Supercape

Ok Harrier is facing some concerted Aircraft Carrier Attacks! First off the heavy Artillery will explode around him. I will call this a Blast 10 Explosion. so Reflex DC 20, and a DC 25 or 20 Toughness Save (Its never really occurred to me before, but I guess if you lower the DC from a Reflex Save, you use the lower value for Impervious Toughness). Then we have the Machine Gun Fire - and by this I mean the proper mounted machine guns. Ill say there are 4 Mounted Guns Firing at him, all attacking at +5, with Blast 8 Autofire. 1d20+5=13, 1d20+5=23, 1d20+5=18, 1d20+5=10 One of the Machine Guns hits the Dodging Harrier, but his impervious toughness is enough to shrug that off (only crits will affect him).

Which is a miss! Finnigan is stunned, so just splutters. Our Resilient Goon charges at Catalyst, putting him at -2 Defence next round. 1d20+8=24 Is a hit, and thats a DC 20 Toughness save for Carrie. Back to next round: Round 4 26 Siphon - 4 HP - Unhamed 17 Catalyst - 3HP - Bruised and Dazed (until 7) 14 Starlight - 2 HP - Fatigued, Bruised. 13 Finnigan - Bruised, Stunned (until Catalyst, at which point he 1d20+5=23 recovers!) 7 Goon - Unharmed Siphon is up!

GM "New staff, eh?" said Wessex, eyeing up the two new recruits. Carrie wasn't sure, but she had the slight feeling that Wessex had taken a romantic shine to her, somehow. Not in a lecherous way, but his face softened a little. "Well now, I guess you will be wanting to report to the Nurses station. Head Nurse Gulley is the lady in charge, in the main ward, top floor. And mind how your courtsy. She is a bit prickly, old Gulley, means well, but a bit set in her ways, bit old fashioned, if you get my drift. Just a little friendly advice..." He turned to address Zeke. "And what have you come for?" he asked, snatching their documents and examined it. "Cook eh? well, our food can't get any worse, thats for sure" he laughed. "But you will be with us, my friend. The people who keep this place running smoothly. The orderlies. We aint doctors, we ain't nurses, or anything like that. And we certainly ain't patients, well excepting Murphy the gardener hahaha, leastways, he should be one. We get our patients to help with some of the running of the place. Aid's in recovery, they say. Seems honest enough to me..." "Anyway, you join us, my friend. Probably need you down at the kitchens. McCarthy runs them, decent man but can't cook much...." He scratched the back of his head. "Of course, you may want to settle into the Staff quarters first, show your rooms. They ain't much, but they are free. And there is a friendly mess hall if you don't want to go to the local down the road..."

GM Finnigane caught a mouth and noseful of pepperspray, coughing a heap of it out, but succumbing to the tears and wheezes. "What in Satan's holy name is that..." he whispered, fighthing for breath and wiping his eyes as he leaned by the wall to steady himself. "Smoke and Mirrors..." he coughed..."I'll be damned if some crackpot little lady alchemist get's the better of me..." he said, just about vocalising his feeling. His face was bright red - how much of this was due to anger and how much due to the toxic effects of Catalyst's spray was up for debate. His head did look exceptionally swollen. The mook by his side wiped away the pepper spray and spat it out with a grin. "No girly takin' me down..." he grunted. His face streamed with tears, but he ignored the pain and irritation, with a look of hate.

Starlight is up!

GM "I am, let us say, interested...." say Mr. White. "Perhaps you could say I am a bit of both. He asked me to help, and, I, knowing of 'im, felt inclined to say yes..." he smiled, almost hissing. His teeth really were as pearly white as his eyes. "He is a genius, and I don't say that lightly, little miss dead. He borned you, and that was no little trick. As for Nora, and Stoneheart, the first was just a flawed first draft, all the power, non of the finesse. The last, had both, but something was missing. The soul, you see....I think he may be a thinkin' you had that, even if you was a flawed in other ways..." "And he wants to get it right..." he pointed at the men. They were strapped down in leather, faint, perhaps drugged, perhaps from loss of blood, perhaps from loss of something more esoteric. "The dead, you see..." he smiled. "The thing about the dead, is they ain't livin' and that be what he wants...." He fingered the tubes that belched and swirled, draining the men. "And that's be what he is takin'!"

