Ender101

Hiya! Sorry it took me so long to get mine in, its been a weird month for me schedule wise. Here we are: http://www.wyrd-games.net/showthread.php?37225-Iron-Quill-The-Curveball-Flicker-and-Fade&p=475871#post475871

Flicker and Fade Few mourners arrived for the funeral of Jack Flicker. Whether this was because the near freezing rain of the early autumn kept them indoors, or that Flicker was a conman, a rogue and a cheat could only be guessed at. Of the five people gathered around the cheap wooden casket, only one cried, the rest probably just showed up to make sure the rascal was really dead. The priest droned on uninterestedly about man’s time on Earth and the glory of the hereafter, and those listening paid little mind to the words or tone of the speech, only to mutter ‘amen’ where appropriate, and to yawn when it wasn’t. “Does anyone wish to say a few words about the deceased?” From the grunts and angry glares shot at the casket, there were, but nothing that should be said at a man’s funeral. The woman who had sobbed for the duration of the speech continued to cry. “May he rest in peace and be accepted by the glory of god almighty. Amen. Mr. Mortimer, the corpse is yours.” The priest, tall and lanky, mopped the top of his balding head with a handkerchief and pulled on a wide brimmed black hat before he bowed stiffly to those gathered and walked away. “Right then, you ‘eard the padre, bugger with all ye.” The woman just stared at the wooden planks of the shoddy coffin and balled. The gravedigger shifted from foot to foot uneasily as he waited for her to leave. One of the men took her by the arm and led her away. “Hear that Jackie boy?” One of the men spoke cruelly at the corpse. “Padre says to rest in peace. Cor,” the sound of the well-dressed young man hocking a glob of discolored spittle at Jack’s final resting place filled the air. “I say rot in hell you cheating mongrel. I hope some ressurectionist digs your arse out of there and plays hell with yae.” He walked around to the wooden grave marker and stared at it, ‘Jack D. Flicker’. They’d called him Jack ‘The’ Flicker when he was in the gang, the man could almost disappear into thin air, always finding little short cuts through basements and undergrowth. The man took a small knife and made a single cut in the wood, connecting the ‘l’ and ‘i’ on the grave marker to make a crude ‘u’. “Come on Roland, its bleedin’ cold out here.” The young men were well dressed and had what one might call a university bearing. Despite their gentlemanly clothes the group was unmistakably criminal. “Aye, too cold to properly mock the dead.” He turned to leave, pulling a recently patched bowler hat over his head before pausing and turning back to the open grave. “But don’t you worry none about Sally Jackie boy, me an’ the boys will take good care of ‘er.” They laughed and swaggered out of the soggy cemetery. Mortimer had watched the display uncaring and without any interest. He puffed on the last dregs of his cigar and flicked it into the grave, a gruesome grin on his face as he shoveled the damp earth onto earthly remains of Jack Flicker. Sally Williams stared vacantly around the messy room. She couldn’t believe that Jackie was dead. Gone forever in his wooden box in the ground. She remembered how alone she had been before she had met him, how he had taken her to his little studio to show her the art he was creating. She had known that every painting that he was working on was a forgery, and that this made Jackie a criminal, but he was an artist first, and he’d called her his muse. She had given him a small fortune to buy his paints and supplies, but no matter how much she gave him, his apartment was perpetually shabby and poor looking. She almost wished she had never met Jack Flicker, she felt even emptier and alone now than she had before she’d met the poor artist, before she’d become his muse, and looking at all of the half-finished masterpieces, knowing that each of them would be burned as soon as the guild officers found them the feeling only grew. It hurt to know that her poor strangled Jackie, her love’s only mark upon this world would vanish in a gush of flame and wisp of smoke. She felt tears well in her eyes again and she took a deep, shuddering breath to hold them