Supercape

GM "Amazing!" replied Wesley. A little later... Wesley had a car that was distinctly not amazing. It belched horrible fumes, juddered, and gave a horrible cacophony of infernal screeching when the breaks were used. "Hey, at least the breaks work!" smiled Wesley, continuing to say how amazing his car was. He had insisted on driving, no questions asked. His car was not only old, but rather dirty, with candy wrappers and empty CD cases littering the seats. They were driving out of Freedom City, the traffic being mercifully benign today. Perhaps the other drivers on the roads were wise enough to give Wesley and his time bomb car wide berth. It would not be far to the private air field, a mere five minutes away now. "So, Presto, erm, you want to do something awesome when we get there? I mean, his plane is still just parked. Nobody in, nobody out. 'Far as I heard. Maybe pull some rabbit out of a hat? Or summon up some magical fish bird or something?" he suggested. "You know, to show your credentials to the Count. Gotta get to him somehow!"

Thats good for me. Given they have a toughness of +6, and are not a huge threat anyway, I think I will just handwave it to KO the other three (depending on your wishes!) Post away!

GM Wesley looked to excited, to high on coffee, to sit down, but he did what he was told. He even relaxed; relatively. He was still wired with adrenaline but looked like he wasn't going to explode now. "Yeah, look, I dig you got history. We all got history. Done stuff we shouldn't have, Said stuff we shouldn't have. Tried to kiss Mandy Wells in fifth grade when her boyfriend had arms thicker than my chest" he conceded, memories and regret focusing on having his head shoved down a toilet repeatedly on that fateful day. "Yeah, totally not recording this, or anything. All cool, all off the record man. Although, now you mention, I'd really dig writing a few words about ya for the next issue, if its groovy by you?" He looked at the coffee, sweating with anticipation. "And as for pieces. Look, if I got a few words from the Count. Hell, if I even saw his face, I would treble the Occult Times circuilation that month. To be honest, I might sell the story elsewhere, someone would pay huge bucks for this. I could write anything I want. It would still sell". "Look, man, if you help me with this, Ill write a puff piece for the Occult Times. Your side of the story, soft focus, glowing sympathy, tragic regrets, turned over a new leaf. Whatever. Ill say you donate to charity and look after stray cats" he said, a hint of wobbling journalism ethics creeping in. "We gotta deal?"

GM The face on the screen was beautiful. A dark rich skin, petite features, and long hair that was not exactly unkempt but fell naturally, like wildness, over her face. Her eyes were brown and shining, deep, inviting, and smart. It was a face to launch - if not a fleet of ships, then certainly a few dozen handsome ones. "Hi handsome!" she said, a deep rich voice to match the face. It was hard if not impossible to place her accent, but she clearly spoke English fluently. "How do you like the room, how do you like the weather? Is every thing ok?" Dwayne perked up, his eyes shining with admiration, his smile threatening to split his face in twain. "Sure, yeah, great, I mean, good, I mean, yeah...fantastic!" he said, rambling and manic with excitement. "See...I told ya!" he said to his sister. "Your sister came? Great!" said the face on the screen. "Can I see her?"

GM "Awesome!" replied Wesley to the clashing of hands. He looked so happy, his eyes might burst. "I mean, I high fived with Presto!" he explained, to Presto, of whom he had just high-fived. "And yeah, I know this guy is like mysterious and 'all" conceded Wesley, his enthusiasm dipping slightly. "But hey, back in the sixties, he was known to seek out every sorcerer and warlock and occultist. Apparently collected strange and mysterious antiquities. The jade serpent of Cho-Wun, the Lamp of Al-Hazred, the Mirror of Mu" He paused. "Well thats just some of the stories and rumours. Probably half true though. I mean, probably. I mean, maybe a few of them are true. ish. A bit. But still, guy was a collector. Of knowledge, of things. That's for sure. And he has come to America! So somethings up. And you know, maybe he would speak to you, huh? What do ya say? Gotta give it a shot, huh?" He added a sly few words. "He might even be dangerous?" Wesley did not look like he believed that. Although he did look like he wanted a superhero by his side just to be sure. "And that means, like, you--we---gotta investigate, huh?"

