Supercape

GM "Our organist friend wanted protection. Wanted power. Ah! How often the desire for the former gives rise to the lust for the latter, hmmm? Maybe that is to be your destiny. Our candlemaker, the master of pale smoke, wanted protectors. He made the children into dogs, into his pack...." "No! No, don't listen to him! I didn't mean to...." "SILENCE" roared Tazel the demon, his flamers burning bright with fury. "You are a coward, and cowards do wicked things. You have not the right to speak!" Tazel turned to La Puma. "This Felintropo, however, is no coward. I am interested. I wish to go home, beast child. I wish to be free. Will you help me, I wonder? Or will you fear me, and wish me malice? I do not wish to deal with craven traitors. You are neither craven nor traitor, I think..." "Let us break the Cantos devil stick! Or keep it, I care not. Maybe it will help you. Maybe you wish to master the demon inside of you. The devil stick can be yours. All I ask is freedom!"

Rev God... has Pete found God? Rev was a complete agnostic; she just hadnt had the inclination to ever consider if there was a God enough. As far as she was concerned, you just tried your best to be good, and maybe you got a reward when you died, maybe you didn't. If she ever even though that deeply. Pete? Well, she had seen plenty of broken men and broken women found something in the Church. A bit of something - who knew what? - that healed them. Made them a little less broken. Maybe it was a sense of purpose, maybe it was divine love. Maybe it was tea and biscuits. Quite possibly it was all of the above. She parked, unable to resist giving the buggy a bit of a Rev as she did. Rain - it was a nice sound, but not as nice a V8 engine pouring thruogh the biggest tyres you could get. She hoped her buggy could outrun the Humvee's if need be. Perhaps she could ramp up her buggy with a boost from her non organic virus. But that wasn't always reliable. She could break her vehicle. Instead she got out, limbs starting to creak more. Where was Pete, and what had he gotten himself into? She was grinding too badly to take any stealthy approach, and that wasn't her style anyhow. Instead bold as brass, as slick as engine oil, she strode into the Headquarters. Grab the devil by the horns!

GM The Yardies stopped, taking a half shuffle step back. THey looked at each other, and the knocked out thug on the floor. Perhaps, on another day, they would have fled. But they all wanted to look brave infront of the others. And perhaps the drugs had dulled their judgement. "I cuttin' yata fillet' stakes! Ya com mess wit' Machete gang, yer be eatin' machete!" "Yeah!" said the other three thugs. There seemed to be an unspoken debate as to who would charge first, each not quite sure if they wanted to get their lights knocked out. "Les' get girl, com then, all for I, and I for all!" Whatever mutilated battle cry this was, it seemed to work. All stepped forward to charge with screams and yells, and proceeded to get in the way of each other. However, in the battle of leverage and strained sandals on the floor, two of them squeezed through. Swish! Swish! The Machetes swung wildly, and against the odds one of them actually was fast and crazy enough to strike Chimera!

They only just make it [url=https://orokos.com/roll/981364]Intimidation[/url]: [u]1d20+4[/u] [b]15[/b] Chimera - Unharmed - 2 HP And they swing with Machetes> Clever positioning by Chimera means they can only get two to swing [url=https://orokos.com/roll/981365]Machete Swings[/url]: [u]2#1d20+2[/u] [b]14[/b] [b]22[/b] Ouch, one hits. Thats a DC 18 Tough Save

GM "But what are you? A woman? A beast? Something inbetween, or neither? That is the question. I can see you, but I don't know you." "I am the demon Tazel, living fire born in the internal forge. An endless machine, cogs, chains, smoke, fire, the clang of metal, constantly rearranging itself. It has no purpose, it is mindless, and yet is beautiful all the same." Tazel flew left, flew right. "I imagine it is not to your taste, but to me it was home. Our kind was bound by sorcerers. First Carlos Cantos and his devil stick, then his accursed daughter, and now this snivelling fool..." Juan screamed. "I wish to be free. And this craven candlemaker seeks to imprison me again. Who do you think the... aha... what do your kind say... who do you think the villain is?" "Now I have told you my story... would you tell me yours? Do you even know it?"

