The new heroes Scorch Scale and the already-famous Goodwill (and his puppy, Scraps) saved the quad from an extremely dangerous new villainess, Spite, who has similar powers to Goodwill but far more sinister and unhinged motivations. The assault on scholastic safety began when...
STORY CONTINUES ON PAGE 3
SPITE-- THE TRUTH BEHIND CALIFORNIA'S "MEANGIRL MASSACRE" PAGE 4
SCORCH SCALE: APPARENTLY NOT AS SCARY AS HE LOOKS PAGE 5
SCRAPS: AN ADORABLE PICTORIAL OF NYC'S BRAVEST PUP PAGE 6
WHERE IS SILVER STREAK? PAGE 7


The authorities are "extremely concerned" about a rash of new robberies, one each Monday night for weeks, at some of the most important museums in the western world. First was London, then Glasgow was hit a week later, then Dublin, and last night, Boston! In each case, no trace of the thief or thieves could be detected, in spite of security guards and cameras! Could Manhattan's own museum of archeological and histor...
STORY CONTINUES ON PAGE 8
MUSEUM ROBBERY VILLAINS: ANYONE WE KNOW? PROBABLY NOT-- OP-ED SECTION, PAGE 9
GOODWILL: NYC'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR? PAGE 10

Scraps sat in front of the TV in Goodwill’s Headquarters.

His eyes and nose glued to the screen, watching his new favouritest ever TV Show.
P A W   P A T R O L !!

Oh my dog, this documentary about a bunch of awesome, talking hero dogs was just (almost) to much for his puppy brain to take in.
NO JOB TO BIG, NO PUP TO SMALL!

Scraps couldn’t get enough of it.
Especially that sah-weeet little flying Cockapoo in pink.     Watching her made Scraps want to clean himself.
It was just hard to keep watching the screen while he was licking himself ... so it lead to him falling over in some serious fun ways, and tying himself up in strange knots.

"Well, you're a star, Scraps," Gil said as he put down the scissors. He'd finished clipping the article about the young dalmatian. Now he just needed to choose a place to hang it. There was plenty of available wall space in the loft — too much space for just one boy and his dog, for that matter — but Gil wanted to give Scraps' clippings a proper placement. Anyone coming in would see his clippings standing equal to Gil's own press. Scraps would be bigger than Lassie and Rin Tin Tin put together.

He turned to see what the dog was up to.

"Okay, ew. You gotta do that right in front of the TV, boy?" Gil laughed. He was halfway a farm boy; he'd seen worse. Letting the dog be, he went back to reading the paper. "Huh. Most Eligible...?"

Once again, Gil realized he'd be wading through a lot of shallowness in the near future.

She should have some kind of police-band radio or something in her dorm room, but to be fair, that would be a little conspicuous.  The crimson-haired co-ed had a room mate after all, and the dorm mother had a strict rule against noise after dark.

So the closest thing to breaking news that Libby could wrangle were the newspapers at the news stand.

"Hey Mack."  Libby smiled at the News Stand guy, Mack.  What a nice guy, Mack was.  Libby placed a shiny dime neatly into Mack's paw in exchange for the Tribune.  She eyed the collection of colorful tootsie pops on display as well.  Mmm.  Sugar.  But her mom taught her that they not only made you fat, but also rotted your teeth.  But they tasted so good!

Alas.

Small talk would have to do, instead.

Libby tucked a strand of the lava-red hair behind her ear, and pushed her glasses up her nose before unfolding the newspaper.  "How about that wind last night, right?"  She shook the paper out, smoothing its creases in the process.

"International museum thieves.  That's a higher class of criminals than we're used to."  She added in comment, mostly to herself and not really at Mack.

Maybe Tempest would patrol around the museum in Manhattan tonight, on the off chance she might spot something.

No one tended to notice Saul eating by himself near the library. Sad thing was, he had a chance to exist on the social ladder, he just had to go to the basket ball court.
But he couldnt.

Saul was overhearing the school janitors talk about the news during a lunch break.  New hero? Pppffftt, he'd been working for at least a month of action. But of course, being remembered for something bad is worse than not being remembered at all, so he could live with that, for now.

When he got the paper for himself, Saul just knew what he father would say:
"I just don't see what that gentleman Silver Streak or Goodwill see in that overgrown lizard. I almost got burned his flames you know."
It was during the bank scene with Echo which his father mentioned. Saul only knew he was there early afterwards.

Sure, his father only disliked Scorch Scale, but Saul didn't know what to make of it. That hero was a part of him now, but could his father really hate him?

Ignoring his thoughts, Saul looked back to the paper, museum thieves huh? Well, his school was doing a trip to the museum, so that would be a perfect time to scout of the place.

Unlike some people, Saul had a secret identity. Which was useful to do things like scouting out a place, as long as he played his cards right. But it came with the consequence of no respect accumulated to your heroic identity, he could only see so much without trespassing himself.

Which reminded Saul, he really needed to be given a short range radio by the police. He didn't exactly have a crystal ball hanging around.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:01, Fri 22 Mar 2019.

It's now Monday evening.

If the newspapers' theories are correct, there may be a robbery at Manhattan's Museum of World History. (If the next theft fits the previous thefts, it will happen sometime between 11:30 pm and 2 am.)

