Supercape

Any result from that inspiration HP Thev? (And the dog show...for the future?)

Just occured to me she would have left her cane in her hotel room, as she couldn't climb one handed! So lets leave it there if thats ok with you.

What's he up to...What is he up to... Damn it, be my eyes.... She lay there still, defeated and broken, dirty in the gutter. But whilst her frustration and humiliation was real, she felt some determination rejuvinate her. Still lying down, she summoned forth Tazel from her mouth, blowing him out in a pyrotechnic display of fire. "You can soar. So just go up there, and see what's happening. Nothing else....!" she commanded of the fiery form in front of her, a living wisp of ember and flame, with two red eyes burning deeper and harder than the rest of the light. SIghing, she crawled to the dumpster and hauled herself up. The Cantos Cane...she cursed. She had left it in her hotel room. She could walk fine without it, but it was handy in other ways. She could not very well climb across the hotel with it in one hand. Although, she added to herself, she could not very well climb anyway. What do you see! she hissed at Tazel in her mind.

"And we don't know why they went, either" said Carmen, as the smoke and fire died down in her body. Tazel could fire her up (as far as she knew) without fatigue or pause, but she felt more human without that infernal power coursing through her body, even bound and servant as it was. "Well Billy, we can't hold off here for ever, but at least we have food, water, and everyone is in one place. That's better than last night" she said trying to boost spirit. "But the mystery is why? what happened here? What did Acheron have to do with this all?" She turned to Alex and addressed him as well as Billy. "Have you any idea? Did Acheron get in over his head? any interest in the occult which went to far? Perhaps we should search his study - or did he have any other place he went to retreat?"

To clarify: Everyone is 250 ft from the TRexs (and the dome). The TRexs can be seen easily, I have presumed you are under cover of foilage. Velocity has made out the cybernetic attatchments. Once Hronos gets to within 90 feet (and we will probably play loose with the rules!) he can also see them and understand them. At the moment, thought, everyone is still 250 ft away and unseen. Getting closer (at least, getting closer unseen) will mean stealth rolls (or concealment power!)

She's back? Pitch fingered the smoke grenades and wondered. She still didn't know who Nikki was. Tazel apparently did - or at least thought he did - but he wasn't talkative on the subject. And was hardly to be trusted anyway. And what exactly was Nikki up to? Pitch was not at all as confident as Nikki, although her own smoking form was impressive in its own way. Still, she had no love for bullets or mortars - or whatever else the mercenaries were packing. She followed suit, nevertheless. Stopping at the doors of the Church, feeling Tazel squirm inside. She could go no further without ejecting the demon in a most uncomfortable manner. Instead, she smoked away, and hissed at Nikki. "What are you doing? I don't want them killed...."

"She is trapped then" sighed Rene. Not the most pleasant of fates. "Ah, but for how long, I wonder.." he said, pondering the future. "It seems I...that is...the future me, will be entangled in this web for longer than I had wish. No peace for me, I presume" he said, not really expecting an answer. "I could curse the fates, but I don't believe in them" he said with a grin. "My part in this affair brings me no joy either. But I see now that I was but one piece in the puzzle, one person in a elaborate dance. Yes, I suppose I played my part, and this is how it has been played" he murmured, stroking the painting. "What now then? is the painting to be sealed? hidden? I doubt such artifice can constrain Gallia forever. And I imagine her wrath will be great given the stewing it will receive..."

"Nice to see you Billy" she answered, a grin splitting her face and hissing smoke between her teeth. She whispered to him a little more sombre "although technically its Pitch right now". her desire to maintain her secret Identity had held her back when she was fighting Archeron's murders last night. Perhaps if she had fired up, and gone full throttle, rather than relying on a simple gun... Much as she wanted to retain her secret, that was a heavy price, and would weigh heavy on her. There must have been two dozen survivors now. Who had seen her flip back and forth. Well, if she helped them survive, hopefully they would keep quiet. No time to contemplate that now... "What's the situation here? what happened last night?" she asked, keen and anxious. "Did...did you lose anyone else?"

