Supercape

"Hey, a dame is kicking your sorry ass!" grunted the Mess, trying to wriggle free from the vice like grip he was caught in. "A dame!" he added, with emphasis. His face was red and puffy from effort and pooled blood, fizzing away in his skull. For a moment, he thought he might pass out from the effort, his vision constricting briefly. He was worried he might a bust something in his guy, maybe a hernia. But his limbs snapped free, like a spring. "And I'm gonna bust your ass too!" he added, now furious. He swung both arms over head into a piledriver driven by fury. The odds had evened, the tide had turned. He...they...were back in the game. Where the hell is Harry? he asked himself as his fists crunched into face.

yeah, ill post that IC now

In which case, gonna deck him with a double backhander! Lets shift this -2 Att, +2 DC 1d20+8=18 let me know!

Ill throw in Sunset (PL 10) for Moral support and to field test her/it/him. She is rich enough, and being business minded, has reason to travel!

Ok, so time for some more rolls - depending on what you are doing. For everyone: Notice Knowledge (Technology) You may wish to roll a Search, or Computers roll if examining the Haven, but if so could you give some indication of what! Stuff will happen imminently! (Also, remember the +2 Situational Bonus for these rolls, as you have studied the Plans of the Haven)

GM To Cruxberrys suprise, the doors of the Haven parted open, silently. Inside, the Haven. It was big, and tall, with the ceiling over twenty feet above them. If one listened carefully, one could hear the faintest sound of the Thames churning overhead. The decor was austere, like an Iron Cathedral, with well formed curves of metal bending and looping, making the overhead feel like a tent, with spires and archways. It was dimly lit, making it hard to see, except for Osprey and Young Brittania. The Central spoke of the Haven was dominated by a massive plated column of computers, flickering away. The central hub of the Haven, the spider at the centre of the web. In this case, literally, as it was plugged into the web and who knew what else. Off, in spokes, lay the various chambers of the Haven. The living quarters, power systems, infirmary, laboratory, library, conference room, and workshop. All in good functional order. The Haven was top of its game, with cutting edge equipment and built to last. It was like a Victorian monument to engineering, but with modern fittings.

Also, Initiative Rolls! I am going to keep this easy for me, as its just a minor encounter, and lump the beasts initiative together: 1d20+1=14

GM The Jungle display seemed horribly alive. Both El Heraldo and Young Brittania had that same sense, something peculiar and strange, that was the hallmark of Lady Malaises essence. A smell, a sound, a feeling. Where is the chain... Where is the chain... Where! Where! Hissed voices, from inhuman voices, faint. Called from the mouths of beasts, the monkey, the bird, the... Crocodile! The giant beast, fifteen feet long, splashed through the water, giving speed and ferocity to its attack. Even as it thrashed about, the two heroes could feel coils around their feet, under the thin sheen of black water they waded through. Plants? Tendrils? Vines? coiling around their legs. And wait...! Not just plants... Snakes!!! Each felt the twang of snake fangs on their ankles...

You all fail fail fail! Muahahaha! Ok, so the jungle attacks! First off, can we have an Entangle 10 area effect. -2 Reflex penalties this round for not noticing! So its a DC 20 Reflex Save with Evasion effects to half the power. Then a DC 20 (or 15 from area save) to avoid being entangled! We then have 5 Minions doing a sneak attack: 4 Poisonous snakes, 1 Crocodile! 2 Attack YB, 3 Attack Heraldo. Croc on Heraldo: 1d20+4=7 Miss! 4 Snakes: 1d20+4=17, 1d20+4=5, 1d20+4=6, 1d20+4=13 First two snakes: one hits EH as he is flat footed. That will be a DC 14 Fort Save (Drain COnstitution 4 effect, Extra: Poison) Second two, one hits YB as she is flat footed. Using a poison attack which she is immune to. Fail!

GM Meanwhile, the enraged T-Rex, its cybernetic implant beeping all the faster, its screaming alarm pitch higher and louder, almost ultrasonic, stomped through the jungle and rain as fast as it could - hurtling along, smashing trees, bracken and undergrowth as it went without a pause. Its sheer power and size drove through the strange menagerie of flora in the Null Zone like a tank. Up above, the breach flared, the absence of dimensions beyond was truly mind bending, beyond human comprehension. And then, a crack...another... The breach was widening. The winds whipped up, the rain lashed down harder. Lightning bolts coursed the sky, and the coldness ramped up, beyond mere bitterness. John Smith, in his shredded clothes, shuddered, pale, and fell to the ground blue of skin. And that was not all...the ground seemed to shift, everyone felt lighter, as if the Breach was sucking more and more into that hole that was not a hole, including gravity.

