Supercape

Thanks THev!

Ok, stuff the Cantos stick into the Jaws of the Dog - I hope. 1d20+10=19 well I hope that hits. I forgot to add the fatigue penalty making it 18. Anyway, if it does, its a DC 25 Will Save or nicely bound to Pitch (for a bit, anyway!)

Nice catch, sorry Thev. Edit made. Hronos is up!

You can!

GM The anomaly's actions were hard to perceive - it was blurred, incoherent, and existed in more than four dimensions, breaking several of them. Its vaguely humanoid appearance did look up, directly towards Hronos. One could imagine its eyes focussing in, like a hawk on prey. It did not speak, but there was some sound, something primitive, like a hunters joy. And with that, it whipped around Velocity, barely brushing her, leaving a trail of broken and shredded vegetation, and launched itself into the sky, curling and bending time and space, right towards Hronos. Around the spot where Velocity and the Anomaly had tussled, the ground and flora showed signs of Velocities super speeding destruction. And cracks were appearing in the Null Dome...

So, the Anomaly is going to run through Velocity - which amazingly misses! 1d20+20=22 And fly up to Hronos. Meaning Hronos is up again!

"How rude" muttered Rene, somewhat perplexed by the conundrum. He looked left, then right. Wondering if they had the right room, or if something else had permeated the block. But only empty corridors and doors met him. "I wonder then, if we should not ask a neighbour" he said, with some trepidation. "Alas, for the modern age, and the cities of tall towers, ones neighbours are no longer as intimate as in ze olden days. Heh, although that was not always for ze best either" he said, recalling his long centuries of experience. "Still, a polite word and question may do ze trick?" he guessed. So gathering all his politeness around him, letting it infuse his demeanour, he strode up to 314 and knocked on that door...

Thanks Kanister. With regards to magic, this is your personal choice, I would be quite happy to approve Spelldancer as it is - its really for you to think about how you want to play. Some people like the "do anything" kind of stunting, some people prefer to avoid it. On that note is something you may wish to consider filling it at some point. Everybody plays RPGs with a different agenda. As for c), I'll plug as it seems to have gone down fairly well in terms of considering how to use and have fun with complications. As you say, that complication is probably kept in backstory rather than complications. The character sheet complications is really a list of things for the GM (and you) to crib from in terms of working into stories. In any case, we try here to prioritise new players in terms of getting their first PC up and running fast, and into threads, so I hope you stick around and enjoy

1d20+12=22 Fails Reflex Roll (again!) And 1d20+8=21 a partial fail on toughness roll, giving it its third injury. Post that away!

Which means: Round 6: 66 - Velocity - 2 HP - Fatigued 51 - Anomaly - Injured x2 23 - John S - Bruised, Staggered - 1000' away, in jungle 22 - Hronos - 1 HP - 500' in air, in Jungle 9 - T Rex - Unharmed Notes: Cold, Distracting (DC 5) Environment. Velocity is up!

Ok so thats an HP spent by Hronos bringing him down to zero. The damage of the IDF attack is therefore +3 due to excess attack roll, or a total DC of 29. The Second T Rex has a toughness of +14. and... 1d20+14=30 this time, not so lucky! And for the T Rex initiative next round: 1d20+1=9

Ok I am going to cut to the political rally next day unless anyone objects - it does kind of depend on Silhouettes response to Pennyworth though. Roo can you give direction?

"One would suppose" said Rene, without firm agreement, pausing a moment. He was glad to be free of the music. Whilst he preferred classical, he quite liked Calypso, it reminded him of fine times in Parisian bars discussing art and philosophy. And Calpso had just been assassinated in the elevator. "Appartment 313 is it?" he mused, a question which needed no answer. He paused to bend down, a little stiffly, a put his beady eye through the keyhole. "Quite the mystery. 313. Maybe that has some quaint or pertinent meaning. Maybe ze numbers indicate some mystical connection with ze stars. Or maybe it is just a number" he said, turning to Mona with a wink. Normally, he found it was the latter. "But, as we have had a polite invitation, we should respond in like, non? not ze spying through ze keyhole, but, as you say, ze knock!" And thus, he knocked.

