Supercape

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.

Carmen - or rather, smoking away as she was with the bound demon in her veins - Pitch stopped, and listened, but couldn't hear anything but a vague sawing sound. "This feels like a haunted mansion" she muttered. "All we need is a midnight moon and some vampire bats". For all her confidence in facing down demons, she could still be spooked by other supernatural entities. Ghosts and Ghouls. She half wished she had her own rifle to cock, but made do with a burning smoulder in her hand, ready to hurl. "Well, I aim to find out. There is mystery here, and I am to sunder the veil" she said, allowing some Rock Shakespeare to creep in. And why not? She marched forward and flung open the door with all her strength.

1d20+6=8 a spectacular fail on notice roll!

Ok so Asad can make a DC 25 Notice hearing roll to hear some whispering directly above him, in the ceiling. Its an outside chance, but its there. Meanwhile, Havoc can make a Knowledge (Tactics Roll) DC 15

GM Meanwhile....Directly Above... Havoc and Boomstick were crawling through a ventilation shaft that was a devil to squeeze through, and made not any easier by the luggage they gently pushed along with them, full of weapons, triggers, and explosives. Boomstick put his finger to his mouth and pointed down. He spoke to Havoc in a very soft voice, barely a whisper. The hubub of the general noise of the meeting would mask their conversation to all but the sharpest ears. "Thats our man!" he said, pointing directly at Kabir. "I'll bet on it. I don't know for sure, but he's the profile. Diplomatic status, no allegiances, smooth customer. Did my research, too, a devout muslim, fanatical even. Of course, he toned it down publicly now he has got all political. Just the kind of guy OVERTHROW would get their hands on..." He pulled out a trigger device. "As soon as he is alone, it's time for payback...he ain't gonna attack our men on our soil..." he said, eyes blazing.

GM If Private Timbers looked put out, he sure didn't show it. "No problems, man. Look, I hope I didn't press you to hard with Saeeda. It's not easy to...see..." he said, pained at the accidental pun and looking around to check he had not been heard by the woman, who was indeed nowhere to be seen. "I know that. I dig it. People want to see a nice parade of homecoming soldiers, all fit and well and hugging their loved ones. They can even dig seeing a guy like me, all rehabilitation and smiles, proud to have served his country. But when it gets to the ugly side, well, its time to look away..." He paused slightly, giving a look to Amir that was not exactly hard. No, not hard, more a brutal but empathic honesty. "Truth is, when I found out I had my spinal. I cursed God, cursed America, and cursed my life. And I didn't stop cursing for a long time. I still do curse every now an again. When I wake up in the morning, and for a moment, just for a moment, I don't remember I will never feel or move my legs again. And I ain't even getting to the messy parts of rehabilitation. People think its all about the sweat and the heroic battle, yeah? Huh, if only they new about the messy stuff..." he shook his head. "Same with Saeeda. People want optimism. Not some woman's life ripped away. Not some woman bitter at having being blinded by a damn explosive. People don't want to look. But they damn well should!" for once, Timbers was angery. Not at Amir, but..just angry. "Look, forgive me man, this rehab, this readjustment, it never really ends. It's just like life, you know? And right now, I just want to do a little good for the world" he said, shrugging his shoulders. "And Saeed much appreciates it. I am sorry if her manner was a little...sharp" said Kabir, joining them and trying his best to apply diplomatic balm.

So! Round 2! 20 - Gasmen [3] Unharmed 16 - Graft, Bruised, 4 HP 13 - ? 5 - Starchaser, Bruised, 1 HP One Gasman will again launch a cloud of sleeping gas at the heroes and various civillians (who are all asleep anyway). However, the gas is a poison effect, and both Heroes (I now notice) are immune to poison! so you can walk through that gas unaffected. Sorry for making you roll previously, mebad! but you made the rolls anyway! Also, the gasmen clearly dont realise you are immune to poison gas! The other two Gasmen will lumber into the Leaking Lorry and Carry out a heavy Barrel each. They are clearly pretty strong. They are also wading through the toxic chemical spill. CLearly, they are also fearless! 1d20+9=16, 1d20+9=17 They both make the saves! Which means Graft is up!

So her search skill is not very good, but taking 20 for a 21 result to see if she can find anything. Perhaps in conjunction with the sailors.