Finnigan is stunned 1d20+5=15 Goon is 1d20+5=25 incredibly, still standing! Post away!

If flight has a glowy aura effect, I think I can buy that stunt - go for it. I would advise in the next edit you may wish to firm up the descriptors a bit and add "Light" to that Array (or all your powers).

Ok from House Rules: Summon (Animate Object, Duplication, Gestalt, Machine Animation, etc.): A Minion/Sidekick, whether purchased with feats or Summoned, cannot have a PP total higher than the hero. If the character concept involves a "minion" in service to a less powerful entity, then the more powerful "minion" is the Hero, and the "boss" is purchased as a Minion/Sidekick. Summon may have its Duration bought up to Continuous, but Summon may not have the +Independent extra. The +Heroic extra is allowed, but only if it applies to ONE Summoned being. In addition, it is a taken (from UP I think) that the Summoned creature (just like Minion or Sidekick) can not be higher than the default character. So, you could have a PL 10/PP 150 Nikki with the Summon 10 Power (Summoning up a PP 150 Entity). Whatever level of summon Nikki gets, the summoned entity would be PL 10 tops. I would think you would have to buy the heroic extra for the summoned entity (Merge). Also, you would probably want to consider the fanatical extra - its not necessary, but without it, Merge would run / flee etc if the going got too hard, and Merge could even have things like diplomacy used on her to flip her. Helpful is what summoned entities are summoned as: they will fight, aid, and generally obey, but wont die for you! For Nikki's brother (Camera Obscura), he could remain a minion. As you can only have two heroic "characters", a minion he would remain. Ill say this though, its a really interesting character. Are you sure you just want her as an NPC?

GM "Open fire!" commanded Chambers. "But...sir...." blubbered the gunner. "I think...I think it might be Harrier..." "Son!" snapped Chambers at the Gunner, "I don't care if its the Queen of England and her corgi's. Open fire. That's an order...and if you don't follow it you will spend the rest of your life rotting in the worst military prison I can find!" "Yuh...Yuh....Yessir!!!!" snapped the Gunner. BOOOOOOM! Crack-a-crack-a-crack-a-crack-a-crack.... The Cannons and Machine Guns opened fire, unleashing a volley of explosions and a stream of high calibre bullets at Harrier as he weaved his way towards the ship. "Let me be clear about this to everyone!" commander Chambers. "This ship is here to stop another Terminus Invasion. There is no room for error. There is no room for mistakes. There is no room for the benefit of the doubt and going crying to your mummy when the next horde of invaders!" "Fire at will!"

Ok, so i really feel like a dick about this, but this is why it needs a major rejigger... Nikki needs to be the main character, as the summoner. The summoned entity cannot have more PP than the summoner (see house rules). So this means quite a rejig, I am afraid. I'm not saying you can't use the original idea, but it does mean that Merge Trios is around all the time, and won't come when "summoned" if she is far away. what I would suggest is bumping up Nikki with a load of utility powers, and then a Summon power. You could move some of Merges powers to Nicky, who has them with the effects others (+0) power, or gets them as a boost.

Although The logical thing was to hide, as a stowaway, until the Ship had reached its destination, Synth had sworn to look after Starlight, the...hostage? Captive? It was not entirely clear. Guest, even. She certainly wasn't about to leave Starlight to the fates. She shuddered slightly, aware of the cold, hard, and deadly vacuum of space she presumed would be outside the ship. She may not have been strictly organic, but she was organic enough that the rigours of outer space would kill, more slowly, but kill her nevertheless. Steeling herself against the thought, she stepped out into the corridor and walked in an even pace and gait down the ship, to see if she could find Starlight....

