she could throw fire and steel with her hands. But it wasn't quite as satisfying as unleashing lead from a smokin' gun. Besides, who knew what she would be facing, and if infernal fire and steel would have any effect against the horrors of this island. "And neither should you, Billy, neither should you. If something comes, shoot it. At the very least, I'll hear it". Probably not come running though. Not with her leg. "Now keep your eyes and ears open. In fact, you keep your nose open too. Might smell 'em before ya see or hear them" she added. "I'm going caving..." Shouldering the rifle, clutching the Cantos cane, and gripping the mysterious stone, she entered the cave...
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GM If the two guards saw or heard Echo, they gave no indication of it. Then again, would they be expecting somebody teleporting onto the roof? Most likely not. Echo could not hear anything from inside the crumbling building; maybe, with the ear of faith, some shuffling and manhandling. Might be more than the Gasman in the building, might not. And crumbling the building was. The only visible, open entrance was the main one, by the guards and where the Gas Man had entered. There was a fire escape and a back door, boarded up (although not very well). The windows were almost all broken, and all rotted, and again, haphazardly boarded up with partially rotted wood. Even the masonry was in poor repair. Large cracks infected its walls, threatening to bring the whole building down. Some of the cracks were so wide, Echo might be able to squeeze through them.
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You insufferable piece of manure! You always underestimate me...you see, there is another solution.... Pitch was well aware of the crumbling nature of any binding. No doubt her infernal father was more skilled with his cane than her. After all, he had bound Tazel with unbreakable bonds for decades, even past his own death. She had no intention of letting the mutt break free at an horribly inconvenient time. On another day, when she was not looking out for Billy, when she had not let somebody die on her watch. Maybe. But today, right now, not on the menu. Circling behind the bound beast, out of its sight, she brought up her Rifle, and unleashed a stream of lead into its head and brains...
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YO HO HO'D BY HGM Skeleton Crew Minor changes to names Now I look at it a few maths errors in original sheet (nothing major, but for instance, As its Minions 6 base it should be 90 PP rather than 60PP, and the numbers dont quite add up...) Anyway...aside from those corrections, including now 105 PP...
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SAIL'D BY HGM Flintlock 7 PP to Spend 2 PP to Skills,: removing drive (-4 R), Adding Profession (Sailor) (+12 R) [To reflect being able to command naval vessels but not sports cars] 4 PP to Feats Equipment 1: Improving the Black Flags Environmental Control to Rank 10 (4 EP), Adding Homing 1 to the Black Flags spooky Magic Cannons. Incidentally, I think STR should be 50 rather than 40. Minions +1 [2 PP], Increasing the Skeleton Crew by 15 PP Favoured Environment (Rolling Deck) Lose Attractive Feat (she is attractive to everybody, not just men) [-1 PP] Add Benefit (Wealth 1) 1 PP to Powers Slight Modification to Summoning Array Stun changed to Nauseate, to represent becoming overcome with some emotional state (pain, pleasure, etc) Suffocate changed to rank 8, removed sea shore limitation Remove Confuse Power [-1 PP] As dont like it. Add Deflect 8 Power ( SLow Projectiles, Perception Range, Redireaction, Reflection, Precise Feat) [41 PP] Add Drain 10 (Any mental trait, Perception Range, Slow Fade 1, Subtle) [42 PP] 0 PP: Changing Vulnerability to "Madness", uncommon frequency but moderate severity.
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GIven its pretty crumbly, lets say 1. Only proper enterance 2: Lots of boarded up windows and doors you could smash through or I suppose dismantle with time? 3: A number of cracks you could squeeze throught (Escape artist DC30 as per rules)
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GM And meanwhile... Dwayne, determined to carry his only luggage, hopped from foot to foot infront of Nicki. Earnest had given up trying to carry it himself, and had all but given up hope for a good tip. He flashed a pleasant smile, but the light of joy had diminished and gone. "Miss, I have the...ah..." the faintest of pauses "...pleasure of escorting you to your rooms..." Adjoining, first floor, sea view. Excellent rooms, too, with, according to Earnest, as he rattled out his parrot list, All Mod-Cons Air Conditioning Free Standing Bath Mini-Bar Free Wi-Fi and Hotel Desk Computer Satellite Television, with over a hundred top rated channels, plus..ahem..specialist channels available to buy Room Service Gift champagne, apparently bough by a secret admirer He rattled off the three restaurants at the Royal Buck, that all seemed at least moderately resplendent, if not excellent. Probably over priced too. Dinner would, it would seem, be served at 17:00 to 23:00. "May I show you to your rooms, madam, and, er, sir..." he asked Nicki and Dwayne, who was so exited his eyes might enucleate themselves, and his perspiration drown his lungs.