First attack roll of 16 will hit (T Rex defence is +6 total) do you want to reroll still?

"How kind" commented Rene. "Looking after my poor old legs. I'm not a young man any more, you know" he said, effecting a slightly more sedate, shuffling gait. An elevator was clearly a much more risky proposition. A possible, literal, death trap. But then, he was not entirely lying about his age. Over two centuries of wear and tear. He aged two or three times the rate of most men, his mind and soul having long since expanded beyond the world as most knew it. But it was an old body nonetheless. He could surely have made eight flights of stairs, but he would be honestly complaining by the end of it. And out of breath. In any case, he hoped that whoever was opening the path for them was doing so for a reason. Which meant that they would not slam the axe on them halfway through their enticement. "Come then, let us ascend, there is nothing to be scared of!" he lied to Mona, entering the elevator and pressing up.

Pitch will stunt as above, using her move action to get into best position.

I'm guessing too! But drive is a good call I think 1d20+1=8 Tiiimmmbbeeerrrr?

Pitch was out first, all smoke and rumbling fire in her belly. The immediate arrival of a group of demons did not fill her with joy. Whilst she was immune to hellfire, her charges were not. Too many...too many... She would have been sweating, if the fire of Tazel had not been burning through her. These spawn would, she thought, be immune to any fire breathing tricks. She needed to cut them down, fast, quickly, all of them, not one by one. But exhaling fire would be worthless. She had never done it before, but desperation came to her. And the fear of her gun toting soldiers. She could feel them beside her, and those guns and bullets gave her inspiration. Drawing on the infernal forge, the realm of smoke, fire, hammers on metal, she decided to spit out something else. Taking a deep breath in, she gave out a powerful exhalation, this time blowing a storm of shrapnel - twisted, spinning fragments of blackened, razor sharp metal that spun out like dust over the demons.

1d20+6=26 hows about that. I will take that level of fatigue, which I think makes her at 8 HP, and Fatigued? Ok, so I better use one of those straight away to stunt a power of her Infernal forge array. As breathing fire is unlikely to work on them, lets breathe metal instead! Damage 10 (Extra: Cone, Power Feats: Affects Insubstantial 1) [21 PP] So thats a Toughness DC 25 Save for them, or 20 if they make their Reflex DC 20 Save.

"A fine welcome" answered Rene. He had walked into enough traps in his life, some by accident, some by design. Sometimes, the best thing to do with a trap was walk into it. Then, it ceased to become a trap. Rene did not bother with Mona's flamboyant costume. His own choice of colours and cloth was usually somewhat rich. Rich enough to mimic the bright spandex and cape of the superheroes that flew, leaped, and whizzed through the streets of Freedom City. Whilst the costume may have attracted attention, it was bright and lovely. And he loved it. "I just hope they have a lift" he said entering. The elevator was his favourite invention of the twentieth centuries. "My knees and hips are worn through! I am just a feeble old man, you know!" he said, a little more loudly than normal, just in case anyone was listening.

