Prunesquallor

Thanks everyone! I've just posted Part 2 of the Rathnard interview to the site. It's essential listening for Zoraida players (or those playing against Zoraida). Have also posted show notes for episode 2 and a listing of the music we used and the book we talked about (with links).

(Note: To hear this story read by mistercactus, a trained Shakespearean actor, please tune into Episode 2 of our Malifaux podcast: The Aethervox). This story is part three of an ongoing series: Part 1: 'The Circus is Coming to Town' Part 2: The Auxiliary *** Mulligan heard footsteps, heavy and uneven, accompanied by a low muttering sound. The were coming closer. Hardly daring to breathe he peeped out from behind the barrel of salt-fish where he hid. There they were: the twins. The only light was that which seeped down through cracks between the floorboards from the rooms above, but the boy had been hiding down there for most of the night and his keen eyes had long since adjusted to the inky darkness of the storage cellar. Mulligan could hardly believe it but the twins looked just like the sketch that Mr. V had shown him. They weren’t quite one person, but not quite two either. They shared a single pair of legs but above the waist their bodies diverged, torsos twisting away from one another to make room for two pairs of arms and shoulders, two necks and two heads. They wore a specially tailored quadruple-breasted suit, belted at the waist. Four pistols hung from that belt. One wore a porkpie hat on his head, the other a bowler. They each carried a briefcase. Mulligan checked his pocketwatch. It was a beautiful, brass-cased timepiece. The hands had been dusted with powdered soulstone and they glowed faintly in the dark. He noted the time on a scrap of paper. Mulligan’s gang used to be called the Tricklewood Gang, but he was thinking of changing the name to the Pocketwatchers because that’s what they did now—they watched people. They used to be pickpockets and bullies, stealing from gullible adults and the other gangs of street kids who hung around Tricklewood Alley, but everything had changed the night they had been caught breaking into the old scrap yard in search of weapons. Mr. V’s men had caught them and locked them in an old shed full of rusty machinery and scrap metal. Mulligan hadn’t let on to the others, but he had been terrified. He was sure they would be left there to starve to death, or worse. He had even begun to plan who they should eat first, if it came to that. Tanner was his second-in-command, so he was out of the question. Little Groggy would be the easiest to overpower, but Lizzie-the-Limp would have more meat on her bones. “What are we gonna do, boss?” Tanner had asked. “Look for a way out,” Mulligan had growled, trying to sound confident and angry. “And try to find some things to use as weapons in case they come back.” When the door finally opened again the four of them were huddled in a corner, shivering with cold, clutching lengths of lead pipe in their fists. Lizzie-the-Limp had charged at the men, screaming and swinging the pipe wildly, as they had planned, but Tanner had started to cry: “We’re very sorry, sir. We was just playing. Honest.” The big miners at the door had easily disarmed Lizzie and then an older gentleman had entered and shook their hands and said his name was V. He said he forgave them for trespassing on his property but that they would have to do him a favour to make it up to him. And that was how it had begun. They had started out spying on low-ranking Guild personnel, reporting their comings and goings to one of Mr. V’s assistants at the scrap yard. Most of the inhabitants of Malifaux ignored the city’s street urchin population as much as possible and this allowed Mulligan and his gang to perform their missions exceptionally well. They were able to hide in shadows and crannies, and even just stand in plain sight, without drawing attention. After their first mission Mr. V began to pay them a small salary for their services. One evening, after following a guardsmen all day—from his home to the Guild offices to the Star Theatre and back home again—Mr. V’s assistant asked Mulligan what time the man had left work. Mulligan said that it was just before sundown, but he had to admit that he didn’t know how to tell time. The man was clearly angry and Mulligan thought that that would be the end of their missions, but the next day Mr. V himself had come to find them and gave them each a brass pocketwatch. He spent several hours teaching them how to read the time and record the information with pencil and paper. After that Mulligan and his gang received more missions than ever. The money that Mr. V paid them for their work went towards buying food and equipment and weapons. Mulligan bought Groggy a lockpick kit, Lizzie a switchblade and Tanner a set of smoke-bombs. He also sometimes paid other gangs to beat up kids who were pickpocketing or bullying in his territory. “Why does Mr. V want to know where all these people go all the time?” Lizzie-the-Limp had asked one day. “Shut up. It’s none of your business,” Mulligan had replied, as if he knew the answer. In reality he was just as baffled as she was. The actual work of tailing the marks was always exciting, but the information he handed over to Mr. V at the end of the day was just a bunch of boring numbers. Mulligan didn’t get it. *** When Mr. V had first shown Mulligan the drawing of the twins he thought it was a joke. He had laughed: “There’s nobody who looks like that.” “You may be right,” Mr. V had said. “All the same, I want you and your gang to split up and wait in the basements of these four buildings,” he pointed to the four X’s drawn on a rough map of downtown Malifaux. “Bring food and water with you. Wait all day and all night if you have to. If you see the men in this drawing I want you to record the exact time and then come immediately to me. But don’t let them see you. I have reason to believe they are extremely dangerous...if they exist at all.” Mr. V’s words