back. She wouldn’t cry, not here. She stepped over to candle and lit it, carrying it around the spread the warm glow of the light to help the dying rays of sunset keep the darkness from the room. She looked at each of the paintings again, resolving to take a few home with her. She was busy staring into the eyes of a nude woman holding a leaf over herself when the lock turned in the door. Sally’s first thought was that Jack was coming home, but her hope turned to dread as she heard the hushed whispers on the other side. “Quiet you blundering oaf, this is a crib job, I don’t want the whole damned neighborhood crashing down on us.” She couldn’t hear the response but she saw the door open and Roland and his gang walk into the room. “Well, well, well lads, look what we ‘ave ‘ere.” Roland leaned on his cane while his gang filed in behind him. “I didn’t think that Flicker’s little wench would be here tonight. Lucky us.” He turned to one of the other ruffians and nodded towards the girl. “Martin, if you’d be so kind as to restrain Miss Williams. The rest of you lot, find the painting.” Sally didn’t know what to do, her eyes darted between the brute Martin, with his broken nose and callused knuckles and gang tearing Jack’s pictures out of their frames. She backed into the wall and stuttered. “S-stay back, I’ll scream!” “Go ahead, they always do in the end.” She backed into the bookshelf and a rolled up painting rolled from the top. Something about the rolled paper caught the advancing bully’s attention and he picked it up. “Oi, Roland, I think this is it.” He tossed it to Roland, momentarily caring more about the money they’d been promised than laying his hands on the girl. Roland deftly caught the paper out of the air and rolled it open, turning it so his men could see the dreadful image of a creature with a scythe and smoldering jack-o-lantern for a head. “Good job Martin,” he rolled it up again and walked towards the petrified Sally. “Thank you very much Sally, would ‘ave taken us all night to find this’un.” He made to slap her with the painting, but she surprised him and grabbed at it, bringing her heel down into Roland’s boot. “Bloody wench!” He gasped and turned to Martin, “What are you waiting for? Kill the harlot.” She screamed as Martin grabbed for her. But quiet suddenly the lights went out in the apartment, the door slamming as though a powerful breeze had blown it shut. Roland cursed as he twisted and pulled a concealed sword from the cane. “What’s next?” Sally screamed as Martin finally grabbed her, wrapping his thick, sausage like fingers around her throat. Roland ignored the thrashing of her feet and chocking as he and the other three men looked around the room for the invisible threat. He was glad when the choking stopped, he turned towards Martin to give him an order when he saw the champion boxer dead on the ground, his tongue bloated and blue sticking out, the life choked out of him. He spun around; his eyes wide with horror towards the slip of a girl that managed to kill his strongest man, only to see that she was prone on the ground, unconscious. “Look out!” One of his men yelled as an apparition emerged from a mirror with fingers spread, flying at the man and strangling him with an otherworldly noise, somewhere between a rasping wail and a scream. “Jack? Tha-that’s impossible!” He struck out with the strange metal sword, the point aimed right for the flickering ghost, but it was gone and he skewered his own follower. Roland screamed in horror and dropped the sword as fingers wrapped around his throat from behind. The gang leader’s last sight was a reflection of his own murder in the window. He could clearly see a transparent Jack standing behind him with his neck still displaying the gruesome bruises. Anguish filled eyes bored into his as the fingers tightened around Roland’s throat. Outside the apartment a tall, thin man stood with a Nipponese woman, looking up at the now darkened room. “Your ability to summon the vengeful spirits of the recently slain is becoming masterful, but why did you spare the woman?” She looked up at the teacher and smiled sadly, “I didn’t, Jack Flicker did.” ------------------------------------- (Mystery ingredients: The Power of Love, Jack-o-Lantern, Starving Artist. Word Count: 1500)

