Supercape

Crimson Tiger is up! If she wishes to Dive in to grab the Admiral, it is also a DC 20 Swim check to do so. If you succeed, we shall treat that as an opposed grapple check to grab him, otherwise you just swim up next to him.

The Hound slammed his chopsticks into the noodle box he was sampling. "Well, we ain't going to solve this mystery by discussing cuisine" he said, stuffing his hands into his Mac. "Or discussing the noble art of puglism and its relative moral virtues through the ages" he explained to the Mess, who frowned at the unknown vocabulary. "Crimson Tiger does the shadows thing. I take my boy here to the fight. And you..." he said to Revenant, feeling his normal mixed sense of amorous love and cold fear when he looked at her. "I suggest you doll up real nice to be a boxing floozy" he said with his voice croaking from fear at addressing her thus. "A disguise, in other words..." he said forcing the words out of his dry throat.

Pitch examined the runed chambers one by one. "These people. They entered into a pact? with you?" she asked slowly. Whatever residual distrust she had of Nikki, she felt it crumbling, despite her ingrained distrust. Never trust them. Never. She shook her head, slowly from sadness, and the fast to clear it. "And now you are..what? buying them out with good deeds?" she asked. "Well, there is a first for everything..." She brushed one of the chambers with her fingers, feeling the cold ages. A smile brushed her lips. "I don't think you going back there alone is a good idea. If you are trying to save these souls, then I am going to save them with you!" she grinned, to Tazel's dismay. She turned to Rachel and Axel. "Guy's, you have been a blast, but I don't want you getting in the crossfire today. This is for me and Tazel to deal with. You best go back to Freedom City..."

Freddy "Bloody Mess" Furlong and Harry "The Hound" Hound were driving in the beat up old chevvy that somehow, despite the knocks and age, defied time and rust to keep on moving. They had just seen a pretty awful B Movie. "The Gunbusters II?" spluttered the Hound, clenching the wheel of the Chevvy in vexation. "What a waste of my hard earned dollars! Where do they dig up this screen writers? I could drag a monkey off a street and get him to type a better script? What the hell do these guys do? Snort a barrel load of cocaine, throw some random cool words into a hat and pull them out? Nazis? Aliens? Buddy Cops?" he shouted to the world. "And where the hell do these actor's come from? I have seen sawmills that are less wooden..." he seethed. "Relax, buddy" said the Mess, sucking on a magnificently huge bucket of coke and straw that was almost a tall as he was. "It's just good old fashioned action" he explained with a shrug and a smile. "Action? Action?" replied the Mess full of indignation. "If I wanted action, I would..." They were interrupted by the screams as the handing man swung into view from the street. The Mess through his coke out of the window. "Get a load of this..." he said, clenching his teeth in concern and excitement, and answering his partner's question.

Rene clenched his fist, feeling the reassuring iron of the enchanted ring he wore. The dead ring, he called it. As in, it would stop him being dead. "Fools! I am protected against mere...." He felt one bullet glance his shoulder, and the wet pain of blood. He felt the other hit him in the chest. "...gunpowder..." he wheezed, sinking to his knees. He clutched himself, and felt blood curl between his fingers. "This can't be happening...I saw myself..." he whispered, as he he fell face down into the grass, the blood draining from his brain and into oblivion. "I wanted a better death than this..." he mumbled, delerium hitting the last few seconds of consciousness before he passed out.

Well Blod is up! To do a dive and catch him, lets call that a DC 20 Swim Check.

I quite like the thought of passing out and being lethal damage (and a cheeky HP) for that! Serve him right for getting theatrical and cocky! How does that sound?

Also, forgot to add the Knockback from Crimson Tiger. Given you are on a sinking ship in a storm, I thought it was a good idea for him to go overboard! I am also going to cast around for opinions - does the Admiral Get away? I made him (I hope) a 3D character who was a match for Tsunami in the sea. He could get caught, he could swim away. Whilst I think dice should play a part, if you guys want to let him go for story purposes (Thev gets first shout on that) then sing out!

GM The Admiral sensed the tide of battle flowing. He had manage to bruise Crimson Tigers Knuckles with his kidneys. The force of the woman's blow, driven by her incredible strength, sent him crashing to the side of the ship, hitting the railings. "It is for the Greater Good..." he said in a barely audible voice, his lungs deprived of air after the punch. "You are young...you will grow old...you will rue this day...and guilt will be your companion..." he said, shining his black and sad eyes at Crimson Tiger directly. "The passive man can kill just as ferociously as the active one...." "You kill men with your so called mercy" he said, as a roll of the deck sent the Admiral spinning to the swirling ocean with a theatrical "Splosh". It was echoes by the waves of water and sea that hit the Deck, sizzling and steaming and doing a very effective job at killing the flames.