No dead people. That's good. No alive people either. That's not so good. After Tazels mocking and her feverish fears and nightmares, she would take what solace she could. However, the sheen of death that had coated the island weighed upon her. She proceeded slowly. For one, she was tired. Her leg had absorbed far too much punishment with the hiking and she new the paralysed skin would be breaking and red sore from the titanium brace. The nerves down there were deadened, but not dead, and she could feel their muted complaints. But also, she was cautious. No matter the silence and stillness, she was on guard. She kept replying the murder that had happened in front of her eyes last night. She still couldn't quite accept it, and all she could do was press on, scorching a determination to let no further death blight the island. "Let's try and look for survivors.." she said in a quiet voice to the crew. "And if not survivors, then lets try and find out what the hell happened...."

For the sake of vanity and bragging, you may make some Life Sciences Rolls to recognise the variety of plant and animal life around you. Narrate whatever you like Roughly speaking DC10: Whoaah! Them be dinosaurs! DC20: The plant and animal life are not from the same period in the past. DC30: Wow! There is plant and animal life here from the future! (evolved from the present!) - speculative but accurate! Flesh in the DCs in between for yourselves and brag about how you know the latin names for various animals and plants if you wish!

GM "Ah yes! Well, I cannot track your beloved, my dear, not even with this wonder and my genius" he smiled. "Not even Lab, maybe not even the magnificent Doktor Archeville himself. He is gone, poof! like magic!" he said. "But we can all make an educated guess, can we not? Your Null Zone. Where time, it seems, does not exist, at least as we know it. Well, with this device, we can go anywhere in time, and it seems, even out of it. Yes, indeed, I think I can take us to the Null Zone itself. It appears to be the default setting of the device, in fact...." he said, pondering the fact for a moment. "So, then, away!" he said, and touched the Stopwatch. In a moment... In an eternity... There was no way to describe what happened. Time stretched to infinity, and contracted to a pinpoint. It was mind expanding and obliterating at once. And then, they were there. In the Null Zone. A place outside of the normal flow of time. Safe from the destruction of collapse. The sky was white, that what hit them first, a dull diffuse light without distance. The ground beneath them was soft, green. It was grass. They were in countryside. But unlike earth, the horizon didnt stop with the curvature of the earth. It stretched on to an infinite horizon, becoming fainter and fainter, in a dizzying perspective. "Magnificent!" said John Smith. "It is like Earth! the smell! the feel!" he said, stroking the ground, and taking his shoes off to walk barefoot. "This is not a base of operations. This is not a military station. This is a preserve!" he smiled. To emphasise his point, behind them, the low rumbled trumpeting of some enormous plant eating dinosaurs could be heard. And, with heads turned, witnessed in all their glory.

Ok, so Activating alternate form as usual! and then trying to sneak across to take a peek in Johns window. I don't know what's outside in terms of ledges, fire escapes, etc, so thats your call! I guess she has a high strength score to leap and climb, but her disability and complication may come into play. Lets hope its not too bad a fall!

A liar has to tell the truth sometimes, or his falsehoods will be known... It was basic poker, really. And Tazel was no fool. She had no idea how long the demon had been around, but he was certainly good at his game. And just why should we leave? she asked the bound demon. I'm not leaving if anybody is going to die...I'm here to protect people... She held her head in her hands, forcing herself to think. The cops were on their way, presumably to arrest her (thankfully on a pretty trivial charge of criminal damage, she imagined), and possibly into danger. Meanwhile, things were getting spookier and spookier around the mysterious John Perdition. Enough for her to know that something was up, but not what. She felt her heart racing and panic on her throat. Things were spinning out of control. She did her best to get a grip of herself. Her best wasn't very good. But damn it, it will have to do! She couldn't solve this as Carmen Cantos, that much was clear. She needed to feel the full power once more. "Fire me up!" she said, aloud now, and in a moment her body once more spewed smoke and wisps of flame, her clothes seared leather and studs, and her eyes glowed a menacing azure. With some difficulty, she hauled herself out of the window. She felt the unnatural strength in her limbs give her power, but her limp slowed her down. She wouldn't be steady...but... She was going to take a look through John's window, and confront him directly. If she couldn't appeal to him as Carmen Cantos, then she would appeal to him as Pitch.

