Supercape

Technical point Split Attack 1 will allow splitting it to two targets (i.e. a bit pants) How does this work descriptor wise (not trying to say no, just checking there is some fit!)

Lord Steam shook his head, somewhat irritated that he couldn't. "Alas, my powers of mechanical engineering, while excellent, do not extend to the impossible..." "Improbable, perhaps. Impossible, no..." Even so, his mind had briefly considered the possibilities. A parachute perhaps? using the steam cannons as a jump-pack? he would love to have given it a go. Perhaps he may need to, even. But three minutes was too much for even him. ...well, probably. "Unless we use these cannons as modified jump packs, of course" he blurted, unable to contain himself. "But, to be honest, I wouldn't advise it. Highly dangerous at best! I'd rather get to the ground with Cressida!"

GM The Masters eyes - just for a fraction of a second darted to the side and a flash of vexation was seen as he furrowed his brow. "Yes. Interesting, that..." "I have sought, for many centuries, to regain the passion and vitality of life. There is an emptiness to vampirism. Only the hunger arouses" He stood up, slowly, puffing on an elaborate pipe. "I have had some success. I am less bound by the need for blood. But still, I lack the essence. Now, I have even divined a way to bring myself back to life. But, my years of death have stripped away hypocrisy. I chose undeath for the power it gave me, and I have no desire to relinquish it..." "No, instead I wished to create a compromise. At first, I used sorcery, but to little avail other than a few amusements" he frowned at the thought and emptied his pipe by tapping it into a dish. "And then, science. And later, with both. And then, I made poor Nora. The first time I had any success, although as you are aware it was not without significant problems. Half mad from her condition..." "And then there was my stonehearted Lady. Sane, but cold. Perfect, yet without that emotion" "And inbetween, you. At first I dismissed you as but an experiment necessary for future progress. I see now that I was in error. Your actions to date are at least suggestive of empathy and humanity. And your competence certainly demonstrates strength..." "But I would have from your own tongue now. Indulge me, if you will. What is it like, to be you?"

Nope, none can make that, so all are disarmed. Post away! he is also flat footed Heraldo is up!

Round 1 23 El Sierpe - Unharmed 22 Glow - Unharmed - 2 HP 21 Heraldo - Fatigued - 3 HP 3 Thugs x5 - Unharmed El Sierpe: Move Action: Intimidating y'all at -5 action. 1d20+6=14 Resist with best of Will, Sense Motive, or Intimidate! Standard Action: Bam Bam! Attacking at -2 roll, +2 DC 1d20+9=16 which I think misses. Glow is up!

GM El Sierpe seethed under Glows scornful speech, before exploding into a tremendous display of Spanish expletives. "I'll string you up by your ankles and set my snakes on you! nobody makes a fool out of me! nobody! you'll wish you had never been born you stuck up little rat!" he shouted at Glow. "I'll show you who is boss in Mexico! I'll show you how we do it here! I'll teach you some respect you piece of work! you ain't worth enough to kiss the cowdung on my ass kickin' boot you little rodent! you little stuck up foulage! you sewage eater! you pile of excrement! you manure - eating toad!" he screamed, the veins popping out of his neck upon which sat a red face. "Eat lead!" he finished, unloading a slug right at the heroine.

Right then, so shall it be! El Sierpe will open fire on Glow with his shotgun, firing a slug! its a masterwork weapon so +1 to attack roll for +11 total 1d20+11=22 I think that hits, so a DC 21 Toughness save! And then, initiative rolls! 1d20+8=23 for El Sierpe 1d20+1=3 for Thugs Sierpes thugs here are a slight cut above the normal street thug, being hardened sodliers of drug wars: 5xHardened Drug Gang Members PL 4