Ok! So, Foreshadow recognises the mask Lady Brazil is wearing - it was backstage, Ana was working on it when they came in. Foreshadow is fatigued. Round 1 61 - Velocity - Unharmed - 2 HP 30 - Foreshadow - Fatigued - 1 HP 27 - ???? 26 - Lady Brazil - Unharmed 12 - Graft - Unharmed - 4 HP 10 - Everyone else. And predictably, Velocity is up! I will remind y'all that we are on a stage, with a tense situation - bodyguards with guns out, a panicked Mayor who was nearly killed, and a Crowd who are rumbling, with masked stooges in. In other words - complex! Also, Lady Brazil has taken no physically aggressive action you are aware of. Of course, if you want to pre-emptively punch her in the face, that is entirely reasonable!

GM Joe tipped his cap forward to scratch the back of his head. And then his naval. Giving Agnes the joy of a breath full of stagnant whiskey, he replied in an unsure voice. "Well...I don't know...it's not strictly right to go looking at the dead..." he mumbled, and then leant forward to give her a superior version of his fumes. "Well, we do let people in here...for a price, you know? Seems only right, you know, doing a public service of the records. Ask no questions, cash in hand...all sorts come down here..." he said, with a bleary wink and a tap on his nose. "So don't see why can't make a 'ception to you, Lady. Although I'm not to sure about your friend here..." he said, stiffly eyeing Roi.

Mess' Initiative: 1d20+7=25 1d20+6=21 for the Hound! (Who will probably run away anyway....!)

GM "'Tis a grave risk indeed. Know that the Chains of Lemuria are known to me, and to the master mages of old. Forged in a forgotten time, when the Serpent People ruled the Earth. It is a symbol of slavery, oppression, and domination. And not merely a symbol either. As you know, it has power over those it ensnares. And a more subtle influence over those that wield its power. A corruption best buried deep..." Adrian's voice was serious and sombre. "And yet Malaise is a threat of the opposite nature. Her power is absolute anarchic freedom. Chaos. She was born in the islands of the new world, a creature cooked from Piracy, Slavery, and the melting pot of cultures and creed. She would abhor the chains more than any alive. She demands only unrestrained life! The Chains, if she is aware of them, would be a target she could not resist..." "And in this matter we may, if risk taken, destroy two birds with one stone. She would have the power to rend the chains, and none other I know of in this or other worlds would..."

I've seen some messed up weird $£*! in my life. But this voodoo hoodoo thing is a whole new game... Carmen gulped. She felt cold, and realised it was sweat on her body. From fear, or anxiety. Or perhaps, yes, just perhaps it was a bit colder in the air. But a different type of cold from the regular winter morning one. She gripped the Cantos cane with her palm, feeling slightly dizzy. Half of her craved calling up Tazel and feeling that infernal warmth in her bones, skin and organs once again. Dammit, get a grip. You don't want to get to be a junky to that little toad inside you... He he he...chuckled Tazel, that little toad, inside her.

Supercape None, the old rascal! Rene >Galila Galling, Part 2: Rene le Chateau >Gallia Renaitre: Little Goth Lost Lord Steam >Blod Diamond (1 Post) Bloody Mess >Rough and Tumble >Your Day In Court Pitch >Hell's Strings >The Desert Calls Its Own >The 13th Hour >HellQ (+2 PP) GM/Misc >Carnival Night >Cold COld War >Earth Victoriana: The Face of Politics >General Malaise >Junk and Scrap >More Filth and Vermin >Noir: The Ace of Spades >Red Sky at Night >Stopwatch 2: Prototype GM Posts to go to Supercape and then Roll Over Supercape and Rene Posts to Rollover: Please allocate most efficiently - priority is Pitch, Mess, Steam. Ref point to go to Supercape, rolling over to Pitch please.

Done! Admiral is dazed, so it is Blod up next!

1d20+8=17 an impressive Bruise, Dazed, Staggered! 1d20+2=17 and he fails to maintain the current, meaning the ship now falls back from the Naval Base under Tsunami's power alone. Round 2 26 - Tsunami - Bruised - 2 HP - Fatigued - Underwater 23 - The Admiral - Bruised x2, Dazed (till 10), Staggered 10 - Blod - 2 HP - Bruised - On Deck 10 - Crimson Tiger - Bruised - 3 HP - On Deck Tsunami is up! I will add that the ship is now both in danger of sinking, exploding, or just hurting you from flames!

