Supercape

"Henri Zenon, my friend! I cannot say I am surprised to see you here!" laughed Rene heartily, walking up and embracing the man. "Madam" he gestured to Daphne. "This is my friend Henri Zenon, although some know him as Deadbeat. On account of him being dead. Although he lives on in the realm of dreams" he explained. "In fact, I lead dear Henri here after he fell into some less pleasant dimension..." he said, enigmatically. Truth was, whilst both he had Henri were well versed in the dreamlands, neither of them knew exactly how it had happened. But happened it did. Rene had a suspicion he had wiped it from his own mind with the fog of forgetting in the dreamlands. Occasionally he had...dreams...suggestive ones. "So my friend, have you any light to shine on the strange map of dreams we walk? I feel a malignant presence. Although one feels so much in these lands..."

A second bruise and daze. But now out of combat, as Gold / Ground Zero has knocked himself out!

"Curiosity killed the cat madam!" he bowed deeply, taking a drink of champagne himself. "It is most fortunate I am thus not feline, but a primate! And I daresay one with less simian qualities than the gossiping baboons that provide such amusement!" He took another sip of champagne. Too large a sip. "Ah! Alcohol! I find that if one partakes in sufficient quantities, may produce all the effects of drunkedness" he concluded, feeling refreshed by the warmth. He knew the drink was loosening his caution. He knew that he did not want caution anyway. If somebody dangled something sparkling in front of him, he would bite, no matter what the hook beneath it. "Lead on Madam. I find entertainment most entertaining!"

GM As it so happened... "<Obey! Stop!>" it was hardly a command, more of a mantra that the two musclebound Russians chanted as they clambered up the hill, ski's in one hand, assault rifle in the other. Well, one had an assault rifle. The other had a twisted piece of metal that had curved around Foreshadow's head. It looked handy as a brutal piece of crowbar like cudgelling apparatus, but if anyone tried to fire it now, they would probably blow of their hand. "Hey hey! What are you doing here?" yelled Edward as he sailed towards them, skis slipping expertly across the track, sweat on his brow, and his trusty sniper rifle on his back. "Why are there no officials here? where is everybody?" he mused, not loosing his stroke or pace, but frowning at his sister and Foreshadow. Crack Crack Crack! came the sound of automatic gunfire over his head. The Russians were too far to shoot accurately, but they were good shots, no doubt.

Spooky! whispered the Radical in Sunsets mind. She was inclined to agree. It was not like anything either of them had felt before. "I..er...think...um...." she mumbled to the group, uncertain and straining her eyes - both her actual ones and the psychic ones that floated in her head. Spit it out, honeychild! This trip is freaky! "I think I can feel, like...a ghost or something!" she blurted out to the group. "I mean, I don't know what it is, but something big and...freaky....floating on the lake..." she explained. "Sorry, I can't tell you more. Maybe its just my nerves. I never felt, or seen, anything like it!" she added, apologetically. Not like they could do much but press on, anyway. Just that they would press on with more uncertainty than before!

"Yig?" Replied Pitch internally to Tazel, who she felt was being particularly passive aggressive today. His moods were mercurial to say the least. "Nick, its a prayer to some dud called Yig!" She yelled at the necromancer dping the real legwork, in a friendly manner. "Hey buster, what happened to your big friend? Some kinda snake eater around?" She asked the reptile at her feet. Her mouth moved, but the sounds came from the unnerving whistling head of the Cantos cane, a blackened metal goats head.

GM Marcus was no fool. "What the hell happened?" he asked suspiciously. But on the other hand, he was eager as hell to get inside. "Lets go!" he added, enthusiastically. The inside of the building was pretty high-tech. Quiet at this time, of course. Probably only Dr Singh in there, plus the muscle he had with him. His bouncer was as broad as he was tall, but probably dull of wit. Marcus and Dancia crept past various interesting looking experiments and rooms, trying to keep silent. "Of course, I don't know what the hell we are looking for" whispered Marcus, full of anxiety and excitement. "What the hell are we doing here anyway? breaking and entering? this is terrible! But boy its exciting!" he grinned, taking Dancia by the hand. Even a cursory glance at the layout of the building seemed to indicate the more hazardous and interesting experiments were in the basement. And with no sign of Singh on the first floor, it looked like going down was the only option. "What do you think, Dancia? I brought you this far to see what Singh was up to...but we are taking an awfully big risk here..." said Marcus, excited but without wishing to push his companion. He pointed at the elevators, which had hazmat suits opposite them, and a big warning sign... Danger! Lower floor contains hazardous biomaterials! Wear protective suits at all times!