ran through Mulligan’s mind as the twins passed within mere inches of his hiding place. He could hear their words now. They muttered back and forth to one another in rapid-fire fragments of speech: “Built two-hundred years....yes, but restored dozens of times...we did one of them?...two, actually...original beams...load bearing, can’t be removed...joined to another...of course...” They were past Mulligan now, heading towards the low door in the far wall of the cellar. Mulligan peered round his barrel again. The twins stood with their backs to him. One of them drew a huge key ring from his pocket. There must have been at least a hundred brass and iron keys dangling from that ring. The twin with the bowler hat thumbed through them rapidly. They clicked together as he searched for the right one. Very carefully, Mulligan stretched his painfully cramping legs. All of a sudden the keys clattered to the ground and the twins whirled around. They moved with uncanny speed, drawing all four pistols at once and pointing them right at Mulligan. The boy froze in terror, finding himself unable to move, unable even to duck back behind the barrel. He just stared stupidly into the four slender barrels and they stared back for what felt like hours but must have, in reality, been only a few seconds. “What was that?” said porkpie hat, at last. “Dunno. Just a shadow maybe,” replied bowler. He seemed to relax and he holstered his guns, but porkpie kept his drawn and stared harder into the shadows where Mulligan hid while his brother bent from the waist to retrieve the fallen keys. “I feel we’re being watched.” “Don’t be silly.” Bowler hat had found the key he wanted now and unlocked the little door. “I think we should have a hunt ‘round this basement before we go through.” “We haven’t got time for that. Mr. Magpie wanted these soulstones delivered an hour ago.” He patted his briefcase. “It was probably just a rat.” Bowler swung the door open and picked up both briefcases. The twins stepped through, still bickering back and forth. As they crossed the threshold there was a blinding flash of light. By the time the afterimage cleared from Mulligan’s vision the twins were gone. It was a long time before he dared to move, but when he finally crawled out from behind the barrel Mulligan couldn’t resist tip-toeing up to the door. With trembling hands he tried the knob. It turned easily and he pulled the door open a crack. Beyond was nothing but a small storage room full of coal. There was no other exit but the twins were nowhere to be seen. Mulligan bumped into Groggy in Halfmile Street, on his way back to Mr. V’s scrapyard. The boy seemed very excited and he tried to tell Mulligan what had happened as they hurried through the streets, but he kept tripping over his words: “I saw them...I saw them...the twins! They came through...both had hats...and briefcases...but they couldn’t have come...the door didn’t go there...but there was a big flash...then, there they were...but I’m sure they didn’t come from...” Mulligan interrupted him: “Did you remember to record the time?” “Course I did. It’s right here, see?” Groggy handed over a piece of paper. Mulligan stopped and stared at it. “You must have written it down wrong, idiot. That’s the same time that I saw them. They can’t have been in two places at once.” “No, it’s right. I’m sure,” said Groggy. “I triple-checked the pocketwatch, just like Mr. V showed us. It must be you who got it wrong.” Mulligan gave Groggy a whack and a glare. He heaved a sigh and they continued towards the scrapyard. Mr. V would be furious. He had stressed over and over again the importance of precision when recording the time that the twins were sighted. When they arrived at the shack Mr. V was there speaking in urgent tones to a tall woman in a long, dark coat. He looked tired and worried. When he noticed the boys approaching he stopped mid-sentence and his expression changed. He grinned at them and spoke in the gentle tone he always used: “And what have my little spies discovered about our conjoined friends?” With a heavy heart Mulligan handed over the scraps of paper and explained what happened, with Groggy chirping up now and then to add details of his own. Mr. V listened patiently throughout and when they were finished he told them they had done an excellent job and gave Mulligan his usual fee plus a small bonus. Then he told them they should come back tomorrow for the next part of the operation. *** When the children were gone Victor Ramos turned back to the tall woman and showed her the scraps of paper. “Look at this. They stepped through a door in Cheapside and appeared six miles away in Haymarket Close.” “Just like I told you,” replied Colette Du Bois. “A trick like that could prove invaluable to our operations, don’t you think?” “Yes. But who are these men?” “They are circus performers and mercenaries. But before Mr. Magpie recruited the twins they were restoration architects, working here in Malifaux. They know more about the architecture of Old Malifaux than anyone else alive.” “And how did they pull off a trick like that?” Collette did not answer immediately, but she stared at the sketch of the two men, then at the city map. “It seems our friends here are not the only things that are conjoined in unnatural ways.” Victor rubbed his brow. The twins’ incredible trick could prove invaluable to him. He yearned to know the scope of their ability. “How much do these men charge for their services?” “They’re not cheap,” said Collette. “And Victor, one more thing, they are already working for the Guild.” “What?” Victor stared at her, wide-eyed. “I believe they are helping to transport one of Secretary Lucius’s personal soulstone reserves to a secret vault beneath the Haymarket district. But don’t worry. We can turn this to our advantage. Mr. Magpie and his crew are mercenaries, plain and simple. All we have to do is pay them more.” Victor Ramos rubbed his hands together. “Whatever they charge, we’ll pay it. Lucius is going to get a nasty surprise.”

