Hateful Darkblack

Yeah, resolving means after you finish the action, do the damage, and you're all done. So Statue makes you reduce damage from second and later attacks. It's still really good. Ways around it: Wp-resisted things. Anti-trigger models like Joss and the Valedictorian. Blasts, Pulses, and Auras before they get a chance to use their trigger. Black blood. Doing killing damage or nearly so on the first shot. Models that get a lot of attacks in like Rat King, Bishop, Teddy, or Necropunk. It's really good, but I don't think it's broken.

Played this with great success today: Rusty Alyce w/ Oath Keeper Desolation Engine Hodgepodge Effigy Malifaux Rat The rat is just there for a fourth model. And for Desolation Engine to eat for healing. Nom nom rat. Rusty Alyce shoots the crap out of things, then burns Oath Keeper to scoot up and shoot the crap out of things. Desolation Engine charges and crushes dudes. He can't bring in any Abominations if it's a no-Summon game, but he can pulse out area damage (or at least card drain) and cause mass trauma while healing himself up. Definitely a winner.

Two other rules you'll sometimes find in Hardcore (and which I think should be there): No extra Soulstones over Henchman cache. No Summoning. If Summoning is allowed, always take a Summoner Henchman. Mortimer, Toshiro, Spawn Mother, Widow Weaver, Nix, Rusty Alyce, etc. Summoning is disproportionately powerful at this scale. If extra Soulstones are allowed, it's better to take a big high-cost Henchman and save leftover SS.

OooooOooOooO. Rad. I like it much better now that I know what's going on.

He's undead, works with destructive/necromantic magical energies, has an undead base Crew, and hires a lot of Resser models.... ...sounds like an Outcast to me! Hamelin, Leveticus, and Tara are like that too!

Justin, that would probably help! I've seen a lot of strong hardcore Crews built on multiple Henchmen.

The Guilty are still on 30mm models when they should be 40mm.

I also paint little names on the base of every model. With spammable models, this helps to keep them separate. With conversions for unreleased models, this helps make the conversion even more clear.

The Hanged are very brutal, surprisingly durable and mobile, and really help Seamus out.

You'll make it through this, Grave13. I've messed up with assembling plastic models too. Hired swords is easier than the Bayou Boss box, yes.

It worked really nicely! I made a mistake and failed to have Nekima kill the Weaver when she was getting close, so my opponent got Assassinate VP. There are a few different variants of hardcore I've seen people use: Sometimes you can hire up to 4 models, sometimes 4 models are max. Sometimes you're allowed extra soulstones, sometimes you have to spend all 20 and extra go to waste (so your cache is just your pool) Sometimes Summoning is allowed, usually it isn't. Sometimes there's a 20 minute limit, sometimes it's 30 minutes, sometimes there's none. Nekima is nice with hardcore because she can put out so much damage, she's durable, and she's very mobile. Going in with 0 cache is a big weakness. Needing three other models is a drawback if it's exactly 4 models. Having another Henchman hire Nekima gives some big advantages: more cache, and Nekima can Birthright to deny or at least delay Assassinate. The drawback is that you only have 7 soulstones left for two models. Which means basically you're hiring an Alp and either a Wicked Doll or a Terror Tot.

Er, what I mean to say is: In a friendly game, really all I care about is that the models have the right base size and don't cause super huge confusion. ("I'm proxying these two models to each other just to annoy you" would probably not be okay, but anything short of that is fine by me.) More beautiful models are better, and unassembled models are annoying but don't really disrupt my play. In a tournament setting, I'd expect my opponent to conform to Gaining Grounds or a reasonable facsimile thereof: 66% of each model is Wyrd or hand-crafted, easily identifiable, painted. More leeway for unreleased models. Proxies are more of a problem than conversions.

Usually I use a stack of towels and a live thrashing snakehead fish to proxy for my whole crew. Some people object, but they're just being sticklers.

Remember though that Lure is a move. It's not a push, so you can go around obstacles and even double back to get closer. It's not a Walk, so you don't care about Disengaging Strikes. So it's rare that Lure won't move you at all.

Thanks! I'll probably work it into the PullMyFinger Wiki soon.

Thank you for reading it, and thank you for the feedback! I was trying for a muted and kind of dignified note on the opening scene, which is why I tried to make the statements a little less emphatic. I'd love any suggestions on how to improve those, though, if phrases come across as awkward or unconvincing.