GM "Godamn it..." said the biker through gritted teeth. He put on a brave face though. A macho bravado that slammed down on his face in response to his "weakness". He pretended that nothing had happened, and that tattoos were easy. He was sweating however, and the foulness of his temper escalated. "You sure do pretty tattoos, darlin'" he growled at Charlie. "And you sure are pretty yourself!" he grinned, showing a gold tooth. "Hows about you come back to my joint and do some real personal tattoo..." he started. "Yeah, I heard something..." interrupted another man, sitting up from his just completed tattoo of some mythological beast. The man was casually dressed, with long hair and spectacles. "I was hanging around Woods and Woods publishing yesterday. Trying to get to see them. Some joker there, face with two black eyes, saying how some werewolf saved him yesterday..." he said, trying to placate the biker. "I don't want Crowbar Frank getting angry...yeah?" he muttered, looking rather scared. "Sure thing, bozo!" laughed the biker. "You have been most helpful!"

APPROVED! Could do with a few tidy ups format wise, but nothing to moan about!

GM Eileen paused a moment, considering. "Rumours, maybe. Speculations. Who knows what really happened? It was pretty plain that the core of the Vanguard was Champion and Headcase. One who lived off the applause, wanted to be loved by the public. The other went paranoid. Who was to say who was the worst? I guess if Champion had any egg on his face, he would want to keep it a secret. I mean, he was good guy and all, but kinda too good, you know? the kind of guy who would do something to protect his image..." "As far as I could see, Lucy Diamond was always a wild card nutcase. And the treeman? nobody ever knew what his agenda was. He kept saying he was the spirit of the country. But that can cut a whole load of ways, you know?" She shrugged. "Sorry, mate, but your guess is as good as mine. To be honest, I suspect the Ministry keeps secrets from even itself. Nobodie squeaky clean here. Not you, not me either..."

GM Gold, or Code Name Ground Zero, or whatever he was, dropped to his knees, then his hands. "Gave...all...of it....but...." he gasped, looking at Blue Jay. "Maybe...I...don't want to....hurt you...?" he asked himself, head nodding. With a jolt his eyes and head sprang up, contorting with effort. "No! No! I remember the training! I am Ground Zero! Nobody must know!" he said, his voice seeming to flip into a Russian accent, a snap of conditioning, orders, discipline. "I will give everything! Everything I have! One more time! Even if it sucks the very life from me! Nobody must no of my existence! I am the greatest weapon!" he shouted, as much to himself as to Blue Jay. Again, his eyes flared, and his body. He was at the point of collapse. Whilst the explosion was awful again, it was the last breath of a man. It ripped through the air, shattering rocks around him. He gave everything he had. But he had not a lot left. With a sigh, he collapsed to the ground, passed out from effort.

Bruised and Dazed then. And now, he will knock himself out (beyond exhausted) with a final burst of extra effort! So a Damage 17 effect. Thats a reflex roll DC 27, and if failed, a DC 24 Toughness Save!

Pitch stayed on her bike, smoking away. Tazel had fired her up, so you looked like Pitch. Leathers, studs, smoke, fire. About the only thing that remained of Carmen was her limp and her tattoo. And the Cantos Devil Stick, her cane. Nick knew far more about sigils and signs that she did, she guessed. On accountin' of him being an expert in magic and she knowing just a bit more than some jo dragged from the road. Of course, Tazel might know something. He could read anything. Hey hot stuff, can you read those? And no stupid answers. If you can read them, tell me what they say! she said, without speaking, to the demon rumbling in her belly. The heat was heavy here, but as Pitch it didn't bother her. Even as Carmen, she had grown up around dusty tracks in the south, and the desert was familiar to her. Thing was, there usually wasn't a soul around down here. No witnesses. Unless one of the more regular snakes or lizards had slithered by to witness what happened.