There's sure to be more security than normal... but that didn't stop anything from being stolen on the last few Monday nights...

How will you approach the museum?
--Stealthily?
--Watching for trouble from a distance? Or from above?
--Will you approach the authorities and offer your assistance ahead of time?
--Will you visit the museum in the afternoon, and try to hide somewhere until after official closing hours?
--Will you just show up after 11 pm without warning and say you want to help?

About an hour before closing time, Gil came down from the sky and walked in the museum's front door. He was in a fresh, new copy of his costume. Yesterday's had been beyond salvage. There were three more hanging in his closet, and Grandma-Mom had promised two more would be in the mail in a day or two. She'd sewn so many copies of that shirt she could do it in her sleep by now, and the rest was pretty much off-the-rack, other than the cape. He'd long since lost track of how many copies of his costume had been destroyed in the line of duty. But that wasn't important at the moment.

"Hello," he said to the guard by the front door. He was going to take the direct approach. "I'd like to speak to your boss please."

Scraps followed along behind Goodwill ... and beside, in front of, over there, and generally always underfoot.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t always easy for Gil to look suave and potent when he was constantly tripping over (or, at least, trying not to) ‘NYC'S BRAVEST PUP’ (according to NYC best loved publication, no less).

Scraps spent equal time sniffing around the locals for wee-mails, and unintentionally getting under G’s feet.

As Goodwill spoke to the man at the door, Scraps used the opportunity to leave a message for the other dogs in the area ... introducing himself, and adding that he was, in fact, a Sagittarian who liked Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.



Quickie for Goodwill: is Scraps in his matching cape?
And please remind me, what are our Team colours?

The guard has seen Goodwill in the paper, and seems quite impressed. He leads Goodwill (And Scraps) to an inner office in the museum.

&&&&&&&&&&

There are a few weemails around the entrance of the building, although not many, but zero once Scraps is inside the door. What a strange place. He must be a pioneer, going where no dog has gone before.

Not that he needs to go again yet. But still.

The Stormforce wasn't exactly the sort of thing you casually unleashed inside a Museum.  Tempest was very good at keeping it in, but when she did let it out, when she afforded herself the pleasure of unleashing her powers, it tended to get ... messy.  Sloppy.  Rainy, windy, lightningy.

Was lightningy a word?  It was now, you philistine.

Tempest decided that she would be best appointed in a position above the Museum.  Flying high above and watching the roof.  Maybe the thieves used a rooftop entrance.  Or at any rate, maybe she'd be able to spot something suspicious from her Eye in the Sky position that people on the ground level didn't.

She was wearing her "costume", the one that her mother had made for her.  It was a bit racy, not at all proper, but, her mother had assured her, being a superhero was like show-business, and you had to catch eyes to catch hearts and earn respect, especially as a young woman.

She eeked the Stormforce out, a trickle at first, and the wind gusted up around her.  There was a Marilyn Monroe moment as the wind rose up around her feet.  Every instinct told Tempest to pull it back in.  That the Stormforce was going to slip through her fingers this time and destroy THE CITY.

But she had it.  Her brain told her she could control this.  She had been practicing control since she was ... well, as long as she could remember.  If it started to slip, for real, she'd lock it back down.

Another deep breath and she raised her arms.  LIGHTNING cracked in the clear night sky above, and then she was up and away!

TO THE SKY ABOVE THE MUSEUM!
This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Mon 25 Mar 2019.

Last, but far from least, the teenager Saul would be on the scene. But for it to work, he had to make things work with his home. He called a friend and made them pretend they were having a study sleep over, then confirmed so with his parents. His father was quite steadfast, but eventually allowed it to occur.


Then came the day itself, Saul was going around, having a foreign thought in his head correcting plaques next to pieces of history.
So, after the school trip, Saul intentionally left something behind so it would be in Lost and Found. He returned to get it at the last minute of the museum being open. When the janitors helped him, he want for the door, looked for any eyes to be away, and slinked for the public bathroom.

So there he sat in a cubical, working on his homework with a torch and his thoughts for company. Finally, some time to catch up on the mountain of homework.
Saul couldn't help but feel stretched thin, how did anyone else make work, super work and a social life work? Saul suspected, they didn't. Something was going to give soon, he could feel it.

But the time had come, so Saul left the gear there and said his line for the mirror. "I'm fired up!" He roared as he transformed into Scorch Scale!

The museum director says he would be happy to have Goodwill's help, and says he'll clear it with the authorities, and to come back around 11 pm and could you pick up your puppy please--

Goodwill picks up Scraps right before the carpet would have met with an unfortunate event.


(Scorch Scale... hmmm... Roll an Insightful check, please...)

Insight
19:48, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 12 using 2d6+1 ((5,6)).

(Verrrry nice.) Saul manages to successfully evade the security guards, using tricks like perching on the toilet bowl with his feet up when they look under the stalls, and then listening carefully and silently sliding from one stall to the next under the partition as each door is opened and checked.

By the time 11:30 is getting near, Scorch Scale is ready to go-- and so far he's undetected!

What will Scorch Scale do next?


Where, as 11:30 draws near, are Goodwill and Scraps?

