Steve

Here's the system for divine miracles, which Father Edmondo is using:
 
Miracles:
With enough faith and God’s favor, some people can perform miracles, ranging from minor blessings to epic Old Testament-style CGI spectacles. [This section is written from a Christian viewpoint, but a Muslim or Jewish version would probably work much the same, just with different “flavor text.” For that matter, it could probably be adapted to most pagan religions if you wanted.] [For game purposes I’m calling this a magic system. But keep in mind that Christians (et. al.) don’t think of their miracles as “magic,” and would in fact be quite insulted at the comparison.] Miracles are accepted as a normal part of the world of Revelations 1001, tho physical, tangible miracles are fairly rare and impressive. Note that the ability to perform miracles is not restricted to the clergy. Kings, great warriors, and even commoners have been known to perform miracles. People who perform miracles are generally revered rather than feared, so being able to perform miracles rarely qualifies as a Complication per se. However characters that perform miracles will often have other religion-based Complications such as Psychological Complication: Pious Believer, Social Complication: a Muslim in Christiandom, or the like. Characters known for performing miracles may have (or develop) Positive Reputation. Faith (Skill): This EGO-based Power Skill is used to control the Miracles VPP. (It’s not really a learned skill, but we’ll treat it as such mechanically.) Various religious Knowledge Skills may also be appropriate. Miracles VPP: The ability to perform miracles is built as a Variable Power Pool.Individual VPP slots do not have to be defined in advance, and are frequently made up on the fly. (Tho common blessings and the like should be statted out in advance whenever possible to speed up gameplay.) The most common miracles are variations of Aid, Healing and so forth. Overt attacks like fireballs or lightning from heaven are rare, but not unheard of. The VPP takes a +1/4 “Miraculous” Advantage to reflect the following:Changing powers out of combat requires a Full Phase Action and a Faith Roll at -1 per 20 Active Points in the effect. Changing powers in combat requires a Half Phase Action and a Faith Roll at -1 per 10 Active Points in the effect. Note this means most miracles will generally take at least a full Phase: ½ Phase to change the slot, and then ½ Phase to “cast” it. All slots take the following Common Limitations, which can be abbreviated as “Miracle, -1”:Conditional Power: Only If God Wills It (-1/2) Incantations (Audible Prayer, -1/4) Unified Power (-1/4). Most miracles will have very few other Limitations. For simplicity, things like taking extra time, use of a holy symbol, and the like are generally handled as bonuses to the Faith Roll, rather than Limitations per se. Typically, the only Limitation that can be ignored with the Overcoming Limitations Maneuver is Incantations [-1 to the Faith Roll an additional x1 END]. Although miracles rely on Divine power rather than that of the caster, channeling that much energy is still tiring; normal END costs usually apply. Divine Aid: This Talent allows a character to occasionally perform miracles that exceed their VPP Pool. Divine Aid costs 10 points.Excess Hero Points can be banked as “Grace,” representing extra bits of divine love and mercy you have earned. HPs can be converted to Grace at any time, and there is no limit to how many you can bank or carry over. (If things get ridiculous, we may have to revisit this.) Using Divine Aid requires spending Grace. Each point of Grace applied grants 1d6 Aid  to the user’s Miracle VPP. (Mechanically, this increases both the pool and the slot simultaneously.) The GM reserves the right to limit how many points of Grace may be fed into a given miracle to maintain game balance. Other characters of the same religion may donate one Hero Point to be used as Grace by a character performing a miracle, but it must be used immediately; it cannot be banked or saved for later. In extreme cases with GM approval, a character may go into “negative bank” on Grace by swearing an oath to do something specific to earn the points back as soon as possible afterwards. You’re essentially asking Heaven for a loan. Example oaths might include swearing off alcohol, making a pilgrimage to the Holy Lands, or whatever. The character then suffers 1d6 of Unluck for every point they’re in the red, and is unable to accumulate positive Grace until they have fulfilled their oath. ItemsA standard (ie - free) cross or other holy symbol has no in-game effect. Or you can buy one that gives a bonus to Faith Rolls. [Holy Cross:  +1 with Faith Roll; OAF; Cost 1 CP] Holy relics, mostly of the Saints, are hugely popular and sold/traded shamelessly throughout Europe. The vast majority of these are fakes, but a handful are real and have genuine power. Genuine holy relics can do anything from giving bonuses to Faith rolls, to increasing the effectiveness of Grace, to providing stand-alone abilities like basic blessings. While it is possible to build a character’s entire ability to perform miracles around their possession of a holy relic (ie – making it a required Focus), we should talk first about what your character would do if they ever lost that item… Blessed or holy weapons may have OCV bonuses, damage bonuses, or even advantages like Armor Piercing. Sometimes just the fact that they’ve been blessed may make them more effective against demons and other forces or darkness. Generally, if you want to start the game with a holy or enchanted item, you need to pay points for it. Items acquired in game are usually free and distributed by GM. Some relics or holy items can only be used by those able to perform Miracles; others can be used by anyone with enough Faith. People Of Faith cannot normally use sorcerous or pagan enchanted items, and vice-versa.

Champions - Return To Edge City : Retro SF
Refurbishing the Machinist's old lair under South Pinnacle, and various major public works.

Hero Shrew OoC: At least THIS place isn't infested with giant man-eating spiders.

And the base comes with its own 150 year old clockwork owl.

Flux: Who keeps that thing wound up?
Hardlight: Who? Whoo-whoo.

Hero Shrew: Can we have a Danger Room? We take turns sitting on top of a ladder with a bucket of water balloons.

The Dysprosium Dawn gangers admit that the drugs the cyborg gang were using were produced by the DD leadership - the leadership that escaped in their invisible car.

The Machinist's files include his encounter with something he called the Iron Devil, which was some kind of automaton.

Fireflash: Let me guess - his version of Ultron?
GM: Yes - except he didn't invent it.

Hardlight: Nancy, hold all my calls - I have one hell of a data-entry job ahead of me.
GM: Well, you do have years of notes to transcribe.
Fireflash: Hey, I'm helping!
Hero Shrew: I'm not.

Hardlight: Oh great, he had clockwork sex-meks.
GM: Actually, it's part organic. It used to be a woman.
Hardlight: .... Well, foot in mouth already.
GM: At least you're staying in character.

Hardlight: Flux can set up his lab over there - the Feng Shui is good there.
Fireflash: Feng Shui? Is that some Chinese superhero I should know about?
Hero Shrew OoC: I'm willing to bet they're a Californian super.
GM: That IS more likely XD

We also discover what happened to him - increasingly disillusioned with the US, he applied one of his discoveries about anti-gravity.

GM: 'IMA GOIN TA MARS!' Or beyond.

GM: Your mother will have things to say if you spend too much time with two grown men and... Hero Shrew works at a titty bar, OK?

Opinions are mixed about the association between human and Moreau super beings. For one thing the underage Fireflash can't go into The Collar Club if they need Hero Shrew. But then Hero Shrew is his own problem.

Edge City Racists: Great, the humans can keep him on a leash.
GM: He is pretty notorious for doing property damage - but admittedly he hasn't been doing as much of that lately.
Hero Shrew: Well, I'm working two jobs now - I don't have the time.

Fireflash: Time for exams.
GM: Oh look, A++ on everything. Again.
Fireflash: Why did I get an A- on this one?
GM: Snoring in class.

Fireflash's new outfit has glowing piping.

Hardlight: And in red 'If this is blue you're going too fast'.

The Booster's breakaway group have taken to calling themselves the Juicers, and have established themselves in West Haven.

Hero Shrew: And what is West Haven known for?
Fireflash: Juicers.

On the other hand the cocktail of drugs that go into Juice are turning up on Edge City's recreational scene. Which can be alarming, given the nature of the drugs and the variety of biochemistry possessed by the locals. Even the Dysprosium Dawn gangers making the stuff are being cautious who they sell to. One of the new drugs is called 'Cooling', for some reason. Oh, and some kind of very big thing has been spotted swimming around in Monterey Bay.

Flux: So, which of us can swim?
Hero Shrew: I can sink pretty well.

And people have been seeing Grey aliens in Saint's Row. Wearing t-shirts and jeans.

GM: Saint's Row is just north of the Hellgate Institute.
Hero Shrew OoC: HELLGATE??
GM: Where you were born.
Fireflash: Decanted.

Flux: Well, the aliens might have a mundane explanation.
Fireflash: I'm assuming a mundane explanation - it's aliens XD
Flux OoC: ... Damn superhero milieu...

There is precisely ONE photo of the aliens on the Internet. Which is pretty odd, and highly suspicious. Flux copies the file into a honey trap, to see if anybody tries to delete it, while the rest of us study the picture for clues. Apparently it was taken near a cinema and a newsstand, judging by the 'Plan 9 from Outer Space' and 'Mars Attacks!' posters and bundled newspapers with Roswell headlines. There's only one cinema in Saint's Row, and that's disused. More weirdly, the stack of newspapers in the photo are 50 years old, but the empty bottles are a few years old at best.

Hardlight: Why are we looking for these guys?
Fireflash: Because someone doesn't want us to.
Hero Shrew: That's always a good reason.

Flux: We'll pick Fireflash up after school hours, so her mother doesn't murder us in our sleep.

Hardlight gets to work on the cinema locks.

Flux: Fine, break in, I don't give a shit.
Hero Shrew: You don't give a flying flux.
GM: At least Hardlight looked around to see if the news blimp was filming you, this time.

Hero Shrew smells the scent of a lot of frightened people, who were here recently. Also, so many empty bottles and tin cans that's it's impossible to move quietly.

GM: Their diet appeared to be mostly Cheetos and tinned food.
Hero Shrew: My god - no wonder I could smell it when we opened the door.

The aliens apparently fled into the utility tunnels shortly before we arrived.

GM: Does anybody have tracking skills?
Flux: I do? I used to be a vigilante. But no stealth skills, apparently.
GM: I am the bat that flaps noisily in the night.
Hero Shrew: Ghost Rider. Not stealthy at all - indeed, rather conspicuous.

We eventually catch up with them - mostly because they're exhausted by the evacuation and trying to telepathically confuse the pursuit.

GM: Congratulations - how nice a guy is Flux? Be causing you've literally just run them to ground.
Flux: Vigilante, remember?
Hero Shrew: Illegal aliens.

Fireflash tries to talk to them, but they really just want to be left alone and unnoticed.

Alien: And if I wasn't so tired you never would have noticed us. Just like the last three times. *he collapses*
Fireflash: Quick, does anybody have any energy bars?
Hero Shrew: I do.
GM: Are they fit for human consumption?
Hero Shrew: ... They're fit for Moreau consumption.
GM: Aren't mealworm bars marketed to people anyway?
Hero Shrew: Insects are edible.
Fireflash: SOME insects are edible.

But what to do with them? Even if they want to be left alone we can't really leave an unknown number of aliens squatting in an empty cinema, eating expired tinned goods and shooting up.

Hero Shrew: How many more warehouses can you afford, Mr Lowell?
Flux: We're not putting them in a warehouse.
Hero Shrew: Why not? They'll be studied by top people.
Fireflash: Top people are useless anyway - they just stand in one spot and grin.
All: .... Groan.

Flux: We only found these guys because we have better endurance than them.
Hero Shrew: Well, of course we do - we have to endure Fireflash's puns every day.

We can't hand the aliens over to one of the extraterrestrial affairs bureaus - because they're Moreaus.

Hero Shrew: Huh - my Live Action Zootopia theory is looking more likely. Looks like they were going to make remakes of 50s SF too.

But that's where things get especially weird - these guys claim to be Moreaus - and they think they're Moreaus - but they have none of the genetic markers shared by all the Moreaus that came out of the Genesys labs. 

Pathfinder : Craptastic
(Small note - Harshal's Harrow card should actually be the Twin, which makes much more sense than the Bear.)

In this episode, the party learn more than they ever wanted to know about Magnimar's sewerage disposal systems, rescue a bunch of kobold slaves who go on to invent communism, and enable graverobbing from Fantasy-Native-Americans (awkward!!!!).

GM: I give a Hero Point to the Chronicler, and whoever keeps track of the party treasure.
Harshal: Which is currently two hundred pounds of garlic.

In fact, the garlic is more valuable than the job we were originally hired for - substantially more so.

GM: Which explains why there was always a guy out the back of the spice merchant's shop. You can guarantee he'll be investing in a better lock.

GM: And that set of printers dies was only the basics.
Harshal player: Didn't even include the cliches.
Gillert: Ha.
Harshal's player: I'm serious - it's where the word cliche came from. Preset blocks of frequently used words and phrases, 'clicked' into place.
Gillert's player: I love gaming at this table - you always learn something. History, criminology...
Zin's player: Entomology.
GM: AND etymology.

Erstwhile noble Tannis Orbereck has been hearing stories about the Silent Circle turning up around Magnimar - deeply creepy individuals with suspicious synchronisation and blank silver masks. Typically for the Circle, nobody knows what they're doing in Magnimar, or why they're here. Also, the Nightscales - the Magnimar thieves guild - are pissed off that somebody bypassed their smuggling operation.

GM: They've been asking questions, but haven't got very far.
Harshal: *looks innocent* I hope they make an example of somebody.

And one of the Gargoyles - a brutal Underbridge gang - got mauled in an alleyway. Despite his bodyguard being just outside the alley. In hopefully unrelated news, Tannis gets an invitation from his cousin Emalliandra Orbereck, inviting him - and Harshal! - around for tea.

GM: Knowing your cousin, you might want to take your own chair.

She is very diligent into her research into Azlanti heritage and artefacts, so you'd think she'd be quite respected in the Orbereck clan. But she doesn't actually like her family much, and keeps to herself in her bookshelf-choked rooms in the Docklands. Harshal shares her interest in Azlanti and Thassalonian artefacts, which may explain why he's been asked to attend. Tannis shows up deliberately late.

