Brewmaster

I've looked into this, and honestly a Performer fits in either crew. In a scheme marker heavy Reckoning, you go Wong with her. When rocking Brewie, a performer packs a good kill. Arguably you'll get more mileage in a Brewie crew though.

RIGHT... So here's the little bits I can put up: I've talked to Nathan, and once I get the final approval, I will post a PDF of the pregenerated characters for this game in the Downloads section. You'll want to grab that for my game, but I'll have a few analogs if you don't. AND NOW... The Prologue for this one-shot (prologues are what the FM uses to set the scene, give you guys hints where the story is going, and so on): "Case Report - August 15, 1897 Marshal Gideon Hawke on duty for the incident The following report details the incident which occurred on Her Majesty's Rail, Line 212 as it traveled into Malifaux for the last time. I have included statements from the surviving passengers, and attempted to reconstruct the events that occurred as accurately as possible. Now I know that "Neverborn" is a popular turn of phrase to use, but it should be noted that the line's point of origin was Earthside. The creature at the center of the attack came with the passengers.

Edited post. Nothing to see here but us normies

Hmm... If "you never talk about it" is a hard rule, would that mean that the Gremlins... Interesting. His name is Mancha Roja His name is Mancha Roja

Either or is fine wookiegunner Point #3 on the thing Edonil posted at the way tippy top.

Awesome start Vinush! I look forward to seeing it develop!

Would it be less irritating or more irritating if I told you that I actually wrote 2300 words (that are well on their way to becoming a 5000 chapter), and this is the condensed version?

17th times a charm? (tried doing all this from my tablet, but couldn't quite get the dumb link thing to work lol)

