Shofet

The Captain stops, dead in his tracks. He looks at the food, then the offer of a smoke. He sighed quietly, and accepted, before edging closer to the rest of the group, and slumping against the rails. "Thank you..." He looked up at all of them solemnly. "This place, this boat... It's cursed. The fish-man is right, there's an enchantment here. It reaches into your mind and blocks out whatever ability you have to leave the ship. It's hard to even think about doing it..." He looked up, and for a moment, the man he might usually be shone through. A portly man, with white hair and a handlebar moustache, with strong brown eyes and rough hands from many years working the ship, these features obscured by skin greyed by horror and the deep, dark bags under his eyes. He wasn't much younger the Volodomir, in his mid-fifties at least, but if you watched carefully, you could tell this man was normally much stronger willed than he seemed. "It's... Well, recently, men have disappeared. We haven't seen what's been causing it, but we know they're probably dead since we're finding little traces of them... Teeth, fingernails... Whole scalps. No blood, though. Never any blood. Just seafoam. There's always seafoam when we find what's left of them." He straightened himself. "Thank you for the food... I'm sorry for my outburst. We've all been under strain. Feel free to use our bunks, talk amongst us, and share in the food. I figure generosity needs some reward." He looked down, drained.

1d20=6 Dangit.

He succeeds!

You are now panicked and reduced to a sobbing, shrieking mess as you feel the eyes of the dead upon you, their hands grasping at you. It's almost as if you're reliving their deaths, and it is terrible.

Alrighty. You succeed. There ARE animals on the ship, but their life essence is faint. There's also something awful here, and it notices you right back. Make a will check.

The Penitent was familiar with the poorer areas of Freedom City, despite being relatively new. He had made his home among the helpless, the downtrodden, and the poor, mostly because he himself was penniless, a symptom of looking like something that crawled out of Hell. He had been patrolling the area, flying close to the ground rather than high up like he did in the rest of Freedom, as the buildings here were relatively low to the ground and skyscrapers were definitely not in abundance. So, he heard the scream for help rather easily, and immediately turned towards it, heading in between the buildings and onto the roads so he could hear the person better. He found the sound coming from beside a large assembly plant, causing him to go full speed towards the place. "Don't worry, help is on the way!"

The additional food helps a LOT.

"It is indeed." Volodomir said grimly, as he grabbed a ladder on the side of the ship, and slowly climbed up it. The sailors were there to greet them, though only with near-empty gazes and hushed words. However, the captain seemed to have enough self-control to come forward and shout at them all. "Go! Go away! Get away from here! Don't set foot on the boat! It's evil! It'll trap you here!" The captain tried to shove Volodomir off the boat and into the water some several feet below, struggling with him. "Go! Go! It's not safe!" Spittle flung from the man's mouth as he struggled with Volodomir, who managed to push the man off him. The Captain looked at him pleadingly. "You're dooming yourselves! You can't help us. You're just another victim now." Volodomir sighed. "We have heroes here. They can help. Just calm down." The Captain spat, rising to his feet. "Men and women so eager to meet the grave. Fine, stay, but you shan't have any of our resources, scant as they are. You've dug your own grave!" The Captain hobbled off, looking back at the others only for a moment.

The Penitent's mind ceased whirling as he finally managed to sustain the pain of the blows, and he sucked on the new wound in his mouth, spitting out a gob of blood. His sunglasses lay broken on the ground beside him, and his shirt had more or less been destroyed, so he just tossed it off as he got to his feet, eyes searching for Weissnacht. His eyes narrowed into slits when he saw what the armoured villain was doing. The Penitent ignored the robots completely, and took up into the air, surging forward. His fist slammed into Weissnacht's armour, not focused on the body but the plates themselves, and suddenly, an unholy force surge through them, weakening the plates and bonds and loosening the rivets. "Don't ever turn your back on an opponent" His voice had gained an almost infernal edge to it as he barked. "Especially one like me!" He raised his hand, hellfire appearing suddenly in a dull flash of light, but this blast was different than the ones before. This one was bigger, hotter, more powerful. Suddenly, he slammed it down into the side of Weissnacht's head, knocking the opponent unconscious. "You alright, Corporal?" He panted, sweat dripping from his brow as his bruises ached.

