UberGruber

Thanks for the link, very useful. I would, however, say that this from the FAQ as provided by Poltron (emphasis mine): You are allowed to Cheat Fate under the following circumstances: All Duels (when a neutral or positive flip) The Damage Flip (when a neutral or positive flip) When a specific rule allows is going to cause confusion because the Red Joker entry on the Damage Table does quite clearly say 'Severe + another Damage Flip' (again my emphasis). I'm fairly new to the rules and it's clear to me now what's intended, but, given it could easily be intended to work either way, it might perhaps be worth a fix. It's calling the additional damage card from the red joker a Damage Flip that causes the confusion because everything in the FAQ and errata is still saying that all Damage Flips are cheatable.

Ah, I have a terrible fear of Smilies so I never thought to look there. I think your p.45 quote clinches it. It's an additional Flip that may be Cheated as normal (unless it's been errataed, clarified or FAQ's to the contrary somewhere)

On the damage chart its says under Red Joker: Severe + another Damage Flip. That would suggest to me that it is in fact a separate flip and therefore may be cheated unless (which is quite possible) I have overlooked something to the contrary.

Well your reply was much more comprehensive (and used those nice negative fate modifier symbols too). I think the rulebook's layout causes some possible grounds for the confusion Nazull suffered, Damage could almost do with coming immediately after Strike Sequence rather than being separated by Firing into Melee (though I can also see why FiM is where it is, so. . .) My instinct is that you can Cheat Fate on any eligible Damage Flip (ie one wher eyou have not drawn the black joker and where you have no negative fate modifier, so you could Cheat the second flip triggered by the red joker. Why not?

My understanding is that both flips may be cheated (unless of course one or both flips have a negative fate modifier or your current card is the black joker). They're separate flips though the result of the Strike may leave you with a negative fate modifier for the damage flip.

I think it crept in when I added a bit to the opening. I find it extraordinarily difficult to catch such copy errors myself, as I find I tend to read what I expected to have written rather than what may in fact be on the page, which is one reason I posted early.

Was it an extra 'but' causing some confusion? I think that might have been a cut'n'paste error. Fixed now. And thanks for the comments, Chucklemonkey. You're quite right, the use of theme and mystery item is pretty straightforward here.

Is from the first post (though it's a fair way down). So they've been stated, yes.

Yeah, that's fair enough. In fact I think there comes a point where grammar is not mere stylistic preference, but where one draws the line is almost impossible to determine and will vary tremendously from individual to individual. I'm more against such pedantries as insisting on 'team is' rather than the equally accepted and acceptable 'team are', or declaring that one cannot end a sentence with a preposition. Other people's mileage may vary on that score and it's something I'm happy to put up with (or up with which I will put...). But I'm getting into that grammar debate which I wish to avoid (the flesh is weak...), so I'll just say once more that anyone can comment on anything they like in my story, even pedantries, and I'll thank them for it (though I may disagree).

Edonil posted his scores on my story in my thread, which I don't mind in the least anyone doing (whatever the score may be). I do think though that as a general principle it might be best to be chary of that, especially if rating something rather low. My skin is like rhino hide (reports that I spent an hour wailing and howling at the moon at not getting universal 5s are mere unsubstantiated gossip) but other souls may be a tad sensitive.

This very website says in its Malifaux introduction: 'Based in an alternate Earth, Malifaux...' However you look at it, the Earth in question here is literally 'alternative' not 'alternate'.. Alternative and alternate have very different meanings and it's extraordinarily hard to see how any world could alternate with another except by swapping places, which Malifaux's Earth and the alternative Earth certainly have not. It is, however, the case that 'alternate' is creeping into common usage as an alternative to (or 'alternate version of...') alternative. Probably becauase they have the same root and it's also true that alternate is phonetically an abbreviated form of alternative, lacking only the latter's final syllable. As language (and grammar) is constantly changing (to the great woe of grammarian 'guardians' like Strunck and White, but interestingly to the delight of academic grammarians like Pullum and Zwicky), I've no actual beef with the choice of alternate over alternative here. It's a minefield though, grammar, unless one wishes to adopt an 'approved text' of course and follow its injunctions faithfully. Does anyone say 'London is in Earth?' Not generally they don't. They say 'London is on Earth. Yet it is true they'd say 'London is in England'. Why the difference for Malifaux? Malifaux is not wholly underground. Anyway, besides making a wee joke (however feeble), my point is that nobody, surely, would really quibble too much with: 'Based in an alternate Earth, Malifaux...' So why the angst about being ungrammatical other than where the specific usage would make the meaning rather unclear as in the gramatically somewhat notorious newspaper headline: 'coin change skin problem fear'? Let me just reiterate, I don't actually mind there being a 'grammar score' for competition feedback, odd though I think it. Them's the rules and rules is for obeying, or at least being mindful of.