Ok so prepepared whallop - I presume you are taking 10 to automatically hit [url=https://orokos.com/roll/981258]Tough[/url]: [u]1d20+1[/u] [b]19[/b] And he is out. Feel free to narrat the manner and flavour of the punch and the cumbling of one KO thug! Feelin' Dat power of de bigmon fis!

GM FIve men with machetes and guns. On youngster. She might have a strange metal on her hands. But they looked like they had seen stranger. Maybe the stranger things they had seen were hallucinations from some psychoactive substance. But still. What confused them was that anyone would hold their ground. They weren't cowered, not exactly, but a primal instinct kept them from being too bold. Some primal instinct that said hold on... this ain't right... They laughed. They shuffled forward an inch. Maybe two. They tapped their machetes against their thigh, the palm of their hand, and in one case, over a set of four golden teeth. "You be know wa' we gonna do?" "Chop chop! Big meal gangsta styl' fri wit' onion ring and spicy spicy!" "Makin zombi' out of dem bones, fewl..." "Whi yanow run? Hoppy hoppy lil' bunny, go run!" "Yathink we scared? We no evan need bang bang... jess' slicy slicy thra de dicey!"

GM The Casino was solid - bricks, paint, windows. Its front face looked considerably more ostentatious than the dingy sides, where the fumes of cooking and the hiss of steam came. It was three stories high... and presumably it was the top floor where the big boys (and girls) played with big monies in private rooms. Plenty of noise - music, chatter. The Windows were reinforced, but Luke would have no problem smashing them. The alarms however, would need a different approach. Side doors? Yes, plenty. Some locked. One, outside the kitchens, kept open with a fire extinguisher. A young, lad with a thin moustache and a chef's hat stood outside, grabbing a cheeky cigarrette. He hadn't noticed Luke. Not yet. Luke could see a few ventilation shafts. Squeezing through would be difficult... or get him stuck. How many pizza's and Cherrybomb! lollipops had he had recently? If he tried squeezing through, that question might become very pertinent...

GM "That... is a lot of questions. A lot of demands. And are you... trying to taunt me? Hahahaha... a mortal trying to taunt a demon. I was born when the first hammer struck the first anvil. I am the fire of the infernal forge, bound by sorcery, bound by chains. Do you think me a coward?" The pale smoke swirled some more. Juan cowered. "Even the word... demon... devil... do you know what that is? They are just words. Words that describe something not here. That which should not be, but is. Something malign? Everything is malign, in the right light, in the right machine...." Now the shadows swirled more, and flames lit them. From out of the ether, fire appeared. Living fire; thin, spindly, small. The creature was two feet high, and looked like a skeleton made of smoke and burning bones, like a skeleton of a rat or a wolf... it was hard to say. But living fire it almost certainly was. "La Puma. See me. Now, let me see you.., the real you..."

GM Machete's were drawn. Clearly one girl was not worth expending bullets on. Maybe they weren't quite with it. Pupils dilated, swaying bodies. No, one would have to say they were pretty spaced out. But that didn't stop them tapping a machete on an open palm, or grinning like a dog who had found a nest of rabbits. "Boddy? 'Ere be no body, not being not boddy but ya. Oo ya bein, cum da 'ere 'n askin Kwestyon like dat. Ya know oo we are? We be being Machete Max gang. We not be knowing nuthin boot boddy." Another piped up. "Oo told you bat boddy? U be earing frem sum Street Snitch, oo be telling u bat boddy?" Another rolled his eyes and the stupidity. It looked like even sober these were not the brightest bulbs on the Christmas Tree. But they were pretty large, in a lean, snake like way. And the machetes did look pretty sharp.