This is a really good start! I hope you don't mind if I throw out a bunch of feedback. I think your opening needs a little rework on the description. Twice, you use a mixed metaphor where you seem to be mixing words for clothes with words for rooms. ("the midnight-clad room", "The two figures shrouded in the room") and I suspect you could rephrase that in a way that gave your story a stronger opening. I like the sense of menace and expectation that the Union workers seem to share, and I think you developed that well, with both fear and optimism as they talk about it. It really makes sense that the sort of people who would work in Malifaux would have all those feelings about danger. I also want to suggest you change the speaking style of automatons. They seem to be talking like modern computers, which doesn't exactly fit the steampunk theme of the robots of Malifaux. You may want to consider some other style for them to communicate their thoughts and plans. Maybe through gears and springs, or the moans of the soulstones that power them, or perhaps a creepy whisper or something. Or maybe just a variety of bell rings, with a translation for the audience's sake? Lastly, It was a little unclear at the end what happened. It sounded like maybe the workers tried to hit the constructs to get them to work harder, who interpreted that as an attack and attacked back? It might be better to express somehow that the automata were programmed to react that way somehow. Maybe coroners or foremen discussing what happened afterward while they're filing the death report or something? I kind of want some sort of closing-out where you go back to the shrouded figures from the beginning and have them discuss what happened afterward. That might tie the sections together and give a litle more context and closure. Anyway, that's all my feedback! Great start and I can't wait to see how this work in progress develops. I hope the feedback is helpful!

I don't think Grem-raida can hire Iggy. Sue and Merris and Hex Bag, definitely. And I'm feeling a burning sensation just thinking about it.

Oh wow! It's like Tennessee Williams remixed Malifaux-style! I dig it!

I went with a Ten Thunders story this time, and didn't continue the Desperate Mercenary series I'd been doing before! Took a bit more time with this one, too. Here's my story: New Soldiers. Hope y'all like it!

Words: 1611 All elements used. Comments and feedback very welcome!