"Of course!" replied Lord Steam. "That's politics!" Later, at Steam Manor... Phone calls had been made, favours called in, and on more than a few occasions, money had passed hands. Lord Steam had cast the net wide in order to find any connection between the men. And he hadn't, he conceded, come up with much. The best he could do was that they had attended the same diner. Not much to go on, he admitted to himself, but it was the best he had. What else? youngish men, in the prime of their life, wealthy....and a nightstick. A few pieces of the jigsaw, but nothing clear yet. The nightstick, he conceded to himself, was worrying. If this was political then all sorts of subtleties could be at work. Where the police involved? why had they asked him? was he being set up? it was not likely, he thought to himself, but he best been on his guard. "Blakely, see if you can round up my diary, and witnesses for the murder times, just to be on the safe side. I want some alibi's if this starts going rotten. And better telegram them over to M, just to be double sure..." "Very good sir!" replied his effectual butler. He took up his copper plated archiac telephone and dialed Brodski's number. "Brodski? is that you? ah yes. Steam here. Look, been a bit of a hoo-hah trying to piece this together. Best I got is a diner both men frequented. I am going to pop over there now. GIven our last conversation, could you send someone to meet me from your force? mmmmwah...ideallly yourself, given how splendid you have been...." He took out his Lockwood special, his own design, a steam powered revolver, and tucked it away in his overcoat. Just to be on the safe side. "Singh, get Bessie running, we are going for a ride..." he commanded his chauffeur.

Lord Steam straightened up and tapped his silver-tipped cane against his chin. "A difficult problem indeed. A slow acting poison, presumably delivered by these automatons. These clockwork assassins. Nobody would be any the wiser...." "Gentleman, I smell a mystery. And any mystery is one I love to sink my teeth into. The fact that I am presented with the most unusual of circumstances, and the possibility of politics, just makes this all the more vital. After all, I am officially a diplomat...." "I think we should start with the body, if I could examine it...in the mean time, I will have to see if I can find any background information on the two known victims. Not that you fine gentlemen are not capable of course, it just I like to take a good look myself, if you would be so kind...."

Taking 20 and Gathering Info on victims (Result 30). If any Knowledge skill s relevant as reaction, with eidectic memory he takes 10 and gets 16 (knowledge Technology would score 25!). Also see if the murder scene, where the body was found, has any clues. Taking 20 on search for a result of 30.

I have a little difficulty stunting of "Might" array as light.... persuade me as to how that works when the descriptor seems to be "Might"? (The Light Array of course is no problem!) Incidentally you might wish to stunt an Environmental Effect with the Independent Modifier, so you can flip back to other powers in your array if you do so from light. It just means it fades away and you cant dispel it.

Supercape Vignette: The Leibniz Lectures Professor Lief Liebniz was, and continues to be an academic rival of Quentin Quill’s long before he became Heavy Metal. He has appeared as a minor NPC for instance here, as well as in several vignettes and in passing. This is all before he became Heavy Metal. And even now, he remains Liebniz, only becoming the supervillain when exposed to unusually high levels of radioactive energy. The only problem he has now is the sad story of his becoming permanently radioactive. Freedom City University, about mid afternoon... “And if we examine the parametric variables of the gravitational field under the parameters omega and delta squared, we can see….wake up Holby!†he snapped at the bored youth at the front of his Lecture hall. Professor Lief Liebniz was not having a good day. He rarely had good days, even before his accident. He had a reputation as being snappy, irritable, arrogant, and backstabbing. Them of course, the accident happened. “Unless of course you have something to add to the conversation? Hmmm? Perhaps you have read my chapter on m-theory interpretative maths and would care to share it with the class, have you? Please, I would be delighted to hear your thoughts on the subject…†he sneered. Poor Holby recoiled, turned red, and averted his eyes. He was actually afraid. The rumours popped up every now and again, of course. Liebniz did his best to quash them. Because the rumours were true. Liebniz was radioactive! People who spent to long near him, well they tended to get a bit ill, needed a break. Liebniz had, of course, no intention to give anybody radiation poisoning. He was a sly, crafty and backstabbing academic, but he wasn’t about to kill anybody, not for any paper. Not even a Nobel. Well, maybe for a… No, not even a Nobel, he reaffirmed to himself. Harder had been the Gieger counters that tended to go a bit wild as he walked pass. It had taken a few midnight fiddling with the equipment, to make sure they didn’t register his particular brand of radioactive activity, to sort that one out. Still, every now and again the rumours persisted. A few years ago, he would have enjoyed them, perhaps even cultivated them, as they gave him a gravity, a little fear. Now, of course, he hated them, as they drummed home the own horror of his situation. He could touch his beloved family, of course. But not much. He had to keep his distance. His wife knew about his condition, and it had caused tears, endless tears that still sprung up between them. He finished off the lecture and gave Holby a dirty look, before scuttling off to his laboratory. He sat there, silent and still for a moment. He was tired. He spent so much of his energy trying to work out where he had went wrong, and cursing himself for experimenting on himself before properly testing his findings. He was close, he knew that. So close. He could almost taste the power, and sometimes, he had dreams of huge, unstoppable power coursing through his veins and nerves, a power of the sun, of immense strength and force…. He shook his head. Just dreams, that was what they were, vivid dreams, taunting him. Maybe he had come close, but close was no good. No good at all. He would not see his wife today. They had rationed there time together, a precaution. In a way, he valued their time together more than ever, it was beautiful, wonderful, a time when his academic battles and pride melted away. His heart ached for that serenity and love. He shook his head again. “Curse you Quill!†he muttered, turning his mind once again to his instruments and experiments, to see if there was any way he could spot to reverse his condition. Deep in his heart, he knew that Professor Quentin Quill was not to blame, but he had always had a bitter rivalry with the man. Unfortunately, he knew that his adversary was just as brilliant as he was in the field of high energy physics. That made them adversaries, as far as he was concerned. That jousting had enticed him to experiment early, to take the glory. Quill was not to blame, he knew, but it sure helped him while away the lonely evenings trying to find a cure.