Tannis: My family may deserve respect, but they are not masters of me.

Emalliandra: Who is it?
Tannis: Your cousin.
Emalliandra: Is it teatime already?
Harshal: *sigh* I anticipated this - I brought a hamper.

Emalliandra: Look at you, cousin! You've been busy!
Harshal: 'And look, you've actually grown a beard!'

The rooms are even worse than rumours suggested, with books piled up high against every wall.

Tannis: You know, dear cousin, if you were actually willing to pay you could find a better apartment.
Emalliandra: Oh, I couldn't do that - it's too entertaining listening to the landlady entertaining her visitors.
Harshal: *chokes on his tea*

There is actually a small table and four chairs.

Emalliandra: I've been making friends. And I friends tell me you and your friend Harshal have been naughty boys.
Harshal: *tenses up*
Tannis: I'm pretty sure that's not true.
Emalliandra: I'm pretty sure it is - that much lead coming into the city will be noticed.
Tannis: We didn't do anything illegal.
Harshal: *internal facepalm*
Emalliandra: Did you pay import duties?
Tannis: Oh, you mean illegal under Guild Law.
Emalliandra: Now, I've nothing against a little smuggling now and then, but the Nightscales have been making enquires and they're getting close. Your friend Harshal here - good day to you by the way.
Harshal: *bows and kisses her proffered hand* Ma'am.
Emalliandra: As I was saying, your friend here is a known associate of our Mr. Crispin, so it won't take them long to make the connection.

However, the Nightscales can be distracted. They've been digging a tunnel - not under the Irespan, since they're not insane - and if this smuggling operation gets disrupted, the current master of the thieves guild will lose a huge amount of face, and hopefully lose interest in pursuing minor smuggling issues.

Tannis: And how does this benefit you?
Emalliandra: Who knows how many priceless Thassalonian artefacts they're smashing as they dig? This is an area that needs finesse and careful excavation, not...
Harshal: Hamfisted pick-axing in the dead of night.
Emalliandra: Exactly. But you will be doing me a favour, and favours must be repaid. I offer you and your associates silver - so much less suspicious than gold, don't you think? - and an assortment of potions. I can reward you appropriately. *glances at the alchemical and appraising set-up in one corner*

Tannis: Well, thank you, cousin. Family must stick together.
Emalliandra: Especially those more 'interesting' family members.

Half an hour of small talk over tea and cakes ensues, as Harshal considers the matter.

Harshal: I'll need a reliable team - or at the very least warn them they may have to get out of town in a hurry.

One complication - nobody seems to know who is doing the actual digging for the guild. And of course getting involved in Nightscales affairs right now is possibly the worst thing we could do.

Zin: So... Your solution to our pissing off the thieve's guild is to piss them off even more?

Emalliandra's contributions include potions of Cure Light Wounds, and one of Concealment from Animals.

GM: The effect ends if you actually touch an animal, so it's not much use in the sewers, because you'll keep stepping on rats.

Tannis: This operation might be rewarding for us.
Harshal: Her Ladyship is in a position to express her gratitude appropriately.

Gillert: I bought an umbrella.
GM: Some people in Underbridge never see rain. Or daylight.

Harshal: Do we need to put a false tail on Zin?

Zin: I'm a Kobold who disguised as a Halfling trying to disguise himself as a gnome.

We gather rumours.

Dockworker: Damnedest thing - bunch of Nightscales come in to pick up a shipment. That's not the weird thing - it was all moon-radishes! And mushrooms.
Harshal: Moon-radishes. Hmm.
Tannis: Gee, I wonder what races eat moon-radishes and mushrooms.
Harshal OoC: *nudges Zin* Hint, hint.
Tannis: Oh look, the Halfling seems to know something.
GM: 'Hey, I remember moon-radishes! *drools*'

Tannis: They must have wanted miners that aren't very bright.
GM: That explains why they're using kobolds.
Harshal: 'Gee, I wonder what burrowing race we can pay in radishes'

Insulting Zin's heritage is quite easy, even if most of us don't actually know he's a Kobold yet - maybe we can stir up the kobolds against the Nightscales just as easily.

Zin: And then we'll have freed Kobold slaves running around under Magnimar.
Ys: Not our problem.
Harshal: Unless they burrow into the Irespan, and then it IS our problem.
Ys: Nope. Then it's the city guard's problem
GM: Nah - The kobolds would run into the sewer goblins first. Rats aren't the only pests under Magnimar.

We track the excavations down by backtracking along the complicated chain of gangs, mafia, and nightsoil carts the Nightscales are using to conceal their activities. Fortunately, the team is very very good at not being noticed.

Harshal OoC: Stealth Synergy - the entire party sneaks down the street disguised as a wall.
NPC: 'This corridor seems a lot shorter than it used to be'

Harshal notes that the Shoanti gangers the Nightscales are using are all from the Skoan-quah or Skull Clan, who when they're out on the steppes protect the Shoanti burial grounds, and so on.

The richest districts of Magnimar are all up on the ramp leading to the stumps of the Irespan, overlooking Underbridge and the port.

Harshal: Makes for easy sewerage disposal too. *reach out, pour*
GM: Actually, when they were founding Magnimar they got a master engineer in to design the sewer system.
Zin OoC: So Magnimar is one of the few medieval cities with indoor plumbing.
GM: One problem is that nobody has a complete map of the sewers. Which is why they have all those cultists down there. Turned out later the engineer was a Norgorber cultist. He put in a lot of extra tunnels and dead-ends.

One puzzle is why material from the excavation is going in multiple directions.

Gillert: Maybe they're finding valuables as they excavate.
Harshal: Thassalonian artefacts? Well, they're not gong-farming, anyway.
Gillert: Gong-farming?
Harshal: Collecting old nightsoil for gunpowder production. Fine old profession.

The Nightscales have been very clever - the building they're using as a front is also the main collection point for uptown's privy buckets. Hiding the excavated soil and stonework is easy, given all the nightsoil carts that come through the yard here. The carts head out of town to deliver the valuable fertiliser to surrounding farms, and nobody finds out about the digging operation, which is just as well for the Nightscales since everybody remembers what happened the last time somebody delved too far and dug too deep.

Tannis: So, how are we getting in?
GM: There's one entrance that's unguarded. The slide all the nightsoil comes down.
Harshal: Ah. And if we ever need to blackmail Tannis in future, when he's become an actual noble, we can remind him about the day he slid down the shitslide.
Tannis: I'm not going down the shitslide.
Harshal: Oh?
Tannis: No. Ys is.

Given the number of people watching the building - 'sleeping' beggars, suspiciously inefficient street sweepers, and the fairy dozing on the lintel, it's just as well we're a party of sneaking sneakers.

Ys discovers somebody waiting near the bottom of the slide, flicking through a loose-bound pornographic blockprint by the light of a candle-clock.

Harshal: Ah, technology.

The unfortunate porn aficionado is promptly murdered by Ys and Zin.

Harshal: I don't think he needed to DIE for his taste in erotica. Publicly flogged, perhaps.

Harshal narrowly avoids an unfortunate accident getting into the building.

GM: Nearly went face first into an ogre's dingleberry.

The dead guy get dumped down the slide into the waiting nightsoil cart, with the hope enough nightsoil comes down to cover him up before anyone checks.

Harshal: Do we need to make our own contributions?

At least we've found the tunnel entrance. And the tunnels is much more complicated than we expected, wide enough for carts, with sound-baffling turns, workers camps for the Kobold slaves, and scorched mud-and-shit ceilings.

Harshal: Let me guess - they're burning dried shit as fuel? They've got plenty of it.
GM: Nope - they've got a use for that. *points to ceiling*

This explains a rumour about a 'black market' we heard, too - it's certainly going to be big enough for a market. There's a number of Nightscales guards about the place too - some with scourges to use on the brutalised kobolds.

Nightscale: Break! Taskmaster! On high!
High Taskmaster: This one! No buckets spilled, no matter how I tried to trip him. Quick on his feet. I like that. *throws the Kobold a radish*
Nightscale: On low!
Low Taskmaster: This one! Three buckets dropped - a new record. You know the price - you make up the difference. The rest of you get to eat!

At least one of the ten overseers is a Mage. Sneak attacks and stirring up the kobolds seem like the best plan. Tannis doesn't actually know that Zin is really a well-disguised Kobold.

Tannis: Can the Halfling speak Draconic?
GM as Zin: *mutters* Speak it better than you do, smooth-skin

Zin: *sneaks in and whispers* Clanmates! Help is on the way!
Kobolds: *stare at the Kobold-disguised-as-Halfling-disguised-as-gnome* Uhh.... You want us to do anything? We wouldn't mind getting a few hits in.
Zin: Just wait for the signal.
Harshal: The signal will be screaming.

Sneaking into position. Ys is already within arms-length of a taskmaster. Gillert is going to colour-spray the others, and Tannis, Zin and Harshal are going to turn the Mage into a kebab.

Ys: *Whispered prayer* Norgorber hear my prayer - this blood for you.

Tannis: I ready my Vorpal Cudgel.
Harshal: *raises eyebrow* Is that what you call it?

The surprise attack works brilliantly - right up until the mage's familiar, a raven that was resting under the table, flies off cawing in panic. Crap. Ys manages to wing it with a thrown dagger.

Zin: *in Draconic, to the kobolds* Clanmates! Attack!
Tannis: *who also speaks Draconic* ... Wait, what?

Tannis is pulling hidden daggers out of every orifice, Harshal is doing pinhole surgery on people's spleens with his rapier, Zin is pinning people to the wall with his crossbow, and Ys is being sneaky death on two legs. The kobolds turn the raven into nuggets. Then the survivors get their retaliation in. Harshal goes down with a club to the solar plexus. Gillert tries to Acid Splash them and takes mental damage as the spell backfires.

Tannis: Next time don't visualise the spell effect inside your own head.
Harshal OoC: It's 'Acid', not LSD.

Tannis: Lower your weapon or die like your friends!
Thug: *looks intimidated, drops his club, and is torn apart by a mob of Kobold slaves*
Ys: You were right - he didn't die like his friends. He got killed by kobolds.

What to do now? Could we use the tunnel for our own purposes? Inform the authorities about unlicensed archeology? Or collapse the chamber? We now discover that the brutalised Kobold slaves are all bearing the brand of the same Chellaxian trader that owned Zin. So we can leave by the other end of the tunnel, hand the kobolds over to the guards as slaves illegally imported into Magnimar, and let the powers-that-be treat them as a public relations opportunity. Or there's a half-elf alchemist in the Docklands named Iria that's known to take on unusual cases.

GM: She's the kind of alchemist that has stuffed specimens and organs on the shelves.
Harshal: Let's hope that's a crocodile hanging from her ceiling and not a Kobold.

Kobolds: You're taking us all? Even the weak????
All: ....
Tannis: ... Yesssss?

The kobolds start talking animatedly among themselves, invent communism, and start sharing out the moon-radishes equitably.

Harshal OoC: Have those kobolds just invented communism? I sure that will end well.

Some of the loot includes fragments of Thassalonian inscriptions - quite valuable to collectors. And the Mage was reading an elven family's magical workbook, despite not being an elf.

Harshal: Gee, I wonder where he got that - oh wait, the Nightscales are all thieves.

Gillert recognises the Mage from his apprenticeship.

GM: He was the master's favourite. He was the studious one.
Gillert: I became a rogue, he became a douche.

Tannis: We need to collapse this chamber. Hey Gillert, I've heard wizards can cast Acid Splash. I don't know if you can.
Gillert: .... Arsehole.

Iria is very excited.

Iria: Do you realise how little opportunity I've had to study scalykind!
Zin: Please! You have to help them! *whips off his disguise, revealing his species to the rest of the party*
Harshal: Huh. Well then.
Iria: Can I speak to you later about optioning your body after you die?
Gillert: She's one of those people with no filter between brain and mouth, isn't she?
Tannis: You're not dissecting any of them.
Harshal: Or vivisecting.
GM: How did you guess her archetype?

Zin: I'm going to stay with the kobolds overnight.
Harshal: Is that what you call it?
Tannis: ?
Harshal: Kobolds ARE the notorious hornbags of scalykind.
Zin: Well, yes, but then Iria would want to watch.

Emalliandra: Cousin! My friends tell me the thieves guild were busy last night. Apparently the bodies were piling up.
Harshal: I'm surprised they could dig the bodies out that quickly.
GM: No no no - what she's referencing is what happens when there's a leadership spill in a thieves guild. The bodies start piling up.

She's also very interested in the inscriptions, and suspects that's how the Skull Clan got involved. Since the Shoanti are the descendants of the Thassolonian slave-warrior caste, adding such inscriptions and fragments to a Shoanti gravesite adds honour to the late inhabitants. She happily mentions that there are always Shoanti who can be paid to take them away again, and starts making plans to do so. This makes Harshal - Shoanti himself - very uncomfortable, but he doesn't say anything. Either way, she adds extra magical items into our payment, on top of paying for the inscriptions. One of the items is a elf's hand on a chain.

Gillert: ... Well, as long as it wasn't made recently.
GM: It was.
Gillert: ...
Tannis: My family are not nice people.
Gillert: Isn't there a spell that lets elves regrow lost limbs?
Tannis: There's a business idea for you.

Tonight's Star Wars game;
 
The Rodian, Jako, tracks down some other Rodians who stole all our money...
 
Jako: Revenge is sweet and best served cold.
Oskara (the Twi'lek pilot & gun bunny): Revenge is ice cream?