GM The smoke swirled to La Puma's right, then to her left, then started circling her, agitated, excited. "Demonnnnnn!" said Juan, swirling in time with the smoke. "I am not some mere puppet, you know! I have protection! My magical candles of magic!" He gave a theatrical sweep of his arm, showing the dripping wax and pale smoke that he had surrounded the organ with. the demon paid it no mind. Its attention was focussed on La Puma. "Why should I show myself? How would that help?" it laughed. there was a kind of mirth to the laugh. Not joy, but more relief. A lightness, like one unchained and revelling in the sun and the air. "No no. I prefer to be unseen. Unheard, too, but your presence invites questions..." The voice seemed to reverberate and ricochet around the church. Not the easiest place to echolocate... "And my questions you will not answer. Unless I answer yours. So what say you, beast girl? I answer, you answer, and on we go till one of us becomes bored? Well I shall start, as a show of trust. I have not done anything with the kids. Kids annoy me, but I pay them no mind if they mind me not. Let them mature and rot, and then they may be fuel to my whim...." "And no answer, if you dare. What manner of creature are you???"

Rev Alcoholic? Was Pete hitting the booze? or worse? Probably... She just had to hope he had enough guts left in him to pull himself out of the gutter. He was a gutty man. But booze, drugs... they were guttier than many gutty men. She took the pamplet. "Thank. I better gut, I mean I better get going." She saluted the guard with the pamphlet. It was probably tripe, full of vapid statements. But she was out her depth, and pretty sure she would do no better - and quite possibly even worse. Rev turned heel and strode back to her buggy, firing up the engine and making for Stone Ridge. The storm was coming, and rain was falling. Damn, I'm going to seize up... She forgot to put lubricating oil in the Buggy. How kicked herself now, feeling stupid, but... even she had, the rain was going to wash it off in moments once the storm properly hit. She was going to be grinding like a wailing banshee until she got back to the chop shop and took an oil bath...

GM Creaaaaaak! This was loud enough to wake a comatose pig. And the Yardies heard it. Five of them, smoking roll ups, playing cards. Guns and Machetes on the table. Reggae coming out of an impressive speaker system, synched to a wide screen TV plaing a live concert. they heard it, but when it came to reactions they were as fast a soporific Glacier with arthritis. They looked around. They were wearing shorts, sandals, open shirts, and dark sunglasses. Tattoo's adorned various body parts, often showing skulls and what looked like arcane symbology. Plenty of regular guns and regular knives. A few had scars. Several had gold teeth. Eyebrows were raised, hands started to reach for weapons. "Hoo d'ell be yooo? Gettin oota 'ere or be trubble!" A Jamaican accent? But laced with a particular dialect - like a thieves cant.

GM The door rattled. Not the jarring clangs that would be testament to an intruder. The light touch of Chimera was like a feather, gently seeking out the lock, the resistance, the pull, the tension. A rattle. The door was not locked. Presumably no thug would be stupid enough to walk in a bunch of smoking Yardies ready to smoke you. The music was loud to the point of being obnoxious, although it did have a fine groove; drum, bass, mumbled and rumbled lyrics that resonated well. Over the notes and beats a few voices could be heard. Laughs, sometimes. But was that due to a comedic situation or a comedic cigarette? There was no doubt that the headless corpse had been dragged in here. It would be hard to imagine doing so without anybody noticing. It wasn't really a comedy situation, was it? The fumes of heavy drug use grew stronger by the minute. The Yardies were smoking some serious stuff...

Rev "Lost as an Emiskimo in a desert. As loast as a Camel in a snowstorm. As lost as a... Rev paused, running out of things to say. "As lost as a taxi driver in a lavatory. Yeah, I got lost. Sorry...." It was a weak bluff, and she knew it. "Look, I came here to pick up a ride and I kinda got to pick him up. Pete Moss. Do you think you could help me out? I mean, I dont want to cause a mess. Hell, I know the sound of brown matter hitting a rotatory air circulation device. I really dont want a mess. But if I can't pick up Pete, I'm in a whole soup of trouble. And not a nice pumpkin soup either. More like a soup made from a Silage Farm. Really messy..." She might have blabbed better, but the grinding sound her limbs made when she gesticulated was like nails through her pretence. Not good. She really didn't want to get shot. She really didn't want to punch the lights out of this guard. I mean, guys (and girls) who keep toilets so sparkling clean couldn't be all bad, right?