I'd love to take a swing at this Iron Quill ~b

Congratulations Chromium and El Indio! I very much enjoyed both of your stories, and indeed thought all of the stories that were submitted were wonderful and creative glimpses into a dark place that we all know and love. Well done on most improved Mister Monkey, keep up the good work and I look forward to seeing more of your work. And thank you to everyone who voted for my story. I had a lot of fun with this round and I'll definitely be coming back for the next Iron Quill.

Edited and updated.

Thank you for your compliment FearLord. The proportional comment was a hold over from my initial write up where I'd had a joke about Sasha's generous assets. But I dropped the joke due to word count, and I missed that part. I need to change that piece of description out.

I shall have to visit the Star even more frequently with this new performer to enchant the audience. Thank you for posting your story, I quite enjoyed it.

On any normal night at the Malifaux Museum of Natural History the doors would have been locked tight, the rooms and corridors would have stayed dimly lit if they were lit at all, and the only live souls walking the halls would be the security guards and curators. On any normal night the all prevailing silence would be oppressive and absolute. Tonight, however was not remotely normal. The halls of the museum were bright, loud and full of the most influential and famous personalities in Malifaux. The curators were dressed in their finest livery and the security guard had been tripled. The gala in honor of the newly discovered soul stone mask was in full swing and the museum was positively lively with noise and light. Laughter, clinking glasses and singing covered the hushed conversations and whispers floating around the corners of the main hall while the guest of honor sat under glass; propped up on an iron bar as she throbbed with a quiet power as the light of nearby gas lamps danced along its polished surface. The mask had the smooth features of sleeping woman, perfectly crafted eyelids faced the audience, and seductive lips seemed to pout, perhaps at its strictly voyeuristic role in the festivities. Every few moments one of the guests would come to stare at its beauty, to marvel at the craftsmanship that could sculpt sheer soul stone into a flawless and priceless artifact. Standing before it now was a tall, wiry man. He was reaching his middle years, with telltale sparks of iron flecked throughout his hair. His face was smooth and he stared intently at the artifact with blue, watery eyes. A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he took in every detail of the mask for the hundredth time. It was as unsettling as it was beautiful. Most of the face would have looked almost human if it hadn’t been sculpted without a nose. He could almost imagine that it could be the death mask of some human-reptile hybrid, and would have if he could see it for anything other than what she was. “It’s a beautiful piece, ain’t it Casper?” The tall man turned to face the southern accent that called out to him. His smile grew both wider and more strained as he met her eyes. “Eet is. Like so many of ze wonders here at our museum, including,” he grinned charmingly at her, “some of ze evening’s guests.” His voice was soft and smoky as he spoke; his own French accent infecting the words. Years ago he had been one of the most famous, if not the most notorious cat burglar on Earth before he had made his way to Malifaux less than four months ago. The woman standing across from him in the low cut black dress before him was one of his major competitors. “You’re a shameless flatterer Casper,” but she didn’t correct him. Looking at Sasha Grey, thief would not be the first profession to spring to mind. One could easily imagine her as a singer or dancer on the stage of the Star, or posing in front of a camera’s lens before appearing on billboards and posters around the city. He found his eyes drawn to her scandalously exposed and impressive décolletage, not only for the view, but because of the necklace made of finely cut, glittering soul stones that hung around her freckled shoulders. “But it won’t do you a bit of good,” her voice lowered and she leaned forward, improving the view considerably. “That mask is for me, and you won’t stop me this time.” She smiled wickedly before she sauntered off into the crowd, her body moving hypnotically as she trailed away. He blinked and looked back towards the mask, the pale glow of the soulstone reflecting in his eyes. “Don’t worry mon cher, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you two apart,” Casper muttered