GM The leader was thrown backwards, crashing against the crumbling masonry of the sewers with impressive force. There was not a groan from him - he was out cold before air escaped lung. His limp body fell forward, splashing into the muck at their feet. Now she was close, she could see the men. They were dressed in some kind of white costume, lightly armoured. They carries strange guns with odd barrels, light and white, like their uniform. And belts, full of medical equipment, and restraints. All this, she took in with a glance. "What the...!" came one gasp, a hint of fear. "Fast! Told you he was fast...must have got the virus...wait...this isn't the doc!!!!" said another, who was pulling the barrel of his gun towards Echo nonetheless. "Defend yourselves!" said the last, doing the same with his gun... Their faces were hard to read - goggles, gas masks, and helmeted. But even through the clear plastic, she was pretty sure they were humans. Or, at the very least, humanoid...

As discussed in chat, he is KOd. YOu are up again!

Ok that wins. This may be a short fight! Anyway, toughness save for the man you hit... Toughness Save vs Echo: 1d20+6 18 He is a minion, so he is...well, up to you!

GM "Oh yeah, well, obviously and interview with you, would be great" said Wesley, on the back foot. He looked rather surprised that his desperate gambit had paid off. And besides, he was talking to Presto! "I mean, real great. I mean, the Presto, right! Face that launched a thousand spellships, or something?" he said, rambling slightly from nerves. "I mean, you are awesome, man! Pow! Zap! Yeah, give it to em!" he said, shuffling from foot to foot. He was, it should be said, a rather animated fellow, whose animation danced a merry jig between infectious and vexatious, and probably both at the same time. "But yeah, I mean, you are so awesome, that everyone gets an interview with you, right? Your face in every paper? Probably on a few chicks bedroom posters, too, right? I heard of this chick who really wants to meet you, man...I could set you up with her and..." "And...anyway you don't want to hear about chicks, am I right? am i?" he said, holding up his hand for a high five. His rambling continued. "But this Count, right, nobody has even seen him since 1971. Nobody alive, anyway. Could be spooky! Could be dangerous! Who is this mysterious royal figure, huh?" His hand stayed in the air, ready for a friendly high five. His smile indicated that a high five would be rather splendid.

That will hit, especially given the surprise situations. Could you roll initiative? For the four men: Initiative: 1d20 19

GM "Yeah, yeah, sure thing Mr Steiner" replied Mr Brush. "And no, I don't want to see you in Prison. Not unless I get an interview first!" he said, with a snap of his fingers. There was a silence. A complete absence of a rimshot. Presumably, on another strange plane of existence (or maybe several), ethereal tumbleweed rolled past the astral plane between them. "Yeah, anyway. No way, Mister Pre--Mister Steiner" he carried on, shaking off his failed humour. "I mean, we at the Occult Times think you are pretty awesome and everything. Got a real story to you. And, you know, all sorcerer supreme and everything. No, I..." He paused, and looked uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. "Look, man, I need a break. I got wind of this mysterious Austrian Count. Count Schwarz. Complete recluse, lives on a mountain. Studies the occult. This guy hasn't left his country in living memory. Guess what, he just landed outside Freedom City!" he said, excitedly. "Nobody knows a damn thing about him. I..I well this would be a great scoop, to interview him. But, like the dude is all royalty and stuff, doesn't speak to a soul. But, ya know, if I had you by my side, well, he might want ta, you know, talk then!" he said, dragging his eyes back to Presto with some shame.

No. You may, if you wish, recognise the name as a reporter from Occult Times, but know nothing particularly about him.

