Supercape

Cap Cosmos Buddy sipped the champagne, popped a Vol au Vent in his mouth (mmmm.....salmon!) and politely declined the tray of fererro rocher that the French Ambassador was gobbling up. He gave a little humurous anecdote to the amabassador and his wife (something about a walrus and two pencils) and slipped off to get closer to Miss Thorne. Nobody was that squeaky clean. He thought to himself, as he relaxed. Buddy was fairly good at relaxing in social situations. Compared to the bright lights of a TV camera, this was easy. And he always had a knack for just appearing honest and relaxed. Even when he was neither. Even if somebody wasn't completely clean (and nobody was), didn't make them bad. Ghandi, Mandela, even the damn Dalia Lama. Nobody was perfect. But you could still be a good man. He wasn't so foolish to think he hadn't slipped up in the past, or would slip up again. But at least he tried to do his bit. Where did Miss Thorne fit in? A thorny issue! "Excuse me Ms Thorne?" he introduced himself with an offered hand an a smile. "Buddy Brand. Great Gala. You sure are a fascinating woman!" he said, voice velvet. "I'd love to have you on my show one day...." She might be dull as ditchwater. But she might be as rivetting as a rivet!

Cool!

GM The Hornet was, of course, completely unaware of such communication. He continued playing the game, and was good at it. "No. I don't wonder that" said the Hornet, bluntly. And - a trace of anger? He might be winning at Go, he might be a genius, but he was no philosopher or debater. He was a cold calculator, without appreciation for art or finesse - unless it suited his blunt goals. And, for all his intelligence and cunning, he had not Dr Sin's, not Frosts, adept at controlling his own emotions. They bled out. "Well, Frost, if you have such steel and fury, why not come work for me?" he asked. He stood up, getting impatient despite himself. He was winning the board game...why am I not winning with Frost??? He clenched his fist. "Are you trying to fool me, Frost? You will find I am a hard man to fool! I have no time for philosophers or fools, they are one and the same. I don't know, and don't care, how you grew a heart. It is a pointless organ, prone to make great men small!!!" He tried to force himself to calm again, and half-succeeded. "What trick have you up your sleeve that gives you such blase confidence? My men and I could crush you easily, something you surely know?" he asked, pointing a green armoured finger an inch away from Frost's face. "Perhaps I should. End this charade...." he mused. The men around him started pointing there weapons at Frost, awaiting the Hornet's signal....

Mr Murk Frost...Tsunami.... Mr Murk knew words of primordial power, and knew how to use them. In London, in the Club Immortus, his tentacles of information gathering spread around the world, through shadow and night and...well, yes...murk, he came to know much. Right now, he sat in his favourite leather armchair, his eyes blind as always, he muttered to himself. And through his power, the words were heard by Tsunami and Frost. I have just heard some...potentially disturbing news. Dr Sin has fallen into a coma in Blackstone. Breathing, but in the infimrary. No signs of any brain activity. ...I don't know if this means anything, but given the situation in Hong Kong, I thought best to let you know. Dr Sin must not be underestimated, even imprisoned. I cannot fathom what his game is.... Yes. Despite Murk's confidence in Frost and Tsunami, he was disturbed. Dr Sin was like that. Wheels within wheels within wheels. Could they have missed something?

GM "Puh-puh-puhlease!" gasped the Japanese Man. "Don't play innocent" grunted the Mobster holding him. "Those are Yakuza tatt's...beats me why any gang member would tattoo themselves with their stripes. Just asking for trouble..." "Its true...Im Yakuza...I mean...I was Yakuza....but we don't operate in Freedom City no more..." "That's not what we heard" grunted the mobster. "Somebody trying to put the Yakuza back in play. Now, we don'tlike competition. Maybe that makes us un-american, huh fellaz?" The mobsters laughed at the almost joke. "So, give him up...or we let go!" The Japanese man gulped. "I don't know! Honestly, you gotta believe me...." "We don't..." grunted the dissapointed mobster. Who dropped the man...

Captain Cosmos Buddy Brand Knowledge [Current Events] Gather Information Captain Cosmos Knowledge [Cosmic] Knowledge [Galactic] Knowledge [Behavioural Sciences] Knowledge [Physical Sciences]

Reputation Table Hell Q 20 Q Origin Story

Good enough for the +2 bonus to tsunami and Scarab on terms of stealth etc

That hits. Could you roll grapple?

Init: 1d20+0 11 The KoA gets the initiative Swings Mace: 1d20+4 13 but misses his swing (or you block it, however you wish to narrate) Meaning Chromium is up!

GM Once again the engines roared, the lances levelled, the sand kicked up. The crowd screamed and cheered and drank (one poor woman did all at the same time, and collapsed coughing furiously). This time, the spectacle was even more spectacular! For both lances splintered, and both Chromium and his enemy were de-horsed / de-biked. Crunching into each other at this speed was dizzying and dazing. Chromium found himself with a head full of cobwebs and his face in the sand. But he was no better off, or worse off, than the Knight of Anarchy he had unseated, who was trying to stand, and wobbled as he did so. The crowd loved it of course. "MELEE! MELEE!" roared Sir Prize. It seemed that in these situations, the contest was decided on foot. The Knight wobbled again, and staggered towards Chromium, trying to get the mace out of his belt....

A mutual debiking then! Time to enter the decider! Roll me an initiative!

ooc for this Feel free to narrate any entry; perhaps Talon just happened upon this scene. Perhaps he was following the Japanese man, or the mobsters. Perhaps he got a tip off. Ill roll with whatever you wish!