1d20+15=26 +5 from All-out attack on his Drain 10 Toughness, so -5 to Defense. Aaaaand, since I surge... 1d20+7=24 +5 damage bonus from Power Attack. That's a DC32 TOU save, and you now have only a +7 TOU bonus.

Alright, guys, I want you all to make a Will check as you board the ship.

All of you see a crazy amount of barnacles on the ship Alright, this one is for Supercape:

1d20+12=17... Gog darnit. And spending a hero point... 1d20+12=22 GOG DARNIT.

The Penitent rolled his eyes. "How... dramatic. Allow me to show them what-for." Already being in the air, the Penitent suddenly gained a massive amount of speed, racing from cover to bowl over his opponent, who would only see him as a blur. He body-checked the robed man in the centre, who seemed to be the one giving orders, and knocked him head over heels while the Penitent raced on ahead, slowing down and dropping to the ground on his feet as he turned, creating some drag and brushing up some dust from the ground. "Consider your little LARP here interrupted."

1d20+15=27 for the melee to initiate, 1d20+19 for the trip attempt. Can't be avoided, must be blocked. EDIT: On the guy in the centre.

1d20=5] Okay, apparently you really knocked the wind out of him.

Hah. Oh, make a notice/search check.

GM Volodimir looked between them all, and shook his head. "Checking out the hull of the ship is..." He sighed, and looked between them all. "Alright, I suppose it is worth a shot." He removed his tweed snapbrim, and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, looking out at the boat. "As for what I know... I can't say anything beyond what has been in the news. People can't get off the boat, and it can't move... Worse yet, some of the sailors are disappearing. We don't know why, maybe some of them have gone mad and are doing something to the others, but... I don't know. I really don't." He straightened his drab brown sweater, and nodded to Lord Steam. "How many can you fit on that?"

The Penitent chuckled, and sped up, zipping through the stairway and then into the last level of the building, before reaching top speed and ripping open the door. He smirked at Weissnacht, and landed, wiping his sunglasses on his shirt, talking to Weissnacht without looking at him. He maintained the Viennese German. He put his sunglasses on, and looked up at Weissnacht, cracking his neck.

The Penitent nodded, and shot a thumbs up to Corporal Cosmos, before taking off down the hall and into the stairway, flying upwards "Now, oh wise Whipper-Snocker, you said something about shocking me? Funny how you never went through with that, huh? I suppose it's because you're actually scared of me. I'm bigger than you and that threatens you, but not enough to risk making me mad and beatin' you something fierce. But that's okay. We can't all be masculine. Some of us have to be wimpy little eggheads, or there will be no one to fix my cable." "You hide behind a bomb because you can't fight. You use robots because you're too much of a coward to fight for yourself. You're no Napoleon. Even Napoleon went out to the front of the battlefield. But not you. You'll never be one of the greats. Just a mediocre jerk who got his butt landed in the slammer by some half-bit Southern hayseed." Suddenly, he switched to a perfect form of Viennese German. "Oh, und Weißenacht? Ich spreche Sie Deutsch." He switched back to English. "I just love how mad you get when I mess up your name."

Alright, here's the OOC, everybody.

Alrighty, the IC is up.

GM 16:00, April 15th. Just outside of Freedom City The waves gently licked against the shore, the cool air finally having reached the comfortably spring climate that many seemed to dread would never come. The smell of sea salt was kicked up into the air, spraying across the boardwalks and coasts, leaving moisture heavy in the air. In the distance, the Darwin sat. Gaunt, empty faces watched out hopelessly at the folk in the city as the ever-dwindling number of sailors began to give up hope, already faced with starvation in a few days and knowing that whatever had taken their friends might soon take them next. One could almost see the hurt, abandoned look in the eyes even all the way from the docks, where the man called Volodimir set up the ferry. "Now, we're probably not going to be able to get off once we get on," He said tiredly, his Ukrainian accent thick "so I need to know if you're sure you want to get on that ship. I'll be there with you if you do, but... You can opt at any time before we get on. Once we're on the Darwin, there's no turning back." Volodimir was a broad, stocky man, roughly easing into his sixties, which steel grey eyes and a thick layer of white stubble on his sea-swept face. However, he himself had a reassuring countenance about him, and he held himself with great pride and confidence, as a man who had faced death many times and survived. He looked back at the heroes, waiting for an answer.

I'd be fine with that, I suppose.

Alright, I shall get a topic up in the morning/afternoon.