Thanks very much, you're very kind. I don't mind the scores public at all, though I do disagree with you most wholeheartedly on the 'grammar', I'm afraid (though I've also no desire to get into a discussion as to what may be proper and improper grammar: obviously everyone will and should just score as they see fit and I've no complaint about that at all). Just in case it might be of interest, much as Mailfaux is an alternative Earth (grammar question: why do people say 'in an alternate Earth' when they mean 'on an alternative Earth'?), here's the origins of The Saffron Hill Gang: Open Spoiler They're are 'alternative Dickens'. Fagin's first name was Joseph, his gang had its lair in Saffron Hill, and of course the Artful Dodger and Oliver Twist (so Artless and Stick as Malifaux counterparts) were members of his gang. Oh, and the New Stoic Emporium would be a rather stretched inverted reference to the Old Curiosity Shop, Stoics not being very curious.

Morning After Artless woke with the dawn that brought a cold rain driving into the doorway where he huddled knees-to-chin looking to all the world like a heap of discarded rags. Immediately he began to shiver, not merely from the cold damp of the grey and glooming morn but also from the tremor that always shook his thin, bony body when danger threatened; and from the hangover that made his fumbling attempts to find his gin bottle so clumsy and his head thump worse than when Old Joe used to take the bat to him when he was younger and even skinnier than young Stick. Stick, curled at his feet on the cold slate slab that was the front step of Zeno's Novelty Emporium, was snoring with a sort of rising whistle that irritated Artless even more than finding the gin bottle corkless and empty. He kicked his friend hard in the ribs. Stick gave a yelp, rolled and came up clutching her side, knife in hand, the pale blade gleaming wetly in the grey dawn light. “Why the dickens you do that, Arty? You lookin’ to get slit a new nostril?” Stick waved the point of the knife an inch from Artless' snub nose, but her hissed words lacked venom. She felt it. Not just the throbbing head – she had drunk more than her share of the pint of gin they'd robbed last evening, downtown, where the lanterns gleamed like little orange suns and the toffs and their doxies were easy marks for two thieves as skilled as Artless and young Stick – she felt the danger too. “C’mon.”Artless stuck his head into the alley and had a quick glance up and down. Nothing to be seen but the wet misery of the slums. So he scuttled on all fours from the doorway to the corner where their narrow, muddy lane met a broader, cobbled street. Stick came after, just as quick, just as silent, on her hands and knees like him. “Why we crawlin’”?' she asked, pressing her lips close to his ear so her whispered words were scarcely audible. “'Cos my legs ain't workin' yet, else I'd be runnin'. Somethin' wicked's comin' this way for sure.” “Oh.” Stick leant in closer, kissed his grubby cheek and was gone. One moment there, kneeling by his side, the next away in a streak of emaciated limbs and grubby rags. Artless couldn't believe it. Stick had always seemed so loyal. Of course he'd have done the same if the positions were reversed. Because something right wicked was coming. He could feel it in his pounding head and shaking limbs. It was more fear drying his throat than last night's drink. Artless felt in his pockets for his brass knuckles but his hand closed only on a hard lump of bone. He pulled it out and peered at it through red eyes blurred by the drink. It was yellow ivory carved like a narrow pillar with a crown on top, green felt peeling from its base. He didn't remember pinching it last night but then he didn't remember much about last night with any clarity. He squeezed the piece in his hand. Bones brought luck – so said Old Joe. Artless felt like he could use some luck: he could see them now. Three of them. Why did they always come in threes? One would be enough. Enough for the likes of him, all gin-sick and shaking, anyways. Women with hard eyes under wide-brimmed hats and patched trousers over dusty boots. No weapons you could see, but that was their trick. They'd have pistols under their dusty coats, and swords too. They'd walk up, then Boom! or Stab! and you'd be shot or sliced wide open before you even saw the weapon that killed you. Ronin. Always for hire. But there was worse coming too, somewhere as yet unseen. So stumbling, as best his gin-weakened legs could carry him, back down the alley, away from the Ronin and round a corner and under a balcony, sheltered from both rain and view, breath heaving in his chest and the ivory piece still clutched tight in his hand. Someone was walking on the balcony above him. Hard, deliberate steps. Steps designed to make a noise; to let you know they were there. Artless swallowed. He put the ivory piece back in his pocket and wondered, briefly, how it had come to be in his pocket. But circumstances and gin-tired brain allowed no long consideration. He drew his knife from his boot and began to edge, with his back to a solid and reassuring brick wall, down the street. He wished his knife was longer, that he was older, more muscular, had two six-shot pistols and a guitar, was nine feet tall and a mass of fur