Lord Steam Vignette: Blakely goes shopping! “I see, Sir†said Blakely. The Butler was out shopping in Freedom City. He was dressed elegantly, in a starched white shirt, bow tie, and gold trimmed suit. Eccentric, was probably the best way to put it. Charles Blakely was sixty now, a veteran of the British Afghanistan wars, and a small piece of shrapnel in his shoulder that reminded him of its presence every winter. He had to confess, the warmer climes of Freedom City were rather agreeable in that respect. He had retained a lean, fit build. Even if he was no longer the athletic army officer of thirty five years ago, he was still healthy and active. His hair was greying, and he had more than a few wrinkles, but he still kept an elegant handsome posture and profile. And he was of course, extremely polite. “No sir, I was merely inquiring if the garment in question could be repaired with the same care with which it had initially been fashioned. A seamstress of reputable skill could, I imagine, use her talents to mend the tear with near invisibility, if you have in your armoury of textile appliances the requisite silk…†“You taking the Micky, granddaddy?†asked the drycleaners, a rather overweight Italian man, half Blakely’s age. “No indeed Sir, if you are indeed referring to me. I would correct you on your erroneous assumption that I have sired a grandchild as yet, although I do have a daughter. And as for your speculation that I am in some way extracting or acquiring Michael, I must correct you on that front too. Do I take it from your somewhat vexed manner that you would be unwilling to provide the requisite services I desire?†he asked politely but with increasing stiffness, quite resilient to the Italian’s increasing attempt at intimidation. Ҡhe said in a diplomatic tone, in flawless but accented Italian. “ The budding diplomacy was cut short however. “Stick ‘em up buddy! This is a hold up! Get out of the way, old man!†shouted one of the two men, dressed in balaclava’s. One of them held up a sawn off shotgun to the shopkeepers face. “Gentlemen, this is outrageous!†complained Blakely as he was shoved aside but the second man, who vaulted over the counter and started grabbing whatever money he could find. “Shut it, coffin-dodger!†snapped the first thief, spinning his shotgun around to stick it in Blakely’s face. “You sound like a Brit to me. Well this here is a genuine American shotgun, you ass, so you better remember that…capiche?†“This is not the first time I have had a gun pointed in my face. And I have seen more of them that you will ever forget, young man…†replied Blakely sternly. “For instance, you have left the safety on…†he said, pointing at the weapon midway. The crook fell for it, holding up the weapon to inspect it by reflex with a “huh?â€. Blakely swiftly responded by poking the man in the eye. “Owwww! Owwww! You….†“No need for obsceneties, young man…†snapped Blakely in response. He reached inside his jacket and brought out a large, curiously designed revolver. “Now this is a gun…†he explained. “Steam Powered Lockwood Special. 6 Round Chamber, Iron sights, Spring loaded with compressed steam propulsions system held in special copper cells. I had a hand in its design myself. Excellent stopping power, quiet, and excellent accuracy…†He put it up to his eye, and took careful aim. “Excellent accuracy…†he repeated “Oh do hold still….†He sighed, before pulling the trigger. With a hiss of steam, the large calibre bullet flew out of the Lockwood special, shattering the shotgun, splitting it neatly in twain. “There we go, young fellow†he said, pointing the gun squarely at him. “Now, if you and your friend here have any further doubts about my accuracy or proficiency with this gun, since I am English, then I will be delighted to give further demonstration. Regretfully, as I have destroyed the only target I can think of, I will have to proceed to small appendages, such as fingers, or perhaps kneecaps. “ he said, sternly. “Alternatively, you can apologise to this nice Italian gentleman here, and we can wait for the police to arrive, duly arrest you and no doubt exercise the powers of the legal system that I suppose are of reasonable robustness in this dimension†he continued. Ҡsaid the Italian drycleaner, gathering up the items that Blakely had left and scurrying off to talk to his staff.

