Armok:
Oh dear, oh dear. You seem to be trapped upon a roof with no way down other than going directly over the side. This is unacceptable, to say the least!
A tap here and a tap there against the flat roof with the heel of your shoes has you find a suitable point, that you tap once, twice, thrice. The roof creaks as well worn boards splinter and sag, part of the roof giving way before you as you walk around the perimiter of the hole that has opened before you, pausing only to hold onto your hat as you slide down the slope this has created.
Luck would have it that not only are the owners of this house not present, but that every door in this house is unlocked. This gives you ample chance to make your way down to the front door, to practically swagger out, invisible in plain sight, with people moving aside for you as they hurry around. In their eyes, you no doubt belong here, a posh but unusual man leaving what they take to be his house, a man they forget as quickly as they saw him.
You didn't pocket anything in the house though, did you?
That walking cane by the door did look so very appealing, after all.
Cerapa:
Water 4+1, 1d6 (2)
vs
Water 3, 1d6 (3)
Despite your bumbling efforts to convince the staff on duty inside the hotel why you need immediate access to the kitchens, the shock of the events and the nature of your request seems to be just what it takes for your strange yet urgent need to be permitted. You're shown through to the kitchens, only to find that the sample that you have taken is oddly enough, colagulating quicker than expected, drying up...
Air 6, 1d6 (1)
vs
Air 6, 1d6 (1)
At a glance you're unable to tell why it would be doing this, prompting you to watch it, fascinated for a moment longer than you feel you should have. It doesn't tell you anything more than you already knew, however.
Air 6+1, 1d6 (4)
vs
Air 6, 1d6 (4)
You set up as best you are able to do so in the kitchens, using chemicals to run various tests as rapidly as you are able, knowing that the sample of blood you took is rapidly drying up, for reasons you cannot quite discern. While you discover little more than that it is indeed blood, free of any real taint contamination and most likely human, one thing strikes you as you carry out this entire process.
This blood strikes you as being oddly ancient.
RAM:
Air 7+1, 1d6 (4)
vs
Air 6, 1d6 (3)
Without sufficient access to the body, you're forced to theorise over what you were looking at based on the nature of it. The body was humanoid, you know that much. It was clearly human in appearance before it was wounded, before it was killed. There seemed to be no awareness over what this individual was prior.
No doubt there'll be a coverup, claims that this thing was a clever imposter, that the original lord was killed by it and replaced. You know better though, you know, somehow, that this thing was once, if not still human. It's form was consistant with a human suffering from age induced atrophy physically. Its features you cannot explain, nor it's nature, but it's a start.
You're not certain however, how you would detect something that is able to hide its nature like that.
Criptfeind:
You sprinted about the side of the building, one hand bracing you against the clammy stone of the building beside it as you hurtled down the alley way, coming out to find the bronze figure stood in a standoff with the peelers who had chased it. There was fear in the air, the men all too afraid to open fire on this thing. If the Guardians were anything to go by, that this thing would be able to shrug off the majority of their attempts to damage it, their revolvers being weapons that would scratch its armoured form at best.
There was however, another problem, one of the people with them was closing in on the thing rather rapidly...
Nirur:
The moment you took hold of that bag there was a sensation of dread over the contents, dread over why such a clearly powerful individual had been carrying it, why they would drop it to retrieve it later.
That dread was well founded it seemed, for what you found inside was a collection of papers, crudely drawn plans labled 'Tha Royel Palice'. There was a note amongst them too, written in equally poor handwriting, a note that the recipient of was merely referred to as Sir, a note that implied that this man had aquired the plans for the palace, that they would assist in any infiltration of it.
You were unable to make out any reason beyond what seemed to be the writer of the note theorising that they wanted to infiltrate it. Just possessing this was bad, you knew, though a quick glance told you that nobody had paid attention to you aquiring it.
It still raised the question, what were you going to do about them?
Abculatter:
This was no time to let this thing get away!
It was time to charge, to run in, to stop this thing that had assassinated the mayor!
Fire 4+1, 1d6 (6)
vs
Fire 9, 1d6 (1)
The thing, made of bronze yet clearly not one of the Guardians as you could tell from its form made an attempt to leap away as you closed, to turn, to run for the next alley way with how your form prevented the Peelers nearby from taking a shot at it without risk of hitting you. Unfortunately for it, the unrelenting grasp of your refitted arm clamped down upon the tail of its leather overcoat. You pulled back, hard, leather creaking, protesting as you swung the weighty form of the machine over your head, slamming it head first into the cobblestones.
Fire 4+1, 1d6 (2)
vs
Fire 9, 1d6 (2)
While the thing managed to avoid your attempts to follow up with a heavy kick to its back the moment it impacted with the ground by shedding its overcoat and flipping over onto its feet, you could see that this thing was affected by what you had done. You were left holding the leather overcoat that it had shed as it staggered unsteadily into another alley way, while the peelers chased after it once more, now seemingly emboldened by your display of courage. The sound of gunfire rang out as they fired upon the things fleeing form, yet every bullet that met, seemed to ricochet harmlessly off its gleaming bronze form.