Supercape
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Fail by 0-4 1 level of fatigue, by 5-9, 2 levels, by 10+, 3 levels, yeah, which is basically unconscious! So I guess Mess will keep that going by using the sedation feat, making sure his blood thinned!
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Well desperate times; all this voodoo. Mess is going to use Fatigue on the Keeper, essentially thining his blood. Perception range so I presume "hits", meaning a DC 20 Fort Save vs Fatigue power.
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GM "By Vishnu! Are you sure?" asked Singh aloud - who was no longer unconvinced of Synapse's psychic talents, but was still unused to them, and more pertinently, shocked at the revelation. "Annie Key? Real?" he said again, aloud, as eyes started to peel his direction. His hand went to his revolver, unbidden and unconsciously. "This will not do! We must arrest this so called priest! This is a house of the Thuggee, and conspiracies!" he said, patriotic vigour loosening his tongue and widening his eyes. More eyes peeled in his direction, as tattoo'd youths slunk in the opium smoke and drew knives. And the Priests eyes flicked open...
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Oskar settled into his seat on the bridge as the Xeno as it dropped into normal space. Nocturis looked impressive, cold, beautiful. The General wanted a city that was bathed in the darkness, and would be for weeks to come. "General Tolann, we are approaching Nocturnis now. Smack in the middle of the long night. City full of lights though. Might not be warm..." he said through the Intercom. He started the flight down to the city, curving into the night and atmosphere. "Now would be a good time to let me know what the mission is" he said, adopting a slightly military tone he hoped the General would respond to. "Come up and enjoy the view" he offered, as the Xeno powered down to the planet.
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Tag!
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GM Inside the mind of the priest... Images, formed and half formed, flew past as Synapse dove into the priests minds. Some of them were less than pleasant too, shadowy rites, sorcery, debauchery and hedonism and carnage beyond even her own bohemian past. The multi armed image of Kali was a theme, her obsidian form and many hands caressing everything, a mental star with its gravitational pull on the priest.. ...And Annie Key... She did not appear in sight or thought, but where she lived... It was half cave, half shack, on the side of a hill of rocks. In Khamha, the town they were in! The town had its modest slums, and it seems Annie Key lived in it.
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I'm not even going to roll! That auto wins. For the record, it will mean a probe of deep thoughts rather than surface ones. Still subtle though.
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The Rat took one more step backwards. "You talk much, but say little" What a frustrating man. She didn't know what to do. Violence was on the menu tonight, but she didn't know why, or how, or when. And she didn't know exactly who was shooting or stabbing who. "I'm not a cop. I'm not here to arrest you, my hands are as dirty as anyone's. But I cant just sit and watch death blossom" she explained as succinctly as possible, before stepping quickly forward and grabbing the man's wrist. "If you start telling me something rather than just talking, I could even be on your side" she explained as she tried to twist the knife out of his hand.
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In which case, she will try a disarm attack: 1d20+12=29 I guess that hits: which means an opposed roll Damage (+4) vs his strength, 1d20+4=5 that is unlikely to work, but there you go.
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For now, Lets say everything in a 10' area around where the body was found? which probably means around 9 squares, round up to 10, and thus 20 minutes. For the larger area, lets take 10 for 25. (Basically dont want to get stiffed with bad rolls as above!, and with a +15 bonus should find something!)
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Search for clues time. Mess aiding Hound: 1d20+1=18 for a +2 Bonus. Hound will take 20 if he can: getting a 35 Result with the Mess Aid. If not, 1d20+15=16 Well, I hope he can take 20!
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GM "Wha...who...wha?" mouthed Singh as the telepathic communication rung in his head once more. He pressed his fingers to his temples and concentrated. Hello! Hello! Is this thing on? Can you hear me? Testing Testing...Alpha Bravo Pappa! Annie Key? A legend, a myth! Nothing more, by Vishnu! There was, many years ago, an Englishman, and Engineer, who was said to have run away with an Indian Beauty. A traitor, who deserted his country for love! Pffaahh! The baseness of it! A man most control his passions! His name was Archibald Key. And he had a daughter with this lovely wife, the mysterious Annie Key! Well named, no? She has allegedly been behind every mechanical failure and factory explosion in india for the last 20 years! Annie Key! Annie Key! They cry, trying to shift the blame on to someone other than themselves!
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GM A few moments later... The casino was not unaccustomed to drunken men passing out from excess alcohol use, either celebrating their fortune, or washing away the inevitable misfortune. A few raised eyebrows and snorts of contempt was all that Daphne got as she virtually dragged Mr Swish out of the joint. Mr Swish was not a large or heavy man, of average height and slim build. Easy enough to drag out, feet trailing behind her. Not so easy was dragging the man to Birthing unit. At least without attention. A two minute taxi ride later... Some beat up old taxi, "EZ Cabs", with a suspicious blonde driver wearing suspicious glasses and suspicious eyes had taken a few notes to drive her a few blocks away, in the darkness, to an alleyway where birthing unit was patiently waiting...and Mr. Swish was still snoring gently, mind full of pleasant dreams.