Ok, so let us say the T-Rexs are 250 feet away, and at that distance, with such foilage, you had no problems getting within that distance without being seen. Further sneaking may need the stealth roll of course! Also, could I have some notice rolls from you. The DC is 15, however you are of course at a significant range penalty. at -1 per 10 feet, thats a whopping -25 penalty but of course some people may have extended range, or a pair of binoculars. Roll anyway because we get an idea at what range you might notice something...

GM The spectacular sensitive senses of Hronos could pick up the trail of temporal activity in this place with ease. In the Null Zone, such energies sparkled like fireworks to him. Their source was a low dome, only 4 metres high at the top, but spanning a few dozen metres every side. It was opaque, in a kind of grey, fuzzy way. Around it, and indeed on it, grew much flora that was probably ancient in origin, although only a skilled botanist would know for sure. A faint indentation on one side seemed to indicate a door. The flora was interesting, and certainly provided a degree of camouflage for the structure. It would have been hard to spot from afar without Hronos particular senses. The flora was perhaps more pertinent, however. Two tyrannosaurs patrolled the perimeter. "Just like old times, hmmm?" smirked John Smith at Hronos. The pun was pretty awful. But John Smith seemed to enjoy it. He was hiding, with great skill, admist the foilage and motioning the others to keep quiet and still...

1d20+12=20 how about that!

Ok I can throw "stuff" at you, any proactive thing you want to do (such as tracking, searching, recon, ESP etc etc etc)?

ok crucnh time I guess for Pitch, with everything going badly, and lying in the gutter - give up, get carted of to a police cell and pay for a TV, try to regroup next day? or try to see John? I'm tempted to just leave her in the gutter sorry for herself for a few minutes...but any thoughts from yourself about what would work or might happen to her if she just lay there stewing things over?

Pitch edged towards John's window. This was, she realised, ridiculous. How had this day..this night...become so damn messed up, so damned fast? she was just trying to save John's life. Or more than his life. But what if Tazel was right? what was pushing her so far, so fast? she was like a dog with a rag in its mouth, growling and useless, but refusing to give up its prize. She had no idea what was going on, she had no idea what she was doing. What was she doing, clambering around the outside of a hotel, smoking away, and what was she going to do? she hadn't thought any of this through - she had reacted with her gut, prodded on by her own rage, guilt, and fear. She was a damn fool, is what she was... The last point was drummed home when her dead foot, immobilised by her brace, slipped on the ledge. For all her strength, what she knew in her heart would happen, happened. She tumbled to the ground, leaving a trail of smoke, and hitting the dumpster below, hard, rolling off and landing face down in the dirt of the alley. "$%£!" she swore, pounding the street with her fist. She felt a tear swim down her cheek, surviving the smoke around her body against all the odds.

Roo/Thev/Tiff, tell me when you want a Cut to deptford Docks to hunt down "the Osprey". You have narrative licence how you get there and who you bring with you. Obviously vans and sirens can transport you by road if you wish. You could have a few agents with you too (but not the main NPCs like Cruxberry and Smith who dont do field work like that!) Ari - how do you fancy getting to Deptford with Tony and Nelson (and thugs). If you go handcuffed (we say that you get slapped in cuffs as a precaution) you can join this thread with 1 HP for that annoyance!

Right well I can probably make that toughness roll anyway! 1d20+10=23 yup! But well and truly humiliated! hehe! So I think she is at 2 HP and still, presumably, shaken status.

GM Cruxberry was distracted by an breathless agent who stormed in. "Ladies, we have a lead. Tonight seems to be one hell of a night...we have just had sighting of the Osprey landing on the Docks at Deptford..." he said, brisk, brusque and to the point. "Have you heard of this character? We haven't much of a file, I am afraid, some kind of mutant half bird thing...a product of the good professor Blackpools research..." He looked vaguely ashamed for a moment. "We have been trying to track this thing down, but with no success. Even the reports aren't consistent. A man one sighting, a huge bird the next. Been terrorising half of London, and the South of England. Fortunately, he seems to prefer criminal meat" "I know the Haven is the mission, but we could really use your help with tracking down the Osprey. It appears this creature is one of our...accidents...." he said, coughing into his hand.