It's finally here. Sorry for the wait everyone, but episode two of The Aethervox is finally up. It's chock full of new segments, and includes a fantastic interview with Rathnard on playing Zoraida. Hope you enjoy it: http://theaethervox.com/

We're editing Episode 2 now - and it's a monster. Sorry for the wait guys, but we're really happy with how Ep2 is turning out. I think it'll be worth it. It will be up soon...

If you need a snack while playing Malifaux...

We're editing Episode 2 now. It's going to be great. We have a continuation to our ongoing fluff story, three brand new segments, and best of all an awesome, mammoth interview with Rathnard about Zoraida. Can't give an exact ETA, but definitely within the next week. We'll post here as soon as it's up. Sorry to keep you waiting.

First person Mario: [ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1p0Yap5iG6o]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1p0Yap5iG6o[/ame]

One more further comment and then I'll shut up: I think Zoraida is a bit of an "exception that proves the rule" in Malifaux. Her lack of porn-star proportions apparently makes her so remarkable that is has earned her the nickname "Saggy Boobs" on these very forums. I mean c'mon: she's a powerful witch who can see into the future, turn into a crow, and make voodoo dolls come alive. Let's get over her boobs already. They're not her most remarkable feature. In fact, they're probably the only realistic pair in the game! I can't help but feel that this kind of culture - in which female characters who do not conform to an outrageous standard of beauty are given demeaning and objectifying nicknames (an overwhelmingly male culture, remember) - just might be off-putting to some women. Zoraida is a great character, and she proves that you don't have to be sexy to be a compelling woman in the game, but it's a shame that as a community we essentially reduce her to her boobs with a nickname like that.

Just as a postscript, I think the most egregious example of how women are represented in miniature games is Blood Bowl. The Amazon team feels hopelessly token. It's worth noting that all the other teams are defined by their race - you've got the Elf team, the Orc team, the Human team, and than - separate and distinct from the Human team - you have the ladies team: the Amazons. It's as if women are an exotic race, as different from ordinary (male) humans as all the other fantasy races.

Funny, I was just recording a segment on 'Women in Malifaux' for the podcast, and now I discover this thread. Interesting discussion here. I think Malifaux is a very interesting game in terms of how it represents women. The female characters are certainly hyper-sexualized - no question. But Malifaux is, of course, a "heroic scale" miniature game where everything is larger than life. In order to create vivid, compelling characters the game has to exaggerate, and a fantasy game seems like the perfect place to indulge in fantasies of this nature...let's face it, there's something very seductive about a sexy lady in skin-tight clothing carrying a deadly weapon. This becomes problematic, however, when almost every female character in the game follows this same blueprint. The implication becomes that in order for female characters to be compelling she must be sexy. This is the problem, and what makes Malifaux (and almost all pop culture) off-putting to some women. There are plenty of women who love the idea of sexy, dangerous women, just as some men do, but if that's the only representation going, a lot of women will be turned off the game. However, I think that depicting all women as sexy and dangerous is far less problematic than depicting all women as the passive, useless damsels-in-distress that are the classic fantasy trope, and I maintain that Malifaux gets things right in far more important ways than it gets them wrong. The women in Malifaux are powerful, compelling characters, with tons of personality and diversity. They are magic users, close-combat experts, gunslingers, witches and witch-hunters. Some rely on subtlety and cunning, other are tough-as-nails fighters who charge into close combat at the first opportunity. Some are marginalized outlaws, others are in positions of authority and leadership. This is great and extremely refreshing to see in a miniature game. Now if only the female characters had as much diversity in their physical appearance we'd really be getting somewhere (and yes, Zoraida and Abuela are a step in the right direction).