"Aw there he goes again!" grumbled the Hound through dog vocal chords. The sound was English, but it took a little bit of tuning in again. Even with four legs, there was no way he could keep pace with his partner's turbo charged blood, or, it seemed, the hangman. He still had the scent in his nostrils however. The mongrol dog jumped back into the chevvy, and shuddered again at the sight of the dessicated body of the Mess, all blood drained from his body. I'll never get used to that... He hopped up ont to the drivers seat. Damn, no hands.... He stared at his paws, and in a moment, he was back in his crumpled mac with crumpled hair and crumpled tie. With very human hands that gripped the steering wheel and ignited the engine of the car. "Outta the way!" he hollered, beeping his horn. "Crook to catch!" He sniffed again. Even in human form, his nose was superior to that of his regular homo sapien friends. It was just never as good as when he was in canine form. The scent was lost, even if the memory of it was stored in his brain. Fortunately his partner left a grizzly tale behind him, of blood spots where he landed and bounded. Just follow those... He stuck his foot to the wheel and sped off, without thinking of the danger he was putting himself in, for once.

Right Hound is going to pound back into the Chevvy. Wait! No hands! Morphing back into Human form, and brooming off after the Mess and the Hangman.

Pitch - A Day in the Life – Rock on Downs Denzel Downs was an unusual kind of guy to me into heavy metal or rock. Unusual but not unique. He was well educated, with a degree in political science, and was an excellent writer for Rock Report magazine, where Carmen Cantos worked. He was also a short, handsome, homosexual Afro-American man. He rejected the anti-homosexuality stance of Rap music early on in life, and found more in common with the anger and anarchy of hard rock, where there was certainly prejudice against homosexuality and racism. But, he found, there was, if you looked, a whole lot more of sticking two fingers up at society and saying “Screw you, I’m who I amâ€. And he kind of liked that, even if certain Aryan brotherhood elements of the Rock Music scene did not. Denzel had become a mini-icon in the rock music and gay scene, for his outspoken but eloquent views, and for his massive defiance towards stereotyping of race, sexuality, and culture. He was probably Carmen’s best friend at Rock Report magazine. They were the two wild cannons of the organ. It was true that Denzel was the better writer and smarter snappy guy, whilst Carmen got by more on cool, charm, and reputation for wild nights and parties. The pieces they wrote both attracted and outraged the readers. The Editor of course, always dressed the two down, but secretly knew having those two names on the magazine boosted circulation in the small world of rock music. It was fame, of sorts, even if within a small circle. Tonight they were at the Thumbscrew, a dingy little venue for dingy little bands. It had a bit of a reputation, the Thumbscrew, and it was not named incongruously. Fights were a spice that was expected by its regulars, who tended to be the hard hitting, heavy set anarchist crew. The band in question were called the Black Death. And again, the name was not chosen without its subtleties. The foursome deliberately wove a web of controversy about them, treading a fine line between outrageous punk rock anarchists and a cult of Aryan racism, without defining themselves to open themselves up to direct criticism. “I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine†said Denzel, defiantly. “Nobody’s going to intimidate me. This is a free country, after all, and I’ve been to the Thumbscrew a good few dozen times beforeâ€. Carmen shrugged. She admired Denzel’s bravery. “You have a face and a name, Deedee†she answered. Everyone called him Deedee. “That scares off many, but attracts the glory seekers†she replied. “The Black Death is going to be attracting the real flies tonight. So just watch your back, huh?†she said, knowing her friend well enough to know there was no changing his mind. DD was all about defiance. And he would defy anyone who defied it. The Thumbscrews, was, as predicted, full of a suspicious crowd, sweaty, full of bear and heavy, hard music. Carmen could even spot a few Gas Chuggers there, a vile biker gang who had waged a war against her fathers own biker gang, the Blacksmokers. The Gas Chuggers had largely come out the worst of it, but that was decades back. They always had a vendetta against Carmen. But tonight was not going to be there night. The Black Death came on and did a full set. For what its worth, it was a pretty descent performance. Just the right balance. Practiced enough to be coherent, but not polished enough to lose vitality. The lead singer was a muscular, bare chested youth covered into tattoo’s that DD remarked could easily become something of a perverse gay sex symbol, under the adage that his history of vague anti-homosexual sentiment represented a homosexual inclination. Carmen could not disagree. The man was angry, there was no doubt about it. The pieces were cut with comments that roused the crowd and were deliberately controversial. Again, one couldn’t pin the guy down, but the cheers and occasional discomfort from the drunken and sympathetic crowd left one in no doubt that this was a gathering of people who harboured racist views. Perhaps they only simmered in most cases, but in some cases they seethed. A great story, Carmen realised, but all that DD and herself would be doing would be getting press coverage for the band. And this band knew what they were doing. Behind all the fist pumping and declarations of anarchy and freedom, this was a slick machine. They had cornered a market – the bubbling racist who felt he was not heard but dared not speak – and spun it out, without ever crossing the line of the law. The carefully calibrated banter to the crowd, the innuendo, the knowing looks – all designed to whip up a media frenzy. Hey cynicism rose to parallel with her anger. For all she knew, they would, after a the hype grew, sell out and ditch the white trash that had sprung them to fame. Claim they were misguided, generate some more publicity by redeeming themselves, and ride that media wave. The more she studied them, the more she grew convinced. This band were playing everybody, and didn’t care who they trampled underfoot. She couldn’t speak to DD over the noise, but she wrote it down on a piece of paper and shoved it his way. “Playing for Hype?