And we are into some action! First of all, can I have a DC 15 INT roll from all present. If you have Eidectic Memory, +4 Bonus. Secondly. I will need a Fort Save 18 From all you. This is a Fatigue Attack. Thirdly, Graft can make a very hard DC 30 Scent Roll please. Lastly, Initiative Time! 1d20+10=27 for ????? 1d20+8=26 for Lady Brazil. I am giving the bodyguards and bystanders an global initiative of 10 (if they get involved) Almost certainly, Velocity is up!

GM The Crowd did not all speak English, and those that did, only to a variable degree. However, enough recognised the potency of Graft's words to stop. And when they stopped, to discuss... Despite the urges of the stooges who carrying on jeering, the mob had swung back to a neutral position. Cautious, still. Anrgy, yes. But no longer boiling. Murmured discussions, and even shouted arguments could be heard amongst them. Onto stage, sprung Lady Brazil. She seemed to sparkle, or shimmer slightly. Her colours were more vivid, her voice stronger, full of confidence. Was this part of her practised oratory...or was it something more? it was powerful - even the heroes who could not speak Portuguese could recognise that. She wore a magnificent carnival mask now...a huge golden deer with sparkling antlers. "This is Carnival Night!" she roared. "<It belongs to the people! Not the politicians!>" "<We shall scream, we shall shout! we shall tear down the pillars of the corrupt elite! Tonight, and for all nights to come...we shall be free!!!!>"

Ok, so that is a great diplomacy roll, even with the penalty for not speaking the lingo. I am going to fudge it to be not quite as successful as one would think in order to bounce the plot along. The crowd are neutral rather than angry (so he did achieve something!). As this is effectively a GM fiat, 1 Hero Point to Graft. For the records Graft - 4 HP Foreshadow - 1 HP Velocity - 2 HP

1d20+8=15, 1d20+8=9 Aaaargh! A bruise from the first. From the second Bruised, Dazed, Staggered. Although this may be lethal damage as its Musketshot?

"Aha!" said Rene, flexing his fingers into a gnarled fist - in and out - in and out - born from vexation. "So not even my passions are my own!" he concluded, slamming his palm onto the table. "She is the antithesis of liberty, is she not?" he cried. "Truly, I would free the world and the human heart from her influence. No matter how French she may be!" "And yes, I do remember the boiling of my blood when I sketched her. I was young, and some things can be put down to the foolish roads of youth. But...there was always something enigmatic about that night. Something more passionate, and less. Like I was watching somebody else in action, looking upon myself. I have long ruminated on that night, without conclusion, until today!" "Yes, I thank you! The story slots into place! I feel almost two hundred again!" he said, beaming with vitality. "But tell me of this deal? There are two sides to every barter..."

I didn't think happiness was on the cards today...Answered Pitch, clenching her fist and ejecting smoke from her palm. Damn this. For all Tazel's utter maliciousness, he lived in her both physically and mentally, and he was a sort of twisted confident. Talk about having a devil on your shoulder. She should be so lucky to get off that lightly. She crouched down, eyes peering out into the dark starry sky of the desert. Normally she could see just fine even in pitch blackness, if Tazel was bubbling up from her stomach and into her eyes. Right now, it was a black for her as anybody, although she could see the signs of shadows and activity. She had no faith in any benign deity streaming down love and justice to the world. But right now, in that church, with Rachel and Axel caught in the crossfire of her life, she felt her cynicism wavering. She made a quick cross sign. For what comes next...

Are we throwing in the other PCS into this, TT?

GM The Mortuary Guard, who seemed half asleep, woke up with a start and slammed his desk draw shut reflexively. Not quite fast enough to obscure the glint of a half open whisky stash. His breath, if one cared to notice, was indicative of inebriation. "Sure..sh-sh-shure-" spluttered the Guard, whose name tag read JOE FATONE. His abdominal girth was, indeed, more expansive than necessary. He fiddle round with the keys and dropped them. Twice. All nerves and thumbs. "Pleasure to help you lady. We don't see many err.. beautiful dames...this time of night. Leastways, not in this city. And...errr...your...ummm....friend here...." he said, not knowing how to address Roi. Joe opened the door and let the twosome into the Morgue. He pulled out a clipboard and lead them towards the beds of the dead, towards the crisp cold air of refrigeration. He unlocked the door to the cold room, and lead them into a a dreary clinical room with a half dozen stiffs on a half dozen slabs. With more stored in drawers around the room. "George was it...George...George..." he said, running his finger down his list without finding any such name.