Scorch Scale makes one last glance at the paper, in case the previous jobs gives the hero an indicator to what display will be hit next.

Everything stolen so far have been small, easily handheld items of great age... sometimes showing great craft and intricately decorated, sometimes roughly made but even older... Nothing stolen has been less than 1000 years old...

(Give me another Insightful check if you want to try for a more specific guess)

Insight
23:24, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 9 using 2d6+1 ((6,2)).

This isn't the hill to die on with my new ability, so let's embrace this middling result

If Scorch Scale absolutely had to guess, based on what'd been stolen so far, he'd guess... something... British? Maybe?

I think Goodwill and Scraps should stay inside the museum and patrol the hallways.

(Tempest, give me an Insightful check, please...)

Today: Tempest rolled 8 using 2d6-1 ((3,6)).

Heavy clouds are moving in.

Thunder rumbles.

You didn't make that happen... It just happened.

Down below, just for 2 seconds, Tempest spots a guard entering the building.

But it's odd-- he was a guy, but with long, flowing white hair, even though he didn't move at all like an old man.

Sure, it's 1963 and these are modern times and all, but you wouldn't think that a security guard would get hired if he had long hair down past his shoulders, whatever the color.

But he's gone inside now...

Scorch Scale was mumbling to himself, unable to close down on what exactly would be the next item. But he had the idea.

He brushed his clothing and had a look. The tunic that covered his dignity had been restored, it had healed as their spiritually fused body did.
That was magic for you.

Sure he looked good strong enough, the Drake left the restroom, on the hunt for whomever this thief or thieves would be.

Patrolling the museum wasn't producing anything... until suddenly there was Scorch Scale, coming out of one of the Mens' rooms. It was like Goodwill couldn't go anywhere without running into that guy. They should probably formalize some sort of collaboration, maybe...? Gil wasn't sure they were the right two guys for a steady partnership, but they should definitely try to coordinate things like this, where they were showing up ahead of a crime for stakeout duty.

"Hey hey, dragon-man," Gil called. "What's the good word?"

Scraps gave a happy little “Bark”, and went racing off towards his favourite Lizard-Lord.
He leapt again up into Scale’s arms, and playfully licked the guy’s face.

Ah, of course Goodwill would be here. And here was Scraps, ready to display affection as always.

"Could be worse, boy-scout. We really need to sort some communication don't we? Kinda thought I would be alone on this one." Scorch Scale said with a smirk of mutual respect, as he gave a head rubbing to the pup.

"Maybe the Security office can spare us a couple of walkie-talkies," Goodwill suggested. They probably had a few extra in case of emergencies. "Might not hurt to just introduce you, too. We don't want them to mistake you for one of the dinosaur exhibits come to life or something, and start shooting at you."

Thunder.  It rumbled.  Tempest felt it, deep inside her.  She felt it call to her, to soar.  It wasn't just the Red Wig that was fake, put on, to hide the real her from the world, to present the false, meek, front of Libby as if it were the real her.  It was everything about her.  The material flesh, the banal thoughts and dreams, when what she really wanted was to become the Thunder.

One corner of her strawberry-splashed lips twitched upward in what might have been the beginning of a smile, but it turned out was also its end.

But then her eyes settled on the man below.  The thunder, was it trying to take her attention from the man, or draw her out of the pleasure of soaring and into the moment so she would notice him?  Or maybe she was reading more into it than she thought.

The doubt, the questions, they got in the way of the natural flow of the Stormforce through her, and she felt herself dip, excitingly dropping.  She let herself drop, as she cleared her mind.  When she emptied it of worries, doubts, inhibitions, whether her skirt was too short, not short enough, what people would think.  None of that mattered when she was Tempest.

She landed on the roof, a last moment gust of wind slowing her fall so she alighted with the weight of a feather.  She spread her fingers and drew back on the disguise.  Not all the way.  She left the costume on and the wig off.  But she stuffed the Stormforce back deep.  The part of her that was less Libby and more Goddess -- Tempest, she supposed in a brief moment of balance, the Superheroine.  She was somewhere between the two.

That smile, aborted previously, danced across her lips.  Her powers repressed again, she felt safe enough to go inside the Museum.  She wouldn't wreck the place.

Skylight, check -- but she wasn't going to bust a skylight!  What kind of art-and-history-hating-monster do you think she is?

Door -- there was always a door -- but was it open?  Why would they leave it unlocked when they had to be expecting someone to rob the place.  They just had to right?

She checked the door.  Because of course she did.

Scorch Scale might have made a comment about how no person looks at a dragon and insults them with the insinuation of being a dinosaur. But, just then, Scorch Scale feels something is wrong. The sensation squirms in the back of his spine. He had heard something from outside, though it was faint.
Someone must have tried to sneak about the place. Was it their thief?

Scorch Scale spins his neck, facing a door and warns "We've got a hostile."

Nope, it's locked.

"Could be a lost stranger trying to get out of the storm," Gil said, unbelieving of his own theory. "Or not. But I doubt that our bad guy is this obvious."

Either way, he started for the door.

Dropping out of Scaly McScalyface’s arms, Scraps began sniffing around.
- rolled 7 using 2d6 with rolls of 6,1.  Figure things out.
= Hold 1.      Why yes, thank you, I believe I will.