Welcome to the site, and hope you enjoy it! Normally we have PCs bashed around a bit in character building for everyone to chip in and give suggestions. As you have gone straight here (which is fine!) I will make a few suggestions, but bear in mind these are suggestions - not judgements or requirements. So lets starts with the crunch and stuff! Super-Senses 1 (Vision Counters Obscure [Darkness]; PFs: Innate; Flaws: Limited) [2 PP] {Alien Biology} Looks a bit confusing to me? Is this low light vision? In which case just saying low light vision with Innate feat is all thats needed. On that note, however, I think the innate feat on this and Immunity to cold is not needed. Potentially it could be nullified by an appropriate biological descriptor? Ultimately your call but I think you could safely drop this. Benefit: Freedom Philharmonic member is, as far as I can see not needed. Whatever marginal benefit this gives, can be considered a perk of the job (in the same way that a Doctor can prescribe drugs) and would be free. So, a free PP from that! The first four powers could be tidied up from a format point of view by spreading them apart with a new line. Now, onto comments and suggestions. These are some things to consider but are not required to approve. 1. Exotic saves are a bit low. By experience, the site recommends an average of PL -2 for exotic saves, but this is only a vague recommendation. The saves here are well below that. Again, not a problem for letting this character through, but you may find a few annoyances with that. 2. The Magic powers seem essentially a "do anything" magic. This is fine and good, and many people like this. I will however note a potential issue that some find with power bases like "do anything magic" (or reality changing, or vague cosmic energy), in that allow you to stunt any power. From a tactical perspective that is of course excellent, but from a narrative or GM perspective it might be considered less than awesome, as any threat or problem can be countered with a power. Depending on your outlook on this (and it all depends on your outlook), you may wish to hone down the focus of magic power into some theme or limitation, and use the ritualist feat to cover the other aspects of magic. Note this is just suggestion. 3. Complication, Magical Blindness: Unlike most of her colleagues, Jessica is unable to sense magic I cant see how this could ever be brought into play. I mean, its plausible, of course, but you dont have to put down a complication to get an HP from it. I think its very difficult to actually make this into a difficulty, and you have the underlying issue: getting an HP for not buying a power. Feel free to put it in if you wish, but I think it only clutters the sheet.

10,000th Post! Well, I couldn't resist doing something special for it. I thought about doing some pseudo academic reflective essay on the psychology of the Superhero Archetype and its relationship to role playing games. But in the end, I just thought "Yippee!" would do it. Thanks to the site for providing me with lots of entertainment and fun. And for stimulating my heart and mind in many ways since I joined. Whilst it has not been without some irritations (as in all parts of life), it has been valued, treasured, and enjoyed. This is not a goodbye, but a thanks to all who have imparted their wisdom, creativity and fun for me, an apology to those who I have needlessly offended or failed (and there have been some), and a well wishing to the site.