GM Big Nelson looked exceedingly uncomfortable at Osprey's stare. He was sweating, and pulled at his collar. "The middleman...he is voodoo. You don't understand. Nobody goes up against the middleman" he explained. "The middleman, he sees everything, he hears everything". Nelson gripped the table. "He's watching us right now. I know for sure. I can feel it..." Nelsons eyes shifted from left to right. "Everybody who has ever crossed the middleman, gets found out. Everybody. You understand?" he gulped. "I can't rat on him...I can't..." his eye twitched uncontrollably. His phone rang, nearly giving Nelson - and probably half the room, a half attack. It was a miracle a gun didn't go off and all hell break loose. Nelson snapped up the phone, full of fear and irritation. "Yes. He's here. What? No! Then who is? What? Now?...Yes sir..." He gulped and put the phone down. "That, ladies and gentlemen, was the middleman. And yes, he was watching us, and listening to us. Our every...move..." his eyes scanned the ceiling and the floor, full of paranoia. "That Max shipment you left in Deptford, Osprey? Guess who just landed on it..." "The Osprey...." he said, his voice like lead. "Which means...who the hell are you, or who the hell is the guy down at the docks?" he said. "In any case, the Middleman wants this resolved. Which means we are all going on a midnight drive...if you care to join us..." he said... Continued in

