Supercape
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"Dating?" gasped Harry as Freddy chortled into his pint. Harry had always had an uncomfortable attraction to the beautiful but dead Lucy. Not an attraction he enjoyed, just one that made him squirm. He turned to Henry. "But...but...you do know she is dea...errr....differently alive?" He gurgled, to the accompament of Freddys increasing laughter. "Errr... that is..." he winced, giving a performance worthy of an Olympic gold in the 100 metre backpeddling competition. "...Anyway, what a fascinating picture..." he said peering very close in an effort to avoid eye contact. "Tell me, how did you die...?"
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I quite fancy seeing if she can without it for a bit
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Outside! :)
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1d20+24=42!
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Harry the Hound crept low, crept quiet. A cowards blessing was learning how to run or sneak out of a fight, and learn the lesson quickly and well. Fear motivated the learning, and the learning was frequent and strong. No heroic brawler or proud warrior would ever have such experience. Honor be damned. Fair fighting be damned. Harry was a cop of the streets, with decades of experience. You got to that age in the Fens by being canny. His eyes wide and black, his ears pricked and alert, even his hair on end, he padded his way to the nearest exit, nose and head jolting left and right, expecting a massive fist or steel capped boot at any corner. Or worse!
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GM A bit later... The crowds were dispersing, the seats awash with the detritus of food and drink. Floodlights cast an eerie glow over the dying or dead celebrations of the opening ceremony. K and Erick had followed the crowds and then peeled off. K had done his homework, he knew the layout of the entire stadium. He was actually involved in the security detail, and he could wave authority when questioned. Antony Bronsky was shielded in the centre of four huge Russian Atheletes, with the blank stare of single minded focus. They were drawing comments and suspicions from the other athletes, even some of the Russians of lesser stature. Edward Farrington followed jovially behind, just fifteen feet away, giving them a raised eyebrow. The parade back to the Olympic Village was a less structured affair, with all the nations mingling to a greater or lesser extent.
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GM As Dee and Jasmine went to work on VERA, they had mixed success. The files were locked away, tighter than anyone could get at them. VERA was no slouch in the electronics department. Every time they tried to unlock them, VERA locked them out. Somebody had clearly done all they could to prevent any access to the Haven and its secrets. What they did find out is who had locked them out. Champion... The Heroic face of the Vanguard had deleted everyones access to Haven, including himself, and gave strict instructions to VERA to deny all access. It seemed he had even tried to detonate the Haven itself, but had been unable to do so. Another interesting file floated their way... The London Tube Hidden in the depths of the Haven was a portal, an accelerator tube. As they opened the file, the ground beneath VERA parted, leading to some stairs, and a shiny metal tube heading, as far as the eye could see, westwards. A 4 seater car was present, comfortable for all four of them to use. The Haven had many secrets up its sleeve, it seems. Layers and layers of secrets, like an onion. And here was one that was a political hot potato. The tube accelerated the car to faster than light, briefly turning matter to energy. In effect, it teleported the occupants straight to Freedom City... Hidden from the American government, and probably from the British, the Haven had a direct link to Freedom City. In a flash, one could travel from one to the other. The "London Tube" would arrive in a disused and hidden wine cellar in the British Embassy in Freedom City.
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"Kiss that!" yelled Pitch, like a cheerleader, as Nikki struck true. Not that she ever liked cheerleaders. She hated them, in fact. When she did bother to turn up to school, she had got into plenty of fights with them. She pulled back her hand, feeling her rage power smoke and ember, and steel, the clanging of irons and metals. The frantic melee was spinning in front of her, with fists and other things flying this way and that. As they moved, it was hard to keep track of who to impale. The dust getting kicked around didn't help much other. She didn't want to hit Nikki - a first for everything, she conceded, trying not to strike a demon. "To hell with it!" she yelled, literally as well as metaphorically, and through a spear of metal at the demon.
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Move Action: Err...nothing (other than make sure I have partial cover still!) Standard Action: Another blast of metal! 1d20+10=20 I doubt that hits with the -4 penalty for firing into melee... If it does, the regular old DC 25 Toughness!
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1d20+2=22 Hows about that!
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Rene stretched and felt his body. It felt bruised. No doubt his real body was asleep outside the "apartment", it was merely his sense of self that had been pummelled. But it felt real enough. As real as anything in the land of Dreams. Which meant both less and more real at that same time. He straightened up, stiffly. No good pondering and wailing over the sharp insults he had taken from the masked men. The more he thought about them, the longer they would last. Instead, he stopped, knees less aged here, to inspect the masks. Mares. He knew about these demons. The masks were a dedication to them. They brought about the worst type of nightmares by sitting on sleeping chests. They lived and breathed darkness, insidious and relentless. Their heart - or what passed for a heart, resided in clay jars, and sold to the residents of the Dreamlands as trinkets or trophies. Or worse. He stroked his beard in contemplation. They were dark creatures, but light was poison to them. With his magic paintbrush he could fill the air with bright sunlight. But that was with his body, outside. No matter then. He was able to deal with these hollow men without it. Now, he needed to press on...
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Well, I guess he will try to sneak out of the building, taking the same stealth roll skill mastery for 24
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so Dee can get into Vera and turn her on and off, as well as stop the Antibody program and deactivate the weapons. She cant get into the files of the Haven, however.
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WILLPOWER by Thevshi Could somebody just add a plain and simple +5 to Will Saves for Sunset? (7 PP to spend, using 5 of them)
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Failed! However for Plot purposes, can we say that as the crowds thin, she can overhear Erick and K...