For Seamus, "We're All Mad Here", from Tom Waits's Alice: [ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nyx0PtzQQM]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nyx0PtzQQM[/ame]

China Miéville! I can't recommend him enough. Fantastic books that combine steampunk with Wild West, high seas adventures and radical politics. Start with Perdido Street Station and if you like that, read The Scar and Iron Council. Iron Council probably has the most direct resemblance to Malifaux, because it draws heavily from the Western genre. I also just finished as book called Whitechapel Gods, by S.M. Peters. It's very close to Malifaux in feel. Takes place in a subterranean section of Victorian-era London that's ruled by a pair of mechanical gods: Grandfather Clock and Mama Engine.

Scythewing: We're one step ahead of you :-) We already have a couple of interviews in the works with some folks from the board who have written tactica. But we're looking for more. If any Malifaux veterans out there have tactical insights about a particular master, crew, or faction that they'd like to share on the podcast in a Skype interview, please get in touch: theaethervox@gmail.com

Thanks so much to everyone for all your kind words and support. We're humbled and thrilled by all the support we've received since we launched. It's making us all the more excited for Ep 2.

Yep. The plan is to make this an episodic serial (modeled after the fluff in the rulebooks) that progresses over the course of the different episodes. Thanks so much for all your kind words!

(Note: To hear this story read by mistercactus, a trained Shakespearean actor, please tune into our Malifaux podcast: The Aethervox). *** Morgan Galbraith knew she was being followed. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. If she listened carefully she thought she could pick out soft footfalls that stopped when she stopped, started up again when she started. The meeting of the Miners and Steamfitters Union Women’s Auxiliary had run very late. It was well past midnight and the streets were nearly empty. Earlier that evening, in the bright warmth of the Union Hall, Morgan had tabled a motion to create a militia, a fighting force that could protect the picket lines during a strike and provide sergeants-at-arms and security personnel for the ever-more-risky Union meetings. Just the week before, several Guild spies had been caught trying to infiltrate a meeting of the Ways-and-Means Committee. The ensuing brawl had brought the Guard down on them and three Union members were now behind bars for assaulting an officer of the guard and disturbing the peace. As an unofficial arm of the Union, the Women’s Auxiliary could engage in resistance and subversion activities without further jeopardizing the Union’s already-tenuous legal status. Morgan’s proposal had been controversial and caused fierce debate. There had been those in the hall who had argued that women would not be able to hold their own against men in combat, that men were bigger and stronger and that they would simply be laughed at if they tried to fight. Morgan had replied by drawing her wide-mouthed pistol and shooting one of the chains that held the meeting hall’s huge iron chandelier. There was no risk of it dropping, but the great hunk of metal and flame had slewed impressively to one side and began to swing back and forth, eliciting gasps and a few screams from the women assembled below. Morgan held the smoking gun in her upraised fist and spoke in a voice that was almost a shout: “My sisters, is rock not harder than flesh? Is metal not stronger than bone? Is the force exerted by pressurized steam not more powerful than the force exerted by even the strongest muscles? And yet our Union brothers use the fruits of technology to break rock, to bend metal and to harness the power of steam. We too can use the fruits of technology to pierce flesh, to break bone, to tear muscle. Believe me ladies, with the right training and equipment a woman can be as powerful and dangerous as any man.” A great cheer went up in the hall and it took several minutes to restore