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Wednesday, April 21

Arsonist Arrested! Blood of Heroes Session Report

 This is the wrap-up from the previous post. 

The conclusion of our latest issue of Even Heroes Bleed had Mettle spinning about the city like a whirling dervish. 

She convinced the Nubians the principles behind the warring Civil Guard's actions is currently at Hannigan's Irish Bar & Grill. She also stresses the arsonist, this insano calling himself Jury, should be found there as well. Mettle lays out to Jimmy Mac the support of the biker gang by city police and now is the chance to cut off the head of the snake. Without a radical White Supremacist biker gang at their disposal it will be much harder for the police to get more minority neighborhoods burned down! Mettle even throws in the dead White Patriot's car, sans hood, a 1968 Ford Shelby Mustange. "You park that in front of Hannigan's and start playing Rap on the radio you are sure to flush them out."



The heroes get in touch with a different television news station and hand over their Go-Pro coverage of their fight with Jury and Wotan. Mettle also suggests, anonymously, the arsonist terrorizing the city is about to be arrested at Hannigan's Bar & Grill in the next hour. The last tip-off the dynamic duo makes is to the Federal Bureau of Enhanced Entities Capitol City HQ. They are actually trying to reach Superfrog. The power Wotan displayed has made Bug and Mettle desirious of a superhero with aproximately the same strength and damage capacity. Phillip Madhur, Special Agent in Charge (Garvick Nurse is missing) says the green superhero is not available but happy to take a message.

Madhur does his best to talk Mettle into coming into FBEE HQ's. He wants to see her get on the right side of the law. With the powers displayed downtown during the BLM attacks she is breaking the law by not getting registered. Mettle declines. Madhur does take her tip on the arsonist seriously and rolls three Chevy Suburbans stuffed with armed agents and heads for RedHill where the bar is located.

Bug is babysitting the bar, expecting to have to throw down if either of the dangerous supervillains is present. The Nubians park the mustang and start laying down some loud tracks. Not disappointing, angry bikers with pistols and AR's spill out of Hannigan's and start shooting at the Nubians, taking cover behind some parked pick up trucks. Nubians fire back with their pistols and shotguns. As soon as Jury leaps out into the street to wipe out the Nubians Bug drops down onto the street and confronts the Living Flame, that which Wotan transformed the arsonist into, a liuving embodiment of elemental fire.


The searing heat and flames streaming out of Jury's arms almost overwhelms Bug, but the insect-mimicking powers he possesses gives him the hardened protection he needs to stay alive. Bug's devistating punch sends Jury across the street and into a pick up truck. Jury hit so hard the pick up truck tips on its side before settling back down. The driver side of the vehicle punched in by the impact of Jury's body. The enhanced entity of Jury is knocked senseless at the hands of Bug again. 

At this point the Feds roll on the scene and gangsters on both sides flee. Some on foot, some in a nearby vehicle. The feds surround the still flame-flickering Jury and start blocking off the crime scene. With the arrival of the press it looks like the city will learn of the fire-bug who has burning down their homes. The FBEE will be able to put a feather in their cap with this high-profile arrest!

Mettle and Bug are disappointed Wotan (disguised as the Civil Guard leader Reico) was not there. This means the dangerous enhanced entity is still out there and capable of attacking the PCs with deadly force. Bug and Mettle settle in for the evening and begin planning their next step...


Sunday, April 18

Leave Your Guns at Home, Even Heroes Bleed Issue #4 part 1.

 If you don’t hit the record button you will not record the game session. Passed all sound checks, but yeah, jumped into the game without hitting record. Here is your session report for the latest issue of Even Heroes Bleed.

Mettle sets up some more Go-Pros and Bug Sits down at the end of the street by the open commercial space he hopes will provide a safe enough place to throw around super hero stuff. The high tech flame thrower is in Bug’s lap. First a biker shows up on his ride and then right after a ’68 Ford Mustang rolls up. White with blue racing stripes, it was White Patriot’s car, but since Superfrog killed his ass “Fire Bug” has been driving it. 