Rene – Girl with a night fearing. “Oui Oui, I am coming I am coming!†muttered Rene, getting out of bed, putting on his slippers and gown. And, of course, his beret. “What is ze time?†he asked, frowning as he put on his spectacles and examined the grandfather clock in his hall. “Zut alors! Do you know what time it is! It is nearly midday! This is no time to awake an old man!†he grumbled, as he opened the door to his apartment. It was Mrs. Cartwright, from across the road, and her little girl, Lucy. Rene could not decide which one looked more worried. Despite himself, he felt his festering irritation dissipate. “Oui, madame, what is it?†he asked, forcing politeness into his voice. He was no particular fan of Mrs. Cartwright, an officious busybody in his opinion, who took it upon herself to be the community lead, involving herself in every local council and representative group she could find. Her actions were formed of good intentions, but often laced with rather too much energy and enthusiasm. She was, in Rene’s opinion, rather too keen to impose her own morals on others rather than keep them to herself. He suspected her intolerant of anything which wasn’t white, upper-middle class, homosexual, and Christian. Not so intolerant that she would drop her façade of tolerance and liberal values. Oh no, Rene did not doubt for a moment she was smart. Smart enough to keep herself clean, but flare her nostrils and steer the ship in insidious ways. Still, she was polite enough, took it upon herself to do lots of the local administrative tasks, and whilst he found her unpalatable in terms of her officiousness, she was no disturbance to him. Inwardly, he always berated himself for never telling her his own sexual orientation. He justified it to himself by saying that he was so old that his love life had ceased to be an object of major gravity to him, and that mentioning it out of context, without justification, would seem wrong. Somehow, it never got brought up. Inwardly, he wondered if he just preferred to stay silent because Mrs. Cartwright would flare her nostrils and speak to him more often, in some way feeling charged to change him. After two hundred years and more he was pretty comfortable he would not change in that regard, even if was inclined to do so. Lucy, on the other hand, he had a soft spot for. Eight years old, bright as a button, and clearly inheriting her mother’s brains, without any sign of her dullness of vision. A genuinely inquisitive mind. “Please do excuse us, Mister D’Sans†she said. Rene could never quite work out how much deliberation was in the mispronounciation of his name. Perhaps that was the aim. “It’s Lucy. I know you are meant to be some sort of witchdoctor or wizard or something†she said, looking nervous. Clearly all magic was swirling around an unholy alliance with devil as far as Mrs. Cartwright was concerned. The only debate was the distance at which it swirled. Rene made no secret that he was a “wizardâ€. What he did do was cultivate the image that he was a bumbling fool with only an shadow of any real power. He encouraged all rumours he was just an occult scholar. He had found that pretending to be weak was a better disguise than pretending to be nothing at all. “The doctor’s cant find anything wrong with her. It’s just, she has been having these terrible nightmares…†Rene’s eyebrows flared skyward. “Come in, come in†he said, swallowing his vague distaste for Mrs Cartwright by blending it with his fondness for Lucy. “Ah, Nightmares, Nightmares! Tell, me, dear Lucy, what do you dream of?†he said, with a smile, giving her a glass of milk and a cookie from his fridge. “I..can’t remember. It’s just dark…a face…†she mumbled, looking down. “I know nobody believes me, but it’s true, it’s true!†she cried. “The man is really there, in the room with me!†she said, wiping her tears and runny nose. “I’m so scared…I don’t ever want to sleep again!†she said, defiantly. Mrs Cartwright did her best, and it was a good best, to calm down her daughter, holding her. Rene could see she was close to tears herself. “I..I don’t know what it is, Mister D’Sans…†she mumbled, before mouthing the words. I saw him Rene didn’t move a muscle. It was hardly a secret to anyone even vaguely familiar with these things that Freedom City was a nexus for all sorts of supernatural activity. Ghosts, ghouls, demons, and sorcery all seeped and eddied around the streets, above them, and below them. But what piped his interest was the dreams. Who could really penetrate the mystery of the dreamlands and the strange worlds and dimensions that webbed from that strange place? If anyone could, it was Rene DeSaens, the dreamer. But, as Socrates said, wisest is he who knows he does not know. The mercurial nature of dreams meant that they could never be fully known, never fully understood, by anyone, or anything. All one could do was swim in its currents. His own swimming, as artful and powerful as it was, may have caused this? Was this the wake of his wanderings in the dreamlands? Had his strokes caused ripples? Caused something to climb out of that land? Who would know? Perhaps, perhaps not. Lucy had struck him as a sensitive, intelligent child. One who was a natural dreamer, perhaps even one destined for mystic sensitivities. Rene sighed inwardly. “Well, Lucy, how about you show me?†he said with a smile, whipping up a paint brush. He spared the canvas, and he spared the good paint. But the principle was the same. Art was, at the end of the day, art, no matter who from, no matter the complexity or simplicity. It was the projection of the mind’s eye into form. He didn’t have Crayons, but some charcoal and pencils would do the trick, on some sketch paper. For a moment, Lucy almost had some fun. The act of making the immaterial material was rocky, but therapeutic. Through feared strokes and terrified scrawls, the picture grew into form. Rene smiled and took the picture from Lucy. “May I keep this, Lucy? I think you will have a much better night’s sleep tonight!†he said, full of encouragement. Mrs Cartwright gave Rene a look, and mouthed Hocus Pocus to him in questioning manner. “Oh very well†grumped Rene, making a circling movement over Lucy’s head and saying “Abracadabra! Ala-Shoom!†in a theatrical voice, and giving her a wink which actually brought a smile to Lucy. Later that Night Rene was asleep. He snored lightly. His mind was floating and wheeling, spinning into the Dreamlands on ethereal waves. He was light, light, free and flying like a bird, or a zephyr. The ephemeral landscape beneath him changed, with land flowing like water and water creeping like land. He could navigate, to a degree, and wonder at the sights, the impressions, that alternatively assaulted and soothed him. And there, of course, was the door. It was no more than a trapdoor, a creaky, rusty, dusty one. Barely worth a second notice in this part of wonderland, sprung and watered by a child’s imagination. But the trapdoor was creaking, and broken, cracked. And seeping through it was a shadow. A man, but a shadow. “Mr Cartwright, I presume†said Rene, landing beside him. As much as he disliked Mrs Cartright, he sympathised. Her ex husband had been a bully. A loud, obnoxious and intimidating man who had frightened both his wife and his child. Rene did not care to imagine how deep that intimidation went, but clearly the impact had formed this shadow, this welt in Lucy’s mind. The shadow, the archetype of Mr Cartwrights imprinted fear did not answer, merely seethe and hiss. Rene could not destroy or dispel this shadow. He did not exist here. Even if he did obliterate it, it would only be born anew the next night. Instead, he leant down to the Trapdoor. “Hello Lucy! It is Rene! Let’s make sure this door is safe, shall we?†The trapdoor was still a broken, bent and rusted trapdoor. But somehow, it felt like the door to a child’s bedroom too. “Imagine you have a hammer! Imagine you have a nail!†said Rene, in a sing-song voice. “Rap rap rap!†he sang, knocking on the door. “It is your door, it is your room. It is your life. These are the nails, this is the hammer! Knock them in!†Bang! Bang! Great Iron nails, bold and shiny, slammed through the trapdoor. As in any dream, the craftsmanship made no sense, but somehow, the door was secure. The door was safe. “Wave goodbye to the shadow…†said Rene, winking at Mr Cartwright. “Because even if fear never ends, the fearsome does fade. And every child’s slumber must feel safe…†he whispered. Even if it wasn't.

