Supercape

Notice Roll for Grim, please, DC 25.

GM "My staff? Well.,.. you may...." said the Duke cautiously, stroking his sideburns once again. "It never occurred to me that they might be underhanded, though. I trust them completely! Been in the family for generations! So to speak..." he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. The head butler was a shortish and roundish man with lines on his long thin face. For all that he seemed stoic as a rock and as unflappable. "Mr. Willem Rutte" his name, fluent in English and French and a fine nose for cooking. "Dinner is served" he announced on entry to the Castle, and out was presented a fantastic feast - finest wines, finest brandies. A delicious french onion soup, followed by a medley of oysters, lobster, and shell fish of every description in lemons and peppers. Buttered vegetables, lightly roasted. "I am famished!" grinned the Duke. "Question my over dinner! I think better when sated!" he said, sitting down, stuffing a napkin in his shirt and tucking in.

Works for me! Feel free to respond to that communicado, folks!

GM "You will try, I am sure" coughed the old man. "Better men than you have tried. You know the man called Headcase? or Crab? You think I am a monster compared to him? That hurts, especially coming from you.The world should be afraid of me, for I am a bad man doing bad things. The world should be terrified of Crab. For he believes he is a righteous man doing good" "Yes, I am old, I am weary. I have seen the spinning of the world and its politics. I believe in socialism, I believe in communism. But I know my path has been dirty, and dirty are my nails from the scrabbling I have done. Crab has no such doubts. He is the victim, his is the righteousness" He coughed again, violently. "I am weary, I am old. And this body is getting a little worn out..." he said, almost apologetically. "But my seeds are forever!"

1d20+10=11 for the fall! Yay! I am tempted to say he is knocked out + staggered + bruised from the fall for an HP. Thoughts?

Harry craned his neck upwards to try and see the swipe of superpowered fists and super powered hair above him. He was not sure who was winning. He was just sure it was above him. In more ways than one. "I'm just a guy who can turn into a dog! I can't fight the Super-hairdresser from hell!" he said to reassure himself, although just how much it reassured him was open to debate. One thing did become apparent, however. The lump of muscle and blood that was his partner was falling. He knew Freddy could take a hit. But becoming a pavement pizza was something he didn't want to leave to chance. Looking upwards, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and the Chevvy leapt forward, tyres squealing. "I gotcha buddy!" he yelled out. "Land on the roof!" Alas, it was not to be. He had spurted forward a couple of yards without looking, and the CHevvy hit a Lampost, crunching the bonnet up in a horrible manner, and letting off copious amounts of steam. "Oh sweet Mary, my car!" he yelped. "I look like that Idiot Lord Steam and his stupid car!" His train of thought was interrupted by the Mess hitting the pavement with a loud thud. Turns out he didn't explode or flatten. Fortunately, he broke his fall with a non vital organ. His head. Still, it was enough for him to groan and pass out.

Harry is going to try to drive under Freddy with the poor Chevvy. See if the roof can break the lumps fall. 1d20+6=7 I guess not. If its ok with you I will narrate that as a Crash and injury / disabling the car.

Great thanks TIff. Thunder you want to post your cards and stuff IC?

GM Meanwhile.... The old mans hand brushed Synapses... The effect was palpable, like a wind, or a bolt of lightning, running through the soul. The Sleeper.... Synapse could feel him. He was powerful, no question, his psychic abilities could crush a lesser woman (or man). But he was not as strong as Synapse. Older, more experienced, even wiser, but not as strong as she was. She got images. Flashes of his life, working for the KGB. Pairing up with the Doctor, a genius biochemist. Flashes of their work. Flashes of Crab! The withered, frail British Psychic who helped set up the Vanguard. Carb was imploring a number of senior government officials that the Sleeper was everywhere, everyone, that nobody could be trusted... The sleepers hand - or was it his hand? he seemed to have so many different ones - signing a British memorandum on Crab's paranoia... Images, images. The Doctor working on Darwin-X, the experimental mutant virus. No survivors, bar one... More images. KGB briefings on psychics in Europe. The awful power of Headcase, rumours of a More and more they came, faster and faster, till she thought she would black out... Soviet Agents, placed everywhere. An placed in the USA, ready to go nuclear...the mark of the Sleeper upon him... The fall of the Soviet Republic....the Doctor and the Sleeper going underground.... Comrade Frost... Her father, her sister...what? how could he know? The Sleeper studying the files on her, and her sister.... The Sleeper knew everything. He could plant a seed in anyone's mind, a secret seed, undetectable, untraceable, a seed that the victim would not even be aware of. And then...bam! It would fruit, and the Sleeper would be in control once more.