 He has been referred to as Tank Boy, Fire Bug, Gun Bunny, names the superheroes of the city have been calling him for lack of anything else. And this is really “bugging” Bug. And this is the first thing Bug asks the pair as they walk up and demand the gun be turned over. The masked pyromaniac says he is the Jury and the Jury has reached a verdict. “The Jury finds you guilty and the judge has passed a sentence of death!” Acting nonplused, Bug sits there and takes Jury’s best punches. Bugs insect-mimicry powers allows him to take a tremendous beating so he only bruises his fists. He turns and gives the biker dude a “what-do-you-want-me-to-do-now” look. The grumbling, burly biker possibly has only one good eye. A black patch, cloth, covers his left eye. His bare arms are wreathed in Nordic and Celtic tattoos. Bug stands up and swats Jury fifteen feet and the pyro hits the gravel with a crunch and a yelp. Reico, who is believed to be the leader of the Civil Guard is angered his “disciple” has been pushed around, steps forward and with blue crackling energy emitting from his fist gives Bug a terrific blow. 

“How can you stand the power of my ensorcelled fist? Reico states surprised. If Bug had any witty banter he quipped back with, I missed it.

“Just smoke him, why don’t we just smoke ’em Reico? Jury pulls a gun from his jacket pocket.

“No, this man has some form of power. What I need is my avatar, my champion to deal with such insignificance as this, this… Hedge Wizard. He grabs both Jury’s arms. You will serve me as the true chaotic flame you are. I pass on to you the spirit of ever-living fire, I give you the essence of the great Fire Giant Surtr!” Reico’s hands and arms go a vivid grey blue. A blue fire rims his eyes and Jury is enveloped in a wreath of explosive fire. Jury screams in agony and collapses to the ground. Reico turns to Bug. Now he is growing larger, his muscles are rippling and his arms and face are grey-blue. Electrical energy crackles around him. “You will now feel the wrath of Wotan the purifier and now my avatar will unleash a cleansing fire!”

Jury is no longer screaming. He slowly rises to his feet, still wreathed in flame. The whipping red flames sing with the fearful souls of those he has burned to death in this city. He is laughing hysterically and blasts Bug with gouts of flame from his hands. Bug feels the sting of this unnatural gout of flame bathing him. In desperation he lashes out with the power of a Rhino Beetle and sends Jury flying 80'. The force of his blow renders the pyromaniac unconscious in a heap on the ground. 

Wotan roars in frustration and attempts to rend Bug with his bare, blue, and grey veined hands. The hero and villain dodge and weave. Wotan fighting as a highly skilled warrior would, Bug sort of letting his insect-mimicry powers make him float like a butterfly and sting like a bee! Bug lands some solid blows, but Wotan laughs them off. "You give me good sport little man." I have not had a good wrestling contest since I last visited Utgard!”

Bug manifests the stinging poison of the Murder Wasp and his chitin-tipped fingers sink into Wotan’s pulsing skin. The blue of his arm turns purple from the venom and Wotan flings Bug from himself. Witnessing the unfolding stalemate, Mettle uses her magnetic powers to rip the hood off the Mustang (dude!) and wraps it around Wotan in a vice-like grip. Arms pinned, Wotan roars with rage and insult. Unable to defend himself effectively Bug lands another solid, insect-enhanced punch. Spittle flies from Wotan’s mouth, he is inarticulate from his rage of being denied the punishment he wishes to inflict. Mettle wastes no time and hurls the metal-wrapped supervillain a ¼ mile in the air.

Bug follows with a giant leap of his own and tries to enhance Wotan’s journey into the pavement over a hundred and fifty feet below. A loud crunch follows Wotan’s plummet into the street. Asphalt is pulverized under him leaving a two-foot depression. But Wotan shakes it off! Now there is murder in his eyes! “I have no time for these foolish games. I have my champion again, so I now ride on Valkyrie wings to my destiny!” The giant blue man with one eye and bone beads in his hair scoops up his unconscious companion. With one gigantic leap he clears the nearby buildings. Bug and Mettle pass on chasing the transformed biker and collect their GoPros. Mettle is excited about the footage she believes was caught.