When Goodwill heads for the door, a nearby security guard stops him. "Hey, wait, don't open that yet," he says. "It'll set off an alarm. Let me turn that off for a minute..." He uses a key, and unlocks the door. "There you go. You gonna go fly around 'r somethin'?"

The guard gives Scorch Scale a nervous look.


Suddenly, Tempest hears the door unlock from the inside.

Tempest was pulling out a hair pin from her hair, one of the ones she normally used to keep that red wig on when she was Libby.  But it was also useful, as any adventuress knows, in disabling locks!

So good, in fact, as she brought it to level the keyhole, the lock seemed to disable itself!

She blew away a strand of brown hair that had fallen over her eyes and squinted suspicious at the door.

Then she decided that it might be wise to listen to see what was going on on the other side of the door.

So she leaned her cheek against the door, and listened.

Inside, Gil put a finger to his lips to shush the guard, then pulled the door open.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Thu 28 Mar 2019.

Tempest had turned her cheek as she leaned in toward the door.  It seemed further in than she had remembered.  Then she lost balance and fell forward.

Tempest caught herself though, her hands pressed in front of her against the wall.

Wait, that wasn't a wall.  It was a broad chest.  She turned her head up and saw Goodwill.

"Oh."  Her eyes widened just a bit.

This was awkward.

Scorch Scale made an "ahem" noise on seeing this development.

"Come back tomorrow, ma'am. The museum is closed. Unless you're our thief...?" Scorch Scale said, wanting his confidence to cover that he was on edge from his senses getting tipped off as they did.

"Okay, she's obviously not our thief," Gil said. He put his hands on the girl's upper arms and gently peeled her off his chest. This wasn't the first time someone peeping or listening at a door had fallen in on him, truth be told. It was a weekly occurrence, give or take. Almost always girls. "That would be way too easy. But he's right, miss: Museum is closed."

"Oh.  Uh."  She allowed herself to be peeled off.

Tempest managed not to blush, that would have been very unsuperherolike.  That was a word now, deal with it.  She motioned to her outfit, which was a little too form-fitting and a little too short in the skirt department to really fit in anywhere but in superhero circles, or maybe a cocktail party in the right company.  She was obviously not the average museum-visitor, especially not the kind that would be coming in via the rooftop access.

"I was flying overhead and saw some old hippy-looking guy dressed in a guard uniform sneaking in and I thought I better come down and check it out."

She explained quickly, trying to take the subject off her falling into Goodwill and onto the task at hand.

"What do you think, Scraps? We trust her?" Gil believed that Scraps was the best judge of character he'd ever met, just slightly edging out Grandma-Mom. He would rely on the puppy's unerring judgment now.

Old hippy huh? Why that sounded atypical, at least for normal people.

"We're looking for something a millennium old, hand held masterpiece." Scorch Scale told to remind Goodwill of the thief.

"From a territory of the Romans, no wait, Vikings. Or was it Normans... You know, those insignificant isles that took over much of the world."

Scraps looked at Temptest a moment, before giving a playful bark, and running over to viciously make himself available for any pats that she might feel the need to provide.

Yeah, that will learn her!

Trust her?  What wasn't there to trust.  Obviously Tempest wasn't here to steal stuff.  What did she look like, some kind of criminal?  Or worse yet, a supervillain.   Suddenly, she felt a rush of self-consciousness.  Did she look like a villain?  She tried really hard to smile.  Smile more, her mother would always say.  You're so pretty when you smile.

But here she was, called out on being untrustworthy, and that swell of doubt, self-consciousness, it was getting in the way of smiling.  Her eyes widened again, like a deer caught in the headlights until ....


BARK!


Her eyes settled on Scraps.  Super-Scraps?

She promptly ignored everyone else and crouched down to pet the Wonder Dog.  "Who's a good boy?  Oh, it's you.  Such a good boy.  The best boy.  You're the best boy aren't you?"  She lavished him with attention, praise, and scritchy-scratches and pets.

How could you be self-conscious when there's a cute dog to pet!?!

"What's your name, fellah?"

“Bark”
          Lick
                 Pant

... and with that, Scraps was savagely mauling the young woman’s hand with his tummy, as he wriggled on his back ... his tongue and ears competing for the ‘out of his face’ trophy.

"Okay, Scraps, okay. We trust her." It was as if a guy couldn't trust a puppy to maintain a shred of dignity anymore. "Now let's see if she has a name. How might you be called, miss...?"

Scorch Scale was looking around for this hippy person. Let the youthful talk among themselves.

He remembered there was a person to stop.

(Insightful check, please...)

Insight
15:36, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 4 using 2d6+1 ((1,2)).

(Scorch Scale gets 1 new xp, and fate-- having once again betrayed him-- starts getting up to extra shenanigans that he'll find out about soon...)

Scotscare was quite contented that he couldn't find his thief here. Seeing that this group seemed to socialize with themselves, Scorch Scale went on to try and find the prize of the hunt, to intercept the hunter that way.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:30, Mon 01 Apr 2019.

Where does he look, exactly?

His first destination would be (do mind I haven't been to that museum myself IRL) to go to any ancient Greek/Roman Empire parts, stuff from their occupied territories at least.