Tagging this. If any other snakes are around to ask, ill ask 'em! (COmprehend limited to animals associated with dev'lry. Which I guess snakes are!)

Cool, post away!

Thank HG Craft (Writing) I was giving her because she is actually a reporter for a music magazine, so I thought she should be able to put pen to paper at least half competently. From your interpretation I wonder if I should clarify? Complication regarding criminal past is something to consider which I will. Two things disincline me: first of all Pitch has more (and most awful) complications of about any PC here, to the extent that she ended up with 9 HP in one thread (without the luck feat). So I dont know if I should clutter up the sheet any more. Secondly, whilst she was a bit of wild child, and hangs around with bikers and rock musicians, I think her "criminal fraternity" is minor infractions at worst. The equivilent of stealing sweets from the candy shop. After all, I do want her to be clearly a hero. Maybe one who gets a speeding ticket, or has a criminal record as a juvenile, but a hero still. Tazels (and actually Pitchs) Mimicry feat comes from UP. Perhaps I should change that to clarify. Axel is actually Tiffany Kortas creation but I loved him and thought he would be a cool uncle figure for Pitch (which she needs). Also a guy who has conflict with Carmen and his own agenda. I think Ritual would be a step to far for him, personally. In fact, I may even reduce his Arcane Knowledge. He is a biker who knows a smattering of the stuff out there rather than a magician-biker. I think him having his own bike, regular, kind of comes with the territory. We have played it here that if it is reasonable to have your own vehicle (car, bike, even plane if you have enough wealth) you don't need to pay for it. Then again, maybe a customised one in the future, not sure. I love the Idea of Favoured Environments (Bars), for brawling and wheeler dealing. I am not sure it entirely fits Axel, but it I am sorely tempted just because its an awesome idea...

Ok so Charlie can recognise him as an occassional previous visitor on an INT DC 5 Check. Next, a Streetwise Knowledge skill DC 10 DC 15 DC 20

GM The next day...afternoon... Sidewinder Tattoo shop... The guy was a biker, no question about it. Big set, sunglasses, denim and leather, hair tied back in a ponytail, and a faint smell of fuel and grease that Charlie could pick up in even human form. He was getting a moderately obnoxious tattoo of a lady wearing not much on top of a bike with more exhaust pipes than Charlie had fingers. It was finishing up work. Charlie thought she could recognise him from previous visits. "Hurry it up, ya bozo" he grunted. "I got work to do today. Crowbar Frank wants to know what happened last night. And you don't wait around for Crowbar Frank, man..." he whistled. "Word is, some kind of wolfman prowling the streets yesterday. City ain't safe, is it. Least, not with Crowbar Frank around hawhawhaw..." he laughed. "Hey, as it happens, any of you bozos hear anything?" he asked around the Tattoo shop. "Frank will make it worth yer while. As in, he won't kick yer asses...." he grinned, full of confidence.

GM "A werewolf? I mean...yeah, I would have guessed, but whaddyaknow, a real life werewolf! Hey, am I hallucinating or something? Did I knock myself out?" He wiped, rather inefectively, the blood from his brow. At least the bleeding was slowed now. He shook his head to clear it, then pinched himself. "No! Holy Hellberries! this is real! You saved my damn life, and you are a werewolf!" He held out his hand...in it, a personal card. "Vince Vines. Literary agent. I hang around this part of time, 'where I work, and...well play..." he said, nodding his head back at the gay bar he had stumbled out of. "If you ever need anything, gimme a call!" he said, gathering courage to shake Skaeres claw with both hands, eagerly. "Til then, I best get this sutured up..." he muttered, starting to walk off to try and hail a taxi to take him to hospital. "Oh yeah, what was your name? You hang out around here?" he asked, turning back with a slight wobble.