GM Boots.... Boots on the ground. Or rather, the footprints. The burgular had been effective but not subtle. And he (or she) had to have dragged a corpse. Corpses, Chimera knew, where heavier than they looked. Perhaps a superhero could have lifted the corpse straight over head, and danced away as if the thing was as light as a feather... But no. The corpse had clearly been dragged, with some effort, by a mere mortal. And that mean a trial. Not easy to follow, but not hard either. Chimera could follow a twisting trial through back alleys, through the discarded and forgotten paths of Freedom City. To a run down area and a broken biulding, its bricks laying scattered around a dump of a garden. The only habitable place was the bottom level, below ground level. Rusty Iron stairs lay down to an illuminated lair from which loud reggae music and strange (and illicit) aroma's wafted. This had all the hallmarks of a Yardie lair. And Yardies, everyone knew, carried guns, knives and machetes....

GM And so... ...later.... ...at the Casino From the outside, it was fabulous, full of gold and marble and lights. On closer examination, the gold and marble was paint, and chipped paint at that. It was an illusion, but was it any less magnificent for the scar tissue? Black tie and black dress walked in and out. The dress code was somewhat leniant, perhaps even unforced, for no businessman it his (or her) business to turn away sources of income. But there was no doubt that turning up in sneakers and jeans would catch a lot of attention. And if one turned up in rags and spent not a coin, one would probably be ejected. If unlucky, one would be ruffed up and ejected. Or worse. Outside the entrance were two big men with bigger suits that could easily conceal firearms. Dark glasses, bow ties, shaved heads, and a few strategic scars, broken noses, and cauliflowe ears. They looked like thugs painted with respectability, and they looked like that because that was exactly what they were. The sun was setting, and as it did, the excitement of gambling rose to take its place. Inside, dice were being rolled, cars were being drawn, and tears of ruination were falling from faces. But who cared? Money was being made by crunching on the bones of the desperate, so it was all good...

GM "Why?" The voice came from the ether, intangible, ethereal, invisible. A voice like hot cogwheels crunching and grinding against each other. "Why do you seek it? Why do you seek me?" Juan swooned to the point of fainting, banging his head against the organ keys. Blrrrrrrrr! Came the cacophony of sound. The candles belched more pale smoke in time with the music The impact stunned Juan back to life, who then cowered with fear. "Oh great and mighty demon! Have pity on my soul and don't roast me alive in a pit of burning fire... wait.... does fire burn? can it burn? is it always burning?" The semantic question drove a quizzical finger to his confused lips, the riddle temporarily distracting himself from his fear. "Not you, candle maker... her! Why do you come? What do you seek? Why do you seek me?"

Luke knows the Southside Palace, and knows the rumours it is controlled by mobsters. Can maked a DC 15 Streetwise check DC 20 Streetwise DC 25

GM Billy Wiggins was fast asleep, and the nudges of Luke only made him briefly rouse and fall back asleep again, muttering a dribble of words each time. "Gnfff...Southside Palace..." "Gnnnf....Fowered Aarmmm...." "Gnnff...Smashngrablffniwibble..." Billy turned over once more, shouted "Walrus! Two Times! With a Pencil!" in a shrill clear voice, some random artifact of booze-sozzled dreams, before falling into a deep slumber once again. Huckleberry Sin leapt from foot to foot with excitement. "Whaddya think? Whaddya think? Grabber Gibbons going to steal a heap of gold and make us all rich, eh?" He looked around the trailer park, the detritus, the flotsam and jetsam, the garbage bin of humanity. "I mean... screw this place, right? Gotta get out somehow, and school sucks!"