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Can Dee give me a notice roll DC 22
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GM Erick and Dee watched the triumphant and the spectacular opening ceremony until things began to wind down after the finale. It was already Dark, and a chill had hit the air. The crowds and athletes were beginning to wind up and move out. "Now is our chance" whispered K to Erick. "Lots of people around, good to hide in. Security is still tight, but we may be able to get to Anton...the problem is, so might the bruisers he hangs around with. If we can just get to the Olympic Village..." he muttered, frowning and disturbed. The risk was great - but there was no way out for him. Meanwhile... Dee watched her very own brother, Edward Farrington, in the line up. The united kingdom had a small but present team, not excelling in winter sports, but not absent them either. Unlike their sterling performance in the summer Olympics last year, the UK team would be lucky to grab a few medals at all, coming up against the power houses of Russia, Scandinavia, and America in the events. Edward seemed keen enough though, lapping up the ceremony and his march with pride and happiness. The man to Dee's left applauded with all the rest, and brushed against Dee, giving her a long look. "Coming to Russia for the games, or something else, Mrs. Farrington?" he asked. "No need to be worried. I am Gorodetsky. Secret Police. We are nothing like the old KGB" he smiled. "But you understand, you have a reputation in England, a wild card. Enough for us to keep eyes on the Farrington family. Politely, if you will. It may not be just our eyes on you too, Mrs. Farrington. Lots of eyes about this Games". He actually smiled a little, vaguely.
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Freddy "Bloody Mess" Furlong and Harry "the Hound" Hound stepped through the door to the Jazz Club. Neither were dressed well. "I love the style. Seedy, dark, and smoky" smiled Harry. He cursed he could not light up (publically) but he liked the ambience anyway. He was wearing a jacket and tie, although as always he was crumpled as could be, and his hair was like a floor mop. Clothes just seemed to hand off him and crease as soon as he wore them. Freddy was even worse, dressed in the only shirt and trousers he had, and they were far from high quality. The cheapest you could find, actually, and extensively tailored to fit his peculiar body. The fit was not good. Some parts were too big, some were too tights. His biceps threatened to rip the shirt whenever he moved his arms. "Ah, there she is, the lady of the night...er....so to speak...um...as in...well..." mumbled Harry, spying Lucy and unwittingly stumbling over her differently alive status. He gave her a wave and pulled Freddy, Guinness in hand already, by the collar towards her.
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(Isnt Lucy a Construct?)
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ooc Sweet Dreams (Aren't made of this) (OOC)
Supercape replied to Brown Dynamite's topic in Archives
1d20+18=31 -
1d20+7=9 staggered, bruised, dazed!
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Meanwhile... The owner of that same dessicated husk of bone, muscle (and a little brain) was charging after the lady with the hair. His sticky blood form left a trail of red behind him, as he ran at full speed, in leaps, bounds, and slithers, after his quarry. You don't ever the hit girls, boy...That is being the law.... His fathers wise words, said in his stern Russian accent, floated through the decades and impaled him like a spear. He didn't know why, but it was just wrong to sling fists at a woman. He remembered his father beating a man black and blue for slapping his wife when he was a kid. Yeah, his upbringing was rough, but he always held true to his fathers imprint. Propelled along at his messy and fast speed, he soon jumped in front of the escaping dame. Getting hold of her when he was only a few feet high was not easy, but he dribbled, slobbered, and oozed around her, his bloody limbs all over her hair and head.
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Its not just your knowledge...Sam thought as the Radical drew out Tomorrows mind, landing it in the Sunset Suit. Its your mind... She never felt entirely comfortable with the Radicals power. He could pick his way through somebodies head, reading it like a book. But he could also steal their head. In most people, it was little more than a dim awareness, barely registering. But for Dr Tommorow...well, his mind was a pillar of strength, extraordinary in virtue. With him, the psyche of Dr Tomorrow was far more than a mere dim shadow. She could feel the echo of his brain in the Suit. "Well this doesn't look to bad" she noted, as they walked through the plants and birds. "Unless we are talking mutant giant venus flytraps". Which was, she thought, possible. The Tomorrow echo in her head could fill in plenty of gaps...when she looked at the comets in the sky, she understood the astrophysics. The clear sky was largely free of the comet storm that had wrecked the Earth. "So, from a geological perspective, the winter will end, the snow will thaw, and that means the Ark might be lost...no time like the present, eh?" she japed. What was the "present" for a Time Traveller. She picked her way through the strange terrain, keen to get to the fabled artifact.
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Freddy shrugged his shoulders. Damned if everything didnt ache to hell and back. He had been beaten up badly before, but this was going to be on the top ten. His fizzing blood was still engorged, filling him with his full power, but..it would not forever. No time to consider that, he thought to himself. Time to fight dirty. Turning to Malcolm he muttered, drawled. "Ya...ya...think ya got the best of the mess?" he stuttered, gasping for breath, hands on knees. "I...I can take whatever you dish out, bozo...you and your buddy. Ya don't even fight fair, ya pair of no good scum...two against one....well, I ain't pulling my punches on you two...." he said, gritting his teeth once more, specks of blood in his mouth. He spat out a bloody globule in front of Malcom in defiance, and then focussed his power, forcing Malcolms blood up into his head, exploding it, bruising it.
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Ok finally up! Mess will bloody up Malcolm (he aint too bright tactically!) Perception range so auto hit, DC20 Fort save damage attack.