Flintlock took a few darts and threw them at the board. Not a bad shot, I am! she thought to herself. A bullseye, another one!, and the third missing the board together and juddering into the wall besides it. "I came here for darts!" she lied. "And conversation!" she said, neither truth nor lie. "And Cik!" she finished, in what she hoped was the truth. "Who is she? What kind of name is that? And whats so special about her?" she asked, hand on hip and trying, with some success, to appear attractive and saucy. "What's she got that I ain't eh? Does she play better darts than me? Wear better clothes? Drink more rum? Huh! I'd like to know what me competition is, sir!" she demanded.

OOC for this For record: Presto: 2 HP, unharmed Presto can be assumed to know about Occult Times magazine. He can also make a straight INT roll (DC 20) to see if he recalls Wesley.

GM July 1st, 2016 Just outside Freedom City The plane was private, small, and expensive. It landed smoothly, on a small private runway, and came to a smooth stop. The plane was silent, still. Not a soul moved in, or moved out. Meanwhile Presto the Preposterous had plenty of people clamouring for his attention. From autograph hunters, to female (and male) admirers, religious puritans, drunken students, and those pleading for help for the most unusual of predicaments. Only yesterday, Ms. Widdlecrumb, from next door, had demanded he conjure up Tiddles, her cat, who had gone missing the day before. Presto well knew Tiddles, the depositor of dung, and thief of food, who seemed to have several million lives rather than nine. He was, surely, not in peril. Today, a short, red headed man with thick spectacles and bad dress sense (in so much as he took the worst of student slacker and professional reporter and blended them most impressively into a hybrid horror), was banging on his door. Wesley Brush! Occult Times! C'mon Mr Presto! I got a great story for ya! Gimme a break! This could win me, I mean us, the Pullitzer! he shouted. The Occult Times was a semi respectable occult magazine that came out every two months, had a small circulation, and was desperately trying to lower its standards in order to increase its circulation.

"coCosplayers! Aye, thats me!" replied Flintlock, confidently, without knowing what the hell the man was talking about it. "Off all the cocosplayers that ever walked into yer bar, ye can bet I am the most coco of them!" she smiled, showing a little cleavage and giving plenty of wink. "I've come for a drink. Or two. And maybe some more" she said, her previous conviction to not drink thrown out the window. Her skin still felt wet with a dampness that was not water. Something of Leng clung to her. She would rather numb that. "I'm just adding a bit of colour to the bar, eh? GIve the patrons something to wag tongue about" she explained. "Is this here a regular bar, or something with a flavour?" she asked, casting her eyes across what she thought were a rather dull set of patrons. "I mean, an English bar, in Singapore. A bit exotic, yer might say. See many young ladies here?" she asked, rambling and acting a little drunk. Which, to be fair, was not much of a stretch as she still felt intoxicated.

There was always a silver lining! and in this case, it was a pub. She could wash away her sorrows with gin and rum and all manner of local exotic alcohol. For one bleary moment, putting her boot back on, this was her sole consideration. Then it dawned on her. The pub may just know of the thief. She wished she had one of those new-fangled camera things. Perhaps she could have taken a picture of the woman. Still, she was determined to catch the thief. Avast! She was the one who would be doing the theivin' and stealin', if anyone. Grumbling, she caught up with one eyed Pete lurking at the docks, cheating some men out of their money in a game of cards. This time, she would take back up. Her unruly skeleton crew were helpful, yes, but unruly. She did not want more than one of them coming with her. Too much trouble. "Five aces, Pete? And that's not including the one up your sleeve..." she laughed at him. As the other players mood turned sour, she grabbed him by the ear. "Come with me, ya craven scallywag! I need your eyes!" she ordered, pulling him to the pub. "Keep an eye out here. If ya hear trouble, come in. If you see someone running out, particularly if it is a young woman, then give chase. Ill be hot on her heels..." And with that, she entered, determined this time to not drink. Too much. "Shot o' Gin!" she ordered thirty seconds later.