“I think we have our city arsonist on film flaming away. We are much closer to seeing some people in prison now.” Mettle says satisfied. “Some positive IDs and the Feds at least can come down on these two.

Wednesday, April 14

Bloody April Day One, Last Mission of the Day XIII Army Wing

Mission 5 Photo-Recon Road Network

Elton tells his escort he wants to switch it up, the NIE17s to take a high-altitude approach while the Fe2 comes in underneath them at 4K. “This will take 1,000 meters off my initial dive on target and give me more distance from any German aircraft. They may not see me if you two get in their face fast enough. We stack up and go in together.”

The two Americans nodded glumly and rolled their Lucky’s nervously between dry fingers and lips. They couldn’t take their eye off the sky. It was so wet.

“Lt. the planes are ready for takeoff.” This was the Flight Deck Officer on Duty (FDOOD) Adams. The Scotsman had seen fit to have his deck crew stay on top of the chocks under the flight’s wheels. No one was to leave a plane unattended once on the runway. The wind and rain made accidents more likely to happen which would damage planes. But even in this mid-day’s morass Adams still strutted with his clan bag pipes under arms. In tartan kilt Adams would follow behind the departing planes under his watch, the almighty screeching sound (which was the source of the 11ths squad mascot) of old Jacobite martial songs ringing out. Ballads of blood-frenzy, of doomed souls fighting to the last lifting them up into battle. All were glad not to hear any of it over the diesel engines when planes took off. 



The three pilots dashed from the assembly hall and under the wing of their planes as quickly as they could. Grounds crew hoisted them up and once secured they slid off the plane and the choks removed. Elton took to the air first followed by Brendon and then Tye. The three Americans had been through flight school together in Yorkshire so their flight plan was quickly set up. In fifteen minutes they should see the front lines.

Everyone but Reinhardt expected the Allies to throw it in for the day. The Roten Spinnen could claim three confirmed kills on the day. Two Fe2s and a Nieuport fighter. Dietmar has been confirmed a kill. The front reports his Alb2 was shot down by a lone Allied fighter over No Man’s Land. This has made the men sour along with the black weather and everyone wants to drink. No more flights, let us just drink.

The groan was palatable when the air raid siren warned of danger, another threat which must be met by the Spiders. Reinhardt was out of his tent before it sounded, it seemed. He was in front of Nicole’s tent when the grumbling Lt. stepped forth. “I got this sir. Those two fucking Italians need not sleep in any longer. Let me send them up Reinhardt. If they don’t make it back...” Here the Austrian gave an exaggerated shrug, revealing the true state of his intoxication. On his knees in the mud he waved two thickly-haired hands up in the air. “I say send the EYE-TALYUNSS!” Too late. Reinhardt did not expect the Austrian to hit the bottle until six o'clock. Nicole was a superstitious swine and kept to his routines, drinking like a fish from six to midnight being one of them, but he had never seen the Ace so blatently flirt with a court-martial. Maybe Nicole only flies when the Baron is in rotation. Manfred was on two days leave and may be reassigned anyways. 

He walked away from the blubbering Nicole and told the Deck Officer on Duty to pull out the Italian’s d2’s. “He doesn’t know about Diameter then.” Reinhardt mused. If Nicole found out in his current state his friend had been killed while he drank himself stupid he would likely end up shooting the Italians, some how reasoning it was the Dago’s fault.

Vasco and Teibaldo trotted out to their lime-green fighters purring on the runway. Despite their age the d2’a were in showroom condition. They were part of a gift from the Kaiser when the Italian’s made their disastrous junket into Ethiopia. Somehow this pair of fighters was left behind in the hangers of Sicily and forgotten. Vasco and Teibaldo, having the dubious fortune of never seeing action while in Libya, were recalled upon their discovery and sent to the Western Front to fly them. Reinhardt had no measure of their value as pilots. Perhaps Nicole has a point. No need to risk German lives when one doesn’t have to. Capt. Reinhardt gives his orders to the Italian aid and returns to his tent to finish his reports.