Marc got the CDs today, and they are now available on his website, https://www.discmakers.com/AVLFlashViewer/?p=ecTr4vCQS1CXg3vP2PTHUw%3D%3D#.VwvqMUfGApr is a flash demo of the packaging etc
http://www.farfuture.net/FFE-CDROMs.html

Reboot
 
Amy Nehzia was a gifted scientist working on quantum teleportation she developed a system that would allow her to transmit her quantum state from one place to another but she was terrified that something would go wrong so she built in a fail safe if she flatlined or hit the units panic button she would instantly be restored to the last good quantum state.
 
The experiment would have been a great success if the lab hadn't been targeted by ARGENT their attempts to steal the device they accidentally killed Amy her corpse immediately vanished and was replaced by her prejump self the ARGENT team panicked aiming a fussilade of shots at Amy she died again the device was torn apart by the gun fire and Amy reappeared just as it exploded.
 
Amy would die 8 more times as she appeared confused and with no memory in the middle of the inferno that ingulfed her lab. Eventually the fire suppression systems kicked in an extinguished the flames only for a very confused Amy to appear once more.
 
Amy is now reboot using her quantum teleportation powers which now seem to have become part of her she can jump around the battle field using a variety of devices she has created for crime fighting if she is killed or seriously injured she teleports back to the last safe location she ported too with no memory of events past that point which can be a lot if she has not been using her powers even if it is only a few seconds she will still me confused by the sudden changes.

Various quests for Murder-hobos Inc. And again, this is about half of the quotable quotes this session - I can only type so fast.

Dirty Franz OoC: Apparently the banshee likes pretty things, so Ewen is probably safe. Dirty Franz definitely isn’t.

Heather: We’re in the wilderness?
Salazar: Yes – we just had a random encounter, remember?
Dirty Franz OoC: I suppose, given the overall state of the place, that we just might have encountered an owlbear in the pub.

Salazar: Before meeting Dirty Franz I used to think that story about wizards creating owlbears was bullshit. Now, it’s all too believable.

Heather: There’s some dragon-headed thing coming.
Dirty Franz: He looks familiar.
Jurgen: No, your familiar is a rat.

Stro Vah Qo’s player: What was my character’s name again?
Ewen’s player: Bubbles the Wonder Lizard.

Dirty Franz: *rolls a 1 or Arcana check* Dirty Franz heard that banshees are allergic to ducks.
Salazar: … What????... I need to learn to stop listening to Franz.

GM: Apparently the banshee lives in a gazebo.
Dirty Franz OoC: We’re not high enough level for gazebos!

Dirty Franz: That guy said the banshee likes pretty things. Dirty Franz volunteers Ewen to go in first.
Heather: Aye.
Salazar: Yeah, alright.

Banshee: Foolish Mortals! Don-
Jurgen: Yeah yeah, we get the idea, here’s the deal-
Heather: *slaps hand over Jurgen’s mouth*
Banshee: Don’t you know it is death to seek me out!
Stro: No, I’m not deaf.
Salazar: Heather, you keep Jurgen silent, I’ll do Stro.

Ewen: We have a gift for you.
Banshee: … you have my interest. Go on.
Ewen: This beautiful comb for your hair.
Jurgen: I didn’t know she had a rabbit.
Heather: What?
Jurgen: Her hare.
Heather: .... *sigh*
Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz likes rabbits. I hug them and pet them.
Jurgen: But they keep dying?
Dirty Franz: Tell me about the rabbits, Jurge.

The Banshee suitably charmed, we head off on the next quest – investigating reports of zombies at Old Owl Well.

Heather: Franz, stop trying to create Random Encounters.
Ewen: He’s just inventing the long-form spell for Summon Monster.
Dirty Franz OoC: It involves strapping pork chops to yourself and wandering around going ‘yoohoo, free dinner’

Salazar: Old Owl Well? Eh. We should the Orcs keep it.
Heather: But it’s zombies, not orcs. Different kind of greenskin.

The party start arguing among themselves about who should ‘volunteer’ to scout ahead in the zombie camp. They eventually turn around to find Franz playing with his My Little Ponies again.

Heather: Franz. Franz. We only stopped for five minutes. Put the ponies away and help us scout this pavilion.
Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz’s rat has already gone ahead.
Heather: ….
Salazar: It’s a sad day when OUR wizard is smarter than the rest of us.
Heather: OK. That’s good thinking Franz, I respect that. But I’d respect you more if you had a bath.
Salazar: He had a bath. It just didn’t take.

Heather accosts the returning rat and demands a sitrep.

Salazar: Hey! Leave my emergency rations alone!

Salazar: Wait – it was the rat’s idea, wasn’t it?
Dirty Franz: *stroking the hair of one of his ponies*
Salazar OoC: Well, as long as it’s Fluttershy or Luna.
Dirty Franz OoC: G3.5 ponies.
Salazar: *flinch*

Despite the reports, the pavilion is actually occupied by skeletons.

Salazar: Hey godbotherer – mind asking them what I did to piss them off? I can’t use a melon-baller on skeletons.
Jurgen: You bought a melon-baller. With intent.

Salazar: Back in Sharsmouth some of the rich families use cedar oil to keep their ancestor’s bodies intact.
Heather: Back up north we use whiskey and wandering around in the snow.
Salazar: I meant the bodies of the dead.
Heather: Back home you sometimes wish you were dead.

Some of us go up to the front, while Salazar and the others sneak around the back of the pavilion and lift up the edge.

Heather: Hey! Who’s in there!
Necromancer: Who’s there?
Stro: I am!
Heather: He is!
Dirty Franz: And so is Dirty Franz, apparently.

Salazar takes one look inside tent, notices that every skeleton is prominently stamped with the Sharsmouth Necromancers guild marks, and hurries back around frantically waving his hands to abort the attack.

Heather: Don’t you know who Bahamas is? He’s the most important dragon ever. And he can totally hang ten.
Stro: … I will stab you.

Necromancer: TK-118, fetch these people some tea.
Salazar: Ah, bone china.

GM: The necromancer is a jolly kind of person.
Heather: ‘I like killing things and resurrecting their bodies! What do you do?”
Ewen: Just the first one.

Heather’s player: I’m sorry, I couldn’t see Weldun’s hand gestures past Drhoz’s afro.
Dirty Franz’s player: Sorry.
Heather’s Player: *currently shaved bald* Yes, go ahead and apologise for your gorgeous hair.

Necromancer: So what are you doing out here anyway?
Heather: Hang on, I've got a list.. oh for fucks sake, Franz wrote this down. Hang on a tad, this might take some interpretation.

Necromancer: I don’t suppose you could ask the Banshee a question for me?
Jurgen: I think we already outstayed our welcome there.
Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz thinks she was sweet on Ewen.
Salazar: There’s taking one for the team, and then there’s that.
Ewen: And given my powers are positive energy based, I don’t think it would work out.

The Necromancer offers an ancient, oversized gold ring as a bribe for the banshee. Ewen finds this amusing.

Heather: Ewen, I’m putting my veto down now. You’re not marrying the banshee. It’s not because she’s a ghost, it’s because she’s a f**king elf.

The inscription is complicated, too.

Salazar: If it’s 'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul' we’re leaving

GM: You misread the inscription – it’s not a Ring of Protection, it’s a Ring of Prophylaxis.
Dirty Franz: Left out the quote marks. It’s a Ring of ‘Protection’.
Salazar: Sharsmouth wizards use them whenever they summon Succubi.
Ewen: ‘Wear Me Well In The South’

We head back to the Banshee’s hut.

Heather: I pre-emptively tackle Jurgen.

Ewen: An archaeologist working at ruins to the south has heard of your great knowledge.
Dirty Franz: And beauty.
Heather: *calling from well back where she’s holding Jurgen down* But he’s really shy!
Jurgen: I’m just enjoying the body contact.

The Banshee is pleased by the gift of the ring, and the question about the ruined tower, since they remind her of happier times.

Heather: That’s the first time I’ve seen somebody get introspective over a cockring.

Salazar: I thought it was a Ring of Protection the moment he said it was oversized.
Heather: I was thinking lizardfolk. But it was the wrong lizard.

To the fury of any true archeologists, Franz and Ewen stroll around the ruins turning over random blocks of masonry, to see if they can find anything the necromancer missed. We both roll exceptionally well.

GM: *rolls on some tables* F***. You.

GM: You hear Dirty Franz scream as the ground caves in underneath him.
Salazar: Wait for the splash, wait for the splash!

Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz has found a dungeon.
Heather: How far down is he?
Salazar: Hang on *drops rock down the hole* Wait for the Ow.
Dirty Franz: ……. Ow.
Salazar: Right – divide the time delay by two and deduct Franz’s height.

Dirty Franz: Naked flame, confined space, and Dirty Franz – not a good combination.
Heather: Thank god you specified naked flame.

Jurgen: Congratulations, Franz, you’ve managed to find an empty room.
Heather: But if there is anything down here we’re going to take it. Well done Franz! Good Boy! Good Boy!
Jurgen: Do not encourage the Franz.

Dirty Franz: If the corridor is level there must be something down there, under the rubble.
Salazar: Do I look like a digger? I’m over five foot and I don’t have a beard.

Only SOME of the doors down here are rusted solid.

GM: The first thing you notice is the smell.
Jurgen: We’ve got Franz with us. We don’t notice.
GM: It smells worse than Franz.
Stro: Oh god.
Jurgen: Did Franz just fart?
Dirty Franz: *speculatively sniffing his own armpits*

The room beyond is filled with a foul green mist.

Jurgen: I light a torch and throw it in.
GM: WHOOMPH!
Salazar: I’ve heard diggers talk about firedamp, I’m already dodging.
Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz didn’t do it!

GM: There is the screeching of multiple creatures before they notice the door is open.
Dirty Franz: And the roof is on fire.
GM: And the roof is on fire.
Salazar OoC: OK, so who DIDN’T have the song run through their head?
GM: You rush through to attack.
Heather: Oh no we don’t – this is not how it’s going down.
Jurgen: Let THEM come through the chokepoint.

GM: The creatures look like big green humanoid bats.
Heather: They’re adorable!
Ewen: That have been beaten with a shovel.
Heather: They’re adorable!
Salazar: Oh good, they have eyes. *pulls out melon-baller* OK fellas! Who’s first?

GM: The creatures make their plans in Abyssal.
Ewen: I’m Celestial.
Jurgen: I speak Infernal.
Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz speaks Common and Murder-hobo.

GM: Did you Grease this side of the door, or the far side?
Salazar: The far side – Franz is repugnant, not retarded.
GM: As you kill them they melt into a foul green mist.
Salazar: I’m upset – I could have got a good price for a fiend’s eyeball.

A combination of the chokepoint, Franz’s Grease and Web spells, Stro’s Thunderwave, and Salazar’s threat with the melon-baller, completely turns the tables and we now outnumber the surviving fiends.

Salazar: I skate across the grease into the room, grapple one, and use Action Surge to scoop out its eyeball.

GM: The fiends are fleeing. They might be evil but they were at home here!

Dirty Franz: *waves his heavy metal walking stick, charges through the doorway, roaring* FOR SHARSMOUTH! *slips on his own Grease spell and goes arse over tits*
Heather: Well, that was a thing that happened.

Stro’s player: I keep forgetting all my magic.
Heather: ‘Oh wait, I’m a dragon!’
Dirty Franz OoC: No existential angst for him.

The fiend Salazar has grappled tries to wriggle free.

Salazar: Oh no you don’t! You’re still mine for ten minutes and it’s playtime! *slams the fiends head repeatedly into the wall, because there’s an eyeball in his melon-baller that he wants to keep, and keeps the eyeball in the tool even as he chases the fiend down to finish it off.* I am the KING of Egg and Spoon Races!
GM: The eye survives intact even as the rest of the creature dissolves.
Salazar: You have to remove them alive.

Heather: Hey, Franz, you OK?
Dirty Franz: ….. ow.
Heather: Gimme your hand, you daft bugger, I’ll pull you out.

Salazar: Anybody know how to preserve an eyeball?
Dirty Franz: *points to eyepatch* Dirty Franz wishes he did.
Salazar: I’m got a replacement for you.
Dirty Franz: … Dirty Franz has reservations about this plan.
GM: You can’t do that.
Salazar: Oh come on, it’s a classic trope – a man gets the eye of a lecher and keeps looking a women, another gets the hand of a thief and keeps finding his friends wallets in his pockets...
Ewen: And Franz gets the eye of a stinky demon.
Jurgen: So no-one will notice.

Heather: When I cast Turn Fiends will it turn Franz’s eyeball too?
Jurgen: And make it spin around in his head?

Salazar: Look at it this way, Franz, you’ll be able to see in the dark and look after the Mistress better.
Dirty Franz: … Dirty Franz likes being helpful.

There are larger, more intelligent fiends down here too.

Jurgen: So, prepared to die?
Bearded Devil: Interloper! How dare you intrude in our temple!
Jurgen: Pretty easily thank you. Now shut up and die.

Jurgen: Single thrust, up under the arm.
GM: I’m going to take that to heart.

Dirty Franz: *Enlarges Heather*
Heather: Today is a good day to be a GIANT WOMAN
Dirty Franz: *singing* All I wanna do, is see you turn into, a giant, woman, GIANT WOMAN



It’s a tough fight, but the fiend’s Barbed Devil leader retreats to the altar, as the rest of us converge at speed.

Heather: You have made a grave tactical error, Mister Demon.

Alas, none of them are facing the right direction see that Franz is stripping off as he runs.

Salazar: That’s strange - my instincts are telling me there’s a Presence behind me… but they’re also warning me not to look.

But there is method to Franz’s madness – he’s using the clothing as extra padding as it makes a flying tackle on the Barbed Devil. Unfortunately it’s not enough padding and Franz is forcibly reminded that getting intimate with a rabid porcupine is never a good idea.

Dirty Franz: ……….. owie.

Ewen: So, since you have the last healing spell, do you want to save the wizard? He might smell, but he’s ours. Bear in mind that I’ll kill you if you don’t.