GM "Gamblin' I mean... gamblin'... I mean... Gamblin' casino..." belched Billly Wiggins, happy smile on his face. The two solitary talents Billy Wiggins had was firstly absorbing every rumour in Freedom City, and secondly acting on absolutely none of them. Unless you could count drunken blabbering as action. "He gonna rob a Gamblin' casino! Stealing from thieves, that's what it is. Like robbin...flirgrin hood! That will show em, the thievin' scum!" It was entirely clear if Billy Wiggins was talking about politics; for he had often rambled upon how the rich preyed on the weak, the wealthy on the poor, or if he was talking about actual crooks. Organised crime had plenty of stranglehold on the Gambling joints of Freedom City. One could make an argument that Billy Wiggins was talking about both. "Gonna rob the vault tonight! Got himself some flamchy shlupershlzzzzzszzzzz" And then Billy Wiggins felt asleep from booze and exertion, and started a profoundly tremulous snore.

Stealth [url=https://orokos.com/roll/980911]Stealth[/url]: [u]1d20+3[/u] [b]5[/b] Must be the rain on the limbs....

Rev Hey, maybe the Iron Talon ain't so bad? This toilet is cleaner than a Carburetor straight out of the factory! All shiny and chrome! Rev put a hand on her hip and stopped to think for a moment. The fingers of her drummed. Maybe she should have cleaned up - she was still grimy from a day of working on engines. But Rev liked the dirt - nobody was clean, not in Bedlam - it felt kind of deceptive to present otherwise. She looked around the toilet again. Nobody's that clean, are they? The clock was ticking and Pete was in trouble. She didn't have the time for a full blown investigation. Something was up, but she couldn't put her dang finger on it. It wasn't enough to start throwing fireballs at the security guards - they were just mooks, doing their job. She crept out of the toilet, seeing if she could sneak past the guards.... Grrrrnnnnth.... a grinding metal noise stabbed through the air. The rain on her limbs had washed of the lubricating oil. Yeah, it did that sometimes. Had to be now, didn't it?

GM "The Cantos devil stick," replied Juan. "Forged by Carlos Cantos, a sorcerer, thirty years ago. Able to bind demons to its will." He gave a guilty smile. "I looked it up on Wikipedia, so it must be real..." Once again, his eyes scrutinised the shadows of the church. "This demon wants to break it, free himself. Fair enough, I thought. Who wants to be kept in chains? You got to have sympathy for the devil haha..ha.....ha....ha...." he laughed weakly, every punctation and repetition enfeebling the chortle more. "Look, I...we... look, if we found this stick, then we would have bartering power, right? Then I... we... could bind demons to our own will and be real heroes! Think how much we could steal, I mean save! Gotta be worth a shot, right? Its a lot better than roasting for infinity on a pig stick in a lake of lava?"

GM Juan clapped his hands together and made a crucifix sign at the same time. That shouldn't work, of course. But somehow Juan, bristling with nervous agitation, made it happen. He then paused to scratch the oily chaos of his long black hair. "In, out, out, in, in, out, shake it all about..." he muttered. "These candles are for my protection, you see. I can control the smoke.... BEHOLD!" With a wave of his hands the candles exhumed a great plume of smoke. In but a moment, the pale smoke consolidated, writhing into one form, with colour slowly manifesting. In front of La Puma stood... ...La Puma! The smoke had formed an exact copy! Juan waved his hand through the illusion - for that was what it was. "Not real, but cunning, eh? I bet there is not a single hero in Freedom City, Southside, that has the same level of mastery of candlesmoke as me!" he said, with evident pride. "So I need the candles. Without them, I am powerless!" His hands laced together once more and he hunched forward. "The demon... I didn't summon the demon. He came to me. Wants me to help him find something. In return, he gave me power!!!"