The pair of Italianians in their striking fighter planes stay in visual contact all the way to the front, but the weather has spread them a 1000m apart. At 3K Teobaldo’s Cativo Grifone is out of position to protect Vasco's Tutti tre Morti. Teobaldo spots the enemy bomber reported the same time he hears Vasco being shot at by two approaching Nieuport fighters. His orders are to attack all recon aircraft, but to do so would leave his wingman to die! Teobaldo hits the throttle and hammers the Alb2 up, up. The Allied fighters strike together in a head-on attack against Vasco. It is near suicide, but they do rip up Vasco’s plane. Every time he hits right rudder there is a violent shaking. He must have hit one of the Allied planes, it has dropped out of formation. The other NIE17 banks right for another pass. 

The damaged plane is the Sick Vulture, Brendon’s plane. The damage is so extensive a non-powered crash landing is inevitable. The squad will never get a definitive answer to which of the many planes that crashed down in No Man’s Land this day was his and if some how he survived.

Tye can only hope the recon plane is far from the fight now. He only cares to get his first kill and then head for home. He drops the Mad Sparrow’s nose and comes at the lower Alb2 as steep as he can. The Italian pilot can’t even get a snapshot off at the NIEU17 as it barrels by over his 10 o’clock. A hole ripped and flapped open where bullets danced down one of the wings. Teobaldo rolls the Cativo Grifone right and makes his wide turn to reengage. Tye points his plane back up and dares the green Albatross to follow. The pilot of the Cativo Grifone obliges and gives chase. The Tutti tre Morti dives, but not to attack. Vasco is seeking his wingman’s left. Per textbook. While not an aggressive move there is nothing to fault the Italian for flying “smart”. 

But aggressiveness has a quality all its own. Tye stretches the seconds he has ahead of the trailing d2. Quick bursts from its guns make it clear it is closing in on his six. Tye juggles his throttle and peddles. The Nieuport complains as Tye bends the tail over clockwise and begins a violent corkscrew, shedding altitude. His timing is well calculated. He gets five seconds of reversing the tables and trashes Teobaldo’s rudder controls. Vasco is now on Tye’s tail, but his aim is off in the stormy weather. The Mad Sparrow takes a few shots through the canvas, nothing more. Tye pulls an extreme loop which the Italian is unable to counter. “His plane must be crippled as well!” Tye thinks as the adrenaline pumps through him, the death-dealing cold all but forgotten in the heat of battle. Completing the loop Tye’s luck holds and is able to run a long burst through the Albatross from stem to stern. Black smoke pours from the stricken airplane and it careens towards the ground. More gunfire reminds Tye he still is in danger. Diving right and seeking a westerly course he gauges the last enemy plane cannot keep up. He points the Nieuport west, locks the throttle open and scans the skies until the front is well behind him.

Elton has already brought in the Fe2. He had taken the critical photos needed and the film had already moved up the chain of command. Hopefully it paid off, XIII Army had lost pilots and planes all day up and down the front. The 11th lost two planes and their pilots. 60th lost Crimson Claw, Comanche and Sick Vulture along with their pilots. Duke survived his crash landing but Swamp Fever and Duke would not return to the war. Six pilots in all. The “Night Sheets” could claim two D2’s shot down. They were losing 3-1. As far as the Royal Flying Corp is concerned the war in the air was proceeding on schedule and in their favor!

After debriefing Tye found Lee in his tent. “I was hoping you could tell me about your day.” Lee said. To entice the tired pilot he revealed an unopened bottle of Old Irish from inside uniform. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Not here, this place has no atmosphere. Follow me.” Tye had to hurry after the quick striding Lee. The urge for a drink was strong, overriding all present needs. If he was going to relive today’s action a stiff drink was the only sane thing to do. Lee kept walking, almost jogging now, across the soggy runway and towards the dark forest at the north edge of the aerodrome.