T - Rex is up! It will move all out to get closer to Hronos / Anomaly. Its speed is 120 feet moving all out. Its getting a little vague here in the virtual D&D square minatures map...let us use comic book geography and time - i.e. 400 feet from the paralysed Stopwatch / Hronos. Onto next round - but here is the thing - the breach into the Null Zone is causing more problems! Storms, cold weather and now low gravity! We now have DC 10 Distraction (from the storms), Arctic conditions (Fort save every minute), and Low gravity (multitude of effects including +5 base speed, -2 attack rolls) Note you can get low gravity adaptation feat (by spending an HP). The anomaly, being used to all sorts of weirdness, is unaffected (either positively or negatively). Round 8: 66 - Velocity - 2 HP - Fatigued 51 - Anomaly - Injured x3 23 - John S - Bruised, Staggered - 1000' away, in jungle 22 - Hronos - 1 HP - in Jungle, Palralysed (DC 20 Will), 500' from Velicty and Anomaly 9 - T Rex - Unharmed

Great character! I cant see anything technically wrong with the crunch. However, there are two things to consider. The first is the Arsenal array. Both his mighty weapons are built fine, the issue here is AP of devices. As I understand it, APs of devices are fine in the instance of things like different suits of battle armor (although understandably with some concern if you end up with a trick for every box), in the sense that you carry one device at a time. Which would work fine for this PC if he only carried one weapon into battle (and you could have this as an easy to lose thing). On the other hand, having an array as hard to lose is another way to do it, as you have. However, the ruling (see link) seems to be that having a hard to lose device with different weapons in it (Such as a battle harness with a few weapons in it), could either be done as you have, without the complication bonus as you state, or, as per Kensons suggestion (make of it what you will), don't even call it a device, call it a power with "Device" descriptor, and get HP from complications if without it. On balance, I think you have done this in a reasonable way - I think it might be cleaner to make them easy to lose devices with Solvrytter only carrying one weapon into any scene (as if he had an arsenal of weapons in his HQ, and picks one before a fight), which would save you a few PP. M&M Doesn't have a neat system for this, at least as far as I can see [My own preference would be to make these things easy to lose devices and have an array with each separate weapon costing 2 PP rather than 1, as it not only gives a different power, but some kind of limited "protection" against disarming and sundering]. Next: Looking at Silverstar (which is pretty awesome) - if this is a warhorse, I think it should be built as a minion/sidekick (with Morph to either a Motorcycle or "any mount", which might be more interesting!). 13 PP would give you a pretty darn good minion, or 75 PP worth of horse, which is probably enough given that the horse would have low INT, no hands disability, and few skills (the M&M core book has a PL 3 horse for just 23 PP, so I think you could easily build a sidekick at around PL 5-6 fort 75PP?) I take the point of ease with those powers, and that kind of works if it is a spectral entity he just summons up with no independent thought, invulnerable to any attacks, etc...but you pretty much describe it as a horse, albeit with some magical qualities.