GM: The Barbed Devil tries to drag itself towards the altar –
Stro: No it doesn’t. If it so much as twitches we’d freak.
Heather: There are adventurers that would allow it one last breath – WE ARE NOT THOSE ADVENTURERS.

Heather: I am tired. And enormous.
Purrdence, from the Peanut Gallery: *starts to snicker*
Weldun: Goddamn you, Purrdence, the Smut Field is back. .

Ewen: If it HAD managed to summon a Horned Devil I’d have said Fuck This Noise and run.
Salazar: Tim Curry has come for me, Ima leave.

Lions and Tribors and Weres, Oh My.
 
Going cross-country between Phandalin and Tribor. We're busy looting the orc's encampment when our lookout notices the ground in the gulley has just churned up, and something strongly resembling a shark's fin briefly surfaced.

Lamech: Uh-oh. I strongly suggest that anybody that's seen the movie Tremors get up on the rock with me.
GM: Now you know why those Orc's were camped in among the rocks, instead of on open ground.

GM: Your lookout fires off his best spell - he grew up with his granny telling him that halflings are a Land Shark's favourite meat. Well, Land Sharks and Ankhegs, anyway.



We now discover that Land Sharks can not only burrow, they can jump, when it leaps from the bottom of the ravine up onto our cleric, Thorn.

Lamech: So it's just done a Free Willy on him.
Kavorog: Yup. Leap... Squish.

Evidentially Elethandiel never saw Tremors, or Free Willy, since the dragonborn tries to attack it in hand-to-hand, and is promptly mauled. The rest of us are retreating higher onto the rocks and using every ranged attack we have - which isn't many, since we used most of them against the orcs a few minutes earlier. Kavorog HAS seen both movies, but attacks anyway, since he wants to beat it into submission and turn it into his personal riding beast. By the time the creature succumbs - and it only succumbs because everybody was rolling maximum damage - the party is mauled half to death, or half crushed, or mauled and crushed and currently underneath the Land Shark's massive body.

Thorn: Oh my f**king God. *casts Channel Divinity on the idiot dragonborn underneath the Land Shark*
Elethandiel: ...... Ow.

GM: And in 500 years there'll be protests outside LandWorld, complaining about the treatment of the poor captive Land Sharks.

There's also a pride of lions that show up in the middle of the night, but we let them enjoy their meal of dead land shark in peace. The huge bipedal figure that turns up thereafter, muttering in Orcish, is potentially more of a threat. Kavorog decides to light it up with Dancing Lights, because he's an idiot.

GM: It's an Ettin.
Lamech: Oh f**k, a two-headed giant????
GM: The muttering was the clue - it's arguing with itself.

Lamech: At least it doesn't know where the magic came from.
Kavorog: 'Where da pretty light come from?'
Lamech: 'Me smash fairies - grab, grab'

The lions attack while it's distracted. Mufasa instantly gets cut in half and decapitated.

Lamech: The King is dead, long live the King. But since this will be funny if it actually works ... *moves closer to cast Reduce on the giant*

The rest of us snipe, and Kavorog uses the Dancing Lights and Prestidigitation to create a glowing humanoid figure dancing around yelling "Hey! Listen!"

The lions, wisely, flee, which sucks for us, but at least the Ettin still can't tell where half the attacks are coming from, and blunders right into the middle of the kill zone.

GM: The Ettin clips you with its club.... It's a Grazing Mace.
All: *groan*
Urlon: Can we all get Inspiration Points for having to listen to that?

The next day, we find a destroyed Orc camp with wild boars eating the bodies.

Lamech: Kill the pigs!
GM: You typical anti-authoritarian gnome.

GM: The injured and furious boars stand upright and turn to a more humanoid form.
Lamech: Oh, f**k.
Urlon: Wereboars!
Lamech: Could be worse - could be weeaboos.

Elethandiel: What happens now?
Kavorog: We drag you to the nearest hospital.
Urlon: Or temple.
Kavorog: For weeks of treatment.
Lamech: Pigsbane enemas.

This is probably a good time to risk using that magical Bloodsword we picked up, since only magic and silver hurts Lycanthropes. The sword is a Sword of Vengeance, which forces its user to attack anybody that hurts the weirder. Regardless of how many other targets are around. And the circumstances of the attack. And objects viciously if the bearer tries to use any other weapon. Whoops.

On the other hand, Kavorog is also a bit busy right now, trying to drag his idiot cousin Elethandiel back to the rest of the party, so the Sword of Vengeance is out of play for the moment.

Lamech: Web! And now set them on fire.
Urlon: What did we just say about forest fires?!
GM: You really want me to sic Smokey the Werebear on you?

Peanut Gallery: Yay, long pig! Don't forget to harvest the meat!
Lamech: I intend to - evil bacon tastes better.
Peanut Gallery: Better yet capture one live and turn it into a pet to bite anyone that annoys you then come back later for some fresh bacon.

One of the were-boars runs off, with Elethandiel in pursuit - so, entirely in character for boars, she turns and charges the dragonborn.

Thorn: Everybody charge shouting! Maybe we can scare it off!
Lamech: SAUSAAAAGGGEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

Thorn is very annoyed with Elethandiel, since he is after all now infected with lycanthropy, and running off after a were-boar is a very good way to end up joining them. Plus, we have other concerns.

GM: A glowing figure of an anthropomorphic bear in a Rangers hat, carrying a shovel and a roll of toilet paper, emerges from the river.
Urlon: Toilet paper?
GM: Yes - what do bears do in the woods? It glares at Lamech and Kavorog.
Lamech: Uh-oh.

Lamech and Kavorog rush to put out the forest fire we just started, but still get cursed with an injunction against starting fires. The clerics in the party gape, then laugh at this intervention by a divine entity.

Evil Dead Poets Society
 
Necrocomicon

Evil Dead Poets Society
 
Necrocomicon

Bridget Jones and the Temple of Doom
 
(which might have already been done on this thread)

The many adventures of the Helping Hands Consortium, a group of mages working for the Seers of the Throne, who secretly rule the mortal world. The campaign is set in the city of Prague, noted for having three times the necromancers and one third of the diviners of any other city.
 
The Cast:
Dian Cécht: A 122-year-old ex-IRA terrorist and spirit magic specialist, from a family of faerie blooded druids. Works for the Panopticon, a Seer faction dedicated to spying on everyone and making people feel paranoid about being spied on. Looks about 25 thanks to a family blessing of longevity.
Moriarty: one of the few people in Prague who can see the future. Moriarty is a gun crazy thug from a family of mystical craftsmen, who acts even dumber than he is to make people underestimate him. Works for the Praetorian ministry, who specialize in violence and strife.
Orwell: Another Panopticon member, Orwell’s day job gives him direct access to facebook’s servers. He’s from a family of mystic manipulators, and specializes in mind reading and ESP.  
Maleficent: A young woman from a family of astral explorers, Maleficent specializes in fate magic. She works for Mannon, the ministry of consumerism and capitalism.
 
Ex-pylon members:
Maslow: Our first Mannon went insane from a combination of curses, and currently resides in an insane asylum. He specialized in life magic, especially mystic drugs.
Typhon:  Team Necromancer, working for the minor ministry of the Thanatoic, who have the responsibility of keeping people from finding out about the undead.
 
Between Moriarty and Maleficent we have a third of the city’s acanthi (Divination mages) on our team, which gives us an unprecedented ability to come out ahead and with our hands clean. Thus far, we’ve managed to make our enemies look like fools repeatedly without seeming to raise a finger. We’re also ridiculously rich in magical loot, having done some very important favors for the head of the Mannon ministry.
 
Character introductions:
Typhon: Yeah, but what are you people worth?
ST: …. wow. We haven't even begun the first session yet, and with that you've already earned xp for the first "stumble across vital stuff" achievement.
 
Dian Cécht: When all you have is a hammer…
Orwell: Everything looks like a diamond.
 
A phone rings:
ST: *looks questioningly over at player*
Moriarty (OOC): My pants are all a-quiver.
 
Moriarty: This is why new beginning-level mages can actually have obstacles at times
 
We find a Norwegian body double for Dian Cécht via Facebook, as Moriarty has predicted that our enemies will attempt to kidnap Dian in the mistaken belief that he knows where the philosopher’s stone is:
ST: Sure, he might've been born & raised in Lofoten, but that's why he entered university and moved to Bergen as soon as he grew up: to get away from all that small-town stuff and live in a more urban and civilized environment.
Moriarty (OOC): And now he gets to taste the fruits of that civilization! *Chloroforms & abducts the guy*
 
Our enemies send a SWAT team after the guy the next day, while one of Typhon’s assets (a tv news crew), happens to be nearby. The result is an international incident, allegations of human smuggling, and a government crisis that ends with new elections being called. None of this sh*tstrom falls on us.
 
Typhon (OOC): So, are there any handjobs left?
ST: My first reaction there was "What?!? Handjobs are a finite resource now? How can you run out of handjobs?!?"
Dian Cécht (OOC): We have mages of Mammon. We can make a scarcity of anything.
(Mammon is the Seer department for using capitalism and scarcity to keep the people down)
 
Moriarty (OOC): It's Europe. It's not like you can even throw a rock anywhere without it hitting history.
 
When we finally chase down the philosopher’s stone, it isn’t quite what we expected:
ST: Yes, you're holding a fleshy, beating heart!
Maslow (OOC): Must. Resist. Urge. To. Eat!
 
Typhon: We could kidnap a Mystagogue.
Dian Cécht: That's your answer to everything.
 
A ghostly curse makes Maslow unable to interact with electric systems:
Dian Cécht: That's right, he can't give us money or even flick light-switches. What are you for, anymore?!?
 
The relative merits of an AI controlled society:
Moriarty: Why would you leave the choice up to people, when you can leave it up to cold unfeeling machines?!?
Maslow: Exactly! They're SO much easier to bribe. They don't have all those pesky ''love'' and ''honor'' things.
 
Moriarty is a virgin, and makes the mistake of letting the rest of us know:
Moriarty: Are you actually going to prevent me from getting laid just in case we meet a unicorn?!?
Maslow: Not only that, there's all sorts of things that want virgin sacrifices.
Moriarty: Because if you do I will shoot you. With ALL the bullets.
 
We’ve called in the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to help us with the small matter of an invading ghost army:
Typhon (OOC): The angel of death is coming?
ST: No, he's sitting at your table, not drinking anything.
Moriarty (OOC): Yeah, you'll have to seduce him first.
 
ST: Significant discovery?
Maslow: MONEY!
 
Discussing Mage Legacies:
ST: Mhm, it's variant of bioremediation, which is sort of thing where they use algae to clean up an oil spill, but with nature-spirits instead.
Dian Cecht: Active terrorists? Apply spirits: Problem solved!
Moriarty: But terrorism IS a natural phenomenon!
 
Typhon (OOC): I like the color of dead people.
 
Moriarty: Maybe I NEED a bomb. For the feng shui.
(beat)
Moriarty's Player: I don't even know what that means.
ST: Interior decorating. Mystical interior decorating.
 
Players are visiting a bank, to get some ancient stone tablet grimoires out of the vaults. Moriarty's phone rings:
ST: It's Porlock, your mentor. He just says a single word.
Moriarty (OOC): Run?
ST: Nope.
Typhon (OOC): Duck!
ST: Exactly!
 
Moriarty hits the deck, then there's a dramatic shootout-sequence:
Croesus: (bleeding out on floor next to them) I. Blaaaaame. Yooouuuuuuuuu…..
Moriarty rewinds time, to the turn before. His phone rings:
Porlock: …oh, never mind then.
…
ST: Moriarty short first.
 
Typhon is on a spirit quest:
ST: He's no longer entirely in the astral
Dian Cécht (OOC): Yeah, he's in Gotham.
 
Moriarty: You know, if you want I can shoot your dad for you.
Orwell: I think I can manage.
 
Orwell (OOC): It's a castle. And it's about to be stormed by an angry mob
…
Orwell (OOC): So, who's Frankenstein?
Typhon (OOC): Hopefully he's in another castle…
 
Moriarty (OOC): When you have that level of power you don't need to care about morals any more.
 
We accidently awaken a new mage, and attempt to fill him in on how the world works:
Maleficent: The secret organization ruling the world is…
Kaz: S.P.E.C.T.R.E.?
Maleficent: …I don't understand.
Kaz: ''SPECTRE''. The board of villains in the James Bond movies.
Maleficent: Not exactly. Less organized, I suppose.
 
Dian: We have access to slightly better than average equipment, you might say
Typhon (OOC): We're hung
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): Now you will experience the awesome power of a fully operational Thyrsus mage.
Maleficent (OOC): Fully functional and anatomically correct, even.
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): I'm tempted to text him the name of a nice restaurant.
Orwell (OOC): A place without irish.
 
We’ve teamed up with another pilon, and Moriarty has already hooked up with their sexiest female:
Typhon (OOC):  We also picked up that Monroe was a big player in the Pantheon of Hollow Dreams.
Dian Cécht (OOC): Mhm.
Orwell (OOC): But don't worry, we have a man on the inside
GM: So to speak….
Orwell (OOC): *grins*
 
Orwell, meanwhile, hooked up with Presley, at the Pantheon’s lair:
Dian: And now you know where they live and everything
Orwell: OH GOD! I ACTUALLY DID SPYING STUFF!!! I don't know how to cope with this!
 
The Pantheon call their lair the Hall of Fame:
Dian: No no, we need to set up a ''Hall of Frame''.
 
We have received epic rewards for the body parts we keep uncovering in ancient ruins:
Maleficent (OOC): Maleficent would suggest herself as Custodian of the Profane Urim
Dian Cécht (OOC): Hmmm…. Well, it is Mammon property.
ST: Mhm, true, true.
Dian Cécht (OOC): And she IS the most easily bullied member of our pylon.
 