That can indeed. So, given time sclaes here would you like to wrap at this juncture? (I mean, a few more posts to narrate, but no more conflict?)

Ok folks looks like wrap time. Ari is leaving the site Do the three remaining underwater heroes want to carry on as a team, and if so, do you want me to set up a follow on thread? (Ill wait for answers before wrapping and epilogue)

A while later... The Netherlands! The language was incomprehensible. The food was delicious. The League spaceplane was able to make short work of the flight, and the Duke found it marvellous. "For a man who is slowing down, this is a luxury!" he commented. It was not a fast as Velocity, but it was a darn sight more comfortable. Lord Harrow, Grimalkin and the Duke (as well as his burly bodyguard who treated everyone to a suspicious glare) sat in the back whilst Velocity piloted. The Duke was quick to quizz Grimalkin on occult matters. Matters in which he apparently knew very little. Every answer was met with a nod and a stroke of his sideburns. He didn't seem any the wiser by the time they had stopped. The Dukes Castle was a medium sized affair, beautiful, but not in the best of repair. It was still standing when they arrived, and no doubt would be still standing when they left. It had particular beautiful lands - green, rolling, gardens and forests. "I do hunting and riding here. My main pleasure! You may not think much of this old man" he said, slapping his robust girth, "But I am still a great shot with a crossbow, and a fine horseman! May I shall show you, if you have time!" he laughed. Robert frowned slightly when they exited the Leagues plane. "That ticking...its off again...not just the Duke....its the castle!" he said pointing at the large building. "Come inside, come inside! you are my guests!" beckoned the Duke, sweeping his hands towards the Castle where staff, food, and no doubt beds and wine waited.

After discussion in chat APPROVED

It does even Its getting ugly! Cant make that toughness save so he is out. Post away1

Let me know when you want a scene cut to the Netherlands!

GM "Grimalkin? Grimalkin..." murmured the duke, striking his sideboards. "Why you do have the most amazing friends, my dear. Another Superhero? I remember her from a couple of years back. Some pixie girl, wasn't she? Proper hero too, if I recall correctly. A proper magician! Freedom City has any number of charlatans and pretenders, I gather. Why, even that old french lunatic Rene deSaens has cultivated a rumor mill around him! He is the laughing stock of Europe now! hmph!" he said with indignation. "But my dear I hope you can tear yourself away from this delightful shop of antiquities for a day or two? Grimalkin no doubt is a source of much wizardry, but I prefer some one with a more academic, scholarly outlook on the occult, such as yourself!"

I think it would, actually, be unlimited. Or at least effectively unlimited. The reason is that DImensional Pocket is a pretty tasty power for an attack. Any fail removes the target from play, the trade off being they come back unharmed. If you are looking at this from the perspective of "I keep my pet chimpanzee" stored in the pocket, I would say a lack of oxygen would be a complication.

Exploring the Safe House: Parking is not Forbidden The last spoke of the Hub was enormous. A huge cavern. In fact, a hangar. It was not in the best of shape. It would need a hoover, that was for sure. But it was workable. What looked like three large helipads, and a ramp for vehicles. Goodness knows how large, trucks maybe. Tools and fuel lines the sides of the hangar. As she entered, there was a control panel nearby, a desk with lots of cool looking buttons, readouts, and dials. The place had an eerie echo as she stepped to the desk. How they had managed to build this took some imagination. She could only imagine they either had super powered help or access to the most incredible machines. Or they had hypnotised half of Freedom City whilst building it. Was this the only secret house in Freedom City? The prospect of more, and ones still operational, was unnerving. The desk had all sorts of controls. Raise ramp, lower ramp. Fuel depot levels. Lights. Temperature Gauge. Humidity. And...open. And close. Her fingers brushed the buttons, wondering if it was safe to do so. She would have to sooner or later. The roof flowed back. Silent as night oil, without a whisper. Above, the starry sky. The hanger had become a pit, with just the ramp down to the bottom. It was perhaps the most impressive thing she had seen yet. She could even drive her taxi down here!

GM The other hunter was hit, hard and true, and was thrown back into a particularly fetid part of the sewer. Out cold, the waters lapped around him and seeped into his skin and cold. He would be smelling of old tunnels and rat droppings for weeks, even with the best soaps and detergents money could buy. Filth stopped screaming and looked at Bloodline. "What..what? I'm still alive?" he blubbered, surprised he could still breathe. "I don't know whether to kiss your kick ass shooting skills, or kick your ass for shooting at me!" he wobbled. His ears pricked up. His nose ruffled, sniffing. "Some more coming! Here, pull me out of this! Or push me! We need to run for it!" "Ignore me at your peril, dead one! I can save you...just say the word!!!!" hissed the rat on Bloodlines shoulder, before darting back to Filth.