(I made it up)

 

The museum has the following sections:
--PREHISTORY, which seems to mean "everything before the ancient Egyptian era,"
--EGYPTIAN ERA, which seems to mean "everything we know that happened before the Greek era,"
--GREEK/ROMAN ERA, which seems to mean everything that happened between the Egyptian Era and about 400 A.D.,
--MEDIEVAL ERA, which seems to mean everything from about 400 A.D. to about 1350,
--RENAISSANCE ERA, which seems to mean everything from about 1350 to about 1600,
--COLONIAL ERA, which seems to mostly mean 1600 to the end of the American revolution,
--19TH CENTURY TO TODAY, which seems to mostly mean things from the American Civil War to World War I.

Scorch Scale goes to Medieval Era section first. It was most likely to have stuff of British Isles.

Oh the times Drocan likely had interacting with those people.

There's a man there, in a guard's uniform, with long white hair, quietly collecting some small objects from an exhibit.

Even from across the room, Scorch Scale very much does not like the way the man smells. He smells like burnt leather and black pepper and gravedust.

How might I be called miss?

How might anyone be called miss.  People called her miss all the town.  Excuse me, miss!  Miss, you dropped something!  Pardon me, miss.

It wasn't exactly hard to call her miss.  You just put your lips together and ... no, that was how you whistled.

Oh wait, he was asking what her name was.

She reluctantly stopped petting Super Scraps to answer him.

"They call me ... Tempest."  And sometimes Miss.   As established.

I presume there is no fire alarm to smash the glass of? Otherwise might as well attack.

Tempest? He wondered if that was a storm thing, or a Shakespeare thing. Shakespeare had been referring to a storm both literally and figuratively... so Gil supposed there might be more than just the obvious reason why a girl might call herself that. But they didn't have time to discuss her powers (assuming she actually had any). Scorch Scale had returned to his skulking about, and the rest of the museum wasn't going to patrol itself.

"Well, I'm going out on a limb letting you in like this, Tempest," Gil explained. The museum officials probably would prefer to choose who was allowed in or not, and not leave these decisions to their random volunteer super-heroes. "So you should probably just stick with me.

"Scraps, which way did Scorch go?"

(Sure, I'll let there be one... go ahead, and smash it, if you'd rather do that than attack this round...)

With the man's back to Scorch Scale, he would have this man in no time at all. Let's see how quickly Goodwill can get to the scene.

But Scorch Scale couldn't help but let his pride those away the advantage. In a cross armed pose, Scorch Scale was ready to intimidate. "You've wondered into the dragon's den." Scorch Scale announced as his tail activated the fire alarm in a swift flick.

"I'll be taking those now."

Scraps gave a bellicose 'Bark' and began sniffing around, before heading off following the scent of scales.

He didn't get far before far, however, a raised, commanding voice could be heard echo'ing down the hallowed, hollow hallways ... and then suddenly the fire alarms throughout the place went off.

And you know what they say, 'where there's fire, theres scorch' ... or something like that.

Scraps took off at a run towards that area ahead ...
               - rolled 14 using 2d6+3 with rolls of 5,6.  Agility to 'Run Away To'.

Goodwill sighed. He'd been hoping that the evening would be uneventful, with no robbery at all. But such was not to be.

"Follow us," he said to Tempest, lacking anything more insightful to say. He hoped she could keep up. He had no idea if she had the power to fly, or even run in heels. Regardless, he flew after Scraps. Scraps seemed to be focused on a direction that Gil had been sorta sure was the source of the noise, so the puppy probably had it right.

He didn't fly at top speed, for fear of banking off of a display and destroying something priceless. But unless the tumult was further away then he thought, he was probably only a few seconds away.

"Fire alarm!"  She shouted, as she watched the Hero run toward danger, followed by Goodwill.

This was trouble.  She thought momentarily about summoning a rainstorm in case the fire spread through the building, but the thought of all that water destroying the artifacts and art ... no, she'd be better off trying to stop whatever it was that was causing the fire.

She fell behind though, because she needed to power up.  She wouldn't be much help without her powers activated.  Besides, running in heels was hard!

The man turns around, and seems pleasantly surprised. "Oh, my." He sniffs the air. "So you've got Drocan! I thought about collecting him... Oh, I am impressed. The best I could find was Aegrim, the black dragon of Wyre..."

The man breathes black fire at Scorch Scale...

(Scorch Scale has one instant to do something-- options are:
--Roll +Agile to try to dodge behind a marble pillar (with a -1 penalty)
or
--Roll +Forceful to try to block the black fire with some of your own (with a -1 penalty, because you've got a late start)
or
--Something else I haven't thought of

Scraps is not here yet, but he will be any minute, so the turn order is currently:
--Scorch Scale
--Then Scraps
--Then Goodwill
--Then Tempest)

In response to the flames of Aegrim, Scorch Scale released his own great plume of flames. Like a mightly red comet, it streaked through the museum, the relics casting shadows.

Forceful
17:15, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 12 using 2d6+1 ((5,6)).

Scorch Scale, with his arms still crossed,  completely negated the flames that the stranger threw at him. Did he think that would hurt him?