“Where are we going?” Tye asked again. Lee swatted the cigarette out of his hand before he could light it. “Shut up, you want to spoil it?” At the fence line Lee pulled back a small, ripped up part of the fence and held it expectantly. “What are you waiting for?” There was nothing to do but follow his lead. On the other side it was a wet ten-minute walk through the woods. Tye was going to demand a drink before he took another step forward when they came out on a cart track running behind the quiet homes of a French town. After passing three such places Lee stopped at a large, two-story brick building. Stairs in the back descended to a basement entrance and here Lee gave a sharp knock. Tye smiled as the door was open and warm light and warm music spilled out. There were some Canadian brass playing high-stakes Canasta and 6 French pilots entertained the hostess with their drunken pledges of eternal love. The mousy bar tender, a short, blue-buttoned gentleman in his fifties called “Popaul” offers the two Americans a table and lights another oil lamp. Glasses are produced, francs are passed and Lee pours the eagerly awaited Old Irish.

“Those bombers are going to get us killed.” Lee states flatly.

“Not the Germans?” counters Tye.

“Oh, Jerry will get us sure as anything. But they are going to do it a lot quicker while we play wet nurse to the 11th. Those Fe2’s have no business up there against these d3’s.”

“Well, the Fe’s are going up tomorrow. And we will be going up with them.” Tye salutes the granite hard truth with another swallow of the Old Irish.

“Yes, but how far do we have to follow them? As soon as Jerry shows up they are supposed to disappear leaving us to face the attack. I say we disappear and hunt Jerry before the bombers attract attention.” Lee has given this some thought since he saw Hildred and Taylor go up in flames. Three drinks deep he lays it out on the table for Tye. “We keep up with flying the bombers low, nothing above 3K, fighters at ceiling at 4.4K. As soon as we see trouble, we go at it. The bomber has really been on its own anyways. If the Germans want to shoot it down isn’t nothing we can do to stop it.”

“So what do you want to do, put the 11th on notice?” Tye was being sarcastic. Lee made to close the deal. Pouring Tye another glassful he said conspiratorially, “I tell Emmerson to put us together. As long as you don’t raise a stink it should be no problem. After that we do our best to stay tight up there and let the bombers fend for themselves. I guarantee Jerry will target an easy kill over two fighters who look like they know what they are doing.”

The French hostess of the speakeasy peels away from her countrymen, stands on the sturdy bench and begins singing a song currently popular among the men. The native pilots accompany her in the sodden shouts of the truly drunk while enthusiastically shaking the bench between red-flushed hands.

“Here, why don’t you hang onto this.” Lee passes over the whiskey bottle. “I’’ll go catch Emmerson before he turns in. I recommend on the way back you keep to the road. You’ll just fall in the river if you go back through the woods. The MPs won’t give you any trouble trying to get in to the aerodrome. I’ll make sure we get an afternoon mission tomorrow.”

Monday's Rain of Death, Western Front, April 9, 1917

 Jasta 11 has the superior phone network of the German Army to inform the aerodromes where and how many Allied planes are crossing “No Man’s Land”. The mission parameters for the Germans is simple. Reinhardt gets the report on the Allied flights in his sector and decides who goes up to take it out. Being a man of honor, he will be found most mornings taking the dawn patrol himself. The wire chatters away, 3 Allied planes crossing the frontier! Reinhardt calls for Norbert and Christian on deck. The Zum Ruhm, Rachieniel’s Ruin and Unruhinger Tod are pulled out on the runway and started. The brilliant red spider emblazoned on the tail sections stands proudly on the grey canvas stretched tight over the Albatrosses’ aerodynamic frame. The new d3 has turned the tables in the skies and the nimble NIE/17 withers under the sustained fire of the German’s twin Vickers. Reinhardt, as Ace, is the first up into the frosty morning. Raindrops begin to spit across the wings and soon the flight captain is heavy with the wet.


The fighter group climbs to 4K and soon spots the enemy. Two Nieuports are at 4K while the Fe2 is a thousand meters higher. The Allied strategy is to engage the Germans and let their recon plane cruise by unmolested. Reinhardt pulls back on his stick and begins his long climb to intercept the Fe2. Once he gets in range the Fe2 doesn’t stand a chance. The pusher-prop aircraft dives to increase speed, but the d3 is much faster. One well-sighted blast and Reinhardt rips past the flaming Fe2. Pieces of scrap and fuselage rain across the sky like tickertape. The Ace records his 6 kill, banks hard left and dives towards his wingmen. They must have rattled the Allied fighters. The Nieuports are diving for the home front and Norbert and Christian seem keen on pursuing. Reinhardt follows after until they see his wing-wag and the fighter group returns victorious to the aerodrome.

