Supercape

Ronin "Its alive, dang it!" muttered Ronin as he stuff the container of ink in his trenchcoat. And, yes dang it, it did feel awful. He felt the thing crawl up and down his spine. Still, he tried to push into a dark and invisible place in his brain. The Street Special in his hand, he took a deep breath and started tearing up the stairs, putting his cardio system to good work, and ready to feel the sweat on his brow and the lactic acid in his quadriceps. And ready to fight when he got to the top of the stairs! And hoping he didn't fall out of a window en route!

OK, thanks! So Ronin is hampered by lack of mobility, but them's the breaks. Moving all out (120') to the top floor hopefully, but also hopefully keeping cover as much as possible whilst doing so!

GM And haste was thusly made! In the blink of a pixie eye (which was a very flexible unit of time!) they were at the base of the mushroom mountain. The reason for its name soon became quite clear, for, verily, 'twas both a mushroom and a mountain. One could almost see the snow at the top. If snow it was. At its base was a fleshy stalk of lurid green, and peppered through it were blue caves and tunnels. "Behold, the Mushroom Mountain! Inside, the King of the Mushroom Men! The Fun Guy!" said Boddyflock. "Fungi, you mean" corrected Lorenzo. "I say what I mean, and I mean what I say!" retorted an irrate Boddyflock. "The mushroom men call him the Fun Guy, and that it was he is called by them! We call him the Tyrant of Evil!" "Tyrant of Eee-----vil!" chorused his four soldiers. "I will be delighted to meet him" said Lorenzo. "We will be delighted to cutstab him!" said Boddyflock, thrusting forward his one inch sword with pride. "Yeah!" chorused Penny Coin, getting into the spirit of things, thrusting her considerably bigger sword. It twanged against the flesh of the mushroom mountain and a blue ichor slowly oozed from the wound. "interesting..." said Lorenzo, peering forward to study it.

Could you give a brief overview of positions? I'm wondering if anyone damage effect would work

GM Morgen was a brave and bold soul. But her head was as frazzled as her brain. She hissed at Dreadnought. "And I thought you where a giant!" she laughed, but it was a mirthless laugh. She tore at he head. "I need to be in the temple...its calling me...." she said, stroking its rock and earth. "I can hear it! And see it, at the centre of the stars! Can you see the music? Can you hear the dancers?" she asked Dreadnought as she succumbed to profound synastheasia. Still, old bonds were strong, and strong enough to cut through madness at times. Morgen had seen Dreadnought save her tribe aeons ago, and he had - in his own way - protected her in Hong Kong. She reached out to him, and pulled herself up. "Where to?"

