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GM January 3rd 2025 Just North of the Border Some getaway. Grimalkin and Ghost had ventured to the very south of the States for some R&R. They had ended up in some quaint desert villahe, where a weathered old woman of uncertain heritage tried to persuade them she was a shaman. It didn't seem likely. But the snake skins and wolf paws all looked quite genuine. And there was distilled cactus juice to drink. And some colourful poncho's and hats. And then an earthquake. It wasn't big, but it was big enough. A rumbling first, then a shake sufficient to shake off the tourist tat from the shelves. Glass smashed, strange fluids flowed over boots. The old woman screamed and brought out a shotgun from under the counter. Not pointing at the superheroes, but you never knew - it might go off. Alarms rang throughout the village. More screams, shouts. The sound of crumbling masonry and the tinkling of smashed glass. With her exceptional scences, Grimalkin could hear it all. But what was strangest of all? The faint smell of sulfur.