With Mission 1 a failure Mission 2 is sent immediately out. The rain is hard driving and the recon group climbs high hoping to get above the clouds. 4,500-5,000 meters and the rain is present. O’Dennell’s coordinates are the same as the last chap’s. And he didn’t come back. “When you see the Huns, dive to the deck and make your run.” This is what Workman had told everyone yesterday. “The fighters will keep the enemy off your tail long enough to take your photos. Remember, no photos means no successful mission. No successful mission and poor Teddy down there doesn’t get to go home!” I wonder if Workman forgot to follow his own advice? There was no debrief to be had so O’Dennell could only speculate.

Five more minutes and many compass corrections later O’Dennell starts to dive. He can’t see anything from the front perch of the Yorkshire Pudding this high up in the rain. The brown, ugly cut of the trench lines cones into view. No sign of his escort? Then the wet droning in the wind is ripped apart by screaming air and hissing bullets! A German fighter comes out of the black clouds on O’Dennell’s 10 o’clock, stitching his left wings and tail section. A Nieuport gamely follows in hot pursuit but the Albatross seems unphased by its fire. I wonder how much harder I can dive? O’Dennell wonders. Then, he can’t, doesn’t want to believe his eyes. A shadow, a fury of grey death rings yellow fire at him. He doesn’t even hear the growling diesel engine as the Alb3 kills him in the onslaught of head-on gun fire. The Fe2 lopes forward and spirals down with a dead man at the stick.

With two failed missions in a row the squads operational staff is in a panic. Emmerson suggests flying a decoy. Scrub mission 3 and send up instead a single bomber. At the plane’s ceiling, just like the last two. When the Germans scramble to intercept we send in a flight of Nieuports low and hit our urban bombing target of the day, Mission 4. The Germans should have less planes to throw at our bombing mission since we have three busy elsewhere.

Westly draws the short straw and is sent up in the Paradise Garden without escort. He is instructed to fly at ceiling towards the same point as the last two missions. When he has lured out German fighters, hopefully three of them, he is to turn around and fly back as fast as he can. 60th squad air control gives the bomber from the 11th ten minutes lead out before the flags are shown for the 3 fighters going out to conduct the real bombing mission. Taylor, Lee and Hildred in route have a mind only for vengeance. The squad has yet to see a bomber safely home and Jasta 11 has been chasing them away with their fields of twin-Vickers machine gun fire. The bombing target can wait. But no one challenges the Allied flight. They line up over the city road junction and toss their bombs over the side. Not until they are returning over the Allied lines do they encounter the d3 Gottes Verrater and the d2 Schuchtermer Rabe. Trying to use their numbers against the Germans, all three pilots head for the d2. Dietmar is no coward and both Albatross’ charge at the attacking Nieuports. The Crimson Claw is smoked by Korbinian but Taylor gets a lucky critical firing defensively and the Gottes Verrater ends up with severed elevator cables. Korbinian banks left in a bid for friendly lines. Lee and Hildred joust with Dietmar. All three planes are taking hits and Hildred breaks apart under a blast from Dietmar’s Vickers. Only Lee is left and he is not giving up until one of the two pilots remaining is dead. An engine hit forces the Schuchtermer Rabe to lose power and go into a glide. Lee makes another pass and kills the German with a well-sighted tail attack. HQ will call this mission a success! Lee sees it as the German side of the ledger still is not in the red!


With no break in the weather and the wet fields of muddy France being lashed by freezing rain XIII Army HQ orders another recon mission immediately. They have not received any useful intel from the Wall Cat’s today and are ordered to photograph road networks immediately behind the German trenches. HQ needs these photos or the ground attack tomorrow in this sector will be going in blind. Failure is not an option! Elton from the 11th and Brendan and Tye of the 60th are tasked with the group’s most important mission yet!