Ronin Initiative: 1d20+12 31

Lament Bleak Notes (Your Better Self) The Void. A parasitic psychic entity floating through time and space. It had no form, as we would understand it. It came from the spinning madness at the centre of the Cosmic Coil, and had hardly any mind to speak of, at least as we would comprehend. It was driven to feed, and it fed on happiness. It attached itself to artists and performers, who created the greatest joy. Of course, by doing so, it often wrecked the careers and fortunes of its host. But parasites are not symbiotes. Over the years, the brainless beast had inhabited a number of humans on Earth. Who knew how many? For it floated back and forth through time, and had no memory to speak of. It could be billions of years old. Luther LeGrasse had, so far, managed the Void. True, he could just let it wreak havoc on his life until he ended up some down and out bum, perhaps then it would leave. But he had too much pride, too much vanity. He had come to some internal compromise; let the Void feed on the nasty. He had become the superhero Lament, intent on sucking the happiness out of criminals. Of course, it was a precarious position. And sometimes the hunger had bled out into Luther’s life. Luther was back in New Orleans, at some sweaty and hot Jazz Bar, his fourth (or was it fifth?) whisky in front of him. The mood of the place had turned from happy to sombre. The Void had grown insatiable, and Luther needed to feed it. Just a little. He was not happy at the prospect, but he hadn’t had the time or fortune to find any suitably nasty crooks. And he didn’t want the Void growing any more hungry. But as the mood turned, he caught the eye of some old man by the bar, nursing his whiskey. He was in his eighties, at least. Dressed in clothes that looked elegant but slightly cheap. And this old man was staring right at him. Luther knew Jazz, and in a moment, he recognised the old man. Bobby Grey, a master trumpet player of the seventies. Worked with all the greats. Then faded into oblivion. Some said drink, some said drunk. Whatever, he completely lost his touch. The Audiences were sour and unforgiving, and Bobby Grey became just another notch in the big book of burnt out musicians. Bobby sidled up to Luther as the band began to strike up another number in the hopes of lifting spirits. But that hope only got eaten too, and thus the tempo slowed, the notes slurred into a drunken minor key. “You got that look in your eye, Son” croaked Bobby, voice hoarse from hard living, cheeks lax from hard playing. “And I can smell it in the air. You got it, don’t ya?” Luther drowned his last whiskey, feeling drunk. Feeling like he ought to get drunker. “I got a taste for Jazz, z’all” he drawled. But in his heart of heart, he knew there was no talking out of this one. He had been rumbled. How? “Sure you have, sure you have” replied Bobby with a little smile. “And these are good tunes, sure. But you and I both know there’s something else in the air. Something black and smoky, huh?” Black and smoky fitted. “I hadn’t noticed” replied Luther, making one final grasp at the straw. “Cut out the fool mask. I can smell it a mile off. It used to be in me, too” said Bobby, seriously. He was not unkind, he was sympathetic. He just had no time for horse manure. Luther was not shocked. He was not even surprised. It was just he hadn’t anticipated this moment, and both his mouth and his eyes opened. His tongue may have even sagged. “The Void” he whispered. “Is that what you call it? Guess it suits” nodded Bobby. “Feels like a Void in the soul, don’t it? Feels like Atlas had it easy. Heavier than the whole world, restin’ on your shoulders. Like an albatross ‘round your neck. Ain’t no getting’ around it, it’s bum luck” “Feels a hell of a lot like that. A bum deal” Luther agreed, pouring himself and Bobby more drink. He knew it didn’t do a man no good to drown his sorrows. But sometimes a man had to do what I man shouldn’t, and he felt sour. “Like, why in all the universe did this heap of bad land on me!” “Can’t say” replied Bobby. “Guess when things are going good, that’s when things come tumblin’ down. It got me good. Finished my career. Damn near finished me. Drugs, drink, the gutter. Got so bad it started feeding on my bones….” Luther felt a pang of self-reproach. However bad things where, things hadn’t got that bad. Although Bobby’s story hardly calmed his nerves. He could feel that road might lay ahead of him, if he wasn’t damn careful. “And then what happened?” he asked Bobby, keen to know. “I guess when the…void….can’t feed no more, when its even picked your marrow clean, it goes for richer pickin’s” he said, with a shrug, looking at the Jazz band. “And I thank God it did. I mean, ain’t so good for you, but least I get to live the rest of my life with a little smile on my face” he said, with a smile. A sad smile. The Void had indeed left its scars on the lines of his face. “That’s not an ending I like” mumbled Lament, picking up on the bitter story. It was quite the reverse – an ending he feared. Although, he reflected, it was at least an ending. A way to rid oneself of the Void. “Ain’t no other way?” he asked. “No other way I know” shrugged Bobby once more. “Like goin’ cold turkey, I guess. Gets you to about as low as a man can get. But better it feeds on me that me goin’ inflictin’ it on other folks” he said, with a penetrating look at Luther. It was a heroic act of altruism and Luther felt ashamed. He knew how even a taste, a touch, of the Void felt. Like a bleak, black cloud of hopeless despair and depression. He could only imagine the torture of letting the Void feast on his heart and bones until so desperate it became that it fled. He was not sure he was that strong. Or noble. So instead he felt shame. “I suppose” he whispered. He did what he shouldn’t but what he had too. Looked away, at the Jazz band, and drank the last of his whiskey. “I guess yer spreadin’ the load, here in this place. I can taste the mood gone bad” nodded Bobby. “Thing is, although I can taste our friend, I ain’t feedin’ him no more. It won’t touch me again…” A little silver lining, thought Luther, although he still couldn’t meet Bobby’s gaze. “I try to…direct it” said Luther, without wanting to give too much detail. As Lament, he did indeed steer the Void to worthy meats. “Yerthink anyone deserves that?” inquired Bobby. “Yer a cruel soul to say so. Although I understand yer thinkin’” Lament really had no answer. He wasn’t that strong. But he was strong enough to at least steer through the black fate he had been given. And now, he had Bobby as a reminder of his weakness. That wouldn’t make him any stronger, but it would make him steer better. Or so he hoped.