APPROVED

Lord Steam Lord Wheel and the Dragon. “Hold men! The Dragon’s Den is yonder!†commanded Lord Wheel. He cut a curious figure for a knight. The steel breastplate was there, smelted by himself, a steel so fine that there was none equal in the realm. A thin, elegant rapier was slung by his side, adorned by silver and gold decoration. No helm for Lord Wheel, instead, a tall floppy hat, purple and regal, with a large plume of swan feathers. He was tall, thin, with a snakes speed and strength. His face was bright and handsome, with flowing brown locks. He was the Kings very own Siege Engineer. His ballistas, catapaults, and towers had won many a battle, turning tide for the realm. Few castles could resist his sapping and his artillery. And yet, today, his ingenuity and wit was fixed towards quite a different target. The lands far south of Freedom City had been plagued by a dragon. Its scales thick and impenetrable, black and oily red. Its wings leathery and dark. Its breath was smoke, fire, and toxic fumes, laying waste to field, crop, and any valiant but dim knight who dared challenge its reign of terror. Already the farmlands where ruined, and starvation had driven refugees north to Freedom City with tails of the beast. And now, Lord Wheel was in sight of the deep black cave, carved into mountain, where the dragon lay. The sun was high, and this far south, the heat was too. His face glowed with sunburn, and he could feel the sweat rinsing his body. He and his men would find such glaring climes hard to endure for long. Water was scarse in supply for his small retinue. Squire Blakely trotted to his side, a man older than he was, but who stoutly refused to become knighted, preferring the company of Lord Wheel. Blakely was no swordsman, but a crack shot with the crossbow, and his skill with herb and flame made his cookery a mighty boon to the morale of Lord Wheel’s men, and Lord Wheel himself. Arrow and lance, it seemed, where useless against the scale of the beast, even if bolstered with valiant courage and devout prayer. What Lord Wheel proposed was a matter of practicality. Engineering, mathematics, and the hard work of the Kings carpenters and blacksmiths. Behold! Pulled by a half dozen pack mules each, the Dragonslayers! Massive portable ballistas, each loaded with screw top lances of finest steel, sharp as a razor, heavier than a lance, and ready to be propelled, faster than a galloping horse. “Take aim, men!†commanded Lord Wheel, taking out a telescope and measuring tools, for distance, wind, elevation. His own inventions, and masterful in function and form. After taking readings, he brought out his abacus, and with a staccato click-clack of brass beads, set to work. “It all boils down to the parabola†he explained to his loyal but disinterested men. Hardy sell swords, they cared more for the frenzied pleasure of hack and parry, cut and thrust, rather than the fineries of calculus. Few could even read. In this case, however, they were more than grateful to the art of maths. For none would muster courage to slay dragon by himself, and wise in that resolve they would be. Their faith and bravery hinged on the calculations of Lord Wheel, and the Massive seinge artillery they had with them. Numbers were beaten into submission, and the three engines carefully aimed at the cave of the beast. And now, Lord Wheel went to work in the execution of plan most cunning. Dragonflesh would not be burned or branded by any mortal fire, and perhaps no godly one. And yet, it was still flesh, and needed to breathe. Smoke! That was the thing! In an enclosed space such as the cave, smoke would force it out. Thus came the fourth of Lord Wheels engines of war, a catapult, loaded with a concoction of tars, oils, and embers. The ball of ooze was duly lit by Squire Blakely, and immediately danced with wisps of flame, releasing a foul belch of toxic and odorous smoke. “Quick! Before this quest fails by our own hand!†coughed Lord Steam, giving command that launched the offensive ball straight into the maw of the cave, a trail of dark smoke giving eloquent image to his abstract calculations of the parabola. Into the maw it swam, and it ‘twas not long before the mouth of the cave was thick with the smoke, coughing and belching. And then…the roar! A horrible roar, full of fear and burning, as the dragon awoke! “Now men, ready! And fire on my command!†said Lord Wheel firmly, as morale started to seep from his retinue. And his orders were well timed, for the dragons head breached the smoke, screaming murder, breathing fire, and casting its gaze left and right for the brave and foolish insect that had awoken it. “Fire!†came the shout, and upon command, the three lances of steel shot like darting snakes through the air, deadly and true. Thud! Thud! Thud! Came the sounds, a beat to accompany the roar of flame and beating of leathery wings. The aim had been true, the path perfect. All three bolts landed with terrible force into the belly of the beast. Amidst the fury, a hissing noise could be heard, becoming a rumble, and then, with a cry of despair, the dragon was consumed in its own fireball, rent asunder as it blew itself apart in an inferno. Cheers of victory and relief rang from the soldiers, and resonated throughout the southern lands. Lord Wheel gave a bow and a victory parade. “The dragon is slain! Let all know freedom from its fear!†he proclaimed, “And let all bear witness to the wonders of wheel, cog, spring, and hinge! For ‘tis the destiny of man to harness the forces of nature, to build, to aspire, and to know!†He felt the vaguest shadow of unease in the back of his head, a thought easily forgotten, quickly dismissed. His words rang true to his ears, but something told him, some intuition, that they were too true, that this world was wrong…

Tiff, toss us those rolls!