In need of clues, we ask for a prophesy by Moriarty’s mentor:
Porlock: I foresee……rich wives that are more than they seem?
Orwell: Werewolves?!?
 
Dian: WHY DO I KEEP GETTING ATTACKED BY WILD ANIMALS?!?
Orwell: Maybe the animals are afraid that you're onto them?
 
Maleficent: No, DAMN, I can't look at the diamond with the diamond! I need more diamonds!
ST: MAMMON! «I need MORE diamonds!»
Maleficent: Could I maybe look at it in a mirror?
Moriarty: That probably leads to a bad place
 
Moriarty looks into the future to figure out who the mysterious Red King is:
Moriarty: Ok, guys, so…we need to kill the Earth.
 
 
Dian’s mind has been infected with astral snakes serving the Red King, and we wonder where he might have picked them up:
ST: You mean like the ancient stone tablets? The ones where the memory of them contained more information than the actual physical tablets did?
Dian Cécht (OOC): ….that should probably have been a warning, shouldn't it?
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): TABLET!
ST: As in ''stone tablet'', not ''iPod tablet''.
Dian Cécht (OOC): Oh god, I'm showing you a tablet….on a tablet!
 
What to do next:
Orwell (OOC): We had leads
ST: And Birmingham (leads / Leeds)
Moriarty (OOC): for now….
Dian Cécht (OOC): What?
Moriarty (OOC): We have plans
 
A supposedly simple task would have ended with two pylon members dead if Moriarty hadn’t turned back time and avoided the encounter altogether. Only Orwell knew what we were up against in advance:
Maleficent: Ok, new policy: Next time Orwell asks us to do something, we waterboard him until he tells us everything.
 
Dian: Are you sure you didn't just have a dream?
Maleficent: Yes. There was also a horrible spider-monster piñata
Dian: Are you sure it wasn't just a scene from your childhood?
 
We need to requisition an anti-spider vacuum cleaner:
Moriarty: I guess I'll have to write an…unconventional…letter to Darth Vader.
 
ST: You don't have the flexibility.
Moriarty (OOC): But you DO have the spear of Longuinus.
 
Maleficent: I don't think I would be very good at spying on the tentacle
 
Dian: Why do you think I faked my death twice?
Maleficent (OOC): Damn those librarians! So persistent!
 
Maleficent (OOC): That's right, we have an Acanthus. We can KILL their parents!
 
We dress a guy up with technical toys to infiltrate the Pantechnicon:
Orwell (OOC): I didn't expect Pantechnicon to be this shallow.
 
Orwell needs to pay for an unusual taxi drive:
Orwell: So, what do you give an undead driver?
Maleficent: Brains? Oh, wait, you don't have any!
 
Maleficent: Come to think of it, do you actually swing that way? I don't think I've actually seen you with a woman yet.
Dian: Back in my day, there was no other option.
 
Maleficent: Or we could find Saint Patrick in the astral, and invite him into your head!
Dian: Yes! That would solve ALL my problems!
 
Dian: Or her. I mean, It's the 21st century: gay rights activists can be female too.
 
Dian: You and Presley on the other hand…..you should also keep it up. You're pretty cute together.
Owell: You're just saying that because he's useful.
Dian: Yeah.
 
Dian seems to turn into a walking corpse at sundown:
Maleficent (OOC): I will tell him after the scheme.
ST: What, you don't want to distract him with minutiae?
Dian Cécht: What, that I was DEAD last night?!?
ST: No, no, you were dead drunk.
 
Orwell (OOC): That explains why Batman is only active at night.
ST: Exactly: Because that's when his parents are dead.
 
Dian: On the other hand, can the dead meditate?
ST: Sort of like ''do androids dream of electric sheep?'', isn't it?
 
Orwell (OOC): Well, he's IRISH. He's sort of lost to the land of the living already.
 
ST: It's not like she's laminated or anything.
Dian Cécht (OOC): She could be! It's not like I know how women work.
 
Dian can always tell if someone is related to him:
ST: Each of the paths has something like that.
Moriarty (OOC): Yeeeah, Acanthus can always know if a woman is legal.
ST: WHAT?!?!?
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): A century of careful planning, and then
«right, this is what Fate magic feels like».
…FUCK YOU GUYS.
Maleficent (OOC): Nothing stops you from picking up the superior magic.
 
Moriarty: Riiiiight, phones. They're so useful, but also so evil.
 
After chatting with the extremely blonde Stacey:
Moriarty (OOC): This must be what people feel like when they speak to Moriarty.
 
Orwell and Moriarty infiltrate a secret society while pretending to be a couple. Maleficent is providing the funds to make them seem upper class:
Stacey: So, you're the rich one, or he is?
Orwell (OOC): No, we both have a mutual girlfriend who supplies us with money.
Moriarty (OOC): That's so sad, but so true.
 
Orwell: I anticipated everything….except my plan succeeding.
 
ST: (talking about Presley) There's a reason he deals with fame and media. He's good with people, but he's not so much a brain.
Dian Cécht (OOC): (singing) it's pinky and the brain….
 
Orwell (OOC): No, not Hollywood fake. Real fake.
 
Moriarty: Now you see what it's like being ME. Well, having to deal with unhelpful undead things.
Maleficent: Like Dian?
 
Dian is infiltrating a religious cult:
Tobias: So, you believe in witchcraft now?
Dian: Well, I'm Irish.
ST: WHAT?!?
 
An angel has taken an interest in Dian’s infiltration attempt:
ST: Actually, your raven-familiar isn't the only one out there anymore. The guardian angel of the cemetary is also hovering outside the window, right behind him, also looking in, and still scowling disapprovingly at Dian.
Diaval (Maleficent’s familiar): So….come here often?
Orwell (OOC): Roll seduction!
 
Orwell: Have you read ''le mis''?
Presley: Oh, there's been made a book of it now?
Dian Cécht (OOC): AUGH!!! shaking fists at them
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): That IS a question: Does your imaginary raven poop?
Maleficent (OOC): You know, I haven't checked.
ST: Ah, the high-brow philosophical and metaphysical questions that only show up in Mage.
 
Maleficent (OOC): I'm starting to suspect that for the panopticon, if nobody's watching then it didn't happen.
[…]
Maleficent (OOC): Blackmail or it didn't happen.
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): Bah, boundaries are for people with something to hide.
 
Orwell: He's backed up by two acanthi. What's the worst that can happen?
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): Same thing I do every night.
ST: Turn into an undead abomination!
 
We have a new mission. We’re to make sure the public takes an interest in the elections and keep believing that it makes a difference who wins:
Moriarty (OOC): We're ready to defeat…..politics?
ST: Not really. Rather like you're gonna help with making sure liberty remains defeated.
Moriarty (OOC): Kicking it while it's down.
ST: More like "help keeping the boot firmly placed on its neck".
Moriarty (OOC): Ah, yes, it's time for the annual boot adjustment.
 
ST: You don't need a demonically-empowered hormonal teenage boy on a lust-driven rape-rampage to ruin a relationship, but it helps.
 
Dian: I was busy watching spirits.
…And talking to spirits.
…And talking to people with sprits.
…And drinking spirits.
 
GM: Is there anything in the charter that forbids you from waterboarding each other?
Maleficent (OOC): No. INTENTIONALLY.
 
Maleficent: Dian, please don't rouse Moriarty's hat.
 
Moriarty: Praetorians! We can always find an excuse to shoot something!
…
Dian: You have my permission to shoot yourself.
 
Dian explores an ancient cave with paintings in Maleficent’s head:
GM: But you do notice that not all animals are represented. There's certain animals that Dian knows about which aren't anywhere on the cave-paintings of all the ways animals can kill and die.
Dian Cécht (OOC): Like Penguins?
GM: …..yes. That would also be one, true. No penguins.
But more interesting, perhaps, is that there's also absolutely no dogs. At all.
Moriarty (OOC): Maybe dogs don't kill people…?
 
Orwell: I think we must have fucked up somewhere, if the worst thing that can happen is people giving us what we ask for.
 
Dian: So….come here often?
Moriarty (OOC): Seduce the darkness!
 
You're in the astral.
There's a wolf.
…
It's armed with a gun.
…
Roll initiative?
 
GM: You still have Death Sight active, right? So you can see how much someone has been around Death. You see something like that out of the corner of your eye.
Dian Cécht (OOC): I turn around
GM: It's your shadow. Stretched out on the ground behind you, and it registers to your death-sense like a black hole registers for gravity.
Dian Cécht (OOC): *groans* Oh no, Dian actually jumps at his own shadow, flinching backwards.
GM: And given that you were standing right in front of the rock face so the birds on your shoulders could read the carved text, you'd now have the rock wall at your back, so you'd jump back into it, probably hitting your head pretty painfully.
…
Of course, if you're now standing with your back pressed up against the rock wall, how can your shadow be stretched out in front of you?
*the 'shadow' begins to stand up, and soon resolves itself into a hovering skeletal specter wrapped in a black shroud that flaps in the non-existent wind, holding a scythe in one hand.*
Creaure: (points a bony hand at Dian) I have come for you!
Dian: Who are you?!?
Creaure: I am your death!
Dian: Aaaaaah!
Moriarty (OOC): So, is this an ideal time for my character to finally get back to the group?
GM: Ayup. So, Dian, you see the wolf emerging out of the fog and mist on your left, the gun still clutched in its jaws.
Dian Cécht (OOC): Ah, now it makes sense.
(later)
Dian: Everyone, meet my new familiar.
His Death: so…what's up?
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): I swear, this will end up as some sort of children's show.
Orwell (OOC): Dian the explorer?
 
GM: (as Dian) Death! How could you betray me!
 
GM: (as Dian): I will never trust Death again!
 
Moriarty (OOC): In that case, I'm going to shoot down the fruit.
Group: *WTF?!?*
Moriarty (OOC): I brought a gun, and I'm going to use it!
 
GM: It is… (dramatic doom-voice) the garden of enlightenment and understanding!!!
Moriarty (OOC): That has to be an evil place.
Dian Cécht (OOC): Well, the "garden of enlightenment and understanding" does sound like the sort of place the Seers would burn down pre-emptively.
Moriarty (OOC): Bah, why would we burn it down? Imagine: a McDonalds on every corner.
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): Don't worry, I have some books that might help.
Maleficent (OOC): Bible fight!
 
Orwell: I think I'll just retreat behind here and do mountain lion things.
Maleficent: Ritual magic!
 
Dian can sleep in the astral, even while his real world body is a corpse:
Dian: Interesting thing: I can't sleep when I'm dead, but I can possibly sleep in my head.
 
Dian: Besides, I don't think I can die here.
His Death: I'm sure we can figure something out.
 
GM: That's actually really weird: Diaval can also speak in a language everyone can understand, but nobody tried to do telepathy with him so he could tell stuff to the whole group.
Moriarty (OOC): Because he has a sense of humor.
GM: Yesss, [sarcasm] how horrible! [/sarcasm]
Dian Cécht (OOC): Wait, and I don't?
Moriarty (OOC): Exactly!
 
Dian discovers he can choose whether to appear as a corpse in the astral:
Dian Cécht (OOC): I'll spend the time trying to switch back and forth between being alive and being dead.
GM: You want to toggle?!?
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): We are chasing the worm.
Moriarty (OOC): Heh.
Dian Cécht (OOC): That is not a euphemism.
Moriarty (OOC): It sure sounded like one.
 
Dian is currently the human, as the rest have taken the form of their spirit animal:
Dian: *intensely waves double middle-finger* I HAVE HANDS SO I CAN DO THIS!
 
We find a pool of blood which appears to belong to a supersized version of Dian’s cardiovascular system:
Dian: I would prefer NOT to swim into my own heart, thank you!
Diaval: Why? You're afraid it's made of stone, and will crush you?
Maleficent: At least we know it won't be made of gold.
 
Maleficent: I like the suggestion that we should get to the heart of the matter.
 
Maleficent receives the negative effects she encounters in the astral in the real world too. This makes her a bit more skeptical than the rest of us when it comes to taking gigantic risks in the astral:
Dian: She drowned.
Pyramid: In what?
Dian: IN MY BLOOD!
 
Maleficent (OOC): With Moriarty and Orwell and Maleficent, we went into their minds, but with Dian we went straight into his heart.
 
ST: Sadly, Poland is not submerged in blood plasma.
Dian Cécht (OOC): YET.
Maleficent (OOC): So, first part of our invasion plan: submerge Poland in blood-plasma.
 
Maleficent: I feel we're learning lots of stuff here.
Orwell: Just not the stuff we came here for .
Dian: My blood could invade Poland with sufficient effort!!!!
 
Orwell (OOC): Looking for thrones in all the wrong places.
Maleficent (OOC): The exarchs were within you all along.
 
We find a throne in the supersized body:
Dian: I hope there's not a throne in me.
 
Maleficent (OOC): Is there anyone on the throne?
ST: Nope.
Dian Cécht (OOC): MINE!
Maleficent (OOC): MINE!
Orwell (OOC):  So apparently the first thing we do is argue about who gets the throne.
 
ST: Thyrsi never have problems with premature ejaculation. Unless there's something occult going on.…did I just say that?!?
 
Maleficent (OOC): Maybe you're the town bicycle.
ST: Of the universe?!?
 
Moriarty (OOC): That's one thing we can brag about to our superiors: we're expendable
Orwell (OOC):  Our number one selling point!
 
ST: Soul infection
Moriarty (OOC): He has crabs!
Maleficent (OOC): Soul crabs?!?
 
Orwell (OOC):  But this was a civilized dog: it had a gun.
 
Maleficent: How can I make it up to you? What do you want? Anything!
Moriarty: When we're done here, you. Are getting. THERAPY!
 