Rene barely registered now... "Marceau...I don't quite now...something is coming back to me...something I lost...." he mumbled. A door opened, and a man appeared through it, swaying to the music like he owned it. He was a little on the short side, a little on the rotund side, with black skin and grey hair, flashing a broad grin on a lively face. He was wearing a colourful, loose fitting suit with a bone white bow tie and hat. In his hands he had a bongo drum. Without much pause, he sat down to start beating out a rhythm. He didn't exactly sing, but he had a sing song voice. "" he said in French, with a slightly pidgin style. "" he laughed. "" he said, as he started drumming up a healthy and dramatic rythmn... "Henri Zenon!" said Rene in surprise, as much to himself as to Marceau. "He...he was a musician, back in the 20s...I knew him then....and then...then...he dissappeared...." He frowned, trying to remember. "" The jigsaw was not complete, but some pieces had fallen into place in his hour of need. Henri was bound to him. There was some strength he had left behind in those dark days. Not a pleasant strength, but it was there even so... "Henri! for the love of liberty! free these people!"

Stunting for Fatigue off Magic Array Summon 11 (Extras: Duration, Heroic, Fanatic Flaws: Feedback Feats: Mental Link) (45 PP) In comes deadbeat! Summoned characters are, I believe, meant to start play the round after summoned on the summoners initiative.

"I see" answered Rene, relaxing slightly. Full relaxation, he guessed, was unlikely for now. "Well Marriane, it is very good to meet you. Whoever you are. Both of you..." he added, throwing a barb into the mix. "I think my past has come back to haunt me. Although I need no bore you with tales of youthful folly..." I am sure you have tales of your own when it comes to that topic.. "It seems you have been entrusted with a most important part, Marianne. Most important. I wonder if you can help me? you have a...friend maybe? a connection? someone who might tell me a thing or two?" he asked gently. He took a bite of bread and wondered about the italian salami he had stored away. He wondered about a glass of wine, come to that. "I think France may be in danger, Marianne. The tyrants of old vex to return. And there is a...weapon...a spirit...who may be dangerous in their hands. I...we...need to stop them!"

Agnes (or Roi, if he enters) can make a notice roll to overhear the Hatchets whisperings...DC 15

GM "Evening Angel" croaked Harry, pouring Agnes a double and giving her a long lingering look. "Sure was a fine set today. You even got Hatchet's approval" he said, nodding to the tall thin hit man who was eyeing up the singer. Although Croak was not immune to her charms. Far from it. His gaze lingered on her with barely concealed lust - or love - or both. "I gotta say, baby, you look a million bucks. And with Hatchets eyes on yer, maybe you oughta think about forgettin' the past, and hitchin up with me. Ill make sure I keep an eye out for ya..." he smiled his eyes flashing his desire. Hatchet was leaning over to discuss something with his colleauges, never taking his eyes of the singer.

ok I hope that was ok IC. Let me know if you want to cut to landing.

GM Heraldo and Young Britannia took to the skies, with a little difficulty. The fetid swamp seemed to want to suck them down to the waters and mud. The trees seem to tangle them as they arose. Even the air felt heavy somehow, giddying, damp, and clawing. One would have though the air would clear as they rose, but it seemed ever more sickly as they climbed in flight. Ahead, the swamp stretched endlessly in every direction. The clouds were murky. The only relief was that the air was a little less hot. "I can feel something..." said Broken Crow, clutching to Heraldo with all his now limited strength. Several times he had started slipping, and the colourful hero had to strap him back onto his back. "Yes...that way..." said the mage, pointing to their left. The swamp looked no different there, tangled and musty, but...somehow it felt right.

All cool, and yes you can fly! Shall I scene-cut or do you guys want to edit / post taking to the skies?

Want me to wrap / lock this? (And yes, Scuffs give me a bell for more Towers / Jackson fun!)

Ouchies! Although the aura power does mean he takes another DC 27 Toughness save muahaha! Let me know what the outcome of Trigger and the Aura is and Ill go from there!

Eh! well, lets soup this one up! Ill edit accordingly!