The mangy mutt up the stairs looked panicked, head snapping left and right! "Gotta get out of here!" it said in a dog's voice, but in perfect English, with a nice Freedom City twang to its accent. the Hound spared a thought for Lucy and Freddy, and the Crimson Tiger too, although that broad gave him the heeby jeebies. Then again, most things gave the Hound the heeby jeebies. He shook his head clear. He didn't stand a chance against the trained fighters down below. If cornered like a rat, he could fight, all desperation and adrenaline. He could handle himself well enough against any two bit thug on the street. But those guys were killers, out of his league. A pang of guilt hit him, but he quenched it. He would do best by running, maybe getting help, or...or something. He justified to himself. Fearful as he was, he hardly needed the justification. His four legs did the thinking for him. With a yelp, he darted forward, springing through the door of the landing, and into the office of the manufacturing plant above the fighting ring...

GM The next day....lunchtime... Hyde Park Politics was never popular, but a good sized crowd had formed in Hyde Park, to let the speakers speak. A raised stage, complete with magnificent tent to shield the light drizzle, had been erected. Humming, hissing, iron engines, with all manner of long, elegant brass tubes, flowering to trumpets, had been dragged to the left and the right of the stage - some wonderful type of steam powered loud speakers, clearly only plausible in this strange dimension, where laws of physics had warped ever so slightly. Lord Pennyworth was preparing for his speech, a whisky in one hand, sheafs of notes in the other. He looked red, and hung over. "Blast this head! Damn fault of those brutes last night, eh?" he complained to Carrie, ignoring the obvious cause, a forcing some more whisky down his gullet. His head may have stung like hell, but his stomach was clearly made of iron. Meanwhile Ned and and his heavies walked through the crowd, using elbows in a generous and violent manner to clear the path. "This is the scene, my friend!" said Ned, clapping Cannonade on the back. "Now, we just need to get Pennyworth out of the way, and then...well, you shall see!" he said with a wink. "Pennyworth might be a handful, however. I have word that he has a new bodyguard! dropped some of my men last night, single handed too! So, I hope you have your wits about you, and your hands are strong. We may be needing your arm and fist!"

Thats all good, Thev, post away!

Hound is going to take standard action as full defence, then a move action to run wherever the best exit is! (which is?...)