Dian gets lost in Maleficent’s memories of Jurassic Park 3:
Dian Cécht (OOC): I vaguely seem to remember that cars are dinosaur-proof
Maleficent (OOC):  Apparently Ireland was more awesome than I was aware of
…
Dian: Let's go save a dinosaur's life. It's not the stupidest thing I've done today.
 
Orwell:  I didn't really have a choice in the underage boy thing/fling
Dian Cécht: Suuuure
 
Orwell (OOC): That was that happy childhood marriage
ST: Well, it WAS happy
Orwell (OOC):  Then you ruined it. Just like your parents' marriage
 
Orwell (OOC):  Are my eyes still there?
ST: They seem to have melted
Orwell (OOC):  Wow. I really want to poke my finger in there
 
Orwell: I think what we've learned is that things can always attack us, even if they're dead
Dian: Or imaginary
Orwell: We should never come across Dracula
Dian: Or we should. We really shouldn't, but we totally should
 
Orwell (OOC):  I'm bleeding from the eyes, so your argument is sort of valid
 
Moriarty: Ah-ah-ah, you all look alike to me, puny humans without awesome abyssal powers!
 
Moriarty: The watchtower has shown me so much. I think I maybe should set it down eventually
Dian: Yes. Something should surely be put down, yes….
 
ST: She may be walking around, but she IS legally dead
Dian Cécht (OOC): That's easy enough to arrange
Maleficent (OOC):  We're not killing her
Moriarty (OOC): Now, let's not say things we can't take back
 
After scrying on Marquis de Sade and catching her interest:
Moriarty: Why did you do that?!? It's like the Eye of Sauron, only sexy.
 
Moriarty: You think you can do bad choices in life?!? Watch THIS!
 
Dian: And you know, SEERS of the throne, not THINKERS of the throne
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): That might be better if the corpse is also there
ST: One of the few times that phrase has ever been uttered
 
Orwell (OOC): But we'd need a magically enchanted hearse
ST: When you said that, I imagined it like cinderella, with the pumpkin into a carriage, but with a hearse!
Orwell (OOC): You really must be back before midnight
ST: Yes Voldemort, you SHALL go to the ball!
 
Dian: I'm not too dead to DRINK, I'm too dead to GET DRUNK. There's a difference!
 
We debate whether to attempt to break through an illusionary wall that the construction workers set up in our lair without informing us:
Dian: In order to avoid 'Canadian girlfriend' we should NOT look at the wall. Is that our conclusion?
Moriarty: Yes.
 
ST: Mhm, "Norma Jean", the actual birthname of Marilyn Monroe.
Dian Cécht (OOC): ….she was born?!?!
 
The Pantheon of Hollow Dreams stock ice-cream with narcotics for dealing with traumatic events:
Moriarty (OOC): Ah, the Pantheon. Then again, not like we're any better.
Dian Cécht (OOC): We are. We have absolutely NO coping methods whatsoever!
 
Dian: A friend of mine just got a promotion like that. Well, I should say "colleague".
Orwell (OOC): Freudian slip!
 
Dian Cécht (OOC): So, get Pinocchio.
Orwell (OOC): Then, make a table.
 
Moriarty argues that Monroe is the best girlfriend of the pylon:
Dian Cécht (OOC): I'll agree with the claim of "best girlfriend", if only because these two have boyfriends.
 
Discussion about assassin's guild as business model:
Maleficent (OOC):  First hit's free
 
Maleficent: Your shadow is a bit pale. Maybe you should see a doctor?
 
A cursed instrument kills Cobain when he tries to play it, and brings him back as a ghost mage:
Maleficent: Oh god, the question I didn't expect to ask today: Does anyone have anything we can keep my boyfriend's ashes in?
Dian: So, Presley…..did you bring a lunchbox?
Presley: ….yes. I did.
Dian: SEE? The panopticon KNOWS!!!
 
Dian, already dead for the night, is about to get himself decapitated to cheat his way out of a faery deal:
Maleficent: I'm counting on the duct tape.
Dian: I'm counting more on the ghost (Cobain) being able to change the cause of death to something I can live with.

Black Crusade : The Eighteenth Arcana
 
On the run from Scintilla, and the wrath of the Inquisition, space marines, Adeptus Mechanicus, imperial traffic control, and everybody that wants to carve off a chunk of the party's hide. Luckily for the party, the Obsidian Resolve's engines are raring to go, and the ship dives deep into Scintilla's gravity well as she makes her escape.

Skerrit: I'm probably not actually helping.
GM: No change there then.

Indeed, the engines are so efficient that soon they light up the nightside of Scintilla like daylight, and the ship is soon faster than anything else in the system - including the two cruisers moving to cut off their escape. Even so, it's a couple of days until they're far enough out to jump into Warp Space. They have have a little free time to discuss future plans. And ponder how the Inquisition can discover their interest in that remote star cluster, by checking the list of what was stolen. Eniek also ponders how those space marines actually managed to hurt him.

GM: Maybe you should reorganise your internal organs so they can't target vital organs. The standard recto-cranial inversion seems ideal.

He also intends to vivisect that captured space marine librarian into living wallpaper.

Eniek: His four lungs will be spread out and as he breaths you'll be able to watch the blood flow over to his brain.
Digna: Nice.
Daniels: I don't think I'll be going in the ritual room for a while.
GM: Lab.
Eniek: Bedroom.

Skerrit: I'm picturing Digna having a little Slaneesh and Tzeench on each shoulder.
GM: And one of them is humping her ear.

A lone escort ship at the edge of the Scintilla system managed to punch numerous holes in the heretic's vessel, before they heretic return the favour and coast on silent running out into deep space, and into the Warp. The Obsidian Resolves flees to the giant space Station of Port Wander, well ahead of the all-points bulletin demanding their destruction. After that, things don't run as smoothly. They don't have time to fix all the holes in their ship before they must move on, for one thing - ostensibly into the Koronus Expanse, actually the the Thirteenth Station, the only 'safe' way into the Screaming Vortex. And FTL travel in the 40K universe is never fun. Some Warp Phenomena are comparatively minor - the entire bridge catching fire while they're in it is less so.

GM: 'Is it just me or has the air con stopped working?'

Of course, not even nonspontaneous human combustion is going to hurt unstoppable cyborgs like Eniek and Digna. Both sit there and regard the flames with interest.



Daniels: This is the bridge speaking. Could you send a fire crew?

Digna: I like to think the fire only killed 2% of the crew - the rest bumped into Little Sister and triggered Mr Bubble's Red Mode.

Discussing the holy mysteries of special and general relativity.

GM: And you're in a warpstorm so that's all out the window anyway.

The Thirteenth Station, where somebody has taken tens of thousands of the usual freeze-dried corpses and bound them into a gigantic Glyph of the Black Angel, the personal sigil of the traitor Cassius from the previous campaign. Eniek gets to work inventing a ritual that will open passage into the Screaming Vortex, preferably without tearing the Obsidian Resolve in half. He succeeds in inventing one that doesn't even need hundreds of human sacrifices.

Eniek: I kick a rat out the airlock and say some nice words.
Skerrit: Please make it explicit that it's not me.
Eniek: It was a very propitious rat.
GM: Well, Khorne won't be pleased.
Eniek: Why?
GM: Not enough bloodshed.
Eniek: Sure there is - I injected the rat with nanogenics - its entire bodymass will be converted into blood.
Daniels: As will every floating body out there that the nanogenes run into.
Digna: Hopefully not the ones making up the sigil?
Eniek: .... probably not.

The gate opens, a ghastly fistula in space-time, and the ship moves forward to take refuge among the heretics and monsters of the Vortex.

Daniels: Well, what is there to see in the Screaming Vortex?
GM: There's that fleet of ships your previous PCs set to blockade the Gate. They're quite interested in this lone raider, with all the holes in its armour, that's just come into the Screaming Vortex.
Daniels: Oh dear.

Shadowrun 2070 : #OrcLivesMatter
 
Pregame chat, which covers many things, including the fact that Weldun has gaming cabinets only three hours younger than some of the players. Unrelated conversation.

Weldun: There's a reason I shaved my head back when I was doing security.
Poe's player: Yup. Don't put handlebars on your head.
Me: Unless you're a Khornate berserker.
Weldun: I'm glad I'm not playing Inkubus right now - he'd say something about seeing the advantages.

Oracle wants to start a company in Shadowrun, set up in the Ork Underground, making a cheap customisable car for Orcs and Trolls.

Ripper K: And since everybody will assume its a front, they'll be too busy to notice what's really going on.

Ripper K: I can picture myself doing the TV Ads.
Poe: No, somebody would recognise you. That would be bad for sales.
Ripper K: Not if I make a joke out of it. 'Plenty of room in the back'
Oracle: Nah, not for the runabout. Save it for the luxury models and RVs.

Me: Remind me, what's an anti-paladin?
Weldun: Not a nice person at all. In fact, they're probably the kind of people who would that that on their business card. 'Here's my card' 'what kind of person would have this on thei-' STAB '...oh.... I... See' *dies*

GM: Apparently Poe is 13, and ages at the same rate of an actual crow. MIDLIFE CRISIS BURD! MUST BUY BURD BOAT! MUST GO BURD SKYDYVINGOHWAITICANFLYF**K

The GM has doing some research on future adventures, and reading some jackpoint articles out loud to practice his RP skills.

Poe's player: *Comes in* You're talking to yourself again!
GM: I'm prepping for the adventure. And that was my Harlequin Voice.
Poe's player: F**k. F**k f**k f**k f**k F**K!

Weldun: I'm glad Bubbles never met Harlequin. If Harlequin explained who he was, Bubbles would never leave his apartment again.
Me: I think he'd be more annoyed that he'd lose more credibility with the conspiracy-sphere. He's already lost all credibility on the government conspiracies since he worked for the President.
Ocelot: If he started hunting down the rumours of immortal elves...
Me: And then one turns up at his door.

Ripper K: I've got a day job - Now I do high end porn.

Anyway - Shell has been missing for a month, since his odd reaction to meeting Greenlight. He's not the only one concerned - Shell's own contacts have been contacting us, too. One of them - a Japanese cyber-surgeon - fears Shell is sinking into the first stages of cyber-psychosis. And then we get a report of him in Japan.

Oracle: What the f**k? Did he walk???

Someone matching Shell's description attacked a Black Site. And then turns up at Oracle's hideout a week after that, wearing a ruthenium fibre cloak.

Oracle: Sunavabitch. You're one of the few people that pull that look off - your low thermal output plus that cloak can actually get past my security sensors.

Oracle: Were you in Japan a week ago?
Shell: Hello Oracle. I need your help. *displays his missing arm and half his face*
Oracle: So you were in Japan a week ago.

Oracle: I might need to hire the team. What's the rate for that?
Poe: Depends what you want us to do.
Oracle: Not sure yet. I might need you to raid a biotech company.

Oracle: Seattle really is the Emerald City. And look at the lovely green of Pungent Sound. I mean Puget Sound.

We get a videocall from the Orc fixer McAllister, who's hired us for a number of jobs lately.

GM: He looked pissed. Pissed off, I mean.
Oracle: Whatever it was, it wasn't us.

McAllister is so pissed off he doesn't sound remotely happy - no jokes, not even any runner slang.

Ripper K: Out-of-Character is Serious Business.

McAllister wants the teams help with a personal job. So, off to the Ork Underground again. There's lots we can discuss on the way - for example, Boots has considering getting Oracle a job with a legitimate company.

Boots: Let's consider a hypothetical - 'Why should we hire you?'
Oracle: Look at this way - do you want the mad scientist on the inside pissing out, or on the outside pissing in?

Shell is wearing a t-shirt he picked up in Japan. Its Engrish legend reads 'Never Be Game Over'.

Me: What ARE you doing over there?
Ocelot's Player: Trying to hit a moth.
Shell's Player: He can't hit it - it's size template is too small.

The Gold Mine bar explodes as we're going in.

Shell: Status Report!
Ocelot: I'm fine.
Shell: Ripper! Report! What's your status!
Ripper K: ....
Shell: Ripper! Report!
Ripper K: Just counting my legs... Still got two. Well, three, according to some.
Oracle: That's it, from now on everybody wears a biomonitor.

We hurry to locate, evacuate and triage the wounded - once again Oracle's medivac drone proves invaluable. As do our submillimeter radar equipment (for locating bodies in the rubble) and TacNet (for tagging the wounded with AR icons) and Ripper's backpack full of emergency medical supplies and tranq patches. And we get to use Shitkicker for his original purpose - exploring confined spaces. McAllister, incredibly, survived the explosion.

Ripper K: How?
Shell and Ocelot: Orc.

We hustle him into the medivac drone, which stabilises him and lets him regain consciousness long enough to text us over thought-mail.

McAllister: Dr What. Street Doc. The Narrows, east side. Then call Tosh. He knows details.

Our assistance at the scene, and all the TacNet info Oracle patches through to DocWagon and all the other emergency response services, will increase our public notice. But never mind, we're not the kind of shadowrunners who would just walk away. Ripper and Astronauta are soon fending off calls from those reporters, who have already recognised us from the footage at the Gold Mine.

Oracle: You're pretty recognisable. Especially to other Seattle luchadores. 'Astronauta Peligroso! Madre Dios! You are the reason I became a luchadore!'
Poe: 'Please Piledrive me!'
Astronauta Peligroso: 'I can't - the last person I did that too, his head exploded.'
Ripper K: 'Like a watermelon'

Oracle: It better not be the same Dr What that tortured Inkubus 20 years ago - he's dead.
Astronauta Peligroso: Extremely dead.

Dr What: What do you what? Who are you? *notices the medivac drone*
Oracle: Seriously? All those flashing lights and sirens and you didn't notice it straight away?
Poe: Well, in this part of town you learn to ignore sirens.