How dare he insult Dragonkind.
Insinuating that dragons were mere two bit charms to don. Given by your local witch from her collection of oddities.
He would pay for this.

"Don't insult Aegrim with a display like that. He deserves better than you. Even that loser Blue Dragon could beat you. Try, again."

"Try again? Hm, a bold offer, but you seemed to deal with it just fine last time, so why should I try the same thing twice? I think instead I'll use this new toy I came here to collect: The Amulet of Arawn." He holds up a carved amulet, painted a dull, faded black, depicting a skull with a sword through the top of it. He then points it-- instead of at Scorch Scale-- off to Scorch Scale's left. "Yes, those will do nicely..."

There's a lot of clanking noises. Four suits of armor, swords gripped in their gauntlets, come marching into the room. "The spirits I've summoned to inhabit these arms and armors from the exhibit in the next room should make them somewhat fireproof... Let's see if they can destroy you! I'm honestly not sure, but I look forward to finding out! Let none say that museums can't be educational!"

The armor marches to attack Scorch Scale just as, behind him, Scraps is arriving... (And so, the bad luck that Scorch Scale had in not arriving just a little sooner bears fruit...)

As Scraps came barreling into the room, he managed to achieve what all overly excited puppy’s do ... he got right under the feet of those also trying to enter the roof.
On this occasion, it happened to be the animate tin soldiers.

Barking and running around among the many clanking legs, he slowed the attacking knights to near halt until for several moments ... giving our team of heroes an extra few moments to get themselves organised in response to their presence.

- rolled 8 using 2d6+3 with rolls of 2,3.  Hold them off.
--They can’t attack anyone they weren’t already attacking

Gil wasn't flying anywhere near his top speed, but he was still moving plenty fast. So when the clanking, clattering assortment of animate armor entered the room from one direction, Gil was bursting into the room from the adjacent hallway. He managed to dodge the figures with barely a second to spare, only realizing after he shot past them that they weren't people at all. In fact, bashing right through them would probably have been a good idea.

It would have been a much better idea than looking back over his shoulder in wonderment. Rather, it would have been a much better idea than doing that while still flying at a decent clip.

At the last instant, he angled himself to use his momentum and crash into the 'hippie' who seemed to be the bad guy.

Forceful - It’s Clobberin’ Time
Goodwill rolled 6 using 2d6+2 ((1,3)).

...and ever-so-slightly missed.

Tempest had lingered behind, due to a combination of slowly unspooling the Stormforce, keeping it on lockdown so it didn't implode the museum or suck the air out of everyone's lungs before striking them with chain after chain of lightning; and, the difficulty of running in heels.

Between those two complications, she was late to the party.

Scorch Scale knew that it would take a lot of heat to mess with the metal of the suits. Anything concussive towards them would hit Scraps.

That left their stranger as being his target. It was only right for Scorch Scale to lay down the law to this troublemaker.

It's Clobbering Time
22:01, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 8 using 2d6+2 ((4,2)).

--You hit hard (+1 Stun)

Scorch Scale let out another burst of flame, he had to act fast to stop his enemy defending himself. He couldn't be allowed to summon more armies of goons.

"Oh, a mighty blow!" The guy is definitely singed. In fact his guard's uniform is burned away, and reveals a sort of light green business suit underneath (wait, how could he have been wearing a business suit under his guard's uniform?), and IT's smoldering quite a bit, especially in back, because the guy turned his back to the blast to protect the small items he was holding.

Now, he puts them in his pockets.

"Leave us no longer hold back, then, host of Drocan," he says... then he hesitates. "But I see the armor will do that for me, for now..."

So he turns to Goodwill. "Meantimes, perhaps I should deal with you, flying hero," he says. "Yours might have been a puissant attack, had it landed."

He blasts Goodwill with a breath of black fire...

(Goodwill takes 1 new xp for missing the man

16:24, Today: A Man rolled 10 using 2d6+3 ((3,4)).

--The man hits hard (+1 Stun)
--The man avoids most of Goodwill's next attack against him (-1 Stun))

Meanwhile, Scraps makes sure the suits of armor don't attack anyone they weren't attacking (Scorch Scale).

And he is successful.

So they attack Scorch Scale.

(GM rolls dice)

Two of them miss, one gets in a small blow, and one nails Scorch Scale.

(Scorch Scale takes 2 stress, and -1 forward.)

Nothing bad happens to Scraps! He's just adorable!

Scraps was having a wonderful time: playing chasies with all these funny people.
But there was one guy here who wasn’t paying Scraps enough attention.

And that guy had just put something fun into his pocket.
One thing every puppy knows: if you take their fun things, they’ll chase you.


In a sudden burst of speed and endless energy, he bounded over to the man, and latched onto the guy’s pocket where his fun things went.
- rolled 12 using 2d6+3 with rolls of 4,5.  Hold ‘me off.
--You take away useful items from them
--Give them a choice between backing off or be stunned
Their retaliation will always be limited (-1 Stun) but you don’t stun them.
Biting it, he tore the pocket and it’s contents free.  With a mouthful material and the ‘small items’, he took off ... leaving the man teetering and unbalanced.   If he didn’t take the time to step backwards and regain his balance, he’d surely topple backwards; likely hitting his head or something.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:01, Sat 06 Apr 2019.