GM This caused the giants pause for thoughts. Fortunately (or unfortunately) they had not much thought, and therefore they had not much pause either. "Very well, noble warrior! We are but servants of King Cauldron, and we do his bidding. You, however, have earned that right" said the leader of the Giants. He bent over and offered his hand for Voin to step on. "I shall take you to King Cauldron. However, my brothers are bound to destroy the church and bring the Seer, bound, to the mighty King Cauldon. They must remain to finish what he have been bound to do!"

GM "Killing someone ain't justice? Guess you ain't heard of the death penalty" retorted Kidd, who looked rather sour. Thing's weren't going his way, and he didn't like it when his sunny disposition had cause to pause. The Wall smashed his fists together. "It is justice" said the Wall, unable to concede this point. "But now you see the truth. Its the strong who choose what justice is. And today, I just wasn't strong enough" he said angrily. Although now, he was angry with himself. "I'd like to go down fightin'. That way I can look at myself in the mirror. But my duty is to my people. And I guess that means I have to live to fight another day..." "You mean you are a pussy" interjected Kidd, who was projecting his own internal assessment of himself onto the Wall. This nearly reversed the Walls opinion. He smashed his fists together so hard that some shattered masonry fell around them. "You, Kidd. Might be bulletproof. But soon, Ill test out if you are immune to my fists as they tear out your spinal cord and jams it up your $£%!" Even Kidd whitened at this threat. And, almost (ironically) as a spinal reflex, he swung his shotgun from Blowfish's mouth to the Wall. But the Wall had made up his mind. He took a step back, down the hole he had fallen down (twice now), and fell again. Bounce! And he was gone.

Flux In his (relatively) new costume, Flux could survive the cold hardness of space almost indefinately. And he had no cape to flutter in the zero gravity. Instead, his costume created its own localised gravity. He did not feel weightless, but comfortable. And by the same method, he floated through space on his own gravitational force which propelled him - slowly but accurately - towards the vessel. Of course, in space, there was no way to communicate via sound. But he could pick up the radio signals and, with some concentration, easily agitate a few choice molecules to emit the correct radio frequencies back. And all the while, he kept his eyes open. Which, in this case, meant his internal eye too. The one that could pick up all sorts of radiowave emissions. He was a living sensor. Approaching Station...looks good so far he said via radio transmission. Lets hope it has some kind of atmosphere so we can talk to each other!

Lament A mere yawn? Why you cold-hearted bastard! You ungrateful little tur--- He interrupted his own train of thought and refocussed on his show without a pause. He took back the deck of cards and shuffled them. "There is only card of any importance, your highness. And its your card!" he said, dramatically, weaving his hands over the cards dramatically whilst doing a slight application of adhesive to one card in particular. "Its the only card that will stick!" he said, doing a twirl on one foot so all the audience could see. And then he threw the entire pack of cards both carefully and haphazardly at the King. The cards blossomed out chaotically, falling like leaves through the air, whilst half of them bounced again the king. It was quick, and sharp. And left, stuck to the King's forehead, was the one card that mattered. The King of Hearts!

Ok for this Ill roll Perform (Acting) at a +20 Bonus Perform (Acting): 1d20+20 27 And spend an HP to reroll! Perform (Acting) reroll: 1d10+30 36! Beyond awesome!

GM "Hey, I'm invisible!" said Penny Coin. "The one thing I can do for myself, and somebody else does it for me!" It was true. Penny had only one real magical trick (other than her ears and being fast). Becoming invisible. She couldn't help be slightly miffed that this fabulous ability was now redundant. "Excellent!" said Lorenzo, rather pleased. "Invisibility! I confess as vile as the fae arts are ---ouch!" Oh, and Penny could still see invisible creatures. That was her other magical trick. Which meant she could aim her invisible foot at Lorenzo's invisible shin. Although it may well have been other parts of his anatomy. "---grrr----I mean to say, these fae arts can be of utility on some rare occasion" he finished, through gritted teeth. And perhaps at a slightly higher pitch than normal. He grunted again and tried to regain his composure. "Very well then! Let us proceed, but with all due advantage of stealth!" "Tallyho Tallyho! Cutsta---" started the sprites. "---which means no singing!" said Lorenzo. Loudly and firmly. "Miseryguts" whispered Penny.

At the moment, he is cruising down a street looking like a vehicle! Feel free to have whatever narrative licence you wish to get into the thread.