Near the outskirts of the town of Pleasanse, wood buildings and tin roofs subtly gave way to the thick molasses that is Malifaux's bayou. Deep within the cyprus trees and slogs of water lay a simple lean-to thickly wrapped in moss and nature; the home of a man of whom the public opinion swayed between "smells like a gin-soaked dead cat" and "looks like he got a batty-fang from a crocodile". The only people who braved travel to this locale were those with more desperation than money, byt if you needed a body gone, it was hard to find someone better than McTavish. The young man standing at the front door wrinkled up his nose as he tried to lessen the smell with a handkerchief. He had long since given up on trying to keep his cloak clean and instead focused on delivering the request from his employer as quick as possible. "Ya ain't gon look any prettier jus standin deah Blondie." Came a slurred response from deeper in the bayou. Slowly shambling out was a man taller than most, swaying from the acrid smelling bottle of moonshine that he seemed drenched with. The young man startled as he saw two alligators following behind the drunk man like puppies. "I'm just... I'm... I have..." The young man fumbled around for a small bag hanging off of his belt before the drunk belched in his face and managed to slur out in a thick Cajun accent, "Name's McTavish, tanks for askin. You have a job. I need a name, a time, and Scrip. If you a repeat customer, den you get betteah benefits." McTavish stared at the young man, remaining uncomfortably close as the alligators paused a couple feet behind them. "Within two days." The young man commented, the stench distracting him from the danger for the moment. "My boss wants a young man who's been making advances on his daughter gone. Saul Phillips Jr. My employer would like a token to show the jobs been completed, in exchange he will offer 80 Scrip upfront, and a promised bottle of Hallisters upon return of the token." McTavish guffawed, yanking the bag from the man's hand. "A bottle of Hal's just cause some runt get a little dash-fire in em... sound like someone be having a sour mood. Done. Be back heah in 4 days wid my bottle! Where da young runt gon be?" "He frequents the saloon at the edge of town, the..." The young man chewed on his lower lip as he thought, "the lilac den I believe." McTavish looked at the young man incredulously. "So... his daughter or his DAUGHter?" McTavish asked, ribbing the young man with an elbow. The young man snorted, then quickly regained his composure. "My employer's daughter is not... employed... at the moment. And I doubt she would need to go as low as the lilac den were employment necessary." The young man replied. "Ooo-EEE, got us a belle do we? Well den I feel even worse for da young Mr. Saul. Double done. Now, if dey ain't anythin else, you be a good boy an git, for my babies tink you ain't welcome." McTavish responded, slapping the young man on the back. As he watched the figure dart quickly out of sight, McTavish looked to one of his crocodiles and muttered, "you tink I oughtta be callin in Trixie?" The gator simply stared at him quietly, eliciting McTavish's response of "Yeah you right. She charge too much on dis anyway. Guess we back to de ol' fashioned way." - McTavish smelled at the air as he heard the faint uttering of "last call!" uttered from inside the lilac den. For the past half hour he had been looking for the best spot to funnel his prey towards. Cityfolk tended to get nitpicky about the "people hunting people" thing, so McTavish had to use a bit more finesse to avoid a hassle. He picked out a rain barrel towards the center of town to rest up against for cover and took a moment to splash some water on his face. Might as well look presentable while he was here. McTavish heard a drunken shout as a wiry young man wearing a charcoal grey vest over a white button-up shirt stumbled out into the night. "THAT's why we never came back here..." The young man shouted in an irritatingly scratchy voice. "The drinks is piss jus like the company!" The doors to the saloon swung open slightly, revealing a fairly standard looking freight train of a bouncer. "Go home Saul. I don't care if you're the king of Scotland or Oliver Twist, you know the rules is rules. Sober up a bit, and don't get so rough next time. You dropped this by the way." The bouncer replied in an even keel, handing Saul a music box. Saul's face washed between sadness and irritation as he looked at the item before sloppily pushing it back towards the man. "Hold on to it, yeah?" Saul questioned. "I don't want it broken." The bouncer softened slightly and nodded. Saul proceeded to fumble his way past McTavish, breaking into an old shanty with an off-key bravado. "Findin yourself some company, sug?" McTavish nearly jumped at the sound of an all too familiar female voice whispering in Gremlin right next to his ear. He turned to see a young Gremlin female wearing a hat that was way too big, clothes that were way too small, and leaning on a rifle almost as big as she was. "Trixie ya dern fool, you gon spook the hunt!" McTavish forced out in a whisper in the Gremlin's own language, his heart finally climbing back down his throat. Trixie leaned forward and replied with pursed lips, "Well I certainly wouldn't want you to walk away without a happy ending. What's the pay?" Trixie queried, licking one finger and holding it up to test the wind. "Solo. Just collecting on a muckender is all." McTavish returned to English as he began stealthily following Saul, Trixie vanishing behind him. McTavish could feel the pulse of the night as he began the hunt. It didn't matter where he was, chasing his prey was an addiction. The adrenaline high of stalking after a target was as good as any drink McTavish had ever had. Saul was keeping a fairly steady path, pausing once or twice to rest against the side of a building or on a water trough. McTavish's muscles tensed as he felt the moment arriving where he would strike. "Now when you say solo, you mean so low I can reach it, right?" Came Trixie's voice from the left. McTavish ground his teeth as his trigger finger twitched reflexively. Keeping Saul in his sights, McTavish stormed over and did his best to keep a straight face. "Woman, I am in da midst of bidness right heah, an if you insist on interruptin, I'm gon get cross." McTavish declared. "Tavvy, sug... I'm aware of this. Now why can't I give you a helping hand?" Trixie asked, adjusting her brim. "Cause your help is too pricy for dis one." McTavish scoffed. Trixie gave McTavish a polite smile, then ran up on Saul as he was paused, cracking her rifle across the back of his knee. McTavish rushed forward as Saul fell, knocking Saul unconscious with the heel of his boot. "Sometimes, we help out friends. It's not all about the money." Trixie stated, checking her rifle for damage. McTavish stared at her blankly as he dragged Saul into the darkened alleyway, deciding the best path back to the swamps. "An altruistic Gremlin... You'll pardon my callin foul on dis one. You always been bout da pay." McTavish began tying up Saul's arms and legs as he talked. Trixie just laughed quietly and glanced out down the street. "And you always used to work for S'omer an his boys. Bayou's changing, sug. And you done right by Mah, so you done right by me. You earned a little back-scratching. Copper." Trixie and McTavish ducked behind respective covers of broken crates and an outhouse, McTavish doing his best to hide Saul's body from the light of the kerosene lamp the officer was carrying as he walked by. After the tense moments passed, McTavish hefted Saul's body up onto one shoulder, and began slinking his way back. "... You're being real, aintcha?" McTavish asked finally. Trixie chuckled as she snuck alongside him. "I always tell the truth sug, even when I lie." Trixie answered. McTavish paused near the edge of town, checking the quiet one last time. "Ya know. Maybe I change my tinking aboutcha. I'm used to working with what I got, not what's useful." McTavish and Trixie snuck in silence for a few moments before McTavish finally said, "you want his shoes, dontcha?" " If it's not a bother. I mean you're just going to throw away the guy ANYways." McTavish shook his head as he spun Saul around for her to grab the shoes. Maybe it ain't that bad workin wid em after all. 1516 words 5 elements used (kinda rules lawyering the theme into McTavish growing as a person.)