Gil had only just stopped himself short of hitting the wall by merest inches. It pissed him off, honestly. 'Spite' had run him ragged due in large part to Gil's unwillingness to punch a girl. He was tired of being made a fool of... and this was no girl. This guy, he could punch.

Growling through his clenched teeth, he turned and did just that.

Forceful - It's Clobbering Time!
Goodwill rolled 10 using 2d6+2 ((2,6)).
--You hit hard (+1 Stun)
--You avoid most of their retaliation (-1 Stun)

Damn, it felt good to finally cut loose and hit someone who deserved it.

(Scraps, Hold 'Em Off says: On a 10+ pick 2

...I'm a little unclear on which two you're picking. Is it the first two?)

The third element is not a choice, it is an intrinsic element of the ‘Hold ‘me Off Move:

(Ah ha! I could see that that third item was different from the other two, but it wasn't clicking for me, thank you for the clarification)

The problem was that many interesting things fell from the man's pocket! Scraps couldn't grab them all!

He could maybe get 2, maximum!

There was:
--A wooden necklace with a skull and a sword, painted black
--A glass ball (but it didn't break when it hit the floor, just bounced a few times and then started rolling
--A little knife (yikes! That was sharp! If he got that, he'd have to be extra careful!)
--A little bottle of sand
--A stick

What would Scraps take, and what would he leave?
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 15:49, Sat 06 Apr 2019.

The windows of the Museum shook as a clap of thunder and flash of lightning signified Tempest's manifestation.  She hovered off the ground, a steady flow of wind buoying her up into the air, as the Stormforce crackled where her eyes were just moments before.  She was no "Mystery Man" or "Science Hero", no.  Metahumanity had progressed beyond the limits of the heroes of the past, the Brown Recluse, Captain Liberty, or even the Uncanny Agent X.

This was the turning of a New Age of Heroes, and Tempest was but one of its Heralds.

Libby was hesitant to unleash the power of the Stormforce within the Museum, but the time for doubts and hesitations had passed.

Tempest had arrived.

It wasn’t a conscious choice for Scraps, as the pocket tote off and objects began scattering about the place ... but his teeth latched on to the two wooden items.
And with them, he ran ... hoping to be chanced*.

"Gah! Blast!" said the man, and he immediately crouched down and grabbed the remaining items-- the glass ball, the knife, and the little bottle of sand-- and stuffed them in a different pocket. He had to chase the little ball a few steps, though...

Two of the armors rush after Scraps... Two are still attacking Scorch Scale.

(This isn't the man's turn, it's just a reaction post. It's Scorch Scale's turn now.)

Scorch Scale felt like he needed a plan, but he was too pressured with the assault by the suits to do so.

He knew he was at a disadvantage, but he let out a plume of flames, hoping to hit enough of them with concussive force to disrupt the magic or something.

It's Clobbering Time
17:26, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 7 using 2d6+1 ((5,1)).

-You hit hard (+1 harm)

Scorch Scale damages the two suits of armor attacking him, but they did indeed seem partially resistant to his flame, and so for now, they kept on coming.

Meanwhile, snarling, the man turns to Goodwill--

--and then he notices Tempest. "--SUMMER SKIES!" he shouts. "Drocan and the Stormforce's host? I say thee nay! Nay, verily!" He grabs at the small bottle of sand-- "Damn you for making me use this up--"

He pulls out the cork stopping the bottle, and flings the contents into the air between himself and the heroes.

12:30, Today: A Man rolled 7 using 2d6+2 ((2,3)).

The sand affects each of you equally...

...With one exception.

(Everyone roll +Confident, please...)
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:07, Sun 07 Apr 2019.

Summer skies?  Who in the Heck was this guy, and what did he know about the Stormforce?

"What in the world?!"  She exclaimed as sandy contents were released upon them.

---

Today: Tempest rolled 8 using 2d6+2 with rolls of 4,2.  Unspecified +Confident Check.

Confidant
18:38, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 4 using 2d6 ((1,3)).

So, would this be worth that rage move or...?

Goodwill rolled 11 using 2d6+1 ((6,4)).

Goodwill was nothing but confident, whatever the guy was doing.

- rolled 4 using 2d6+1 with rolls of 1,2.  +Confidence as requested.

Scraps runs toward the light... and then...

It was true! There was his master! And Lizard Man, too!

And... Storm Girl, too... she was looking at the ceiling, though, like something was wrong with her... Maybe she was asleep standing up? (That was real talent... whenever Scraps tried that, he just fell over.) Oh well, the important thing was, Scraps was back!

There was a big wall of black fire between Scraps' friends and the man who'd had the stuff in his pockets... but another wall of normal-colored fire over to the right... Lizard Man must have put it there to keep Mr. Pockets from getting away... just like the wall of black fire must be there to keep Scraps' master and his friends away...

(Scorch Scale, you're up...)

Scorch Scale felt that left to chances this man would get away. He already got three of their group down (a while if not for the count). He had to plan something ... "Right, here's my idea. When I say now, I'm burning his wall away. Someone block his exit, I'm sure Scraps can can get the amulet when the fire dies and someone else can smack this collector around."