Diamondlight Erde. The Earth where Hitler won. The grip of fascism lay heavy on the world. North America has at least put up a resistance, and that wreck of a land has some kind of freedom from the Fascists, but in Europe it was dominant. Rebellion was crushed, and crushed brutally. It was here, in Switzerland, where August Zoss stood over the now old and tired Zoss mansion. His family had served the Nazi’s in the war, and had done well as merchants in the new world. But August Zoss was not a Nazi sympathiser. His life was full of sad sighs, looking bleakly over the beautiful swiss mountains and lakes by his mansion. He was a man with a disquiet heart. His family hobnobbed with the Nazi elite. Thus, they attracted both wealth and scrutiny. As he stood on the shores of the still lake, he could only find bitterness in the view. He turned inwards, both psychologically and materially, and found his heavy feet walking back to the mansion. Only one thing could he say in his defence. He had not let the prized African Daka crystal fall into the hands of the Nazi empire. It lay, gathering dust, in a secret cellar below the mansion. Bequeathed by his now deceased father, who told him never to give it up. He was, for many years, not sure if it made much difference. But now that North America had bitten back, he was quite sure he would not arm the Nazi’s with such a weapon. But strange things were afoot. Dimensions were splitting off, sundering, and collapsing. Such is how fortunes change, not just of men and women, but of empires. The defeat of the cybernetic soldiers of Erde by Dr Tomorrow (who had been freed by the Heroes of our universe) was one such example. And now, something else would turn fortunes. Not so dramatically, and maybe just a drop in the ocean. And yet what is an ocean but a collection of drops? In the blink of an eye, August Zoss of Erde was in Switzerland of Erde Prime. Even the air seemed cleaner. Even the lake seemed calmer. And the mansion was tidier, full of energy rather than decay. And August Zoss prime was a happier man. It must be said, seeing an alternate version of himself dressed in a Nazi uniform did not improve his mood, quite the reverse. It was one of his nightmares. In the blink of an eye, Diamondlight shone bright, the Daka born energies creating a cyan forcefield that covered his body and shone in his eyes. Out of each palm, a blue light blade ready. “Wait!” said a panicked Erde Zoss, holding up his hands. He had never seen such a strange thing! The power!!! Diamondlight did not strike. But he did not lower his guard, either. “Wait for you to..what? Explain yourself?” Erde Zoss thought carefully for a moment. He was an educated man, and had privy to some of the secrets of the Nazi Empire, as well as the theories of certain scientists (some of whom had vanished in most mysterious ways). An alternate version of himself? An alternate universe? But which one? “Where am I?” “Switzerland” answered Diamondlight. “Which Switzerland?”replied Erde Zoss, pointedly. “A Switzerland where we don’t think much of Nazi’s. In fact, we freed ourselves from them decades ago” Erde Zoss breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought so. It feels cleaner here” he gasped, breathing in the air. “Don’t let this uniform fool you. Its compulsory, but still disgusting” he explained, examining his uniform in contempt. “So you say” said DIamondlight. He was still suspicious, but this alternate version of himself did not, at least, seem to pose a threat. There was no hint of any of the Daka energy in him. His laser blades evaporated and, whilst he stood his distance, he relaxed his posture. “And I say so truly” said Erde Zoss. “Gods, what fortune you have had in this place! And what strange power you have! I never saw anything like that, even on the Cybernetic Elite Soldiers” he said, curious now. “How? What? Who?” he said, his curiosity bamboozling his eloquent tongue. “You mean you don’t know?” asked Diamondlight, wondering exactly how their dimensions differed. “The crystal?” “The crystal! Of course!” said Erde-August. “The colour…that shade of blue. I can almost smell the same ozone. It came from Africa, stolen by some Nazi. We hid it in our mansion” he explained, nodding to the counterpart next to them. “We didn’t want the Nazi’s to get hold of it. It could be used as a weapon….” “It could indeed. Or perhaps even something useful” said Diamondlight, trying to drum home the point that weapons were not useful. Or, even if they were, that science and development should be directed towards nobler ends” “Where I come from, we need weapons” said Erde-Zoss, a touch of stiffness. “This planet seems at peace. What happened?” “1945” explained Diamondlight “the Allies defeated the Nazi regime and Hitler. We have had wars since, but nothing like that” he said, although the recent horrors of the so called Islamic State did spring to his mind. “And how did you defeat them? With kind words and diplomacy?” “…No” admitted Diamondlight. He hated wars vehemently. But he hated the Nazi’s more, and if the former destroyed the latter, it was a fair game. “…no, we didn’t, that’s true. It was with the blood and sweat of brave men, many who died. And…yes…with the weapons we had” he added, frowning. “Weapons we need” said Erde Voss. “We need to fight back with that same blood and sweat” he said, increasingly passionate. He was increasingly animated, increasingly excited. The malaise and bleakness he had been drowning in was floating away. “I would give that blood and sweat” he said, boldly, assuredly, and honestly. “I would rather give my life than live with the intolerable sadness of impotence” he proclaimed. “You would?” asked Diamondlight, unsure. He was a bold man, addicted to risks, but he was not sure he would give his life for anything. Who knew, in the heat of the moment, what any man would do? But to be so certain that this was a sacrifice worth making…that was quite something. His life did, of course, have its difficulties and tragedy. He could name more than a few regrets. But despite that, he had an excellent life, in a peaceful country, full of wealth and all the luxuries that wealth afforded, the conversation of great and philosophical men and women, and on top of all of that, some incredible superpowers! It was perhaps no wonder he would be reluctant to give those up. But his alternate counterpart would. Things must be grim in that world. And, on reflection, Diamondlight realised that his heart would be heavy there too, especially if he was frustrated and inactive. It was, he thought, a lesson in appreciating what he had. And more than that, a drive to act. To use his skills, influence, and, yes, power, for a noble cause. But the dimensional anomaly that had brought Erde-Zoss to Earth Prime was only transitory. He wobbled. He vibrated. He blurred. “Oh Gods, I am returning!” he grunted, angry at the thought. “If I am going back to that Hell, help me!” “How?” asked DIamondlight, awake and earnest now. “Tell me….how….to use the African crystal!” said a rapidly fading Erde-Zoss. “Take it, and throw it into the lake. And…it hurts!” said Diamondlight, recalling the mighty feedback loop and the flash of agony in his head. There was no assurance it would work again, and it might well kill his counterpart. But, it sounded like Erde Zoss was willing to take that chance. More than willing. “Thankyou, I ---” started Erde-Zoss, a face full of clear purpose. But then he was gone. And only the slight smell of ozone remained. DIamondlight wondered carefully what had happened, and if he had done the right thing. Possibly, he would never know. But he did know that he could focus his own heart, appreciate his fortune, and drive home his purpose. Besides, he had a good feeling. The Daka crystal did indeed give a smell of ozone…