King of Suits and Pitch The Witch in the Woods: The vast expanse of Wharton Forest was home to goblin, ghoul, and malign spirit. Or so the people said. Superstition bubbled and simmered in the lands, and it was not born of vacuum. For every half dozen or dozen stories without basis, there was one that had a seed of truth. And, on occasion, a mighty oak. The forest was also home to one wild woman, Carmen by name. She was not popular with the folk of the land. Six fingered, crippled witch. Illegitimate daughter of a famous black magician, some thought she was the devil’s child with all literal meaning. Brought up a beggar, she soon progressed to outcast, scraping together a living on the outskirts of the city and in the forest. Of course, in a sense, she was a witch. And in more of a sense, the townsfolk should be scared of her. Carmen leant on her withered staff of black wood. She was dirty, smelly, and wild. Her skin was drawn tight, thin bones and body the sign of little food. Living in the forests was not easy. She may have been beautiful, but the labours of living out in the wild, and the burnt brand on her cheek had marred the beauty that lingered in her. Yes, she remembered the mob calling her witch. Had remembered the brand seared into her face. The pain was a vivid as the scar. She examined the basket in front of her. Bread, sweet bread. Cured and smoked meats and fish. Cheeses hard and soft. All rarities to her palate, but not unknown. For whilst the folk where quick to band as mob and inflict their rage and fears on any scapegoat, such professed moral tribalism was oft forgot when the people needed a witch. Even the fear of her was forgot, if need was dire. The girl who had come with gifts was sixteen, or thereabouts, wrestling with terror and pale. Her voice was threadlike and hushed, as if every word was gulped back into the lungs for fear of what it might do if let free to be heard. “I…I besseech ye help, miss…I…I have worms, a plague most unnatural. The medicine man gave me the leeches, but I still be ill, miss. It is the devils work! I be wanting to get married, bear children of me own, but I bit fit for ‘nowt…†she said, ashamedly. Carmen clucked. “First they burn me, now they want me. Tell me then, why should I help you who drove me here?†she asked, full of bitterness. No matter how hungry she was, the bitter taste was always there. “Puh…puh…lease miss. I don’t want to end up like…like…†“Like me†finished Carmen. “Well I don’t want to end up like me, either, girl, but so was the ways of it. Still, I best not be cursing you for the work of your parents, such as they cursed me…†she said, tempering her anger and finding sympathy. The worms, as it was, were indeed most unnatural. A thing beyond the simple potions and balms of medicine men. The girl was right, there was something of the unnatural in them, black and thread, running through veins behind pale flesh. Carmen did not believe in the devil, as was told. She believed in devils, which was more queer, and full of madness. Banishing the queerness was possible, of course. But the banishing was draining, long, and weird. The dark silhouettes of trees in fading light carried the mumbled rituals and occasional screeches of her voice. A faint smell of burning, and sulphur, wisped through the air. The setting sun cast the deepest and most unnatural flickering red light through the forest. Nearby… For very good reason, the Wharton Forest was largely avoided by travelers at night. The vast woodlands of Europe, the jungles of Africa and Asia, all had their share of dangers and strange stories, but the dark trees that stood like an endless wall on the very borders of New Camelot were hide things ever stranger and more dire than they. Unlike the rest of the world, the continent had not seen knights or magicians until only a century or more ago, and the creatures the lurked in its depths had yet no fear of fire or steel. Most of the woodcutters and hunters were already making their hurried way out, back to a blazing hearth, warm smiles and a bed to rest their aching muscles/ So it was that when a figure shrouded in black slid noiselessly between the trunks, heading ever deeper into the shadowed wood, the leaves themselves seemed to watch. Father Marceau had seen the spires of Calacut as a child, wandered the World Kingdom's furthest realms as a youth, and fought some of its most sinister evils as a man, but this mission unlike any he had ever gone on, and the thought of what awaited him made him unconsciously draw his cloak about himself and quicken his pace. He and Pitch had met more than once before, never happily. As one of Fen-by-Water's few priests, he often met people in the very nadir of despair, willing to do anything just to live another day. Some he had managed to help escape from their torments, but all too many disregarded him and his words entirely, turning instead to other self-proclaimed benefactors offering a quicker, easier way to what they wanted. And the devilish voices were never far from their ears. 'Yes' Marceau thought grimly, feeling for a deep pocket of his long traveling cloak 'they are all the Devil's kin at heart. With Pitch it is just clearer to see' a flash of dying sunlight lit up the face of something vivid red and stark white before he stepped into another growing pool of shadow, and when he returned to the light it was gone. Long travels and harsh suns had done their work on him, and the young man looked more like a weathered war veteran than a junior priest in his mid twenties, and seeing the evils that were done by Sun and Moon, from East to West, had hammered him into a tall man with a forbidding and iron-wrought mein. His step was utterly silent on a street unless he wished to be heard, and even on the forest floor strewn with branches and leaves he was like a passing ghost. Every now and again he paused, stooped to examine some broken branch or a stone moved from its place, then rose and resumed his swift, heron-like strides. Cora's parents had told him about what had happened, begging for his help in saving their daughter, blaming themselves for unknowingly driving her away. A simple question of what she had taken had told him everything he needed to know. 'She hasn't run, she's gone to visit her' he mused, eyes catching a tell-tale broken flower beside a crisp stream. Crossing it in a single bound, he hurried onward 'Why? What was so terrible that she dared not tell even us?' The sound of a chanting voice, a fire burning red just a little way off 'Something that could only be Hell's work. So to Hell's daughter she goes' Years ago, before he had left the Old World and come to the New to spread the Gospel, Marceau had on his wanderings found many strange things. Weapons that refused to kill, a pale rock that grew dark when held by the wicked, cloth that always matched the sky. Chief among them was the deck of cards blessed by a man martyred in Africa, said to contain the power of a heathen spirit. Though Marceau never trusted the unnatural, the cards had saved his life time and again, turning the tide of battle in ways that defied understanding. But first, there was work to do. He couldn't let the witch get any further with whatever she was doing, like as not she was corrupting the innocent girl into a servant of Hades. Slipping close enough to the fire that he could see clearly who was beside it despite the deep twilight and flickering shadows, he recognized Pitch and Cora with both revulsion and an inward sigh of relief. Drawing a card from the deck, he lunged into the clearing, landed across the flames from his quarry in a whirl of darkness, and flung his weapon in a blaze of light straight into the chest of Pitch. The card struck like a cannonball, carrying her into the underbrush with an explosion of broken wood and dirt! "Ware, child! Hide from this battle! Get behind the trees" he thundered, casting the hood back from his shorn head, his cold blue eyes blazing in the firelight above his bristling beard. "Keep yourself from the witch, lest she use you in her evil spells!" With that he turned and faced where Pitch had been thrown, readying another card and taking a crucifix from his belt. Pitch groaned in reply, wiping smoke from her face. “Damn you, Priest! Can I ever be rid of you? Why must I be tormented so!