Dr What has neurological issues - he's forgotten pretty much everything but medicine. And will probably forget ever meeting us when we leave.

Poe: Can we keep his number? He seems useful.
Oracle: I've been needing a reliable doc - I want to get this datalock in my neck jailbroken.

Oracle: I'm not going to contact Shell's contact to tell him he's showed up. Shell can tell him himself.
Shell: Unless you called him a week ago, you won't be able to.
Oracle: I have a sneaking suspicion that Shell's medical friend is no longer among the living.

Oracle preps something useful for Dr What - a software agent with facial recognition, that will remind him who he's talking to. In return, he gets to find out of the datalock in his spine is reporting everything he does to the CIA. Oddly enough, it isn't. Which just leaves him more paranoid.

Astronauta Peligroso: We might want to inject that software agent directly into What's brain.
Oracle: Nah - let's not mess with his neural architecture any further.
Ocelot: He might have given himself his own memory problems for a good reason.

Tosh is Boot's boss, and the head of Special Crimes at Knights Errant Seattle. He's shocked at the news about the explosion and McAllister, which doesn't look good for a man with his job.

Ripper K: We must have woken him up.

Tosh Athack is a huge troll, and a high-ranking detective at KE. Shell and Ocelot meet him at a suitable location, with Shell playing sniper - just in case. Tosh seems relieved that McAllister survived, although in an induced coma. He does indeed know why McAllister called us, but says he'll need to call in his own team, who he calls the Black Knights.

GM: The Black Knights are all ex-military and shadowrunners, and highly trained and competent.
Ripper K: And they're invincible.

Tosh says the job is an Internal Affairs job, which explains his need for a trusted team, but not why McAllister was taking it personally. We get briefed on the job at the Arbitrary Bar & Grill.

Boots: I swear I had nothing to do with this.

Tosh exposits - 20 years ago Seattle was victim of a serial killer nicknamed the Mayan Cutter, who targeted Orcs and Trolls, and butchered them and stole their hearts. He was caught, but last year there was a copycat killing, and McAllister's daughter was the victim. McAllister hunted the copycat killer down and got his revenge, but discovered evidence that he was working for someone else - one Mathers, head of Public Relations at Knight Errant.

Ocelot: What happened to to the original Mayan Cutter?
GM: He was executed - so was the copycat. Just less officially.

Tosh wants us to investigate this quietly, since it's going to be a huge scandal for KE either way. He also wants Mathers alive. There's a number of possibilities, including possession by a murderous ghost, that Mathers is the original killer and set up the copycat as a protege, or that Mathers hired the copycat killer to drum up business for Knight Errant.

Ripper K: Or that Lonestar framed Mathers for the whole thing so Knight Errant will take a huge PR hit.

Mathers lives in Bellevue, the most luxurious and secure suburb in Seattle. We do NOT fit in. Nor does Mathers, since Knight Errant doesn't pay him nearly that much.

Poe: He's probably spending 100K a month on that lifestyle. Follow The Money.

Mathers is Old Money, and has contributed heavily to Governor Kenneth Brackhaven's recently announced run for President. At least he doesn't have much in the way of staff - two housekeepers and a gardener.

Shell's Player: I call bullshit - I work at a school with that many acres of ground and they have an entire team of gardeners.
Ocelot's Player: To be fair, Mathers probably doesn't have to deal with hordes of schoolkids running around.
Ripper K's player: And he can afford a small army of gardening drones.
Shell's Player: Ok, that I can accept.

Shell: I want to know all about his security precautions, before I turn up with Biggie McChucklef**ks here.
Ripper K: Excuse me? I'm Biggie McChucklewhat now?

We drive past the estate and drop off our infiltration drone.

GM: I really hope Shitkicker enjoys clinging to the underside of moving vehicles.
Oracle: No. Oh wait, yes he does - I programmed him with a virtual personality.
Poe: Why are we getting excited squealing over the TacNet?
Shitkicker: Wheeeeee! Bebo!

Ripper K: Can we get Boots to shut down Mather's security system? It's linked directly to Knight Errant after all.
Ocelot: Probably not.
Oracle: He's not high enough up in the company.
GM: And remember - the Black Knights are going to be running interference while you infiltrate.

Oracle: I'll have Shitkicker veeerrrry sloooooly move up to each motion detector and prop up a playing card in front of the lens.
All: *snicker*
Ocelot: Jokers?
Oracle: Nah - I'll dose them all with Flash, so they'll go up in a puff of smoke.
Poe: And set off every detector at once.
Oracle: An hour after we're gone

Of course, we can't use an Astral spirit to conceal us - even basic wards will notice THAT coming in.

Ocelot: We need to get into his study and his bedroom. And the basement, if he has one.
Ripper K: If he IS associated wth the Mayan Cutters, I don't want to imagine what he has in his basement.

GM: Three hours of planning. Ten seconds of screaming.
Ocelot's player: That's Shadowrun for you.
Shell's player: That's how you get the big karma.
Oracle's Player: By avoiding unnecessary combats.

Oracle is riding around Bellevue in a Hermes delivery van, dropping off Prop 23 pamphlets. Shell and Ocelot lurk in the back of a Ford Americar with coffee and donuts, being Really Obvious Undercover Cops. Ripper loiters a suburb away on his monocycle, waiting for when it all inevitably goes wrong. And Poe just lands on a tree branch his raven form.

GM: You literally pass as scenery. Alright, cue the Infiltration music.
Ripper and Oracle: *sing the Mission Impossible theme* Dun dun DUNDUN dun dun DUNDUN DAdada, DAdada, DAdada, DADA.

Shell heads in under his ruthenium cloak to disable all the multimillion dollar security systems the playing cards haven't already made useless. Mather's office is tastefully and expensively furnished, the only oddity being a bookshelf made from the faintly luminous wood of Sangre el Diablo trees.

Oracle: Aren't those the ones that fight back when you try and cut them down?
Ocelot: Yup. They're becoming a bit of a problem in Brazil.

Oracle gets to work analysing the mansion's datasystems. They're pretty pathetic.

Oracle: It's got the same vulnerabilities as our TacNet, but he hasn't taken any of the precautions that I have. He's like a basic user - relying entirely on his firewall.

But Oracle soon realises that the entire node is a fake - the REAL node, and the real financial records, must be elsewhere. Down to the basement it is then. Where there's a safe behind a painting in Mather's Mancave.

Shell: Hold the fucking phone - there's a safe. Behind a painting. BEHIND AN ACTUAL PAINTING.
Oracle: Kudos to him for being Old School, anyway.
Ocelot: The real twist is that the Ultrathin Safe was in the painting.

There's a much more secure node inside the safe.

Oracle: This will take a while.... seriously? He hasn't downloaded that patch that yet?
Ocelot: He probably updates it by hand. So only does it once a month.

We copy the entire file system, to decode at leisure.

Ocelot: He probably relied on the fact that the kind of people who could break in aren't the same people that would go after files like this. Unless you're expecting shadowrunners, in which case all bets are off.

Shells recovers our infiltration drone and makes his departure.

Shitkicker: Bebo! Bebo!
Shell: Get off my arse!
Shitkicker: Bebo!
Shell: NOT IN THERE!
Poe: He doesn't have an access port there XD

We head home, while Oracle plans a deployment method for Astronauta Peligroso.

Oracle: They'll see the drone coming in, and swoop past. 'What the hell did it just drop?' 'I AM ASTRONAUTA PELIGROSO! FIGHT ME!'
Ocelot: Take the freefall adept power and they can drop you from any height

The data is verrrrry interesting, detailing millions taken and spent in bribes, dummy accounts used to make illegal contributions to the presidential campaign, footage of Humanis Policlub meetings Mathers attended, and video calls with Edmund Jeffries, the Governor's press secretary, who drunkenly suggested the Copycat Cutter scheme, Mathers hiring the Copycat to target prominent Orcs activists, Mathers panicked call to somebody about McAllister and the runners, and proof that there's a mole in the Black Knights.

Oracle: We're talking ONLY to our employer. We'll tell him we have a lead.
Ocelot: And set up some snipers.

Shell and Astronauta amuse themselves during the decoding, by punching each other up. Then it's time to go.

Shell: Once again, the eternal question of which of us can bore the other with hand-to-hand combat remains unanswered.

Tosh isn't followed, in person or astrally. And he can guess who the mole is. And where Mathers is tonight.

Ripper K: There's a Humanis Policlub meeting tonight?
Tosh: Yup.
Astronauta Peligroso: I want an invite.

Oracle: I have just had the best idea.

Oracle wants Ripper and Astronauta, the most noticeable party members, to pick a fight with each other at the Humanis building. And when Mathers comes out to watch, we grab him. Astronauta's skill include Smack Talk.

Ripper K: So you want to play the Dozens? The Dozens is a game, but the way I did your mother, is a god-damn shame.
Astronauta Peligroso: What did you say about my mother? My mother was a SAINT.

The Humanis building is fortified. And the cyber-KKK guarding it heavily armed. Happily, the rest of the team have sniper rifles with gel rounds.

Ocelot: This will be great publicity - as long as none of them actually die.
Ocelot: So Flamboyant Bane and Porn Moby Lick rollerskate up to the Humanis base...
Oracle: I'm ordering six pairs of Goblinstompers, with Prop 23 as the brand in the heel. As in, actually brands the people we stomp with 'Prop 23'.

Our snipers take out their minigun nests before they know what hit them. The luchadore and the porn actor get to work.

Astronauta Peligroso: Just look at these arseholes.
Ripper K: I bet I could go up to those doors, hit them, and they wouldn't even have the balls to come out and fight. In fact, I think I will.
Astronauta Peligroso: Come on out, boys, lets see those fancy white hoods.
Ripper K : Those special pyjamas.
Astronauta Peligroso: Yeah, BRING OUT THE PYJAMAS!
Ripper K: Let's see the jim-jams!

A bunch of heavily armed Humanis come out, accompanied by mages, and guardian spirits.

Astronauta Peligroso: Oh look, it's heavily armed condoms coming out the door. At least I won't get pregnant.

They also have a tank.

Shell: Hi guys.
Astronauta Peligroso: Hey there. We need you to punch out this tank.

Actually, it's more of an APC.

Shell: Oh that's adorable! 'the trolls link pinkies, run forward, and flip it onto its back'
Astronauta Peligroso: Do you want to flip it, or me?
Ripper K: Together - let's get it airborne.
Ocelot: 'and funny things in the news today...'
Oracle: I was going to tell them to stop, but after 'I'MA GONNA FLIP IT' I'll let them go ahead. We're going to have some awesome footage for our reporter friend tonight.
Astronauta Peligroso: Ripper, we are totally hi-fiving after it leaves our hands.
Oracle: Followed by a fist bump.

The Humanis heavies flee.

Ripper K: YOU SHOULD HAVE WORN BROWN PYJAMAS.

The ones still in the compound open fire, and lob grenades, but by then Astronauta and Ripper are already charging forward and joyfully slapping the racists silly. All filmed in glorious 3D.

Ripper K: Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourse-
Racist Scum: Buh.. but you're hitting me!
Ripper K: Stop trying to confuse matters. Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop-
Shell: You brought this on yourselves.

DnD - Phandelving Finally Done
 
Still going through the lost mine of Phandelver, trying to find that missing dwarf. The number of undead down here has been troublesome.

Lamech: And we'll leave Agent Skully locked in the forge's firebox.

The gnome that ran off while our backs were turned stole some dwarven clothes, after he did the same thing to the people we left on guard at the cave mouth. That's evidence that he was another doppleganger. We update them on our progress, which is slow and methodical. After all, we don't want to be surprised by attacks from the rear.

Gundrun: Well, that's prudent anyway.
Lamech: I'm all about prudence. Don't eat any strange mushrooms unless I know exactly how strange they are.

Lamech: There's also an underground sea - if your brother isn't in the main cave, we're simply not equipped for underground sailing.
Gundrun: You're telling me my brother may have been sold into slavery to the Drow?
Lamech: Yup.
Gundrun: Well, that's just lovely. Nice way to break the good news, too.
Lamech: What, you'd rather we lie?

GM: Which NPC do you want to take back into the cave with you?
Lamech: I'd say our portable Healing Potion. Hey, Thorn.

We're all more interested in the piles of probable undead to practise proper military spelunking safety. Thorn looks up and yells.

Thorn: BATS!
Lamech: I didn't even think to check the ceilings - It seems I'm not cut out for dungeoneering. So, is everybody up to date on their rabies vaccinations?
GM: *singing* You're going to need theeeeemmm!

They're actually Stirges. Obviously we failed our Unnatural History classes as well.

GM: You're high enough level you could have stirges as pets.
Kavorog: Why???
Lamech: Well it might be a Giant Dire Riding Stirge. Or if it's a Aquatic Giant Dire Stirge it'd be a Sturgeon.
Urlon: ಠ_ಠ

Fantasy pest control.

GM: If it's fifty dollars to remove a dead animal from a trap, you could charge a hundred to remove undead creatures from a trap.

Striges dealt with, we press on to the next room, which is completely overgrown with strange fungi.

Lamech: I'm more interested in which ones I can sell to fellow aficionados of recreational mycoproteins.

And in a room after that there are crunching noises. It's the surviving ghouls, who demonstrate an impressive long-term memory from the day before, and run away.

There's also some collapsible boats.

Lamech: Huh. Looks like we ARE equipped for some underground sailing.

Lamech: Spelunking Regatta... would that be a Splatter?
Urlon: Are you TRYING to get yourself thrown overboard?

More sealed doors.

GM: It's not that bad - you've got a musclebound thug in the party who has Gauntlets of Ogre Strength.
Urlon: The idea was to surprise people.
GM: Tearing the door off its hinges would surprise them.
Lamech: Especially if you then hit them with it.

The room contains green fire and a giant floating eyeball with multiple additional eyestalks, which is already looking at us.