GM And meanwhile... It was night now. The stars shone brilliantly, and the moon was like a cold diamond in the sky. As it neared midnight, the street vibe of the seaside grew, with bars and drunkards, street entertainment of various flavours, and the shine of neon lights. Music glittered across the pavements, the beach, and onto the gentle lapping waves of the ocean. Chromium was cruising down from Bedlam city. As a Porche. AEGIS wanted to try him out. Test his mettle. On something simple. Or something they thought was simple. A motorcycle club called the Knights of Anarchy. Harmless fools, probably. But outlaws all the same. Whats going on down there? was the mission. Street racing, or something more? Anarchists could easily become terrorists. Was OVERTHROW involved? or something more. A street racer like Chromium would get the vibe, was the reasoning. And he owed them one. Or at least, that was how AEGIS looked at it. As he cruised down the beach streets, he saw the likely start of something. A bar serving late night drinks and light night meat on a grill. And a bunch of punks and drunks. Some of whom were sporting medieval arms and armour. And a dozen motorcycles parked by the beach. And music, of course. Medievel music with a techno beat!

Ronin "Freaky" said Ronin, eyeing the glass of ink. He stuffed it in his trenchcoat. "It ain't gonna be long before the sirens get here. And probably blame us for arson. That ain't cool" No indeed. Arson was not cool. In many ways. "They will certainly blame me for arson" he added, heatedly. Damn, he didn't like being an outlaw. But this was Bedlam, and this was what he had to do. "So whatever we got to do, we got to do it fast" He looked upwards. He pointed upwards with the street special. "And I'm guessing what we got to do is on the top floor. Ding ding! We don't need to get the guards out ouf a building if it ain't burnin. I'm guessin they aren't crooked enough to worry too much about slingin' their ass in the slammer"