Lord Steam Nothing Fancy. Could somebody either add a link somewhere (under Minions, or at top or bottom of page) to Team Steam Or, possibly easier, just paste Team Steam to the bottom of Lord Steam's sheet. No changes, I just want to make it easier to link or see his minions stat's from his sheet. BLIMEY'D BY AA

GM "I am sure that can be arranged" smiled M, with full confidence. GM Later, outside Bedlam Infirmary... The hospital was actually very nice, an old victorian building, with elegant and green grounds, a proper sanctuary. It was walled, and gated, but every effort had been made to make its exterior at least as pleasant as possible. Several patients were walking in the grounds, some escorted, some not, and an exercise class - a game of cricket - had been organised for some of the patients. From what they could see the state of the patients varied considerably, from entirely normal looking, to terribly dishevelled, to muttering and shouting, to shuffling and thin. But the people escorting them, for the most part, tried the best they could. "Here you go then" said the Cabbie, dropping them off. "Good luck to you in there. It's a right nuthouse!" he commented, before driving off. M had supplied the heroes with said radio devices, a fresh and subtle invention from the Royal society of metaphysical engineering, courtesy of Ms. Wells. And a envelope stuffed full of documents, proof of identity, references, and the lists Carrie had asked for. The reception office was a little dusty, but otherwise unremarkable. A couple of large porters greeted the two. "What can we be doing for you today then?" grumbled the deep voice of the Head Porter, a Mr. Wessex, an exceptionally tall and large man, with a close cropped head of hair and a somewhat intimidating stare.