Inspire the Team
20:44, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 7 using 2d6 ((2,5)).
--Everyone else take +1 forward

OOC: please, which item/s does Scraps have in his mouth right now?  The wooden items, or the ball?

(None, Scraps... the man got them all back while you were asleep...)

Sigh.  Of course he did.  :-(

Scraps went bounding over to Goodwill to show him the ball Scraps had rescued.
With a proud way of his tail, Scraps dropped it at Gil’s feet ... and patiently waited for him to throw it.

[Sorry, Scraps, but the boss said the items were all picked up.]

Goodwill looked down at what Scraps had brought him. He'd wondered if one of the magical items was now in his possession, but instead saw that Scraps had found some child's lost ball. It was the same pink as a pencil eraser, and said Spalding on one side.

With a shrug, he picked it up anyway. It was the solid kind, not the hollow type. These hit a guy, they hurt. They hit a guy after being shot out of the cannon that was Gil's pitching arm, they could knock a guy unconscious.

Gil had been an all-state pitcher even before he developed powers. Grinning, he wound up and pitched what he hoped would be the best bean ball of his life.

Goodwill rolled 5 using 2d6+2 ((1,2)).

...and shot it right past his left ear.

"Today is just not my day!"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Tue 07 May 2019.

The rubber ball (where did it come from?) missed the man, bounced off the far wall, and came back and smacked Goodwill right above the bridge of his nose. (Goodwill takes 1 new stress, and now has a total of 2.)

The man tried again to use his black fire breath to put out Scorch Scale's firewall... but he failed. If anything, he reinforced it...

Cursing in some ancient dialect (was that Middle English?) could be heard from beyond the black firewall...

(Okay, y'all's turn. Sorry for the delay.)
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:29, Wed 15 May 2019.

"Are you freaking kidding me?!"

Not his day indeed.

Maybe Scorch Scale didn't have the directing chomps, maybe he didn't look serious, but why did people ignore what a Dragon had to say? No wonder their actions were failing.

"All right, fine.
Allow me to bust down his fortifications and you all siege him, can everyone agree to that?"
Before anyone can decide to disagree with him, Scorch Scale bellowed a roar of flame towards the black wall separating them from the thief.

What kind of roll would you like for this GM?

(Usually the game considers using your power to blast stuff as Forceful, and I'm not seeing enough of a reason to deviate from that in this situation.)

Oh sure, but I was meaning what move under Forceful to use.
But just Forceful works for me

Forecful
18:46, Today: Scorch Scale rolled 13 using 2d6+2 ((6,5)).

Scorch Scale's attempt works like a charm.

The man's firewall is extinguished, and that of Scorch Scale, which is still cutting off the man's nearest escape route, seems like it will for for at least several seconds more...

Scraps barked with delight when Gil threw the ball for him.
Scraps loved playing fetch ... and so he went tearing off after the ball.

But the ball wasn't going to be so easily caught; no no.
It bounced off the wall, just as Scraps skidded to a halt before the fiery firewall ... something told Scraps that fiery fire was bad to run into.

But the ball came back to play, flying past overhead,  back towards Gil.
Then, Gil cleverly whacked it away with his face.

Scraps couldn't believe how much fun he was having.

See Scraps run.
See Scraps chase the ball.

The fire wall was down. This was Gil's chance to finally be of use in this fiasco.

Striding right up to the strange man, he simply punched him.

Forceful, Clobbering time!
Goodwill rolled 12 using 2d6+2 ((5,5)).
--You hit hard (+1 Stun)
--You avoid most of their retaliation (-1 Stun)


"Now that's more like it."

WHAM. Ow. That looked like it hurt.

It looked like it could've almost killed him, actually.

"Aegrim... again..." moaned the man, now lying on the floor...

And then... he got better.

But not a lot.

Just more like he didn't absolutely need surgery in the next 5 minutes.

"...By the cauldron... what hit me...?" mutters the dragon within the man...

And then everyone in his body passes out.

You've caught... Well, Aegrim, the black dragon of Wyre, you're pretty sure of that much... and... some guy...!


--There is a mighty rush of wind, the sound of breaking glass...

Tempest is gone. Whatever weird stuff was going on with her, seems like either her or her powers (or both) decided it was time to go...

Feels like you'll never see her again... (or will you...?)

Scraps bounded over and dropped the soggy, dirty, germ-ridden ball at Goodwill’s feet.
Completely oblivious to everything else going on around him, Scape looked up at Gil and ‘Bark’ed excitedly ...  his little spotty tail stirring the air above his backside.

"We'd better call this guy an ambulance," Goodwill said, looking down. Apparently whatever dragon-mojo the guy had was all used up (for now?). One punch to the schnozz was all it took to lay him out flat. "I may have hit him too hard."

Scorch Scale shrugged. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. With how many trinkets he was throwing down, it would not be a surprise if he had an armor charm. Wizards love that defense." Scorch Scale said with a kick to the strange knife.

Thank goodness they succeeded with stopping him. Who knows what he could have done with that latest trinkets in his collection.

Will ducked down and picked up Scraps.

"And who's the best super-puppy ever?"

Scraps wriggled playfully in Gil’s arm, and tried to lick his human’s face.

“Bark Bark”