GM "A generous girth is very impressive!" replied Boddyflock, trying to cheer Oz up. Penny sniggered. "Caution!" said Lorenzo, holding up his hand in what looked slightly like a Nazi salute. Thats what black leather can do. "As eager as I am to finally find a remedy for my malady, if the mushroom King is even half as fierce as our diminutive idio--friend here proclaims, then I would gladly dely my satiation for a few moments longer. He may be dangerous, and he may be uncoorperative. Just like this idio---this young boy over there...." He jabbed a black leather clad thumb at Neverboy. Penny humphed in dissaproval. She waved her rapier around so violently it looked like she might impale a nostril. Possibly her own. "We must be cautious! We are in a dangerous land, full of evil pix---full of danger" he explained. "I would approach this with the art of science!" he said, full of himself. "And the scientific arts!" he added nonsensically. "We must understand what we face before we go in, Eldritch bolts firing!"

GM "I've hurt plenty. I was a marine" said the marine, proudly. "Been shot at. And did a fair bit of shooting myself" he added. He looked at his drink, sourness in his face. "Damn it. This got bitter" he said of his drink and his life. He wasn't exactly looking at Jette when he spoke. He was mumbling to himself. "Bad $£%! went down there. Saw it with my own two goddamn eyes. We fought for our country, bled for our country, died for our country. And then, back here, and nothing but scars. You can't go back to normal after..." He paused, not wanting to verbalise bad memories. "...ended up with Dirk and Dick. The marine brothers. Smart as hell. Saved my life overseas more times than I can count. Stone cold killers. I ended up just fighting their war over here....damn it...." He obviously wasn't used to reflection. But now, the cracks were clearly showing.

GM At this, the Hornet smiled. He liked games. "Careless, forgetfull, heedless of all save themselves. Sounds like my old master" he said, a cunning sneer on his nostrils. "Welcome to Hong Kong then, Frost..." He went to one of the desks and pulled out some strong whiskey and a board. "Go. Do you play?" he asked. He set up the board anyway. "It is a game within a game. One can appear weak when one is strong, and strong when one is weak. It is a game of patterns, that flow and evolve" He poured the whiskey for Frost and one for himself. "Cheers!" he said and took a sip. "Now then, Ill tell you what my game is. Someone has to be head of the criminal underworld in Hong Kong, and that someone is me" he said, proudly. "That is the motivation. The game is more rich than that, of course. With Dr Sin and his cruelty, his old fashioned ways, stuck as mastermind, there was no room for anyone else. Things become stagnant, ridig, and obsolute under his iron rule. As for me, I like a bit of flexibility, innovation, creativity. I am the new, he is the old. And you, my dear Frost, were very helpful in outing the old. Perhaps you would help welcome in the new?"

Starshot Which was concerning. As pleased as he was to see his ship, the fact that there was less sand than more didn't seem to make sense. In fact, it put him on alert. He pulled out his rifle. Just to be sure. "Soreen, Laark...be on your guard. It is just possible somebody else is on board". He surely hoped not, but it was a niggling worry. The pirates could have picked up the crash on long range sensors. Even if they shut down the power systems, it was still a big lump of metal in the middle of the desert. "Just to be on the safe side" he explained, flipping on his rifle and helmet. He gave the ship an X-Ray scan; it wouldn't reach everywhere, for the Xeno, like many star ships, was full of heavy metals. But it would do no harm. "Lets get the climbing gear. I could do with a few more grenades too. And then check on the ATV, see what we got...."

GM This time the Wall fell to one knee, head bowed. He wheezed, and he let out a scream that he only half choked. He was hurt, and he showed it. "What happens when a Wall falls?" he said, bitterly, on his knees. "The people are left undefended. Why do you think I keep going? Because I have too...." He got to his feet, slowly, laboured. "I can't stop. Even if I can't beat you. I can't stop. You are going to have to stop me. Like I'm going to stop the Wall. Don't you get it? Some people won't stop. Not ever. They get stopped, or they keep going. Like me. Like Blowfish. Like you...." "What are you waiting for? Finish him!" encouraged Kidd. "Finish him for good!" added Blowfish. Kidd swung his shotgun around to stick in Blowfish's mouth. "You. Stay out of this. You don't get a say in what goes down here. Game's over, Blowfish..." The tic was worse than ever. But then, Blowfish had a shotgun barrel slammed against his mouth.