1d20+6=7 Hey lets runs with that, as everything is going badly! Whats the fall like?

Well she has no acrobatics skill so....? (And I have pretty much said acrobatics would be impossible for her!) I was thinking something a bit more slow... Climb skill? Otherwise I will see if I can stunt something with the chain throwing power (snare) a la Spiderman improvisation?

Real sorry for the delay everyone, I have been wrestling with how to tie up this thread with Beating Crime Soundly. It is nearly in place in my head, but I just ran out of steam to put the final pieces together and post right now. I will have this up on track in the next 24 hours! Once again sorry for delay, this I think was the last major hurdle, in terms of getting the four of you together. If it means anything, I think the way its gone so far has been great! One long term note for you all: The next chapter will likely shift towards penetrating and exploring the Haven (and their will be threat!). The rough plan - and I don't wish to force you into this, is for Vanguard 2 to take over the Haven. It will essentially be your joint HQ. So, if this sits well with you, I suggest you hold back a spare PP from your PCs (or from a vet award), and think about building a 20EP HQ (with 1 PP from each of you?) The only thing I would strongly suggest is that the Haven maintains its high speed transport power to Freedom City (essentially a customised teleport), which means that your characters will not be isolated from the goings on in Freedom City and can still stay integrated with the rest of the board! Anyway, thoughts on this and design notes should probably start vaguely kicking off, either here or via PM. No rush, just to start thinking about. The first thing to decide is if you guys would want to have a joint HQ. It needen't be the Haven, but that would make some sense. The only things set in stone about the Haven are its location (under the Thames) and the link to FC. The rest is up to you to design through your own modifications, skills, and resources!

Harry panicked. This was no big story. Harry panicked a lot. He was no stranger to fear. He was good at panicking. So good, in fact, that it barely showed. He was pretty much always nervous and on edge, so turning up the dial didn't really show. He felt it of course. Some primal urge to run and hide. He blamed it on whatever strange heritage he left him with his canine affinity. But he knew that was just an excuse. Really, he had decided that fear was an excellent way of keeping alive. What the hell am I doing here? Neck deep in trained killers all ready to rip my head off... And now, some guard seemed to be making for the exit after speaking to Lucy. "Excuse me folks, nature call's!" he said to the folks around him, perhaps passing on too much information. It wasn't entirely a lie. The adrenaline surging through his anxiety soaked body was indeed stimulating his bladder and bowels. With that, he started slouching off after the guard in what he hoped was a balance between speed and innocence.

I love that idea for the next thread! (tiff?) I tell you what, this sounds like a good place to burn an HP for "Inspiration". I hope it is reasonable for the Mess to burn his HP but narrate it as coming from the Hound (it makes no difference mechanically, and would just make plain more sense for the Hound to have a flash of insight).

GM The Gasman struck by Stargazer staggered back a few steps and reeled before straightening up. He was only of average height and build, but his strength would make an Olympian proud. For all that strength, however, it was no match for the full might of Starchaser unleashed. In retort, the man levelled his head and gun, and gazed through smoky dark goggles at Stargazer. He did not - perhaps could not - say a word. The five gasmen had been silent as the night throughout the operation. He merely fired a gas grenade straight into Starchasers chest. The grenade itself was no more than a gentle slap, but the knockout gas soon filled the air around them once more. The other two gasmen marched into the damaged lorry, oblivious to the spilled chemicals. Their boots fizzed and burned, a nasty, plastic smell adding to the already rich mixture of aroma's in the air. There was a horrible feeling it was not just their rubber boots that burnt, but the flesh underneath... Whatever the case, the men seemed oblivious to the danger and the pain. They were like mindless fanatics to their task. They marched in, and marched out, each carrying a heavy barrel of chemicals with ease.