I will put something up Saturdy. I tend to go into beast mode when planning an RPG. I certainly appreciate people being so gung-ho about my lil guy. I hope between mine an official Wyrd stuff that you folk get your fill during Gencon!

Appreciate the assist folks! I definitely don't quite have the skill to do them justice yet, but I'm really liking that extra little bit to make my crew stick out.

I'll have to do some digging. I found them at the cool mini or not booth (they're marketing for a company that makes these as 30mm bases.

So that I have one nice collectable thread, I post HEAH! Since I plan on playing in some stuffs at Gencon, and since S'omer in theory will be plastic'd before Gencon, I'm going through a rather elaborate "Coolifying" of my stuff. Gremlin Scheme markers, corpse markers, the works! Trixiebelle Corpse Marker Already chatted about Trixie, so here goes about the marker: I was wandering Gencon last year I believe when I found these SUPER cool 30mm corpse bases. Bit expensive, but for something I'm going to use with a noticable consistency, might as well, right? Enter my art friend with access to this 'water plastic' stuff. With a little more finesse, I REALLY think these will turn out HOSS. Next up down the pike: My first couple of Bayou Gremlins Mancha Roja Scheme Markers.

Given that Trixie's going to be spending the most time with my Lacroix and somewhat with S'omer, combined with my liking the old west elements a bit more, this is the vibe I dig. But Rathnard, as a fellow Gremlin player I think we can agree that the REAL winners in the end are everyone I really appreciate the positive feedback everyone! I was a bit nervous about it, but good to see people are digging it.

Hmm... First time seeing that artwork... Not really my cup of shine.

Just as it says It took a lot of patience and a powertool, but I have created a totes legal proxy for one of my favorite Henchwomen. For those playing at home: Partly Ophelia Partly the dress of a Mannequin Partly bits from the Hats and Guns of Malifaux sprue GREENSTUFFS Painting should shine it up a bit, and I also plan on "Bayou"ing a multitude of bases. Next up in the pipe: -Mancha Roja -Bayou Bases -Corpse Markers -Scheme Markers -Waiting patiently for the plastic S'omer box

Well compensation is a big "Not so much". I'm not employed by Wyrd so I'm fairly certain there's prolly some 'not coolness' about accepting. Honestly I just want people to like the system as much as I do so I have no problem running some fun stuff I will definitely post info once I figure out the best way to run this.

Given that I now have a decent group to work with, I don't really have a choice, now do I? Certainly willing to run for more people though. After all, I have a whole train car of possible people to murder!

Not having the book will not be a problem at all I will provide what's needed (you just need to bring your own fate deck), and if I do my job right, you should learn all the important stuff intuitively.