GM And so... Of to work we go! More precisely, Boddyflock and his four companions trotted along (and remarkable speed, quite capable of keeping up with the tall folk) with Oz, Pan, Lorenzo the Black Rose, and Penny Coin the Puzzle Pixie. Penny was swishing her sword around with great enthusiasm and less skill. There was a considerable risk of enucleating somebodies eyeball. The land was lush beyond anything one could comprehend, let alone see. It was, as Lorenzo said, practically bursting with life at every point. This did not just mean brightly coloured birds and bright eyed rabbits (although there were both of these in plentiful amount). It did not just mean magnificently tall twisted trees and fragrant flowers (although these too where in abundance). Life came in all shapes and sizes, and this included bacteria and viruses. Yes, there was plenty of sickly sweet rot everywhere, and quite a few animals and plants infected with something horrible. Spores littered the air threatening some kind of lung irritation (if one was lucky). But ahead, soon, they spied the Mushroom mountain. Yes indeed, it was a mushroom as big as a mountain. "Excellent!" cried Lorenzo, clapping his black leather gloves. "We shall have to take a sample. And somebody with a mouth must try eating some!" "Not bloody likely!" retorted Boddyflock. "Thats the mushroom mountain, hall of the mushroom king. We don't want to let him know we are coming. The element of surprise is key!" "Besides, when uncle Flockboddy put some of that mushroom in his soup, we all tasted of funny colours for hours afterwards" he sighed, his eyes wobbling and diverging at the mere memory.