as he too, stepped back into the party. The party faded after the Governor General’s speech, as it was the head curator’s turn next, and the guests found reasons to depart with almost indecent haste. As the guests filed out and the oblivious words of the head curator echoed to those brave enough to remain, the museum began its trek back towards normalcy: the rooms were swept, the lights were dimmed, and the doors were securely locked and barred. But it wasn't quite normal yet. Of all the guests, only one man remained inside the building. Like a ghost he had evaded the guild guards and security officers, waiting until they would be dulled by the quiet of night. With agonizing slowness he rose from his hiding spot, underneath an exhibit of a sarcophagus from Earth. He stepped away from his hiding spot and surveyed the room, stepping up to the various lamps and dousing them. He paused as the last lamp and listened to the air, nodding to himself as he turned the lamp off and darkness enveloped the room. Casper moved to the shadow of a nearby pillar as he felt more than heard the mouse quiet footsteps of Sasha approaching. He carefully peered around the corner, watching her as she looked for him. Her face was shrewd as she stared into the darkness of the corners of the room, looking for a trace of her rival, but her human eyes saw none. Finally she decided that she was alone with her treasure, and she set about freeing the object from its case. With extreme care and slowness Casper approached her, circling the architecture of the room to avoid her sight or instincts that something was where it shouldn’t be. He watched her as she carefully removed the glass and delicately lifted the mask from its metal prop. He watched without lust as she reached between her breasts and produced a small, ebony figurine of a knight and balanced it on the prop for all to see. It was her calling card, the pet name she had adopted for their profession, the Black Knight. It was a clever enough name, as it always assumed by the autorités that the Black Knight was a man. He approached her, quietly in the dark and produced a black jack. He was standing behind her as she continued to gaze at the mask, hypnotized by it. She collapsed into a heap as he brought the sap down on her skull. As soon as he’d seen her collapse he knew that time was against him. Any moment now a guard could wander by and see him as he performed the ritual. He laid Sasha on her back and pulled the soul stone necklace from her body, the line broke and they scattered around the area. His deft fingers shot out and grabbed the two longest. He smiled as they glowed in his hand. With a speed and delicacy only a man of his experience and profession could wield he lifted the mask and held the shards of soul stone directly behind the sleeping eyes. They held there, like magnets against the back of it. He saw that she was starting to stir and he grimly straddled her as she began to regain her senses. “Casper?” She moaned in fright. “Wh-why are you doing this? What are you doing?” Her words were slurred, and her voice raspy, she saw him placing the mask over her face and she tried to scream for help, but his weight on her drove the air from her lungs. Sasha tried to turn her head, but she was paralyzed from the light of the icicle points settling less than a scant inch above her eyes. Casper said nothing as he pulled a wooden hammer from his belt and brought it down on the mask, right between the eyes as a chime filled the room. Her scream turned to a gurgle as the mask slammed against the hard bone. He knew that behind the mask her face was a ruin; that her features would be flattened and her eyes gouged. She twitched beneath him and he brought the hammer down again, the chime echoing louder around the chamber. Slowly Casper removed himself from corpse, watching in awe as the face glowed with the power of Sasha’s soul sucked into the mask. The eyes blinked open blearily and the lips moved with a gasp. She woke by degrees, moving her fingers and hands before struggling to find her feet. Casper held her arm for her as she found her balance, and then fell immediately to his knees. The mask was an artifact no more, but an animated face, the eyes looked around the room and settled on him kindly. Her blue tongue, sticky with Sasha’s blood, ran over the full lips. “Well done my servant,” the ethereal voice cooed as she pulled the man who had freed her to her bosom. “Well done my Casper.” -------------------------------- Updated! I hope you enjoyed, and encourage your comments and critiques. Ingredients used: The Black Knight, Soul Stone Necklace, Becoming the Necklace.