ORIGIN STORIES The sun was blinding, the sun was hot. It hung almost directly overhead, large and oppressive, blazing into the desert heat. The only reprieve was the wind that whipped through Carmens hair as she drove down her bike down old road. The air was dry and otherwise still, but the speed of her engine – a speed slightly in excess of the legal limit – was enough to temper the heat of the day The landscape was flat and barren, and her destination could be seen miles away, even in the haze of the midday heat. It was a gas station and repair shop all rolled into one. Probably didn’t see a lot of custom. But clearly saw enough. She pulled up and felt the heat hit her. A film of sweat formed over her body almost instantly. She knocked back some water and poured the rest directly over her head without much effect. She was dressed like a biker, wearing a cut off t shirt, leather trousers and boots, and a tattoo down her spine from the top of her next to the base of her sacrum. A tattoo of angels, demons and sigils. Her hair was wild and dirty blonde, a reflection of the rest of her. She was a beautiful wild rose, full of allure but absent polish. She hauled herself off her bike somewhat stiffly, walking with a noticeable limp. A legacy of the tattoo on had been inscribed on her back twenty seven years ago. It may have been beautiful, but it was a brutal piece of work, and had damaged the nerves of her spine, leaving her paralysed down the right leg. A condition she managed with the aluminum calipers she wore under her leather boots. The man she had come to meet was a friend of her father. Axel “Grease†Robinson. Perhaps “Friend†was presuming too much. She was not entirely sure her father had any friends at all. But Axel had known her father. Axel had ridden with him.She had pieced together bits and pieces about her father from news items, urban myths, rumours, and hearsay. Enough for suspicions, but falling short of substance. She strode in, her mood a mixture of confidence, anxiety and anticipation, and caught sight of the man who could only be Axel. He had that kind of robust build that hovered between fat and muscle but leaned towards the latter. He was unshaven, and splattered with a hint of grease as befitted his name. He had a broad grin and was full of teeth. He was dressed like a mechanic, and had plenty of tattoos, of voluptuous maidens and roaring engines. “Well now, Yer can only be one girl, walking in like that, and with that tattoo†he said, eyebrows lifting. “Knew this day would come, Cantos’ girl walking in here. But knowin’ is one thing, and it happenin’ is another thing all together, ain’t it. You are her, ain’t yer? Before I get all sentimental? Carmen Cantos?†She only paused a moment. There was no disguising. “That’s me. And I’m guessing you are Axel Grease, if you spot me so quickly, huh? Friend of my father, whatever that means?†she answered, a spiked note in her voice. “Well, being friends with your father was a tricky business†said Axel, with a half laugh, before bursting out and hugging Carmen before she could resist or object. “But damn, it is good to see you. How long! How long! We had some good years, me and your old man. And some bad times, too. And the end, well it broke my heart. And killed your parents. And…well, to see you…†The words didn’t need saying. They both knew what damage had been done. “It’s good to see you, really, it is. Grown up and making something of herself, despite all that you went through. I heard you made good despite it all. Even made bad a few times. Yeah, I keep my ears open. Gas Chuggers still like to take a piece out of you, still got it in for the Cantos bloodline. I’d watch your step there. They don’t forget. And neither should you†he emphasised, patting a large revolver he had tucked in his jeans. “Relax, Axel, I’m not here to swap bullets†she answered. “At least, not with you. I’m just here for answers. I got a whole mountain of rumours, and not much truth†“Well you best come inside. When it comes to your father, who knows what truth there was. He surrounded himself in mystery. That was his way. Even when he told the truth, it was just a shadow of the real thing. I guess nobody got more of a glimpse of what he was up to. Me included. But I can give you that glimpse†Inside Axel’s home was pretty shambolic, but a temple to organised disorganisation. It had a homely rough feel to it, full of beer, food, engine parts, and plenty of pictures of bikes, rockers and women wearing tattoos and little else. It was just the kind of home you imagined Axel living in, and it was very lived in. “I got something for you, out back. Being keeping it safe. Belonged to your father. Guess it belongs to you now. Sure don’t belong to anybody else†he grunted, leading her through his home, weaving a jagged path to the dusty air behind his home. The treasure he had in mind was, suitably, buried, and needed a few minutes of spadework before, in true pirate style, he hauled up a small chest. It wasn’t locked, but it was ornate. “Kept it here all these years. Your old man, he had plenty of people interested in his life, and not in a savoury way, least not usually. I kicked most of their asses into the roadside, but some, a bit to persistent. And some came in too heavy handed. So I had to hide this stuff. With the years passing, he faded into memory, and the knocks on my door came less and less, but I never cared to dig this stuff up. Your old man, well, he gives the chills. What he dealt with. You heard the rumours? Well, they probably ain’t exactly true. But then again, they probably ain’t exactly wrong either. You may not believe in black magic and sorcery. But if you were me, and saw what I did, then you would†He kicked some dust and grunted. “Then you would†Carmen was pretty sure that she did anyway. Something in her bones, scratching away. Something in her dreams, in the corners of her eyes, something intuitive. There was something beyond this world, things beyond humanity. Things that sucked the humanity out of you. And it seemed the Cantos blood was seeped in it. She could no more ignore her Father than a moth could ignore a flame. It may burn, but it was bright. “What will I regret most? The things I see, or the things I don’t?