GM "Oh sweet fates, thankyou, thankyou!" Said Vince standing up straight. Blood was trickling down his face and into bis eyes from his forehead gash, but he was fully conscious and lucid. Like many head injuries, it looked a lot worse than it was. The scalp is very well perfused, so even small cuts bleed profusely. "I mean, thanks for saving me, as well as not eating me" he added. "Who...and, errr, what are you anyway. I get this is Freedom city, capital of weird, but you are a whole new story! Say, if you ever want an agent to sell it, come to me!" He added. He was full of gratitude and friendship, but his professional reflex chipped in nonetheless.

GM "God be with you, Amir...I have fallen from trust. In myself, or others. Every where I turn there is some man trying to steer me from the path of righteousness. Perhaps I am a victim of hurbis, perhaps not. I no longer know which path to follow..." "But know this, the Prince is something else entirely! He never dropped his playboy lifestyle. What he wanted was power! You see, the blessings of wealth and luxury where not enough to sate him. For all his parties, fine wine and loose women, he wanted to be a superhero!" "These..." he pointed to the chips inside him. "Where his way to that! I warned him of the risks, warned him they were killing me, who invented them. But he was obsessed, nothing could sate him! And so, I implanted my mark 2 chips in him. Ha! And now this has come to haunt him, as I knew it would!"

GM The first man, clutching his arm, threw any thought of brotherly loyalty straight out the window, and ran, screaming. Vince looked up at Skaere and shook his head. He looked dazed, and the blood seeping down from the gash in his forehead did not make him look any clearer. "Thanyou, whoever you are! Damn bashers, I..." His eye swam into focus and onto Skaeres form. "What the hell? Out of the frying pan into the fire..." he gulped, dry mouthed but with wit nonetheless. He scrabbled to put his back against the wall, treading on overturned trash. "What are you? Don't eat me! Please! I'm not tasty...I...please...I don't want to be eaten!" he moaned, clammy hands pressed against the wall behind him, as if he could somehow absorb the rigid structure of the masonry into his body, thus protecting him from tooth and fang.

GM Carl was terrified, almost beyond words. He fell to his knees in despair. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I was just doing what the boss told me to! You know how it is on the streets, man! What ya gotta do to survive! Oh please lord, don't shoot me! I don't wanna die! I'm too young!" he gulped. "It was King Cole! You know the dude? Scary ass dude, man. The real deal. Never pulls the trigger, but he pulls all the strings" Carl grabbed on to the King of Suit's cape. "You know what he's gonna do to you? to me? Just cause I whispered his name? Walls have ears man, especially in these streets. King Cole got ears everywhere, he hears everything...bet he had me followed. When he gets his hands on me...well, maybe you should just go ahead and pull that trigger, right now...I'm a dead man anyway. You to, cape. Don't think you can climb outta this one!"