I'll throw my lot into this as well, I've got a few twisted ideas rolling around here someplace.] http://www.wyrd-games.net/showthread.php?36441-Iron-Quill-In-the-Dark-of-the-Night-Behind-the-Mask&p=464930#post464930

In my last game with Collette, Tuco found himself in lace. It was the only model of my opponent's that I killed (too busy getting my victory points to concentrate on trying to kill his tankish neverborn, which ended us in a tie) and he was dolefully unimpressed and it was a sore point for him for the rest of the game. I tried it a few times throughout the game, but was unlucky in either the spell fizzling or a red joker being flipped for resist. The funny thing is, he tabled me except for Collette and a few manufactured doves hiding in the far corner of the table and he was still sour about Tuco's new found career.

I love your bases, the oxidized copper looks amazing with the gears. Did you make the effect yourself, or did you find some awesome pieces as is?

The CD is Emilie Autumn's 'Ophiliac', which has a great steampunk, 1800's industrial vibe. Perfect for painting Malifaux to. I highly recommend looking her up on youtube, she has an amazing voice and humorous songs. I do plan to paint a showgirl in similar colors, I'm waiting for Angelica to be released and then she'll probably get the Emilie treatment.

I finally got my Colette crew painted and based. I received the crew from my brother as a birthday present back in July, and they've been sitting on my table in various states of assembly and repair for months. This is the most ambitious project I've attempted with a crew so far, thanks to the bases. Each is a wooden coffee stir-er, widdled down and glued to the base, and then stained with two-three coats, before the painted lasses were attached. I'm especially proud of Colette and Cassandra due to the accessories I put on the base. The stage lights are bits from Warmachine that I cut up and glued to a metal bit. The copper and gold dry-brushing that I put on Colette looks like rubbed off paint in the picture. Cassandra's microphone and speaker were a pain and a half to assemble. The base is a piece of plastic I cut from some old nail accessory thing, the base is a piece of paper clip, and the microphone is a sniper sight widdled down and shaped from some extra Warhammer bits. The wire is actually from drilling a the speaker, the plastic twisted around the drill bit and instead of throwing it away, I used it instead. The speaker itself is actually a heavy duty nail head, painted black and then dry brushed copper, cut down and placed in an accessory from an old 40k bit. So, without further ado, I present the Star theater's main attraction, Colette du Boise!

Thanks for this Tactica Sandwich, I've been using it for almost a year now and I learn something new every time I poke my head in to see what's changed. Its very helpful to new and experienced Seamus players alike. :thumb:

I like the idea of the Disney Princesses, it makes me chuckle to think of a shambling Cinderella holding a cracked glass slipper. Also, an Alice type Belle would be a perfect fit with the crew. But I think Malifaux could have plenty of pretties for Seamus (or the other ressurectionist masters, didn't it say somewhere that McMourning at least knew the secret to making belles, or did I make that up to justify putting belles in my crew? Hmm.) to kill and raise. I'm thinking of women he might see walking on the street, in posters, or even at hotels and taverns. Some examples could be: Street vendors (could hit people with signs) Maids (with tea set) Cooks Female M&SU members (possible spoof on Rosie the Riveter?) Actresses or dancers (maybe one of Collette's girls stayed out too late) Malfiaux citizens, ladies who used to Seamus's customers

Killjoy as Jabba. The Peacekeeper, with special guest appearance as an AT-AT. And Collodi as IG-88.

Thank ya'll kindly. Mighty fine welcome I'm findin' 'round here. =P I suspect every forum post from now on will include 'clever' misspellings to 'accent' my points and opinions (forgive me, I can't help myself, ask N0rdicNinja, he'll tell ya). I can't wait to start throwing up battle reports with commentary from Billy and other special guests of course. I hope that they put out a pen and paper suppliment someday, that would make for great fun. They have coloring books, anything is possible, eh partners?