†DD looked at her astutely, and nodded. He had reached, independently, the same conclusion. They both shook their heads, and nodded towards the exit. Behind them, two large guys, dressed up in leather and studs, with long hair and dangerous tattoos, looked at each other. Tall enough to see over heads, and onto note paper. And fans enough of Black Death to defend the honour of their favourite band. Especially from a jumped up little black guy who went to college. The two reporters stumbled out of the Thumbscrew. For all their irritation at the politics and hypocritical huger of Black Death, they both were excited, and they both knew it. The music was hot and heavy, and they both lived for this kind of excitement and raw passion. “Screw ‘em. Give em two lines of something mediocre, kill em dead. Pass the word around†said Carmen, getting onto her motorcycle. DD nodded sagely. “They eat publicity. Let them starve to death. Shame though, that lead guy had some real talent†he said with a wink in his eye at Carmen. She knew he was teasing. “Yeah, in a life, loverboy†she replied, pumping up the ignition. “See you Monday, lets get to work slaying the beast, huh?†she said, with a wave and a turn of wheel, to send her home. As she drove away, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Despite his size, DD was in good shape and could take care of himself. But he was facing two guys, both a hundred pounds bigger and several inches higher than him. One of them would have a black eye the next morning, and the other would be nursing his nether region with an ice pack from DDs quick and brave retaliation, but after the initial spare of flurried defence, the beating started. All DD could do was curl up and take it. “You little punk! You ain’t gonna write up jack about Black Death, black boy. You ain’t gonna be picking up a pencil, or speaking straight, not after we through with you, hear me, boy? Do you hear me? Black Death coming right up!†shouted the larger and more brutal of the two. “I hear you, boys†came the reply, but not from DD. Pitch was quite a sight at any time, but even more so at night. A female figure, voluptuous and beautiful of form, alive with thick smoke and wisps of flame that flickered over her body. Her eyes glowed with embers, and her mouth lead down to the rumble of a forge fire in her insides. Her clothing looked seared and scorched, all leathers and studs. Pitch was not the most famous heroine in Freedom City, not by a long shot. And her appearance often aroused a little suspicion, not least amongst the more “energetic†religious organisations in the city. But she was sure enough famous amongst heavy metal heads. She was practically the patron saint superhero of heavy metal. Both men stood frozen whilst DD groaned slightly. “Better run, boys†she said, voice crackling with the sound of melting steel. The largest and more brutal thug ran, of course. He could do little else. But it was futile. He had barely made four or five steps when a chain of blackened metal swooped around him, wrapping him up and locking him down. Pitch held the end of the chain and hauled him back to her. She grabbed his face with smoking hands and gazed into his eyes. “Let me tell you something, boy†she snarled. “I’m going to tear down, break, and burn every one of you scum. In my world, you ain’t fit to be wastin’ air†she hissed, the smoke of her mouth wafting up to his mouth and nose, and making him choke slightly. “But lucky for you, I stay on the right side of the law†she said, as another hand shot out and a line of chain ensnared his friend. “…usually…†she added, before helping DD up. “This man got more metal in him than the pair of you combined†she said. A spike of hideously sharp metal slammed from her hand into the pavement in front of them. “Although I can change that†she added, before pulling DD back into the Thumbscrew. She hadn’t meant it, of course. Well, the anger and fury were there. The hatred was there. She wouldn’t shed any tears over those guys. But she did stay on the right side of the law. Usually. She sure wasn’t going to kill them. Frighten the hell out of them, though. Well, they had that coming. The entrance of Pitch into the Thumbscrew was dramatic, and more so by a bellow of hellfire that lit up the floor in front of her, to get everyone’s attention. A burning patch of fire in the middle of a floor tended to do that. “Listen up!†Shouted Pitch, her mouth glowing with red fire every word. “This man just got beaten half to death because of your songs, your words, your fantasy. This is a free country, so you can sing what you want, and say what you want†she started, looking around the silent gig and especially at the gobsmacked four musicians of the Black Death. “But if your words and your power end up hurting the innocent. Well, I’m not going to like it†she roared, another fiery breath coming from her mouth. “Now, you have a man in need of hospital, so you!†she snapped, pointing at one of the doorsmen. “Better call an ambulance. And call the police whilst you are at it. The two perps are outside, happily engaged†“And you better all grow up. Because if this happens again, I’ll know where to come knocking. And I don’t knock very nicely†she said, before leaping into the fire and disappearing. Inwardly, Carmen fumed at the horror of the little tribe at the Thumbscrew. It was the insidious nature of the hatred that got her. It felt like abuse of the freedom of speech. That freedom, it came at a cost - and not the fighting and wars to sustain it - it felt like the cost was having to swallow the bile of that coven in the Thumbscrew. Yeah, she had made a threat. Maybe an illegal one, if anyone there had the will and the wit to make something of it. Maybe she might have half meant it. But maybe, just maybe, she had made someone who was only simmering stop and think. She didn’t know how much good a few words would do. But then again, a little good was better than no good at all.