Pitch: Axel “Grease†Robinson Desert Heat “You boys looking for trouble?†Axel “Grease†Robinsons chop shop wasn’t the cleanest, either legally or physically. It had, as they say, a reputation. Hard men, and harder girls, frequented “The Greaseâ€, a sprawl of oil, motors, and engine parts. Axel had a reputation, of course. He ran with the infamous Blacksmokers gang, who charged around the south of the country raising hell. Literally, at times, raising Hell. Axel knew Carlos Cantos, respected him even. He had seen Carlos do things, things that shouldn’t be possible. Black magic, sorcery, devil worship, it was all of these things, and more, and none of them. When the whole gang imploded, set upon by law enforcers who seemed just a little bit too keen on enforcement, and a not a lot keen on law, Axel got away and vowed never to touch magic again. Still, the rumours hung around. The Blacksmokers, and Carlos Cantos, they had a legacy. And then, there was Pitch, the blazing, smoking motorbike heroine of freedom city. Although plenty religious folks thought she was a devil. Only Axel knew her as Carlos daughter, Carmen. Axel leaned back, taking it slowly and calmly but fixing three four men with a steady gaze. Street thugs, by the look of them. Something edgy about them though. Their tattoos were the normal mix of devils, bikes, and hearts, but Axel saw one or two that looked suspicious. Like these boys were dabbling in black magic. “Nah, pop! We are the trouble!†came the reply with a haw haw. Axel was no stranger to violence. He reckoned he could kick their ass, one on one. Maybe even two of them. Four of them was gonna hurt. He handled the wrench in his hand meaningfully. “Good for you boys†he answered steadily. “But the Grease ain’t into the trouble business. Leastways, not trouble like you. So unless you got a bike needs seeing to, Ill be seeing you…†he said, hard as Iron. “Word was, you ran with the Blacksmokers, pops†snapped back one, unintimidated. “You ran with the man…Carlos Cantos. Just so happens we got something that you might know something about…†he said, on the edge of confidence. Their leader brought out a solid wooden box, no bigger than your fist, but scrawled with all sorts of runes and occult symbols. Axel was no expert, but he could make a good guess. It was a demon trap. A bottle for a genie. Except the genie was much more malignant than the fairy tales. “If you boys know whats good for you, bury that thing in the desert and walk away, forget you ever had it†he told them seriously. “No way man, we got ourselves a little bit of Blacksmoker power, and you want us to just throw it away, what are you, crazy?†“I’ve been crazy, son. It takes a while to crawl back from there, if you can crawl at all†he said. “You damn well tell us about this, or we’ll knock it out of you, grandpa!†screamed the furious leader. “You can try, son. You can try…†replied Axel. He had been around enough to know that this would end in violence. The odds were against him, and he was in no mood to wait. He took the initiative, slamming his wrench down on the leaders arm, cracking it neatly. Before they could react, he got another blow in, a head blow that knocked out one of the wingmen. But then the bikers got back. Blows were traded back and forth, and Axel fought hard and brave. But even with the leader having a broken arm, and one of them out cold, he had two big men to handle, and when they grabbed him, he went down. He got an elbow and a fist in, making sure they would pay for their attack, but then the boots started raining down on his body. “We’ll be back old man, and next time, you show us!†Later “They did a good number on you, Grease. You are lucky to be in one piece…†sighed Carmen, bringing Axel some coffee. Axel had asked for beer, but she had refused. The old biker was a sight, to be sure. Broken nose, black eyes, and all sorts of livid marks over his body. He could barely see his eyes were so swollen. Fortunately, nothing broken. Not this time, anyway. “I’ve been through worse†he replied gruffly. “Not much worse, I grant you. But I came through..†“That must have been twenty years ago, Grease. You aren’t a young man anymore!†“No, I’m older, and tougher†he defied her. Axel sat back, wincing in pain. He really didn’t want to get Carmen into any more trouble than she already had, what with the Cantos legacy shovelling problems onto her life. But right now, well, he needed her. The Grease shop had been overturned, wrecked, and he was in no shape to fight back another round of the young men. “But not tough enough it seems†he sighed, furious with himself. At least he had given them a good fight, he thought. “So, when they come back, I thought Pitch might scare them off, take that damned demon box offa them. Maybe spank their asses too…†he said, guilty for bringing Carmen into his problems. “’Nuff said†said Carmen, more than happy to help. “We got each other’s backs, remember? You don’t owe me nothing, you ain’t my daddy†she said, firmly with her teeth grinding slightly. Axel sighed. “He wasn’t all bad, you know, its just…he just kinda sucked into himself you know? In the early days, he was all bright eyed, loyal…†Carmen gave him a look as if she was having none of it. Axel didn’t meet it, but conceded. She ended up with a bound demon and a permanent limp because of him. Don’t try to make her see him for anything else… Later “Knock Knock, Grandpa…we thought we would pay you a get well visit†laughed the leader of the pack as the four men entered the Grease shop. The leader had his forearm in a plaster cast, and one of his wingmen had a bandage wrapped round the head. Yet another had a furious black eye. They had not assaulted Axel without some cost. Axel sat on the chair, not moving, but giving them a dirty grin. Partly seeing the war wounds he had delivered them, partly because he knew what was coming next. “Boys, I am so pleased to see you. Give you some of that sweet Southern Hospitality you kids deserve!