and fury, or had a top hat and carefree manner and a long gun. But he was only Artless with a sharp kitchen knife, hungover and scared with the Viktorias and their crew after him for who knows what reason. It wasn’t fair. “Life isn’t fair and bad things will happen." That was what Old Joe had said, usually when he hefted the bat and cast his cruel eye upon Artless. Old Joe had been the first to call him Artless. “’Cos you got no ‘eart but you look like butter wouldn’t melt.” But Artless’ heart was thumping now to show he had one alright, and his legs were like butter melting as a blonde-haired and beautiful head peered down over the balcony and smiled. “Hello, pretty boy. You have something I want.” She smiled and somersaulted over the balcony, twisting in the air as she drew her sword and landed with gymnastic grace facing the spot where Artless had been a moment before. Fear had overpowered hangover and Artless was at the end of the street before the Viktoria’s jump was complete. To his dismay as he rounded the corner, he came eyes to points with two wickedly sharpened blades. He stopped abruptly and leant back on his heels so far he ended sprawling on his backside on the wet cobbles, one blade at his throat, the other slicing open the pocket where the ivory piece was kept. The second Viktoria looked down at him and laughed. “Good try, pretty boy.” The pocket was opened, the ivory piece fell out, the long blade of rippling steel flicked it upwards and the first Viktoria appeared in time to catch it. “A white queen. Just what was ordered.” She smiled and blew a kiss to Artless who winced as the second Viktoria met his eye with an expression of professional regret. He closed his eyes and gave a little whimper as sharp steel touched his throat. Then the street was full of noise and fury as stones pelted down from on high, driving the Viktorias back and Artless, never one to miss his chance, was on his feet again and running, away from the long blades and the pistol shots – for the Ronin had come up now and their pistols answered the stones of the Saffron Hill Gang who threw their rocks with gusto as they capered on the sagging and decrepit roofs. Away, muddy, wet-through, shivering and safe. Met by grinning Stick who led him to Old Joe in a dingy and windowless room. “Well, Artless, you got here in the end, though why I bothered to send the lads to rescue you I don’t know.” Old Joe punched Artless hard in the jaw, sending the lad crashing to the floor. It was better than the bat, he reflected, spitting blood and feeling his teeth. “What’s it for?” asked Artless, mumbling and glowering at a smiling Stick who held in one long-fingered hand an ivory chess-piece, carved like the one he had had, but larger, whiter, more ornate; her other hand held Artless' brass knuckles, which she tossed to him along with a blown kiss. He caught the knuckles and returned Stick's kiss with some choice and venemous words. “Never you mind, young Artless,” said Old Joe, taking the piece from Stick and stroking her wan cheek with a calloused finger. “Seen and not heard, that’s how you should be. This piece is for a gentleman who has paid most handsomely for it. Stick here lifted it for me and you done your part fair enough. Let that suffice for you. Come and have a drink on me.” Artless licked his dry lips as Old Joe uncorked a green bottle and poured gin into three chipped and dirty cups that lay on the crate that made his table. As one, Stick and Artless pounced gratefully and drank greedily. Old Joe laughed like a drain. “Them Viktorias, maybes they can fight a bit but they put the dumb in blonde too! We tricked ‘em like marks at pig 'n a poke. Let’s drink to their health!” He bared his yellow and crooked teeth and poured again. Artless felt much better, only his jaw ached now. Stick caught his eye and winked. He winked back but knew that their positions in Old Joe's pecking order had shifted. He'd have to look double sharp to get ahead. But first he needed another drink.

Thanks. That's rather what I'd thought but I wanted to check. As I say, I can be rather dense at times.

In that case good... I thought not. But the way the first post is set out does make it a wee bit ambiguous in that regard. Also (and you'll have to forgive me, I'm very dense), does my story get posted in this forum (ie The Writing Room) with the title arranged as indicated in the OP of this thread/ that's my instinct but again (and it may be the consequence of too much gin...) it seems slightly unclear to my enfeebled brain.

Is it too late to join this?

In fairness we don't know what the justification is as the other party/parties haven't given their side of things. That said, I don't think anyone should ever be blacklisted for simply playing a game 'to win' and on the face of it, it seems rather extreme to outright ban someone from a competition just becaus ethey're likely to win it, especially if that excludes that person from his or her local gaming scene.

Seems a bit odd to me if nobody else is objecting to playing you. Why not ask them if you can play but be excluded from scoring yourself. So people would get league points for games played against you but you would score zero every game regardless of the actual result. That way you're not dominating the league and get games in