order. There was broad support for the idea amongst the rank-and-file, but there were many dissenting voices, women who thought the Auxiliary should limit itself to baking pies and organizing social events. The Chair adjourned the meeting before a vote could be called. The matter would have to be debated at the next meeting. The seed had been planted, but Morgan still had a lot of work to do. Plans would need to be laid, a budget would have to be drawn up. She had no patience for stalkers that night. Morgan ducked into Cheapside Alley, knowing it was a cul-de-sac. When she reached the high wall at the alley’s far end she whirled about, her pistol in her hand. Whoever was following her would have to confront her now. “Show yourself,” she called. “Show your face or I’ll shoot you right now.” A woman’s form appeared at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the lights of Penderlite Street. Her face was hidden in shadow. “Miss. Galbraith,” called the woman. Her voice was low, a gravelly growl that was full of menace, with a heavy accent. “I heard your speech tonight at Union Hall. I was impressed. You are clearly a woman of great courage and spirit.” Morgan relaxed a little, but did not lower her gun. Perhaps her stalker was nothing more than one of her Union sisters come to offer her support, but it was also possible she was a Guild agent come to intimidate her, or worse. The woman moved slowly up the alley, towards Morgan. She walked with an unnatural gait; it was almost like a limp, but there was something in it that hinted at great agility and speed. She continued to speak as she advanced: “If I were a member of your organization I would offer you my support. Unfortunately, circumstances make that impossible. However, I may be able to do something even more beneficial for your cause.” The woman stepped into a pool of weak light that escaped from one of the small windows that opened onto Cheapside Alley. She wore a long cloak, buttoned at the throat, and heavy fur gloves. The woman’s face remained swathed in unnatural shadow: “You see, I believe the Guild has made a serious error in judgement. They hope to nip your militia in the bud...” Morgan cocked her pistol and pointed it at the woman’s head, but as she steadied her aim she realized what was strange about the woman. It wasn’t shadow that obscured her face, but a thick coat of dark gray fur. And the woman wasn’t wearing gloves. The light from the window glinted off inch-long claws. The woman continued to advance, seemingly oblivious to the gun pointed at her, “...but I believe that your death will turn you into a martyr and only serve to galvanize the movement you began tonight.” Before Morgan could fire the woman whipped aside her cloak and sprang. It happened in the space of a heartbeat, but Morgan saw it unfold with a hideous slowness. As the woman sprang, she transformed, her body warping and twisting into a grotesque and unnatural form, her face elongating and narrowing, her lips drawing back into a snarl, revealing a set of vicious canine teeth flecked with spittle and blood. Morgan stood frozen, unable to think, let alone move, as those terrible jaws flew at her throat. *** It rained that night and Olga Chadzka stood under a drainpipe for ten whole minutes, letting the freezing water run through her fur. Morgan Galbraith’s blood drained into the gutter by her feet. Soaking and shivering, Olga pulled her cloak around her shoulders and ran back to her caravan, quick and silent as a shadow. She felt invigorated. She could taste Morgan’s blood on her tongue. It had been so long since she had killed. Mr. Magpie did not allow it, except on contract. Tomorrow, the Guild would discover Morgan’s body. The autopsy would reveal wounds consistent with those inflicted by a large dog. Nobody would believe it. The Miner’s and Steamfitter’s Union Women’s Auxiliary would call an emergency meeting and vote overwhelmingly to support the formation of a militia. “Vengeance for Morgan,” would become the rallying cry. And Olga would perform in the big top in Creepstone Cemetery with dried blood under her fingernails.