†laughed Axel, despite his pain. In his minds’ eye he played out what would happen next. “Save it Grandpa! You gonna be passing teeth out of your backside for the next week if you don’t tell us about this box!†screamed the furious leader. “Come and get it, sweet cheeks!†taunted Axel, leaning forward in his chair and giving a grin through cracked and bruised lips. He didn’t mind the pain, not one bit. As they stepped forward to serve a second helping of thuggery, Pitch entered stage left. She was smoke, flame, fiery eyes, metal and leather, as if she had stepped out of the cover of a heavy metal vinyl. “Bury it deep boys…†she said, laughing fumes and fire from her mouth. Axel wondered what Tazel, the bound demon in Carmen’s belly, was saying to her. Probably imploring her to release the demon, take it for herself, something like that. Most likely, Carmen had told the demon to shut the hell up. Pitch whipped up flame, and cracked black chains around the thugs. She held one up by his throat and propelled him across the Grease shop, with unnatural strength. She ignored the screams of fear, ignored the pleas for mercy. All she wanted was to make sure they would never approach Grease again. And that meant putting the fear in them. And even a few bruises for the next day. In desperation the leader of the thugs brought forth the little wooden box, and tore it open. There was, Axel remembered, a sound. A sound of freedom, of release, like a sigh and a cheer at once. Then dust…dust like the desert, like the carbon blackness encrusted on the exhaust pipe of an old car. It was like a dervish, a cloud, malignant and full of wrath. “Thank you for freeing me, mortal†came the hiss, like a high pressure snake. “I shall suck the marrow from your bones in eternal gratitude!†The thugs were now either stone stiff scared, or mercifully unconscious. All the air was taken up by the demon from the box. Axel felt himself coughing, his eyes watering. But he pulled himself out of the chair, full of determination, oblivious to screaming muscles and bones. He saw Pitch and the Demon wrestle, of a kind. Smoke and flame on one side, dust and heat on the other. Neither seemed to hurt each other, but the dust demon kept circling around Pitch, and finally into her mouth and nose, causing a fluttering dangerous flame. “Ah! Tazel! It is you in this mortal’s body! It has been an age, has it not! Do you remember how I could snuff out your feeble flame? Here, let me remind you!†laughed the dust demon, entering Pitches body. Carmen’s fire and smoke died out, and she collapsed to the floor, shaking and suffocating. The dust flew back out, in its epicentre, the vague form of Tazel, now just burning eyes, his body without fire or power. “I shall enjoy the ages to come, Tazel, Oh I shall enjoy the rending and the misery most well! And I shall shred your host first! But not to free you, oh no! The binding, the chains, shall be mine. You shall still wear the collar and suffer most wonderfully!†“Not in my shop, ya won’t…†replied Axel, standing unsteadily. In his hand, a crude sawn off shotgun. “Foolish old man. Your sticks and stones will not hurt me…†laughed the dust demon. “Sure they won’t, I know that. ‘s why I keep this little stick around, for precautions. Thing is, ‘old Carlos told me. Demons don’t tie themselves to the world in which they don’t belong. Leastways, not unless somebody brings them here right. And by the looks of these boys here, they didn’t do it at all right…†He fired the gun, which exploded with, not shot, but tiny droplets of water. “Sacred water, sucker. Right from Wharton forest, blessed by the Native Americans. More ‘n enough to keep sanctuary!†And so it was. Dust melted away, and spun, flickering with rage, back into the box. “I had him! I had him!†shouted Pitch at the air and Axel both, waving her fists above and about her. “I can take him down! Nobody gets the better of me…†Axel saw her sit up and frown. “Well, ain’t that the sweetest. Seems like you got the Grease shop covered in more ways than one†she said, if not conceding her defeat, at least acknowledging Axels heroics. “You stubborn ox†laughed Axel, aware of the pain, victorious joy overcoming it. “You are just like your old man, girl. Never say die…†Carmen frowned. “Never say die? Well he did. Left me with some real fun toys, so screw him!†she said angrily, standing up. “Never say die, that’s what he always said†murmured Axel. Thinking with a cold edge. Never say die… …That’s what he always said.

OOC for Skaere becomes the hunted!