Urlon: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-
Lamech: Oh **** we're going to die
Kavorog: *sob*
Beholder: Hello.
All: ?????
GM: So, is anybody going to stop Elethandiel and Kavorog's charge?

Beholder: Visitors! How nice. Is there anything I can do for you? But I warn you this is a restricted area.
Lamech: Uh ah blah uh ah BSOD.
Urlon: Hey, it's a ball, I wonder how many times I can bounce it off the walls with Thunderwave?

Beholder: So you're mine security then?
Lamech: Uh... yeah? You could say? We were certainly sent down here to deal with a security issue.
Beholder: That's nice.
Lamech: We're just looking for a dwarf that got dragged down here.
Beholder: I haven't seen him.
Lamech: Well. Um. We'll just move on then. If you do see him, tell him he's got some friends up on the surface that are worried about him?
Beholder: OK.
Urlon: Do you want us to fix the door?
Beholder: If you want. I haven't seen the janitorial staff in a while.
All: ...
Urlon: How long have you been here, exactly?
Beholder: I forget. It's been a while. My master told me to guard the room, so I have.

We prop the door back into position and retreat well out of earshot - Lamech has figured out it's actually a Spectator, guardian entities summoned to protect an object until dismissed. This one has probably been here for centuries.

GM: Deranged spheroid in dungeon. Summoner died hundreds of years ago. Still does its job.

GM: You feel a grim foreboding.
Kavorog: I hate grim foreboding.
Lamech: Could be Grim Fandango.
Kavorog: That's worse - I'd look terrible as a skeleton.

We sneakily Mend the hinges to the next double doors, so we don't get any nasty surprises while trying to nastily surprise somebody else. We needn't have bothered - the room is empty, and appears to have been a luxurious bedroom fried in a magical battle.

Kavorog: *sigh* we go investigate the chest.
Lamech: Even though we know it's a trap.

Wraith: MY TREASURES ARE MINE ALOOOOOONE! NOT YOURS TO PLUNDER!!!!!!!
Kavorog: OK. *turns around and walks back out*
Wraith: ????

Apparently the wraith believes this is some kind of trick and attacks anyway.

Kavorog: Are wraiths the ones that steal experience levels?
GM: You're about to find out.

The spirit of the late mage materialises next to our cleric.

Wraith: *incoherent hissing* TALK TO SAVE YOUR LIVES, OR JOIN ME IN UNDEEEEEEAAAATH!!!!
Lamech: Pardon?
Wraith: What???
Lamech: No, seriously, I couldn't understand that first bit.
Wraith: GODSDAMMIT, I'M A VENGEFUL SPIRIT, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO COWER AND OBEY NOT ASK ME TO REPEAT MYSELLLLFFFFFFF!!!!
GM: You wouldn't have believed an incorporeal spirit...
Lamech: Could froth at the mouth?

Lamech: Are there any descendants we could inform about your final resting place? Anything we can do to calm your restless spirit? *proceeds to roll 4, 4 times in a row, on Persuasion checks* *sigh* I suppose it's still upset with me over the 'say it, don't spray it' thing.

Kavorog actually manages to get a straight answer out of it.

Lamech: Well, they both hiss all the time, that's hardly surprising.

It wants magical items - particularly the green firey thing next door. But the Spectator keeps attacking the wraith, and any undead it sends in.

Lamech: Wait.. you did actually TELL the Spectator you're the same wizard that summoned it?
Wraith: ...
GM: It gets agitated, because that never actually occurred to it.
Wraith: It does not recognise me after my change of state!
Lamech: Well, maybe if you had a few witnesses to testify on your behalf?

Wraith: DESTROY THE GUARDIAN OR JOIN ME IN DEAAAATTTHHHH!!!! *fails to intimidate*
Lamech: Probably all that ectoplasmic spittle.
Kavorog: Ew.

The wraith sags dejectedly, and opts to kill us all, but Thorn's aura of insufferable righteousness scares it off. We have less than 60 seconds to re-equip to finish the thing off - after all, we don't have time to run back for reinforcements, and it can attack through the floors and walls.

Kavorog: You ever play street fighter?
Wraith: ???
Kavorog: SHORYUKEN!

Kavorog's player leans back in his chair, which shatters, throwing fragments everywhere and nearly precipitating him through the gaming's store's internal wall.

Peanut Gallery: Did you at least do a roll?
Kavorog's Player: I rolled a Nat 20 and did a Crit.

Wraiths are resistant to practically everything, but not, it turns out, to Magic Missiles. Lamech blows the thing away with his first barrage.

All: *skid to a halt and look around and at each other, confused*
Lamech: ... did we get it or did it just disperse?

There's a pipe with platinum filigree in the late wizard's chest. Probably the 'precious' the wraith was going on about.

Thorn: We should break it.
Urlon: Or not touch it.
Lamech: *already stuffing it full with his best weed* What? I need a relaxing smoke after that.

We report back to the missing dwarf's brother outside the cave.

Lamech: But in lighter news we found some boats.

But we have somehow managed to miss the assayer's office in the old mine. Back in we go to find it. And a roomful of animated skeletons.

Lamech: Godsdammit. Hey, Gundrun! You remember how I said we'd killed most of the monsters down here?

Skeletons smashed, we find the mine's old pay locker. Lamech gets to work. After all, if a brilliant physicist like Richard Feynman can take up safe-cracking because he was bored, a gnome sorcerer can because he's an arsehole.

Lamech: They're not thieves tools, honest - the fact that they came with a balaclava and bag labelled 'SWAG' was just part of their novelty value.

GM: You can't go across the underground sea yet - your spellcasters need rest.
Lamech: We can rest in the boats - the NPCs can paddle. It's not like they've done anything else, apart from let that deep gnome get away.

We do indeed find a moaning, near dead dwarf on the far side.

Kavorog: You do realise this is a trap right?

Judicious work by Lamech Judocus reveals two extremely dead bugbears - the ones that kidnapped the dwarf in the first place.

Lamech: Um...
Urlon: Er....

Nonetheless we proceed cautiously.

Dwarf: Save me! Help me, before it comes back!

Lamech: Why is it, that despite the fact that this is an OBVIOUS trap, do we proceed anyway?

Thorn: He's afraid of something called a Wealth-eater.
Urlon: Rust monster?
Lamech: Rust Monsters wouldn't do THAT to the bugbears.
Urlon: Good point.

The thing that emerges from the wall has 3 legs, tentacles, and pairs of eyes. And a very large mouth on top of its presumed head. We retreat at speed - judging by the name, Lamech grabs fistfuls of silver coins from his beltpouch, and waves them over his head yelling.

Urlon: What are you DOING!
Lamech: Trying to distract it. *throws them to one side*
Thorn:Fall back, it only wants our treasure, not our lives.
Lamech: And if Kerak was here this is when he'd grip his axe and yell 'You're not getting either!'
Dwarf:Kill it! Kill it! Kill it, before it comes back with more of its kind! They'll breed and ruin the mine!
Thorn:You're not helping!

Fistfuls of gold appear to be enough to satisfy the monster, which appears intelligent enough to crude sign language. Gundrun is delighted at the recovery of his brother. He's infuriated that we didn't kill the creature.

Gundrun:They infest tunnels! They're worse than Horta! Only the deep gnomes can control them! And do you SEE any deep gnomes around here?
Kavorog: Actually...
Lamech: There WAS one, but you let him get away.

Re: Genre-crossover nightmares
 
Star Trek: The Love Boat
 
Starring:
Captain James T. Kirk
Commander William Riker
Lieutenant Tom Paris
Doctor Julian Bashir
And Subcommander T'Pol, your cruise director

#1000 is up, and it looks like I was right about Hel's plan.
 
http://www.giantitp.com/comics/oots1000.html

Necromancy For Fun And Profit
The Succubus: A Magical Companion
How To Charm Friends And Influence People
The Complete Book Of Elves
Tenser's Guide To Elementals
Tenser's Guide To Demons
Tenser's Guide To Devils

In video games, I hate escort missions with a passion.

The auditorium was abuzz with uncertain conversation.  The Finals were already underway; nobody was sure why there would be a press conference now.  Two men in the gathered crowd speculated.
 
"Another rule change, maybe?"
 
"Nah, I think the Commissioner would have taken care of that before the first fight.  It's not like him to change things on the fly."
 
"Unless he has a really good reason."
 
"True, but any rule change now would probably be blatantly unfair to one team or the other.  And our Lord Commissioner is nothing if not fair."
 
"His d12, on the other hand...."
 
"Yes, well, the less said about that, the better."
 
Before the other could speak, the light dimmed save for a spotlight focused on the rostrum.  For the first time, they noticed there were two lecterns, each with a microphone.
 
"Let's see what the Commissioner has to say tonight."
 
But it wasn't the Commissioner.  Instead, two beautiful, powerful young women came out onto the stand from opposite sides, hugged like old friends (which, of course, they were), and took their places, each taking a spot behind a lectern.
 

 
"Huh.  Wasn't expecting that."
 
"Me neither.  Better looking than the Commissioner, though."
 
"Yeah, that goes without saying."
 
 
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Carol began, "and thank you for coming.  I'm Carol Danvers, team captain of Spectrum.  To begin, I'd like to defer to Susan Storm, team captain of Damage Incorporated."
 
"Thank you, Carol," Susan continued.  "As many of you are aware, the Infinite Universes Theorem hypothesizes that for every possible series of events or consequences, there is an alternate reality in which those events actually came to pass.  For example, there are, according to the Theorem, universes where the Confederacy won the United States Civil War, where the Denver Broncos have won five Super Bowls, and where Tony Stark is a humble, unassuming man of slightly above average intelligence."
 
This last comment drew a lot of laughs from the crowd.  Good, she thought.
 
Carol continued.  "In this reality, our two fine teams, Damage Incorporated and Spectrum, were shut out of this season's Arena Games playoffs.  But somewhere, in some alternate reality, it is our two teams who are playing for the championship this week.  So for your entertainment, we want to bring a taste of that reality here to you."
 
 
"What the heck are they talking about?"
 
"I have no idea.  It should be fun to find out."
 
 
After a few moments of crowd murmuring, Susan resumed.  "Each of the next five days, members of our two teams will face off in an unofficial, unsanctioned Arena Games-style event we're calling 'Arena Games Elseworlds'.  It's strictly for your entertainment: No Bonus Points, no arbitrary die rolls, just your votes for who you think would win on any given day.  It's all for fun."
 
The murmuring grew into a dull roar, which Carol allowed a few moments to subside before continuing.  "We will be using the same arenas each day as the actual finalists--after they're done with them of course.  We have met together, our two teams, and we have a great lineup of contests for you to watch and to vote on.  You won't be disappointed."
 
Susan added, "Oh, and if you have any questions about the event, please direct them to us, or to our representatives.  Don't bother the Commissioner with this.  He'll be busy enough with the real matches."
 
"Also," Carol continued, "the Commissioner doesn't know anything about this.  We made all the arrangements independently.  Easier to get forgiveness than permission and all that."  With that she winked at the audience, and cheers broke out.
 
"So, in a few moments we will announce our first match of the week," Susan concluded.  "I think you're going to love it."  She turned her attention to Carol and smiled.  "Good luck, Spectrum!"
 
Carol returned the smile. "Good luck, Damage Incorporated!"

Whichever team does NOT put an archer into the Redwood Forest match will not get my vote. If both teams pass on doing so, I wil vote for whoever is behind at the time.
 
I really want to see an archer duel.

Lead a bunch of gamers? It's worse than herding cats.

Well... If I were doing it, I'd start with Australia's ancient past. Australia is where the Valdorian Age happened. (If you've got Valdorian Age, you'll notice that you've got to take the map, hold it upside down, squint,  move some places, put a sea in the central desert and change names and descriptions around to make it clear that the ancient Valdorians are the ancestors of modern Aboriginal population. But, hey, it's a medieval map, so it's probably wrong, and the Shimmering Sea is artificial, so it's not impossible. 
 
Oh, and the Tower of the First and Last Sunset is in Tasmania, Takofanes' grave is in New Guinea (only, somehow, it got moved to Oklahoma.) No problem with that, though, cuz who ever goes to Tasmania? Or Oklahoma?
 
These things aren't completely mysterious,  so now I'm going to put a Valdorian Age archaeological park in downtown Melbourne.
 
Now I'm going to put three superheroes in Melbourne, in excess of the "expected" population of Australian supers --that is, they're there for a reason. Assault has already given us one reason: a "White Event" which creates a lot of superheroes. It's a Valdorian Age event!
 
Now I'm going to send a mysterious, cloned supervillain to Melbourne to kill those superheroes. Who made Taipan? What's his deal? If he's from the obvious retail outlet, he's a Teleios product. What's Teleios's connection with the Valdorian Age? Actually, the big question with Teleios is his mysterious patron. What's that person's deal with the Valdorian Age? Or Australia? Is he, say, an ancient Drindrish dragon riding sorceror with a black, soul-sucking sword? It would be irresponsible not to speculate.

Okay, so it's probably moot now (what with Thawne's fate) but...
 
"Psst. Hey, Barry. Yeah, you in the red suit."
"Who are you?"
"Never mind. See that man lying on the floor over there? Not too far from your dead mom?"
"You mean my dad?"
"Yeah."
"What about him?"
"Well, it occurs to me that if he were bound and helpless in a roll of duct tape, the authorities would have a much harder time accusing him of the murder."
"..."
"And you're superfast, and you're right here, and you've got a few seconds to spare so--"
Whoooooooooooooooooosh!
"Done."
 
This was LITERALLY the first thought I had when they gave us that shot of Barry's dad lying on the floor unconscious. DUCT TAPE HIM! He can't be the killer if he's a victim! Okay, so he couldn't save mom. But at least dad won't spend twenty years in prison.