†she implored, fury rising. For all her rage, however, she was tired, the work of extracting infernal curse from Cora had taken its toll. She paused a moment. She was tired, body aching, the card of the Priest taking all that was left of her wind when it exploded on her. “What say you to evil, and good?†she said, bringing forth the chained demon from its cage inside her. “Your words and wisdom lack wit, are free from subtlety! Right and wrong are no so easily divided! Did ‘ere consider what evil spell I cast? Did you ‘ere consider that my dealings with beasts be to chain and bind them? Aye! Pitch serves no demon, they serve me!†she screamed, exhaling pure fire. The roar and whine of the flames matched the bright burning light. The flames danced from her breath, curled and swooned, and then formed into a blazing fiery imp, stood in the forest, burning bracken on its feet, and with red flaming eyes locked on Marceau. “Run now, Priest! I will not be chained and burned by ignorant townsfolk as last time! I may be weak, but my slave Tazel is not!†she shouted at Marceau. “Delightful feast!†groaned Tazel, voice like crackling. “A priest! You set me free for such a delicacy! I shall taste him well!†grinned the fiery demon. The roaring appearance of the demon, a creature of malice so great its sole possibility of life on Earth was as consuming fire, made a clear impression on his clerical foe. The priest took an involuntary step back, crossing himself as his already iron face grew yet grimmer, thinking 'No doubt about it, she wishes to make Cora a slave of the Evil Ones'. Father Marceau bristled at Pitch's words "I never hear such excuses" he growled, eying the swirling fires of Tazel and gauging its mistress's vigor "unless the speaker wishes to escape justice! Of course the paths of good and evil can be unclear, witch, that's what God's word is for! What virtue is there in making yourself more an outcast? Do you think anyone will pity thy self-made misery? Ye have bound the Beasts that would drag us all to Hell, aye and good, thanks for that, but ye forget the next step: the banishing!" "As for you," he pointed the cross at the imp, "rejoice when you have conquered, shade!" Marceau had traveled the world seeking to emulate the League Knights who had come once to France, doing battle even with fiends given earthly form. Battles that stood him in good stead as he walked forward, the cross held high. But he stayed his hand. There was still a chance the fight could be avoided, despite his hastiness. Something about what Pitch said was bothering him as well. "And what is this I hear about 'what evil spell' ye cast? When have your powers ever led to good without woe soon after, Pitch? What proof have you that you meant anything but evil for that" he gestured angrily at Cora, peering from the tree she'd gotten behind more from shock than actual desire to obey, quaking with fear at the sight of Tazel "luckless, desperate girl? Will even she deny you meant her ill? Come now, the truth!" Tazel roared forth, the flame heaving towards the Clerical feast, twisting through the forest and the burnt bracken beneath him. He was fast, but not as fast as Marceau. “I’ll burn you, priest!†it grinned, all lustful desire in its eyes and smiling mouth “’tis not oft I am set free to such a treat!†Perhaps the infernal fire would have burnt the Priest. Or perhaps the Priest had, under sacred sleeve, some ace. Holy water, or Catholic Relic that may have warded or banished the beast. That road was not travelled, that story not told. Cora yelled out. “Please father! Please! I am cured!†she yelled, her face brighter, her body flush with health and vigour once more. At Cora's shout, Father Marceau had turned and really seen her for the first time. His iron determination faltered 'But...then what...' “Tazel! Stop, I command you!†said Pitch, on her knees with exhaustion, head bowed, ragged hair draped over her face like straw. She was exhausted from the ritual. “Priest, I banish too. That young girl, for instance. Any touch or curse with infernal beat is a woeful thing to the folk who know little. You think I do not know this? Yea, I bind the beasts, to fight fire with fire. I will not be standing for brimstone and smoke, no less than you. You have your crucifix and cards, I have my slaves†she said, still cast downwards of eyes, body weak and feeble. “Now then, wish you death on me? For my work, unholy as it be, is a blight on all demonkind. My name is hissed and cursed. No name despised more so! And yet, and yet…you would burn me at the stake, all for the sake of my hated Father!†Her words were stronger now. She clambered onto her staff, and raised herself, tearing down her rags to show the Priest her back. A tattoo showed clear, lit by the fires of Tazel. “This! No demon or devil can touch me! Avert not your eyes, Priest, I show you my flesh from shame. This is what my father did to me! All I can do is choose what I do with it!†she replied to him defiantly. “Now let me be! I have no desire to burn a man of the cloth like you. But make no mistake, I would rather you burn than me!†The Hellish mark on her back provoked a grimace of disgust from Father Marceau, but learning who had placed it there drowned the last of his desire to fight. When she mentioned burning, he spoke at last "That need happen to neither of us. It seems we both sought the same end after all. I am sorry," he added grimly, replacing the cross and cards back in the depths of his black cloak, "but I had never met any who used the Enemy's power against it. Since you have done such service to her, I shall take her back to her parents, and tell them truthfully of what happened. And remind them that few could do such a thing even among the ranks of the blessed." With long steps he reached Cora's side and gently took her hand in his, turning to Pitch again before he left "Thank you. I can do little for you, but if you wish to talk again...you know where I live, andI will listen. Fare well, witch." With that, he bowed slightly and vanished back through the forest, heading back to the lights of New Camelot, and the world that feared what lay outside. Behind him, Carmen collapsed in a head, exhausted from the ritual of banishment, and the cost extracted from Tazel. But for the first time in decades, her sleep was easy, and restful.