Looks fun. A few format things to look at, like Skills particularly, and the first few paragraphs. Some things in Crunch looks strange Attributes, seem costed very strangely. as if you have costed the attribute bonus not the attribute? It does add up to 41 but could you correct the costing? It looks like you have pain for +10 attack bonus (if this is base, no real need to split it to melee and ranged, you could notate it just "+10" if you wish) Saving throws look like they cost 17 as you say, but could you change to 5 + 8 + 4 = 17 (I know this sounds pedantic, but it avoids headaches when we come to edit the sheet with improvements!) Skills I dont understand, to be honest. THe annotation should be the skill ranks followed by skill bonus, for instance Acrobatics 6 (+13) you dont need to put down skills she does not have. It looks like 36 Ranks but I cant be positive, which costs 9 PP? Uncanny Dodge needs to nominate one sense type. Or, if you want UNcanny Dodge 2 (rather superfulous) two sense types. I will say if you have Skill Mastery on Acrobatics and a bonus of 13, instant up is an unneeded feat. You can stand up as a free action with a DC 20 Acrobatics roll, which she will automatically make. Powers could do with standard formatting, if you dont mind. They all look good except Strike - how does Throw work here? Normally Throw means that you have something like an axe or a shield and once you throw it the strike is gone - or, as another example, you have some spines you fling out, but again, once you fling them, they are gone (until a few hours later when you regrow them).

GM Robert oscillated between frowns and smiles. The tick tick in his head around the Duke felt off kilter, irritating, disturbing even. But regal reflexes kicked in. He could chat about nothing and do so with interest for hours. "Ah yes, delighted to meet you all, yes it is a wonderful shop, ah yes, indeed..." he said to the respective workers. "I have had some *ahem* brushes with time travel, yes. Its left rather a mark on me, to be honest. Plus, I do hold a doctorate degree on quantum mechanics" he said, as modestly as he could. "Cambridge" he added, immodestly. "It does sound a fascinating phenomenon...may I ask your Dukeship some questions?" And so it transpired that the Duke had noticed the effect several years ago, but initially thought it was an error. His knowledge of theoretical physics was reasonable, but he was no expert. And the help he had called in had no found an answer to his affliction either. And it was steadily getting worse. Accelerating, even. Not only was he personally affected by the local space-time around his home and his lands was beginning to feel the subtle effect. It was still very small. The Duke wasn't talking in slow motion, or feeling ill. But it was starting to be perceptible. Robert could only presume that the Netherlands was the place to examine the effect. "I would be most grateful for your help, Sir" bowed the Duke. "I had planned on getting some occult help, via this shop, and now I have a world class scientist and a superhero thrown in! One could not be happier!"

Carmen felt wave after wave of fury hit her. She had a fiery temper anyway, but she knew that demons could stroke it, forge it. She had got pretty good at developing a reflex against provocation from their folk. But this...was overwhelming. If she had not been so livid, so incensed, she would realise this was more than words. This was wicked tongues, some sorcery. "Useless, eh?" she said, as the chains grew tighter once, more, squeezing, squeezing, writhing. "I'll see about that. No! You will see about that!" she yelled hands clenching. "I'll rip your flesh from your bones, then crumble them to dust you pathetic little kid. I'll show you what I can do! I'm not some stupid girl you can climb over, not some ignorant child you can deceive. I am going to destroy you! Completely!" Tears ran down her face. She grabbed the kid by the throat and squeezed with her hand as well as her chains. "I'm going to snap your neck in two, runt!"

Autofailing that for PLOT

"You are a thief then?" asked Carmen as she relaxed the chains for a moment. Not too relaxed, of course. The possibility arose that the kid was just some dabbler, not possessed. If that was the case, she didn't want to crush the life out of him. At least too much. Maybe a little. She had come across plenty of dabblers in black arts, of course, Usually spotty kids in a disused church mumbling some dread incantation. Of course, it was usually just some candles and cheap rip of tome of "Ye Blacke Magick". But sometimes, just sometimes, it was more. And it got ugly. Was this ugly? "I ain't got no problem with servin' yourself kid. Not condonin' it either. But if that was a crime, Wall Street would be turned into a prison" she said, her anarchist streak flaring. "But takin' from others, that's another matter. Swim your own river, just don't tread on the shoulders of others to keep afloat!" she explained. Yeah, like Wall Street never stole... Ignoring her inner cynic, she pressed on. "But joke's on you pal. So you can sing, tell me what's going down...or I can just let those chains pulp you...then ya don't have anything..."

Lets step out for a moment, but keep the chains on?