The two sat at a table together, in forced calm, eating their breakfast before battle. Kinji had prepared the roasted chestnuts, and the dried seaweed, and the sour plums, and the tea. Rintaro had found some forgotten sake in a storehouse. They both expected they would probably die that day, but knew that speaking about it would only raise their panic. They had never hoped to be soldiers, but the family needed them. In younger days, Kinji had promise as a chef: his roasted chestnuts were good enough that he could have opened a restaurant, as his father had almost done, and as his son had almost done. Rintaro had a passion for gambling, but he knew that he was not good enough to make a living out of it. He would have liked to try. Instead, they were drafted into battle. It was not their place to refuse. The blades they carried were purchased here in Malifaux, with Guild scrip. They were not the grand weapons of the Three Kingdoms, but cheap and practical weapons that they never expected to learn. Wearing the weapons at their belt was an afterthought: if they ever needed such weapons, they were already dead. Neither Kinji nor Rintaro were glorious enough to bear a true warrior’s sword. “The sake is good,” Kinji said in gratitude, breaking the silence. He was careful with his words: good, but not great. They had both sampled great sake before, in wealthier times, but to compare this warmed rice wine to what they’d had in the past would be unnecessarily melancholy. It was better to appreciate what they had without illusions. The sake was good, nothing more, and that was worth appreciation. Rintaro only grunted and let his eyes dart to the door. They were expecting the gentleman of the house any moment now, to interrupt their meal and send them to war. It was his right, of course. “You shouldn’t be so impatient,” Kinji said, “Try to enjoy your meal.” “I’m trying,” Rintaro said, “but —“ “Try harder,” Kinji said, forcing a calm in his voice. It was Kinji’s fourth battle, and Rintaro’s first. “Do you think there will be enough of us?” asked Rintaro. “The fewer men, the greater share of honor,” Kinji replied sharply. Rintaro nodded grimly, and stared down at the chestnuts and seaweed. He asked, “Will we be walking on hills?” “Yes. There is a crag out in the badlands,” Kinji replied, “Our family bought a mine there, cheaply. The Guild decided that the mine was too dangerous to be worth it. Strange whispers have been heard there, and hungry dead have been spotted. We are to clear it out so that mining can begin again.” “You mean that our Lord must clear it, and that we will help,” Rintaro said in correction. Kinji frowned a little. He didn’t like being corrected by the more junior soldier. “I have probably told you more than I should. It is not our business why we are there. Why do you ask such questions?” “I only wanted to know because I do not think my shoes will be good for hills,” Rintaro replied. Kinji glanced under their table at Rintaro’s shoes. “You are correct. I will lend you my son’s shoes. They will be better for marching up the peak.” Rintaro nodded. “Thank you very much. I will gladly return them, if…” He trailed off instead of finishing his sentence. If we survive. They were trying not to be melancholy. It was of course at that perfect moment that the gentleman came to call. He burst through the door, nearly splintering it with his fearsome strength. “Yaa!” the Lord cried with hasty admonishment, “Stop sitting around, you two! It’s time to ride!” None of them had a horse, but Kinji and Rintaro knew what he meant. They stood and bowed and apologized quickly, and hustled to pack and be out the door. Kinji had no time to get those shoes for Rintaro before they were out the door, but at least they did not have to pretend to be calm anymore. * * * The walk through the badlands was not so bad, though Rintaro’s feet did indeed become sore with his bad shoes. He knew better than to complain. Instead, the two marched as they could, trying to keep step with the more experienced soldiers. The crag was beautiful and desolate. It looked like a solemn and noble place to die. They marched along treacherous narrow cliffside trails until they reached the area around the abandoned mine. The Lord rallied the small force to a well-hidden nest a little bit around the peak from the mine entrance. Kinji set down an animal hide on the smoothest rock in the outcropping so that the Lord could sit comfortably. The rest of them stood on hard uneven rock and tried not to let their sore joints show. “They’re in the mine!” the Lord declared. “You snipers and archers will watch the entrance from the high points of the cliff. There, and there, and there. You torakage will go in to explore. When the hungry dead come for you, do not be proud! Come back out to the entrance. Lure them into our trap out here. The rest of you, stay with me. We’ll sweep up!” Rintaro watched with admiration as the torakage slipped into the mine’s entrance. They were like scorpions, quick and precise and deadly but so hard to see until they appeared from nowhere. Rintaro had tried to befriend them on the walk out to the mine, but they rebuffed his cheery words and invitations to play tiles after the battle, remaining stony and unresponsive. Being unseen and unheard was their natural state. They disappeared into the hole and all was silent, anxious minute by anxious minute. Rintaro pulled out his blade in waiting, but no one else did, so he put it away again with an apologetic look on his face, and just waited. * * * Minutes passed like a loud, slow, ticking clock. The sun was hot. Everyone was sore and uncomfortable and frightened. Kinji did well to look impassive and calm. Rintaro tried his best to imitate that serenity, and found that it did indeed help his own mood, if nothing else. Rintaro tried to cheer himself up. He thought of the courage of their Master and the hope of the family’s great past reborn, here, in battle. If they won here, there would be wealth, and victory, and triumph. A reclaimed soulstone mine could provide enough wealth to build a proper castle here in Malifaux, or hire horsemen with grand banners to fight these wars, or perhaps to reclaim the family sword that another noble house had taken. Killing the monsters was about more than survival. Even if Kinji or Rintaro died, their deaths would not be in vain: reclaiming this mine would be another step toward reclaiming the clan’s legacy. Rintaro expected moans or screams or something from within, but there were no such noises. All he saw were the torakage emerging from the entrance, their footsteps silent. Behind them followed a small army of the hungry dead, just as silent. Half-solid corpses wearing rotten miner’s clothing. Bird skulls atop men’s skeletons. Shambling ghosts. The animated bodies of dogs and men, each shuffling forward. The creatures would swing at the agile torakage, but all in silence, like a dancer rehearsing without the music. A monstrosity burst free from the mine entrance behind the others. It looked like a taxidermist’s nightmare: A stitched dragon’s corpse, with more heads sewn onto its unnatural structure, made to move through some ugly and unholy magic. Bones jutted out in strange angles. Flesh rotted. The thing’s tail was the only part that seemed alive, whipping to and fry, ready to lash forward with what seemed to be a true scorpion’s tail. Torakage threw careful handsful of shuriken backward to slow the great corpse-monster’s pursuit, but the thing continued to stalk forward. The mockery of a dragon spat forth a black mass of rotten slime, like a coarse soldier spitting off the side of the road. That disgusting dark glob struck a torakage in the back, and the spy stumbled and fell forward — the acid burned a hole in his chest and he died. Still everything was silent. The hungry dead had no need to make noise, unmoved by the passions of the living. The torakage clung to their training, even in death, and died on padded footsteps without a scream or even a whisper. Finally the stillness of the battle was broken with the Lord’s glorious cry. “ATTAAAAAAAACKKK! YAAA! YAA!” Snipers and archers popped up from their hidden positions in perches and behind rock outcroppings. Bullets and arrows rained down on the zombie horde. Kinji and Rintaro mobilized and jumped into their positions. For all their waiting, when the moment for battle came they were prepared. Thoughts of their own death faded away. Instead, they moved swiftly to follow their tasks with humble precision. It was in moments like these that men truly became soldiers. Their Lord Fuhatsu rose and screamed out with a bloodthirsty madman’s laughing delight. Rintaro stood behind their Lord and braced his back against the giant to keep him stable, his sore feet pushing against the rocks to counterbalance the immense force of the gatling gun the man carried as lesser men would carry a shotgun. Kinji scrambled around the man, sometimes holding his back leg in place, sometimes scrambling to keep the ammunition belt feeding properly, and occasionally scurrying around to hold Lord Fuhatsu’s belt so his pants would not fall down. Such was their tiny piece of glory!

I just took her in a hardcore match. She wasn't the leader: Widow Weaver was (so that I could deny Assassinate VP to my opponent, and start with more stones). She was the star of the show. Absolutely effective.

Oh my goodness! This podcast made me so happy! I loved that you explored so many topics, and did tactics and art and events and everything! I also blushed and cheered a lot when you mentioned me. (And it turns out, I talked back to the podcast, and you mentioned mispronouncing my name, I said "That's fine!" to the radio, and then you said "I'm sure he'll forgive me" and I laughed. Your pronunciation was just fine -- I don't actually know how to do the proper Greek pronunciation myself.) Can't wait to hear more!

Also Silurid. Wait, no, that's just for Zoraida.