Sgt Shark Versus the Mighty Mechashark! “I CLAIM THIS WORLD FOR THE GLORY OF THE THIRD EMPIRE OF THE MOST RESPLENDENT MECHANOCRACY!” From the waves of the ocean outside Freedom City came the Mighty Mechashark. It was indeed rather shiny. Technically, it was claiming this whole dimension for the third empire of the most resplendent Mechanocracy, but who would quibble? The Mighty Mechashark was a hundred feet long, its steel teeth two feet long and plentiful. It was bristling with weapons in every fin. It could glide effortlessly through the waves, promising most superior power projection for the Mechanocracy on its own dimension. It was not to be quibbled with. Victorius Finnley was piloting it. The alternate version of Victor Tiberius Finn, this universe’s Sergeant Shark. Victorius Finnley was one of the highest decorated soldiers of the Resplendent Mechanocracy, grizzled and war scarred, brutal and effective. He wore an eye patch over a livid scar that ran down his face. His hair was shaven, his body strong and weathered. But he was still human, unlike Sergeant Shark. The Third Empire of the Most Resplendent Mechanocracy was a universe where Earth was held tightly in the grip of an autocracy that policed its waters and lands with giant mechanised vehicles. Its pilots, the Mechanauts, were revered as heroes. Crime was rare, for the brutal regime insisted on the death penalty for any crime. The price of such a boon was terror and fear in the hearts of any citizen. A terror and fear they could never speak of. Or they would face the uninhibited wrath of a Mechanaut such as Victorius Finnley and his mighty mechashark. Who would quibble with his proclamation in this universe? Why, Sergeant Shark, of course! Also known as Victor Tiberius Finn, Sergeant Shark was hardly a soft hearted man. He had crawled his way through the military, served in the Special Boat Squad, and fought through bullets, howitzers, and knives in multiple wars and hot spots. He, too, might have had scars, but now he was half-man, half-shark, and the scars on his skin had faded. The scars inside, well, that was another matter. Nobody forgets the wars they have fought, the blood they have shed, or the blood they have spilled. Nobody with half a heart, anyway. And whilst Sergeant Shark was cold killer, he still had half a heart anyway. Which was half a heart (or arguably more) than his Mechanocrantic counterpart. And he had a bone to pick with anyone invading the seas of Freedom City. Or anywhere else in this world. Perhaps Sergeant Shark would parley? Or negotiate? Or give his opponent a chance to surrender? No chance. As far as Sergeant Shark was concerned, this was a clear and present danger. Would he sacrifice the element of surprise as he swam silently below the waves? No. This was a serious threat, and it required a serious countermeasure. He landed on the dorsal fin of the giant robot. It was bristling with weapons and sensors. Mag harpoons, sonic vaporisers, reverse torpedoes, and countless other spikes and holes that he could not begin to work out. He didn’t need to. This was clearly a weapon of war, an instrument of tranny, and knowing its precise architecture was moot. Clinging on as the mechashark swam to the shore, he spent a moment to study the robot up close. It was a feat of engineering, that was for sure, and he did not have the brains nor the expertise to understand it fully. The ocean, however, he did understand, as well as the creatures that lived in it. And the Mechashark borrowed completely from the anatomy and dynamics of its biological counterpart. In the shallows, it would be less manueverable. It was a test of nerves, to delay his assault for a few more seconds until the mechashark had reached the shallows. He would oft wonder, in later times, upon the wisdom of his decision. For in a flash, a volley of microbombs left the fin, arcing towards the city. That was his signal. He couldn’t wait any longer. Arguably, as the sound of explosions came from the city, he had already left it too late. Even rivetted steel, forged by the hands of the mightiest Mechartists, could not resist the teeth and claws of Sergeant Shark when he put his mind to it. Normal teeth, normal claws, perhaps, but these where radiation forged enamel, and Sergeant Shark was full of a cast iron will stronger than steel. In a flurry of water, he tumbled, somewhat ungraciously, into the rapidly submerging cockpit of the Mechashark. “WARNING! HULL BREACH!” came the automated warning, somewhat redundantly. Victorius was already knee deep in brine. But the battle hardened warrior was not to be panicked. He reached for an oxygen mask, and pulled out his mag-pistol. “Who are you?” he barked as the water slowly rose. “Who are you?” barked Sergeant Shark back. But both knew. They looked different now, but both knew. These dimensional anomalies were not isolated. They knew, alright. “Why are you firing on the city?” asked Sergeant Shark, wondering just how powerful that mag-pistol would be. Enough to sunder his radiation forged flesh? “War” retorted Victorius. “I would have thought you knew that. Unless you are some degenerate weakling version of me. In which case, I should fire and put you out of your misery” “Grrrr” responded Sergeant Shark, grinding his teeth. “I’ve seen plenty of War. Had my blood spilled, but spilled more” he explained, almost savouring the recalled taste. “But war is a means, not an end. It’s a brutal beast, but tyranny must be met with force” “War is the end. It is the only truth, the only order” replied Victorius, who craved the crushing conflict of the Mechanocracy. “It is the elevation of man’s spirit to the sublime. It is how we know ourselves, and how we are known” This sounded like propaganda to Sergeant Shark. But it also sounded like the kind of Propoganda Victorius felt, not mindlessly repeated rhetoric. It was propaganda that was lovingly embraced and caressed. He started forward an inch, but Victorius was sharp and met the movement with his own thrust of the gun. He didn’t fire. Not yet. “Do you not love the taste of bones under you boot? Of blood on your brow? Of cold fury?” asked Victorius. “Come with me. Together we could bring order to this madness of a world…” It was not that the words did not drum home to some part of Victor’s brain. They did. But he also knew the madness that gripped a man after too much battle. That fever that never truly left. That craving for war, even if one opposed it. Some kind of compulsion to relive the horror. And, whilst Victorius spoke seductively, Sergeant Shark knew that there were ways and means to those pleasures. And war, tyranny, and oppression would send him mad. A madness he would embrace. But one he should not. “We could” he growled. “But we wont…” he hissed. No. Sergeant Shark would give this warped battle mad version of himself a taste of fury. He leapt forward, eyes blazing, teeth glinting, claws rending. He was fast, but so was Victorius. The mag-gun hummed and flared, the electro-magnetically accelerated bullet started to flow forwards, cutting a shockwave through the sloshing water around them. Time seemed to slow, and the moment hung in the air as dimensions rumbled and splintered. And then, whatever piece of elastic that had thrown the might mechashark forward to this dimension rapidly contracted, pulling the mechashark and Victorius back through strange space to the love and hate of the resplendent mechanocracy. But not Sergeant Shark. He got left in a vacuum vortex of the oceans of Freedom City. Few if any were as at home as he was underwater, but the sudden disappearance of the Mechashark created a momentary storm underwater, and he tumbled. His ears were ringing and his nose was bleeding. He was indeed tasting his own blood. As he came to a halt, he felt that cold fury in his blood turn hot. Victorius was vile, and worst still, not so different. But if he ever met the tyrant again, Sergeant Shark would be tasting blood. Just not his own.

And as there is another hit Tough: 1d20+3 17 which is another bruise, another daze (6 bruises now!) Let pause a moment and play out IC.