(Note: To hear this story read by mistercactus, a trained Shakespearean actor, please tune into our Malifaux podcast: The Aethervox). *** Colette Du Bois dreamed of a man with no arms throwing knives with his feet; a woman with long fur all over her body and teeth like blades; a pair of conjoined twins who shared a single pair of legs; a contortionist who could twist her body into impossible shapes; three tiny jesters in ridiculous hats with green skin beneath their face-paint; a mustachioed man with arms like tree-trunks who could lift anything; and at the center of it all a tall man in a red top hat with a dozen birds perched along his outspread arms. “They’re back in town,” Colette told Cassandra that evening in the dressing room of the Star. “They won’t stay long. They never do. But for the next little while we can expect some competition.” *** They parked their caravans in the Bonemarket district and put up the big top in Creepstone Cemetery. They tied guy ropes to tombstones and raised the red-and-purple tent over the wide, unmarked plots where paupers and vagrants were buried. They installed seating atop crypts and mausoleums. They set up a concession stand in the crematorium. A swarm of smaller tents sprang up around the big top where games could be played and fortunes could be won or lost or read or changed. Three gremlins were spotted, sneaking around town, scrambling onto one another’s shoulders in order to nail posters to walls and posts and doors at (human) eye level. Their faces were white with stage makeup and they had huge, leering grins painted on in red. The posters read: The Legendary! The Great! The Amazing! Mr. Magpie’s Cemetery Circus! Incredible Displays of Strength and Skill! Spine-Chilling Feats of Death-Defiance! Freaks and Aberrations of Most Unnatural Appearance! Come One, Come All! Creepstone Cemetery! Limited Run! In one corner was a map of the Bonemarket district, showing the location of the big top. In another corner was a humourous sketch of a zombie sitting in his coffin and the words: “Box seats available!” That night, thefts and pickpocketings in the neighbourhood tripled. There were reports of birds stealing coins right out of the hands of street vendors and their customers. The Bonemarket was abuzz with danger and excitement. Everyone was afraid of the circus; everyone was irresistibly drawn to it. *** Mr. Magpie was sitting in his private caravan with his boots up on his desk, munching on a loaf of stale bread, when the Guild lawyer entered. Mr. Magpie’s flock darted about the cramped caravan, screeching and squabbling over breadcrumbs. He silenced them with a whistle. “Please, take a seat,” he said, without removing his boots from the table. “You’re from the Guild, am-I-right? What can I do for ya’?” The lawyer glanced down at the wooden stool. Like everything else in the caravan it was covered in fresh bird droppings, squashed feathers, bits of twig, leaves and other nesting materials. He remained standing. His smile was as false as the soulstones they were giving out as prizes in the gaming tents. “Mr. Magpie. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” The lawyer’s voice was somewhere between a sneer and whine. He had the manner of a man who was never pleased to make anyone’s acquaintance. “I would like to welcome you to Malifaux on behalf of the Guild. Secretary Lucius himself sends his compliments. Your circus has a most singular reputation on both sides of the Breach. I look forward to attending a show....only, the Secretary asked me to ensure that all your paperwork is in order. Just a formality, of course. I would hate to think that you might be attempting to operate in our city without a license.” Mr. Magpie threw some crumbs for his birds and they began to squabble and squawk again. On his desk was a bowl full of shiny metal objects—pocketwatches, coins, keys, jewelry, pins. “You tell your Secretary that Mr. Magpie’s Cemetery Circus needs no license. We go wherever we please and, if I may say so myself, we please wherever we go.” “Haha, yes, I see,” said the lawyer. His laughter had almost nothing in common with genuine laughter. “I thought that might be the case. Unfortunately the Guild does not look kindly on itinerants who squat illegally on its properties. I expect you to be gone by sunrise. If you are still here I will have no option but to instruct the guard to remove you, by force if necessary.” The lawyer paused to allow his words to sink in. Mr. Magpie just kept feeding his birds. After a while he made a circular motion with his hand, indicating that the lawyer should get to his point. “However,” the lawyer continued, a little put out by the man’s impudence, “there is a possibility that we could overlook your transgressions in return for certain specialized services.” “I’m listening,” said Mr. Magpie. “I am aware that many of the performers in your troupe possess remarkable talents whose potential applications extend far beyond mere entertainment. Secretary Lucius occasionally has need of such people to perform certain delicate operations with which the Guild does not wish to be publicly implicated. If you would be willing to do us a few favours I might be persuaded to grant you a temporary stay of eviction from Creepstone Cemetery and the surrounding streets.” “Our reputation has once again preceded us,” said Mr. Magpie, swinging his feet down off the table and clearing aside some of the detritus. “So what’ll it be? Assassination? Theft? Intimidation? Treasure hunting? Smuggling?” He found a grubby piece of paper and handed it to the lawyer, who accepted it between thumb and forefinger with obvious disgust. “Here is our price list. In return for the Guild’s tolerance of our little show I am willing to offer you a ten percent discount. What do you say?”

If you're looking for the weirdest gun-slinging Western of all time you should check out Alejandro Jodorwosky's [ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceHH3QGXvNw]El Topo[/ame].

Hi All, It is my great pleasure to announce the launch of The Aethervox: A Malifaux Podcast. Episode 1 is now available for streaming or download from our website: http://theaethervox.com We are new to this whole podcasting thing, so we would love any suggestions or comments you might have. You can contact us at theaethervox@gmail.com We hope to be available on iTunes shortly. Thanks for giving us a listen! The Aethervox Crew