GM March 9th, late evening The sky was black, and it was raining. There might even be thunder and lightning later. It was that kind of smell in the air. Particularly on the rooftops. It might be raining more than rain, this night. A small gang of men held another man by his legs over the side of the building. It was a good thirty feet drop. He might survive, if he landed right. But being dropped head first was not the best way to land right. It was the best way to spray brains all over the pavement. "Please! Please!" he yelled, in a Japanese accent. The five men who were tormenting him looked thick and heavy set. Hard men, but not the brightest. "Give it up" demanded one of the thugs. "Where is he? You really want to die for him, you Yakuza scum? This city belongs to us, y'hear? Big Al and the Mob!" Perhaps he should not have been speaking so loudly. For Talon was prowling not far away!

Thats enough to hit, but be hit too (yeah, im making these rules up a little!) The lance grazes you - not enough to injure you but can you make a DC 15 Drive check to stay seated and driving.

GM And so... Our merry motley crew of mad musketeers gathered there party and ventured forth. It somehow seemed quite necessary to gather one's party before venturing forth, but nobody quite knew why.... And thus it was that Boddyflock and his men, Penny Coin (the Puzzle Pixie), Lorenzo the Black Rose, Pan and Oz trudged through tunnels of mushroom growths (that smelled nutty and earthy for the most part, although one strange tunnel seemed to smell of cheap perfume) and entered... The hall of the mushroom king! It was a vast cavern in the centre of the mushroom mountain. In the centre, a depressed looking man, his skin mottled with fungus growths, sat with his head in his hands. Around him, a dozen mushroom men clamoured. "Tell us another! Tell us another!" they chanted, imploring him to entertain them.

GM Broom broom, and thrice broom! The engines roared, and the crowd cheers, and the police car stood by wondering if this was legal or not. Opinion was divided on the matter, but nobody (bar the cops) seemed to care. Because it sure was fun! Alex zoomed forward, as did his opponent, a good 100 feet between them. It was hard to get traction in the sand, and there was a wobble in his opponent. Alex had the advantage! More speed, more stability, as he expertly powered him motorcycle through the beach. BAM! His lance splintered, and the Knight of Anarchy that had been foolish / drunk / both enought to challenge him was rudely unhorsed (or rather, unbiked) The crowd went wild! And the Knight of Anarchy had his face in the sand, dazed and confused. "Hurrah for the noble..." roared the Knight at the other end of the stretch of beach, patting Alex on the back. "Say, what was your name again?"

Thats fine by me.

GM Ms Doors shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe she was one of those do-gooder bleeding heart types. Pfff!" sighed Ms. Doors. "I always thought Neutron Industries had the right idea, you know, free enterprise, not being tied down by ridiculous health and safety regulations. That business with the nuclear power plant shutdown never was proved" she said. Yes indeed, Ms. Doors did like her conspiracy websites. Although in this case there was a ring of truth to the matter. "But why don't you go see her? She is recovering in hospital, I think. Perhaps you could bring her some cookies?" Good old Ms. Doors. Heart of steel and gold depending on whether you were a statistic or someone she knew personally. "It sounds a messy business, all around" she sighed. And again, she had some truth to her.

Should you wish to joust...drive rolls and attack (mellee) rolls and anything else you might wish! Chainmail armour available! (+3 Toughness) Lances available (+5 mighty strike, move by action feat, limited to charges)

GM As it happened, there was a motorcycle free for bystanders to use in a joust, although in truth few were bold enough to use it. But for Chromium, the motorcycle was there! And Fascimile was offered a lance and a helmet and an almost shiny suit of chain mail! He had a very nice bike, so of course he was more than welcome to joust. The Haggis was thrown, and the cheese was rolled. But this was all warm up! BrrrrrrroooooooooooM! Sir Prize had arrived! Roaring down the beach on a thick-tyred, furiously powerful motorcycle, Sir Prize was a large man dressed in shiny plate mail with full helm. His face was osbcured but no doubt it would be a cool face, for he drove in a cool way. Having a longsword strapped to his back and spinning a spinked flail over his head as he streamed past the applauding crowd was certainly slightly very cool. Slightly very cool indeed. "LET THE GAMES BEGIN!" roared the loud, low voice as he drove past. And the Jousting was up! Chromium and Fascimile both were offered a joust against a Knight of anarchy. And a chance to win the suprise prize of Sir Prize!

The spores are a Nauseate 5 (limited to sickness) effect. Feel free to narrate that how you wish - given you folks can easily slip past the stoopid mushroom men at this point, and its a low level effect, you will be able to shake it off fairly fast so no real reason to actually make the throws.

GM "We are fleshings? We are fleshlings?" The four mushroom men seemed most displeased with this idea. They started smacking each other around the head, and emitting toxic spores. Given muhsroomy fists were of limited use against mushroomy flesh (other than creating rather wet "thwap" noises, and releasing more spores), it might well be several days - or years - before any of them actually came to significant injury. But still, they set about each other. "Are you a fleshling?" "You are a fleshing!" "I AM A FLESHLING!" declared one of the sorry foursome, who proceeded to headbut the wall of the mushroom mountain tunnel in a futile attempt to inflict some kind of damage on himself. The mushroom men were most distracted and embroiled in self loathing. No longer a threat. But the spores they released were most assuredly problematic! Clogging up the lungs, clinging to the skin, and infusing the fleshlings with a rather toxic nastiness...

Sgt Shark Finally, Sgt Shark's brain was resembling something like a human's again. It had certainly changed since he was bitten by a radioactive shark. The mammalian, human components were still there, but he had a rather swollen, hypertrophied limbic system now. And when it fired off, it tended to overwhelm his more advanced cortex. He shook his head to try and clear it once more. The cool sea helped. The Sea Devil most certainly did not. It confused his brain, the dissonance between visage and smell. "We come in peace, eh?" he snorted. "Well, lets play along, and lets hope its not a trojan horse...."

OOC for this