†she asked Axel, knowing they both knew the answer. And knowing they would both regret it. She folded up onto her knees, sitting in the dust, and opened the chest. A subtle blast of hot air, and a more subtle old smell of dryness and sulphur hit them both. Inside the dust, the smell, Carmen could make out an old wooden stick, blackened but straight, with a cruel and eerie brass heat fashioned in the shape of a goat. “Your father’s stick. The Cantos devil stick, they called it. Said it could chain a demon’s soul to that piece of wood and brass†said Axel, admiring the cane but not touching it. “I never had the guts to handle it myself. I seen a thing or two with your old man, not much, but enough to make me happy to bury the thing†Carmen felt like a moth to a flame. Disembodied. The decision had been taken years ago, and now she was just on the rail road, watching her decision being played out without any will over the matter. Distant, like an observer, she saw her own hand reach out, and grasp the cane firmly. It was not an explosion, or a firework, just dust and smell, like oil and fumes, a choking, burning sensation in the nose. A crawling of hot insects up her arm. It was all these things, and more, something wrong, something impossible, something that should absolutely not exist in this world, and yet did. It was a demon. The thing was no more than a foot or so high, a wisp of flame that floated in the desert heat like a mirage, faint, smokeless, but dusty and dry. Although its mercurial form floated in and out of something vaguely humanoid, it was, in essence, a burst of flame and little more. Except for the eyes – two burning red orbs, malign and penetrating, set in its centre. Axel took a few good steps back, fearful, stumbling, but not falling. “I know you!†he whispered. “Tazel! Carlos bound you! Tight and true!†he said, voice losing its thread but still coherent. Tazel hissed, like spitting crackling fire. “And know he is gone! And I am free! His blood has failed and I will wreak such havoc and misery on the fools who followed him!†it said, advancing through the air like a livid ghost. “No! No!†It was half scream, half shout. All of Carmen’s worst fears were realised. All the stories about her father were true, true and real. And dangerous. And she had unleashed them. Tazel stopped. The flame burned a deep displeasure, defiant but impotent. “Yes?†came the burning voice, hazy and twisted. Carmen was on her knees, hands grasping the dusty earth in despair and anger, tears mirroring those emotions. And through it all, she understood. “Bound to the Cantos blood? Bound to me?†she asked. No, she demanded. “Yes†came the reply, not a question this time, a burning, resentful answer, extracted from the demon reluctantly, but obediently. Carmen stood up, full of her own defiance. “Well, you…†she started, before remembering Axel’s words. “Tazel, is it? You sure have a lot of talking to do. Because I have a lot of questions†“Careful, honey†said Axel, cautiously. “I saw this one, two or three times. All shadow and fire, twisting his words to bend hearts and minds. Wicked thing†he said, spitting into the dust at his boots. “What do you do, Tazel? Just twist words and give some candlelight?†she asked him. “What did you do for my father?†Tazel ejected every word as if it was being dug out of him by a dentist. “He possessed me. I fed him power and fire. He knew the smoke and metal of the Infernal Forge, a dimension of terrible endless hammers and chains. And he bound me†sneered the demon. “Like how did you feed him? Show me?†said Carmen, feeling a bloodlust of excitement, a dangerous urge, build up in her. “Like this!†answered Tazel, revelling in the answer for once, and as Carmen inhaled, he flew into her mouth, infusing her body with smoke and fire. A warmth billowed into her lungs and stomach, then through her blood and bones, her muscle and sinew. Her clothes blackened and curdled, steel rivets forming, as wisps of light flame crawled over her mouth, and dark smoke rose out of her mouth into the clear and unforgiving desert sky. She never felt such power, like her body was alive, strong and furious. The heat was glorious somehow, not burning but invigorating. Through red eyes she looked at Axel. “Now comes the hard part…†she smiled, as she felt Tazel bubbling inside her. Inside her mind, she delved down deep to the demon, and started the questions....

GM The last masked man stood placidly for a moment, as if devoid of wit, the barrel still in his arms. Then, a hiss of gas, churning inside his helmet. The faintest whiff of purple flavoured gas emitted from the sides of his respirator, before he started dancing a convulsion. After the briefest of moments, he stopped, dropping the barrel, which must have weighed a mighty amount, with a resounding clang on the tarmac, before sinking to his knees, and then dropping down face first, to a crack of his mask as it hit the pavement. Whether he was dead, feigning, or sleeping was up for debate, but it was a pretty good slump by anybodies measure. Meanwhile, the screams died down, to the sound of applause from the bystanders, whilst the sizzling chemical spill continued to slowly ooze from the damaged truck, hissing up odious chemicals.

Right, that is combat over, sorry again for delays in this, I had a hell of a Christmas. A brief pause before stuff happens!