We have some precedent for continuous duration obscure (I have it), which I don't think is too bad, as long as it doesn't come with the selective feat. Obscurement, after all, makes everyone blind, including your team mates and civvies. I think the same thing comes with Environmental control. Again, there would be serious problems if these were with the selective feat. But it is one of those margin calls. From a narrative perspective, it may be continuous technically, but it wont work so well narratively. The storms this character create last forever, unless dispelled by the character. Which might be a problem! Does it also make sense? if the PC was knocked out, would the storms continue? (I justified it with Rene by saying it was mystic paint. It would last even if he got KO'd. On the flip side, it gets washed off in the rain or any water, and its an easy to remove device) Which I suppose is all a roundabout way of saying scrutinising this sheets is coming from three angles. Is it technically legal?, is it abusive tactically?, and does it make sense?. All three are important! With the question of continuous duration for your storms in an alt power, I would say the answers are: Yes, technically legal. Edge-case, and Doesn't sound like it. Because it sounds like if your character got knocked out or fell asleep, the storm would go... But of course this is something that you should elaborate and decide on. I will second what Thevshi has said an expand on it: We certainly have some stories here which are [insert supervillain] has [insert dastardly scheme] and [insert roll call of superheroes] stop him. However, we also have many stories, possibly more, where the superhero themselves is the engine of the story. Rather than the D&D style DM designs the dungeon, players enter it, the GM will look at the superhero and in (often in conjunction with a player) design a story around the player. Its a bit the way comic book writers do it - they sit down to write a Spiderman story, not an Electro story (and decide which superhero will defeat him) - at least usually! In other words, Your PC, Your Stories! This tends to be the way Thevshi and I work (and together we do more than half the GMing on the site if you will allow a bit of trumpet blowing), and others on the site do to. Not all the time, but a fair bit. So whilst there is certainly some generic plot insert superhero to foil it Gming and story telling, you may wish to give some drivers to your character. Instinctively there is always a reflex resistance to this (from myself included when I make PCs) as you are letting flaws, problems, issues, and weaknesses crawl into your character. But this is also the fodder for plot hooks and great stories! As Thevshi says from this PC there is little here from a GM perspective that makes one say "Wow! I can really riff off that!" and carve a juicy story from. There is some backstory angst in his complications, which may make writing how he is feeling fun, but not actually drive and power a story. Don't take that as an undue criticism, its just advice, and advice is only an opinion, after all. It all ultimately depends on how you want to play your PC, and what your stories you want to tell with your PC. We want you to have a good experience here, and want you to tell the stories you want to! (NB if you want an example about how I learned over my time here to power up my PCs with story and complications compare my first dull effort Supercape, with my latest, Pitch, and see which one screams out "story" to you!)