I'll have to take you up on that Kadeton. The big thing I'm trying for this is an unofficial Penny Dreadful, so I imagine other people being able to follow and run it might be useful or something, eh? I have sent in a "hey I'm this guy off the street who wouldn't mind helping yo" notice, but I'm still up for at least meeting fellow gamers and running something fun

So, I've been working on a little project, and I think it's almost ready to share. I want to run a pick-up game to introduce people to Through the Breach. And what better way to do that than with a totally unofficial one-shot "Murder on the Rails". It will be a murder mystery set in a train car taking people to Malifaux for the first time. I will provide pre-generated characters, and the group fate deck. Everyone else will just need to bring a fate deck of their own. People who are interested, post here!

Looks like I just showed up!

“You’ve got a lot to learn about how it’s done around here.” Adam snapped awake with a panic drenched sweat. His short raspy breaths scraped against his ears as he tried to calm the terror clawing at his heart. The fibers of the thin blanket covering his form scraped against three day old stubble as Adam brought his knees to his chest, rocking slightly on the flimsy metal cot. His mind was a patchwork of barely sewn together thoughts, held together by fraying strings. He knew he was in an asylum room. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw by restraints he apparently needed. His unkempt hair snaked down to his shoulders in oily vines. A blade of moonlight provided a silhouette of 6 tin trays stacked up with the stagnant stench of half-eaten food. “Alright… so we’re here… question is, why?” Adam commented to himself, the drumbeat of his heart finally settling. “Oh come now, surely you remember the deaths, yes?” Adam’s eyes darted around the room frantically, looking for the voice that had spoken to him a second time. The voice had a coldness to it, some catalyst that brought his fear boiling to the surface. Adam scrabbled backward on the bed, pressing his back up against the stone wall. Adam’s muscles tensed in anticipation of flight, ignoring how unreasonable escape was in this stone room. Adam’s panic congealed all the more as the minutes ticked by with the sound of his breath being Adam’s only companion. His heartbeat kept the minutes that passed with an erratic tapping. As he waited for what would come, only one thought crossed his mind. Where’s that blade? Adam snapped awake again with the taste of wood in his mouth. He found his arms pinned against his chest in a straight jacket. Standing near the door to Adam’s room was a priest, weathered by old age. The priest smoothed his bone white mustache to one side as he inched inward, keeping his attention locked on Adam. “Can we get the bit out of the boy’s mouth?” The priest asked out into the hallway. “If I’m giving him his rites, he might as well talk back.” “I don’t know why I’m here.” Adam blurted to the priest as the gag was taken out, earning a guffaw from the asylum guard before he left Adam and the priest in the room. “We’ve had this talk a couple of times boyo.” The priest began with a dejected punctuation to his words. “Honestly I don’t know if even I have the patience for it any more. Now, we need to see about at least getting you some solace in the next life.” Adam’s fists balled up as he strained against the straight jacket. “Why am I here?!” Adam insisted, wild eyes begging the priest for some sort of help. “I’m being held against my will, is that it? They’re threatening you maybe? Please Father provide some…” “YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE OF MURDER!” the priest shouted, the words echoing like a gunshot. The priest waved the guard away, took a deep breath, then continued. “Adam… You are here because you took a life. A precious being. You used…” The priest was fighting back tears at this point, “You used a butcher knife. And now you sit here, and claim naiveté? You claim no knowledge? Boyo they saw you do the deed! People saw you use the weapon! Might as well have been out in the middle of the street for all the good you did yourself. NOW… I am trying my hardest here to show kindness, but if you are to find peace, you need to stop this foolishness and REPENT.” “He’s right you know.” Adam snapped awake once more, the moonlight stabbing in through the window once again. That fearful voice was hiding in the shadows once more, that last shovelful of dirt on top of his grave. Adam’s hands were free now, and so tightly balled up, he could feel a slight trickle of blood. “What are you?” Adam managed to force out through lungs grasping for air. “Wrong. See, you’re asking the questions in the wrong order. No POSSIBLE way you can find the right answer THAT way. But, it’s understandable, given your condition. Let me assist. The first question you should ask is ‘What murder?’ Learning why you’re shackled should tell you where the stress points of the shackle are.” The voice replied, standing just at the edge of the light but not quite showing the figure attached to it. Adam finally let his hands relax, calming his instinct and trying to think. “Alright. I killed someone with a butcher’s knife. The priest seemed upset, so someone innocent?” Adam pondered out loud. “Hardly a common commodity in this town, but reasonable.” Was the response. “Did I smith it? I mean I do makes tools occasionally, but the only smithing jobs I had recently were horseshoeing. No reason to make anything bladed.” Adam questioned, venturing to stand on the cold stone floor with bare feet. “It IS curious, isn’t it? And to murder someone that innocent with WITNESSES around… Seems like everything that could go wrong did. Awfully sloppy for someone who prides themselves on precision.” The fear that the voice brought was starting to leave. Adam took a tentative step forward, his curiousity starting to take hold. “Yes. No family history of delirium, no history of opiates. There’s no logical reason why I would have lost it so.” Adam commented, staring into the dark, trying to make out some form in that inky shadow of a corner. “There ya go. Now… time for your last meal.” Adam snapped awake to another tray of food being slid in under the door, along with a small bottle. “Looks like you got a guardian angel who wants you to die happy. Pretty decent scotch there. And fresh cooked pork too!” The guard laughed. “Hope you don’t mind me helping myself to a bit. After all, you ain’t gonna be needing any food in 4 hours anyway are ye?” The guard slammed the slat closed and whistled as he clacked down the hallway. Adam lunged forward, his body overtaken by the need for food. The guard had left him the scraps of what looked like pork and fresh bread and a half bottle of scotch. As he devoured the food, Adam recognized a smell, one that held a valuable meaning to him. The murky haze of memories lifted slightly at the smell of cracked peppercorns. “Phineas.” Adam muttered. The butcher that handled essentially all the meat in Adam’s section of town. The man who donated good cuts of meat to those in need, and was practically a saint as far as most people were concerned. Adam lurched back as he felt the blood drip off his hands to the ground. Phineas stared at him with those surprised bright green eyes, calloused hands clutching at the knife wound in his chest. Adam snapped awake to a moonlit room once again with the blanket clutched tightly around him. “You’ve almost got it. Just a few steps more and you’ll be able to find the right question.” The voice called out, it’s accent reminding Adam of something he just couldn’t quite put his finger on. “No… this doesn’t makes sense. We were friends.” Adam muttered, the remorse wrapping around him nearly as tightly as the blanket. “Well, why do you have the blood of your friend on your hands? Not exactly a normal thing to do I imagine.” The voice almost hung in the air like a frost. “The drink.” Adam replied as he began pacing, the patchwork of thoughts finally beginning to sew itself back together. “I rarely imbibe, but Phineas was insistent we have a couple. He had just bought the plot next to his shop and was looking to expand business, so we were celebrating.” “Still not seeing cause for death yet.” The voice offered. “You see?! Someone drugged the drink! I wasn’t myself! It altered my perceptions. I don’t remember stabbing him, I just remember the blood.” Adam exclaimed, a whisp of hope appearing in his voice. “But, you DO remember stabbing him. You just don’t want to think about Maggie, do you?” the sense of dread seeped back into the voice, causing Adam to shrink. “Phineas was so proud of his accomplishments. A self-made man who could afford to give away and still had so much. And here you are, toiling for every scrip you can manage, and you’ve been in the same broken down shack you started in soon as you left Earthside. Of course Maggie egged you on, but it was you who drank.” “Stop it.” Adam said, putting his hands to his ears as the voice continued. “You could have stopped at 2, but the more you drank, the more you thought Phineas’ happiness was pride. His accomplishments were only salt that he was all too happy to rub in your wounds.” “STOP IT!” Adam shouted as he leapt, swinging wildly at the shadows. Adam connected with something solid, and felt a trickle of blood on his fist as a shard of mirror slid into the moonlight. “There’s no conspiracy here. Only jealousy.” “I killed him.” 1544 wordcount Theme (Being honest to himself) Location (asylum room) Quote Item (the butcher's knife, and the moonlight) Person (the priest, and at the end, I would argue Adam as well)