Rene deSanes Vignette Marcel Allaseur NB: Marcel Allaseur is a friend of Rene and member of the Halbedier's, a loose association of which Rene is a member of. He has previously featured in: Unabalnced Vignette and Paris by Moonlight. “Another day, another Euro…†sighed Marcel, climbing once more into the Cellars of Paris. He mourned internally for the demise of the Franc. The sewers of Paris, whilst excellent in principle, always stank. Every sewer did, although some were worse than others. He remembered a trip to Cairo a few decades back and grimaced. It put the delights of the Parisian system of today into perspective. He could never entirely wash the stink off. There was always that faint odour, unless he took a holiday. However, he seemed to do this less and less often. His job, at least on the surface, was with the Parisian Waste Disposal Services. It was not a bad job, and he had a moderately high position. The wages were not excellent, but they were adequate, and he had good holiday and pension plans. No, the problem was his other job. He was a member of the Halbediers, the secret Parisian society that protected France from occult threats. The membership had changed over the years from just two to a dozen, and usually hovered around a handful at any one time. Some members were more active than others, and some others still were not full members. Rene de Saens used to be active, until he moved to Freedom City. There were others, too…the pickled head of Count Bonnaire, a font of wisdom and acid tounge, and the mysterious and enigmatic lady known only as Yasmine, who combined competence with uncertainty. Marcel himself was not a powerful mage. He could not summon lightning, or demons, he could not weave hypnotic enchantments or move objects with phantom forces. He knew enough occultism to cast ritual spells, enough to get him by, and enough to join the Halbediers. He was, however, a practical man. In most aspects of life. But particularly with crushing the skulls of zombies and ghouls, which were, for some reason, an occasional menace down in the stink halls of Paris. He had done some research, and speculated it was lay lines, or perhaps an ancient curse. Maybe a mass burial site lay way beneath Paris. The truth was, he hadn’t really ever found out. Perhaps dabblers in the mystic arts just liked hiding out in the sewers and making a hash of it. So, another rumour had got out, from one of his co-workers. Marcel had of course laughed it off, blaming the man’s wild imagination. He had then made his excuses, grabbed his trusty cudgel, and made off to the depths of the sewers following the man’s directions. So Marcel trudged through the sewers, for nearly an hour, with only his club, a flashlight, and some coffee for company. He reached his destination with an irritation born from the journey and an excitement. He hefted his club, and cautiously opened the door to one of the side flush chambers. His senses were alert to any unusual noise over and above of the oh so familiar rumblings he had grown accustomed to down here. There it was, a degenerate, decaying thing. It looked like it would fall apart at any moment. But Marcel knew that appearances could be deceptive. It groaned slightly, its head turning towards him so slowly. “Time to say goodnight…†he said, approaching cautiously. And his caution was deserved. With a sudden rush of speed, the thing sprang up, crawling along the walls like a spider, and jumping at Marcel, slamming into him. Marcel dropped his flashlight and tumbled, but he was made of stern stuff, and despite this creatures unusual speed, he had seen it all before. He knew how to fight these things, and he was good at it. As the creature spun and reached out to strangle Marcel, a hefty wooden club smashed into its skull, cracking it wide open, as it had done so many times before, and would no doubt do so many times again. Marcel did not stop to assess the situation. He stood there for a good few minutes, pounding the creature into dust again and again with his club, and finishing off the job with a sprinkling of water and a soft incantation. “Good riddance†he said, with satisfaction, before setting off back to the city again. He did not relish the journey back, but he visualised the bottle of wine he had left out to breathe in his apartment. He would certainly enjoy that tonight. Somehow the undead gave an extra special layer of odour to his normal fight with hygiene. He wished he could put a stop to the zombie vermin that reared up every now and again. And he wished the sewers would never attract the jumped up dabblers in dark arts and sorcery that he had to frighten off and intimidate. But until that day, Marcel Allaseur, Halbedier, would patrol the sewers of Paris, and protect the world above from the horrors below.

You can do either really, but perhaps if it's a major rework resubmit and we can archive this.

Ill take cue from you guys about when to cut in as GM! Seems like a bit of socialising is in order first of course. Give me a direction and I'll run with it.

"Two deaths?" queried Lord Steam as he sat on his haunches to inspect the Robot. Certainly looks like one of ours... he thought on first impressions. But he relied just as much on second or third impressions in his line of work. "Pray tell, do explain" he asked Brodzki. "You can rely on my discretion on the matter. As, I hope, I can rely on yours. This is, I am afraid, a politically sensitive matter. This technology certainly appears very similar to that of my own dimension. And that, I am sure you will understand, is political. I don't think we are talking an inter-dimensional war just yet" he said with a smile "but nevertheless, I would rather avoid any tensions. In any case, appearances can be deceptive, as I ams sure you know. " He peered a little closer. "Some of these materials are, I believe, from this dimension, for instance. What we have here is a hybrid..." "Very political" he concluded, standing up and brushing himself off. He started to examine the immediate area with his usual thoroughness. "Now then tell me about the other two deaths...and this robot. What is the story?"

Taking 10 on a Knowledge (Technology) Roll for a result of 25, see what that shows! Then I guess its a Search of the Area, taking 20 as we are not in a rush (2 minutes to Search a 5 by five area, so I guess we are looking at around 10 minutes to cover the immediate vicinity of the robot).