He was hit with a faceful of chemicals! If you want to go with that Starchaser, take it away on your next round to earn you both an HP. As an additional note, Thunder, in good comic book fashion, you have weird green chemicals floating around your feet. If you want to play on that as having some mutagenic properties for the Graft armour, toss out ideas for complications. Strictly optional. This could be a delayed response, of course! (E.g. growing strange popping boils on your feet an hour later when trying to be stealthy...)

GM "You needn't worry. In my hands, without the right equipment, the worst I could do with it is tell you the time" he explained, taking the stopwatch off her and examining it. "Yes, it truly is a masterpiece. Of course, I can't tell so much from just its exterior. And no doubt it would be all but impervious to physical dissection or examination. I tried with the prototype. And if I couldn't get into the broken blueprint, I certainly won't scratch the surface of the finished masterpiece" he explained. "However, if you step into my office..." A few moments later... John Smiths office was underground and not an office at all. It was a laboratory hidden beneath his vast library. Whilst not state of the art, it was exceedingly well equipped, and had its own high powered generator. He placed the stopwatch, carefully, under the gaze of some devices that looked very advanced, and customised. "It was only in the last decade that our society developed the science for me to study the fragment in detail" explained John Smith. "Although I was able to study it, in a primitive manner, for many years before that. It still took me considerable time and energy to get the device to work, after a fashion. Controlling it was, however, much more difficult" The Stopwatch stopped ticking. Time around it seemed frozen, the air fuzzy. "This masterpiece, however, is much easier to control" he smiled, manipulating a few knobs on his devices. For all his charm, he had been most careful to make sure his movements and settings were not observed by either Hronos or Velocity. "So, madam, where too?" he asked. "Do you wish to pack a toothbrush?"

Ok, so Thunder, please confirm if you would want Starchaser to react on his next turn to the mutant alien horror (you) with an attack, and hence earn you both an HP! Back to the fight proper, Star chaser has burnt both his HP but has looked mighty and hard in doing so! The damage is non-lethal on this site by default (so presume bruised unless someone says otherwise). He hits the Second Gasman. How does this complication work in practice? Tis a good question! Complications usually work best as dichotomous on/off things "It happens/it does not happen" rather than mechanical deficits "My attack is at half strength". So you have a tricksy complication there, I am afraid! Anyway, let's see what we can do. The attack certainly hits! I think the simplest thing to do, is to keep the complication a dichotomous thing. We simply narrate your punch hits, and the minion is still standing. You earn an HP, and realise that they are both extremely tough and are wearing armoured bodysuits under their overalls. You may now punch with full abandon! Please post that attack and your amazing resilient supertoughness on the IC thread, Spider! We will then move into Round 2! 20 - Gasmen [3] Unharmed 16 - Graft, Bruised, 4 HP 13 - ? 5 - Starchaser, Bruised, 1 HP Note, the Gas has now gone (it had the area cloud effect). The Toxic chemicals are still seeping away, and threatening some civillians in nearby crashed and immobile cars (which means HP are available!)

Oh boy this is just getting better and better... One thing for sure, this was not just some regular country singer with a sad story. That could be crossed off the menu. Unless she finally had cracked in the head. Maybe that wasn't totally impossible. But until then, she was gonna act like talking TVs and grey feathers meant something was afoot. "Call the damn cops then" she replied. She wasn't in the mood to argue. "Meantime, I'm telling you, there is some seriously scooby doo spook going on down here. I'm checking out, and you best call the ghostbusters kid. Or Nick CImitiere. Because unless your cops are packing silver bullets, your hotel is haunted. Why you think I chucked that TV down the hall? You best go check it out, kid, because it was freaking out on me even when it was unplugged!" "Go! You wanna get slimed!" she shouted back at him.

ok ? is skipping this round So we move on to Starchaser who has the above serious toughness saves to make! Yoikes!

Ok as per chat, and to be described IC, Graft earns himself an HP for some blunder, but also gets a bruise and is on his butt. The Gas Men are hit, with that attack roll you get full +5 Damage bonus on autofire, for a DC 30 Toughness save. Their toughness bonus is +9 so thats impossible to make, first Gasman is down. With Takedown two, you get an extra attack on the second one. As per chat, taking 10 on that for an attack roll of 20. This gets a +3 DC to damage, for a net DC of 28. 1d20+9=14 This is resolutely failed! So, two Gasmen down. For Refence, Graft, Bruised, 4 HP. Post away IC