"A...darkling...yes..." replied a slightly confused Rene, presuming the grand cook was referring to the complexion of his partner. He had never agreed with racism, of course - although as a young man he was probably guilty of such by virtue of ignorance. It hadn't helped when he had ran into a few nasty witchdoctors in the south of France. But then, of course, there had been Jean, one of his lovers from many years ago, with black-gold skin and a voice of silk.... Shuffling away from more pleasant memories, no doubt inspired by the intoxicating world of the Fey, he reigned in his attention to the cook once more. Distracted by memories and dreams. Seduced by oneself. We must not stay in this realm to long, less we not leave... "Excellent company sir" he continued "to be in so fine a kitchen, with so delicious a concoction or aroma's! Ze place is alive with spice and scent! Wonderful!" "Alas, I hope Ze Parsinkle and Hartfoul appreciate so splendid a talent! I fear their eyes look elsewhere...what say you?"

Freddy walked up to the nurses. "Hey, lady, I don't mean to bother...but are you Ben Noble's wife?" he said, a bit awkwardly, understanding the woman's distress. "Only, I thinks I could maybe help...I rushed over here to see if I could, anyways...look, I know I ain't no doctor or anything, but I got some super powers, I can make sure he don't bleed out or anything. It may not be much, but, well, I figure I should do what I can..." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked like he could lift a tank, but that wasn't much help in a hospital. He smelled a little of beer, was unshaven, unkempt, and had "casual" clothes on. He ruffled his hair. "Look, I gotta try, ok? I promise I can do something...if the doctors let me!"

So, I dont know if Steam can repair the cannon he just dismantled, but here are some rolls if it is possible! 1d20+15=21 for Craft (Mechanics) and 1d20+15=23 for Knowledge (Tech) Ill throw in an HP if need be. I fancy Lord Steam marching around with a massive Steam cannon!

"Another big winged fellow?" sighed Lord Steam. "I could do with a pair of wings myself right now. Mmmm...some big copper ones with oscillating feathers in a paradynamic air flow system...yes! it might work!" He fingered the Steam guns missing component for a moment whilst scanning the ship around them. "Given enough time, I'm sure we could find some air vent or other such wonder on this ship. However, it seems madam has deprived us of that luxury. In such circumstances, I would imagine the direct approach is for the best. Not very classy, I grant you. But I would rather stomach the vulgarities of violence than suffer being blown to bits..." With that, he looked down at the Steam cannon, and inserted the missing gizmo with a satifying *click* "Excellent!" he noted, picking up the weapon and nodding to Blod and Heraldo

Rene put back the milk. "Too old for milk then...but perhaps wine is not a good idea..." he said, contemplating the blend of ages Marianne presented with. The last thing he wanted was a drunken spirit. If she had even half the power of Gallia, then a drunken Marianne would be a very dangerous thing indeed. He pondered the English message for a moment. He was more than interested in stopping Gallia return to the Ancien Regim, but this child-adult-spirit was a mystery component. Marriane? well, he could only imagine the child was Marrianne..? "Tell me child, what is your name?" he asked sitting down himself in a slow, deliberate manner. "Or, more importantly, who are you?" he said. "The two questions are not the same...."

OOC for This thread. Noir Young Brittania and Noir King of Suits in a tale of love, dames, and cursed cards!

GM It was a no-good bar in a no-good area, where no-good losers went to drown their sorrows with cheap liquor. The only thing that was good about the Wild Joker was the music. Jazz, blues, soul...the bands were good, the tunes were mournful, and that only helped the patrons spend their last dimes faster on liquor they would drink faster. The mob were there, for sure, taking their cut as always with greedy paws and intimidating smiles. Nobody messed with the mob in freedom city. Nobody that wanted to stay in once piece, anyways. The band were good, tonight. Agnes the Angel. She could hold a Jazz tune with a wicked blue twist that made men weep, or die. Or maybe sometimes both. The barman, Harry "Croak" Long, was serving drinks today. He was short, strong, and ugly. A drunken customer had tried to slit his throat many years ago, and left a scar along his neck - and a voice that could croak words or laugh like a sawmill. That customer didn't have a nice ending. The mobsters sat on the best table, drinking the best whiskey. Tonight, "Hatchet" Jones was in town, a tall, lean snake of a man who refused to pack a pistol. Instead, his favourite tool was always tucked in his white jacket. The man's face was pockmarked and had a scar down one cheek. If it wasn't for his skin, he would have had a handsome face to match his piercing blue eyes.