Harry stopped fingering his lighter, and turned to Foreshadow. "I reckon I could, at that. But don't see what good it would do. If you got the lab, you got the know how, lets hot tail there..." He gave a subtle nod to the 'boys in blue', unseen to them, but for viewing by Foreshadow. "Best do this between ourselves" he whispered to the caped crusader. "Not that our police force ain't got the chops, it just that they ain't the fastest bunch. We'll be tied up in Red tape, be like running through mud" he explained. Maybe he was egging it up a little, or more than a little, but he also knew the police. They did tend to slow things down, compared to the freedom of the private investigator. Procedure, Buerocracy...all for good reasons, but all impeding the practice. And besides which, the Police still viewed him as lazy, unprofessional, and sloppy. Well, they weren't too far from the truth. But he didn't want those looks and those insinuations tonight.

Sunset The Apothecrary and the Alchemist “Verily, ‘tis another sad tale. To much ‘o the Poppy doth consume body and soul, and starves of both physical and spiritual nourishment†sighed Sunset, grinding mortar and pestle together with practiced hand, full of callouses from years at work. “I know all too well the tragedy†she continued, fingering a silver necklace that lay around her dark and beautiful neck. “My lover was consumed by the poppy years ago†she explained to the parents of the moaning skeleton of a man that lie in her shoppe. Of course, it was a very long time ago. Decades ago. Before she was born. But Sunset was always able to see the past, in vivid hallucinations. Twas her name, after all. The seeing of the past, the setting sun. Some said her visions were from God, some from the Devil, most said she was a fraud. As for herself, she did not know. Perhaps, she did not care. But her lover was with her, in the silver chain round her neck, lending his strength. A ghost from the past. She reached up to hold it, and felt the spirit of her lover flood through her. All you need is love… The whisper of him filled the air, like a zephyr, barely heard, barely believable. But there he was, taking away the young man’s pain, taking away his yearning. His eyes fluttered, and he sank into a deep, serene sleep. “’Tis done†she bowed slightly to the man’s parents. “His body is weak still, yearning your nursing. Feed him well, body and soul†she said to the weeping and grateful parents. Once alone, she sat down, gently, in her castle room, full of quaint and mysterious jars, potions, and ointments. The fluids and forms could distract a curious eye for hours. Yet Sunset just closed her eyes, held her silver locket on silver chain, and felt the ghostly presence of the man she had come to love, after a fashion. Tis not well, my love. I knew his mind, and devious plot is brewing. “What skulduggery is this?†she asked him, alarmed. Poison, most black, most foul. His meals of poppy were given to him as feast, to procure his loyalty. He was procuring flower and root, deadly both. He knew not what he gathered, but there can be no mistake. “Who then is behind this plot?†she inquired, pressing him with growing trepidation. The Alchemist, Sir Levitt! The jigsaw fell into place. Sir Levitt, the crazed alchemist in the kings employ, was not well of mind. His concoctions had a most fearful effect, causing madness and terror. And Sir Levitt was one to sow havoc, and take any place or piece of power he could in the royal court. Sunset bolted straight up, gathering her luxurious orange robes around her, and paced herself briskly to the Alchemists rooms, deep down in the lower levels of Freeedom City castle. “Open up, Sir Levitt! I will not sway, I will not be dismissed! I demand word!†she shouted through the door, banging on it with her closed fist. Presently, the door swung open, with wooden creak. Sir Levitt’s face crept up to hers, a mass of tussled white hair over a tall, thin, and gangly frame. His body was aged and weak, but his eyes displayed cunning and ambition. “Yes yes!†he spat back. “I am in the middle of most delicate experiment. The mixing and distillation of chemicals far beyond your herb and oil!†he said, contemptuously. “Let me in, or I will summon guard and wag tongue of your experiments…†Sunset hissed back, before barging in to his laboratory. It was full of glass, with peppering of flames and smoke. Liquids of every colour and consistency bubbled or oozed through pipes and pipettes. A strange, not unpleasant odour hit her nose, and she felt a sweat clamber up her spine. “What foul concoction are you making, Sir?†she demanded. “I know you have gathered most worrisome materials…root of the black orchid, and flower of the angel vine†she explained, hoping her insinuations would make the man blub. But Sir Levitt was made of sterner, more devious stuff. “And what of it? I am charged by King to press forward all manner of alchemical knowledge, madam. I must investigate every resource, every rock, mineral, vegetable, or…†he licked his lips…â€animal…†The rumours of his using human body parts in his experiments was not to be forgotten. “So be it, but I will have answers!†Sunset replied, as she once again held to her silver locket, and her lover seeped through the ether, plucking and strumming Sir Levitts mind. Yes, it was all there, his plot to unleash most foul vapours at the feast tonight, to wreak havoc on King and Queen, no less. “Out of my head! Out of my head!†he yelled, scuttling away, holding his skull with both hands and shaking it. “You shall not foil my triumph, even if you know my schemes!†he declared, bringing glass bottle to hand, then dashing it to the floor. A purple haze exploded into the air, one of Dr Levitts infamous terror gasses. Sunset could feel her sweat congeal, her heart race and burst from her chest. Every hair stood on end, electric and raw. Pure fear swept through her. Dragons, Demons, Spiders, every nightmare seemed to form in the gas and loom at her. Embrace me, love. You are safe… Her lovers words were strong and sincere, a light in the darkness. Holding her breath and closing her eyes, she reached out to her lover, and, with soul and mind, embraced him. “You won’t…defeat me…so easily….†She gasped back at Sir Levitt, her heart still bounding but no longer exploding. Once again, she felt the power of her ghostly lover seep forth, stealing at Sir Levitt. “Oh yes I will!†answered Sir Levitt, behind his glass and liquids. “And tonight, I will…I will…†he paused, confused. “I will…do something…I am sure I was going to do something….yes, I had made the…what had I made? I made something….†He shook his head. “I…can’t remember!†he conceded, purple with frustration. “Remember this, Sir Levitt!†said Sunset, removing herself politely from his laboratory. At the doorway, she completed. “My eyes are on you, and no scheme or plot of yours will see light of day. For they will see Sunset!†And with that, fear still gripping her, but smile of victory on her lips, she departed.