The man in the dusty black guild uniform sits heavily in a rickety arm chair in one of Malifaux’s many, many drinking establishments, his half brushed boots perched on the table as he puffs away on cigar. As ya’ll approach, he lifts his head just enough to see ya under the brim of his wide hat, his fingers flinching ever so slightly towards the pistol half concealed by his jacket. “Ah, its just ya’ll again, prob-ly lookin’ to hear yerself a story of ol’ Bill Rhaine’s.” The tired lookin’ lawman blows a ring of smoke out of his mouth and gives you the once over. “Well, I guess it cain’t hurt none. Name’s William, but just call me Bill or Billy. Never mind all that hog wash ya might’a heard about me before I came here, heh, I suppose I should say ‘sent’ here to Malifaux. First, just to set the record straight, I never robbed no stage coach. I wasn’t even in the county when that happened. Didn’t matter none to the guildsfolk though, oh no. Whole shipment of soulstones goes a missin’ and somebody gots to take the blame. Just happened to be ol’ Billy here.” He sighs and puts out his cigar, lifting the brim of his hat with his thumb. “Yep, tried, convicted and sentenced to six years hard labor here in ‘faux. They musta thought I’d go along, meek as you please. Everybody knew Billy couldn’t do nothing well to begin with, piss poor farmer for one. I can’t grow nothin’ friend, there was this one time I was growin’ corn,” rolling his eyes the gunslinger waved with his hand, dismissing the idea. “Ya’ll don’t care about my farmin’ exploits. Suffice to say I gots me some gangrene-thumb instead of just a green one. Anyways, nobodied miss Billy, all he was good for was drinkin’, gamblin’ and ruttin’. And that’s what my ma says about me.” “Shooot, fella, you sure you’re really interested in all this whooey? Ah well, more curiosity than sense I guess. But yea, some local guildsman wanted to make a name for hisself and collared me on my way home from the saloon, lied his cheatin’ tongue off and got me thrown in jail before a judge whose head was so far up his arse that he couldn’t see for all the dung between his eyes. Hot damn if I ever meet either of those licepickin’cattlerustln’scumsuckers again I’ll tear their throats out.” He broods for a moment, his finger caressing the grip of his pistol. “So I found myself on the morning train through the breech, which was thoroughly unpleasant, which ya’ll probably remember yerselves.” He suppresses a shiver and pinches a waitress as she walks on by, getting himself a tall whiskey. “So I stuck around for maybe a week in the mines when I overhears some of the other prisoners planning a jail break. Well, between you me and the whiskey, if there’s one thing Bill Rhaine’s good at, its getting out of trouble and back into mischief. So I wait till they make their move and after the guards go after them, I sneak down into the mines while those other poor sobs just sat there lookin’ confused, and the guard that was supposed to be watching me too busy trying to look imposing infront of his compaitriots. Shooot, never seen anything easier. So they had themselves a roll call, saw I was missin’, and sent out a posy. All I had to do was wait around for the noise to stop and make a runner of it.” “Now I ain’t a violent man, that’s for certain, or at least it was before I found myself on the run from the guild, trying to stay ahead of monsters you wouldn’t believe out there. So I found myself a guildsman one day, a dead one, a death marshall not too far away. I’m not sure what happened to these fellas, but there wasn’t a lot of mess. So I grabbed their guns, their hats and their coats and added them to my growing collection of firearms.” “Now, some folk came upon the two fine gentlemen and found something or other I must of left behind, cause soon as ya could say jackolope I’ve got Sam goddamned Hopkins on my tail with Criid thrown in on the side. We musta crossed paths, oh, five or six times in a few months. They’d shoot me, I’d shoot at them. I’d get my leg busted in a bear trap. They’d cuff me and eventually I’d escape.” He lifts his black pant leg and displays a near perfect circular scar, the tissue white from where Sam’s hunting tools bit him. “Then one day, the whole lot of them stop, which was fine by me, let me tell you. Far as I was concerned, if I never saw those trigger happy witch hunters again it would be too soon. So I went along my way, happy as could be expected, dodgin’ lawmen, joining up with crews lookin’ for a scrap, and earning a little pay. I was hopin’ I could just turn over a new leaf and be done with it, but I hadn’t been counting on Criid takin’ an interest in me." “Now I’m not saying its cause a mah stunnin’ good looks or nothin’, she liked my, how did she put it, ah –spark. So they caught me again, this time with some giant, mechanical cat. Harpoon got me right in the shoulder. Dang thing dragged me right over a bear trap. I’d learned my lesson the last time though, I always wore these metal bracers on my legs. Whooie, I thought Sam’s eyes were gonna pop right outta his head. So they chase me for about half an hour, and I gets harpooned again, and Sam and three stalkers come up and tie me up real nice. So while we waited for his boss we talked. I had a nice conversation with Sam about things and watched the witchlings mill about and watch me with their creepy, jerky like faces. So they catch me, and she gives me a choice, a full pardon and work for her as one of her agents that she’ll drag around whenever she’s in town, or Sam could shoot me in the head.” “Heh, I told her I’d have to think about it.” He lifts his coat leaf and shows a shiny guild star. “Guess you can guess what I chose, eh friend? Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta have a nice conversation with that lady from the ortegas over there.” He licked his palm and fixed his hair. “Wish me luck.” - Howdy ya’ll, I’ve been a member of the forums for awhile now, long time lurker. I finally got my first box today (had a grand ol’ time getting my group of friends to commit to the game let me tell ya), and it was none other than Sonia Criid. I use a warmachine model (Allistar Caine) as a Convict Gunslinger, AKA Billy Rhaines. I'm also working on my Red Chappel Gang, I got Seamus himself, and I'm gonna get some alternate belles, so I'll post some pictures when that's all said and done. So now that I officially own a box, I thought I’d introduce myself. So consider ya’ll introduced upon.

Excellent report, great style and I loved the story segment.