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Ill just take 10 for a 20 result.
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Despair Squid...it is as good a name as any! We must find the head, then, if it has any...where it is strongest, and yet most vulnerable. Such things do not exist in a vacuum, but in thoughts, dreams, and visions... Finding the thing was more complicated than saying one should find it. The worlds of dreams were mercurial beyond any comparison with the concrete world of wakefulness. If you can enter minds, like mine own, then mayhap you can travel up the tentacle...or tentacles? Where else has the virus of hopelessness spread? Perhaps if we think of it like an infection, tracing backwards through tears and gloom, we can find out where the source lies, the...how does one say it....the typhoid Mary! What say you? Can you do it?
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"Sounds like a better plan" replied Starshot, easing up. "I do wear a mask. But not for the reasons you two do" he said, without giving too much away. There was precious little chance of anyone on earth recognising Oskar Otto. His fingers itched for his gun, and his eyes for his "mask". Where had his fallen comrades got to? Pale shadows of his men they might be, but they were his responsibility. "Lets find somewhere to set up our kill zone" he finished, stretching and heading off into the jungle.
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I would say flat out not knowing. Its a secret cult! Also, lets have some initiative rolls!
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Oksar bowed, electing to deactivate deactivate Mask, which clicked away to a collar of strange metal and gleen glow around his chest and neck. "Dont shut me down! There might be anthing out theeeerrree....." "Thank you Gallan and Tal'a" he bowed modestly, waving his hand towards the lean and tall archer beside him. "My name is Starshot. And my friend, Seika, the finest archer in the galaxy. Nobody knows Jungle like she does" he said, bigging her up. "We heard you had some...pest control problem. Of sorts" he said, by way of vague introduction. "We are here to help, if we can. Kazzar sent us...employed us" he said. there was a shaky balance between money and goodwill in his visit. "Is everyone safe and secure? I don't want any more death creeping up on us..."
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1d20+12=17 which is a fail by 6, meaning he is totally grapples and immobile / helpless! Post away!
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GM Charging into the headlights of the Van, the shapes could now be spotted. Starlight seeped into the air, cooled by night and Nile, and clear still. It was as Foreshadow's vision, and forewarned is forearmed. Camels with riders, the faintest glint of steel, the sound of thundering Camel hooves on desert sand and cracked tarmac. Three...four...five... Six of them. Camels and riders, rich cloth flapping in the wind, steel swords and old rifles, and resolution in the eye harder than steel and older than men. "<For the King!>" "<For the Crocodile King!>" "<For the most Blessed Crocodile King, not forgotten, ever living!>" The cries were faint, but carried by a gentle wind. The calls, though, could never be called gentle.
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GM Inside the mind of the priest of Kali... Praise Kali, mother of destruction, I am your devoted servants. Lend us your will, lend us your love, lend us your fury, to strike and strike again against the unbelievers, against the oppressors, against the decadent and blind machines and men of England! No! We shall not allow the rail to scar our beloved country, by your grace and by the lord Vishnu! Let them burn and bleed, let your divine grace bleed across the land, oh mighty Kali! You have sent us our axe, our spear, our gunpowder, Annie Key! your daughter, though half English, surely your daughter! Protect her and guide her as you have done, lend her your strength and your fire! She will light the skies and the earth with flame and dust, and never let the wheel, the iron, the shaft and crank, befoul our land! Lend us your fury, oh Kali! And protect your divine daughter, Annie Key!
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Oh so the THugee are cultists, the Priest is a minor mustic (BoM core book) so has a +6 Will Save: 1d20+6=16not even close, so I will post his thoughts IC!
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GM Neee-naaaw---ne-naaaw! A sole ambulance crushed through the throngs and sirens, its own one blazing and flashing. Something about it alerted the Geckoman, its directness, its fury of purpose. Sure enough, driving it was a large man with mad hair, mad eyes, and a mad grin. Dr. Tonic. One brave police officer tried to wave it down. It slowed, briefly, drawing the cop to its side. A hand shot out, and the police man seized solid, a tonic seizure, turning purple and dropping like a toppled statue. Then the ambulance pressed forward, full of purpose and vindicated ambition.
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It wont hit immedietly, but the opium is a Fort 10 Save to get fatigued (and it is limited to just causing fatigue, unless you go all out and stuff a pipe in your nostril). Roll em, or take some action to stop breathing it in! 1d20+2=17 Singh is ok!
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GM Inside the Hall of Ill Repute... It was smoky. Timber frames, old and sensual, wound around the creaking hall, with rich textiles draped like hanging eyelids over the roofs and the walls. Plump cushions threatened to embrace every footstep, and men, women, and hijras lay spawled in sleep, slumber and embrace on them. The air was thick with the smoke of incense and opium, a soporific air rich enough to sedate. At the end, a statue of Kali, in blackened wood, all arms, glare, and knives and fire. At its feet, eyes closed, in meditation, a priest in black robes. In the dimly seen smoky corners, Singh, Dee, and Ulysses could see youths, stripped to the waist, with the same tattoos on their chests and backs, eyes black and sinister, following them.