Flintlock Straight up theft (35 Posts) Black Heart of Dagon (2 Posts as player) Vignette (+1 PP) Starshot Crash on Volturnus (1 Post) Vignette (+1 PP) Doctor Warp Vignette (+1 PP) Red Rat Vignette (+1 PP) GM Deadbolt (26 Posts) Plenty of Fish (7 Post) Black Heart of Dagon (1 Post as GM) Misc Guest Star: Devil's Journey (7 posts) If you fancy being generous, Super Strength Roster, any reward going to Flintlock Guest Star Posts to Flintlock (Total = 44 Posts) GM posts (34 Total = 68 bonus): 6 to Flintlock (50 total), 25 to the Red Rat (25 Total), 24 to Starshot (25 Total), leaving 13 which can go to Steam and Warp.

I kind of feel that Flintlock lost that fight (or chase) but would be keen to try and get her nonetheless. Maybe trying to track her down?

So be it! Happy to say its a failure on Flintlocks part, and the thief escaped. If you feel she can still make a go of the chase, she will. Also happy to take a bruise from that fall if you think its pertinent!

Flintlock careered forward, her speed sacrificing her agility. She bumped into the walls around her. Damn I wish I had stayed off the Rum! she cursed. In a cooler moment, a sober moment, she would reflect that she was rather glad indeed she was drunk when she pulled up the dread mists of Leng from that ghastly forlorn place, for it would not do well to be sober when doing so. There was only so much she could take before going mad, if she was not already. "I have you, thief!" she declared, considering a quick vault over the crates, With a flurry of hands and feet, she propelled forward. Alas, for her hands and feet were willing, her plan perfect, but the alcohol had other plans. She tripped, fell, sprawled, the crates crumbling under her, knocked over, her foot through one. She ended up flat on the pavement lucky to have the same number of teeth. One of her boots landed just by her head. "I have you, you hear!" she whimpered, defiant despite all evidence to the contrary.

Well her Climb skill is just ever so slightly better for that, so: Climbing Fence: 1d20+4 16 Just makes it...except I think sickened means -2 to skill checks, meaning a result of 14, meaning a failure. If its ok with you, Ill stick with just crashing into the fence and screwing up?

Moving all out to catch the thief!

"Gazooks! she is fast!" swore Flintlock, throwing the empty pistol to one side. And Flintlock had not been in Singapore for decades. Even if her rusted memory served her, the streets, nooks and crannies were surely changed by the unstoppable tide of progress, of steel and glass and concrete that spread through the city like a virus. She could only hope that her quarry was no more versed in the streets than she was. But now, to take chase! She was fleet of foot, and a sailors life had left her fit, but there were certainly faster, and certainly fitter. And a thief tended to be fast. Still, not to worry about that now. Now was the time for boots to crunch road and lungs to spade air in and out of her chest. "Stop!" she commanded, without any hope that a thief would do any such thing. No more air on words! With every effort, with every haste, she sped to catch the thief.

Ill chip in with some impertinent suggestions for complications: Radio Receiver: If Punchline is hit by electrical or high- radiowave activity, it may cause him to take the personality (transiently) of whatever radio or TV show he "Picks up on" at that moment. Sometimes this personality might be benign or unproblematic, but he may for instance start talking in pseudo-spanish insisting his team mate is actually his husband and demanding he confess to his affair with his secretary (e.g. picking up a Spanish soad opera). Circus Act: If he sees a cannon, he will jump inside it. If he sees a custard pie, he has to smash it in his face. If he sees a banana skin, he has to slip up on it. Resisting these urges might send him into a seizure or helpless spasm. No Tears: Most of Punchlines powers rely on him having a relative good, or at least contained emotions. If overcome with negative emotions such as despair, fear, or possibly even anger, they may fail. Or, alternatively, if he is unable to smile (or has no smile painted on by make up), he will be unable to use his powers.