GM The Captain looked blearily at the wad of notes, and reached out, clumsily to grab them. His attempts to focus his eyes were somewhat hampered, but he managed to wet his thumb and flick through the notes, his grin widening. "A lover's night is it?" he said, the cabin dimly illuminated. "Then, you can have my cabin!" he mumbled, stumbling past them both and out of the way, leaving his cabin wide open for the pair. "I'm of to that club! The Wild Joker! I here they got some fine looking gals' singing there! I'm gonna get me some sweet kisses!" he blurted, stumbling his way down the Corridor. Agnes and Roi caught sight of the two policemen following them jump into the shadows to avoid the oncoming captain, although truth be told, his eyes were too glassy to see much that night.

Ill need a bluff roll from Agnes, with attractive counting 1d20+2=5 for his Sense Motive. Never mind, you auto win!

Knowledge: Streetwise - No, this place is pretty locked down. Nobody gets in! Knowledge: Physcial Sciences: Sorry! As for the corrosion - Cruxberry gives you the lowdown. Any "attack" on the door runs the risk of blowing the Thames above the Haven. Of course, you could take that risk and cut a small hole! There are lock systems on the door too, which could be circumnavigates with disable device, computer, or knowledge (electronic) rolls, DC 30 (taking 20 is possible too of course). Stunting the corrosion device would, I think, give a +5 Situational bonus to any disable device rolls here, as it in effects gives you a great tool for the job.