Haunter

Congrats Holmes and Vaguerant! Well done! Great to see some fresh faces populating the top 3!

Keep watching the Writing Room. Sometimes it takes a few days after the end date before Edonil puts up the voting poll. ~refresh~ ~refresh~ ~refresh~ :-)

What a fun spin on a familiar topic! It's tough to tell a good four act story in 1750, and you did it quite nicely! I found myself wanting to know more about the whisper - what it was, what its real agenda was, etc. Always the mark of a good plot device in my opinion. The hanging scene was very tight. I thought you crammed a huge amount of story into 6 lines. A minor nitpick - there are a couple of typos and tense errors, if you feel like polishing it up any more. All in all, I really enjoyed this. Well done!

I like the general vibe and feel. The monstrous creations are cool. I thought the ending was bang-on and very nice. As a general comment, I felt like it was a bit choppy and could have used some editing for grammar and flow. Good visuals and great concept, but could use a bit of polishing.

I'm always a fan of doppelgangers! Such good story fodder. I enjoyed its moment of mercy, particularly when it came back to bite it in the ass. The bag of Wicked Dolls was a great visual. You switched from Jasprey to Jasper in the last few paragraphs. 'Some dogs chose the leash' - great line!

Here's my contribution: Sixgun Love. Words:1750 Elements used: All It's my second story. I wrote a full first draft of something else, but it just didn't excite me. Let's hope this one fares better!

Sixgun Love In a benighted alley six vagrants huddled around a fire barrel, trying to stave off the bitter cold. A bottle of cheap rotgut made the rounds. “Your turn Avi. Tell us a story.” “Awright, awright,” Avi said, wiping the bottle with his filthy sleeve and taking a long swig before beginning. “Two summers ago, remember that long hot one? I was up in Debtor’s Delve. I been up there bout three months and just down on a run of bad luck. So there I was sittin outside the bar, beggin scrip off drunks when I heard some yelling and crashin around inside. Two guys come reelin out the front door and another one flies out the window. Tom Riley, the sheriff, comes runnin from up the street with his gun out. The three dudes just beat feet past him like he ain’t even there. He charges up the steps and through the door. “Stand down!” he hollers as he runs in, “By order of the Guild, stand down!” Not two seconds later he comes launching back out the door like he seen the devil himself and clears the stairs without touchin a one of ‘em. He dives behind a barrel and points his Collier at the door. In the whole time I been there I never seen Riley lookin so spooked. “C’mon now,” he shouts, “We don’t have to do it like this.” BLAM! Whoever he’s hollerin at rips off a shot that blows a hole in the post above his head. Riley ducks down. I scuttle down the steps and hunker down behind the water trough. I figure this is gonna get out of hand real fast. I hear footsteps on the porch. Slow and steady. I peek around the end of my trough and look up the steps. First thing I see is these big black boots, and they’re holdin up the finest legs I seen in a long while. She’s wearin shorts that don’t leave nothin to the imagination with holsters slung on both hips. One hand’s got a satchel and the other’s holdin up a gleamin custom Collier revolver. Flamin red hair blowin in the wind. She looks dead at me and I figure I’m a goner. Nothin but hot rage in them green eyes. Guess she figures I wasn’t worth it ‘cause she just ignores me and looks back at the sheriff. “No other way to do it, hun,” she says, “You didn’t think you’d get away clean, did you? You had to know I’d come calling.” So here’s me feeling like I came in at the end of the story and wondering what the hell’s going on. “Don’t make me do this,” Riley sounds off. He’s rattled. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just put ‘er down and let’s talk this out.” BLAM! She puts one through the barrel. It’s as dry and empty as everything else in this dustbowl. Two warnin shots. The look on his face says he knows she could tag him anytime. He’s got his piece out but he ain’t fired a shot. He’s stallin for time, but I can’t figure what for. “Walk away Riley,” The redhead says, “I’ve got four more and I don’t plan on wasting them all trying to convince you. I’m leaving town and I’m taking the stash with me. You be smart. Toss your iron, step out slow, and go home.” “You know I can’t do that,” Riley says, “I can’t let you go.” There’s a weird pause there. “I got a job to do here. You crossed the line and you’ve got to answer for it.” “Right, you’re the Law now, aren’t you? You’ll forgive me if I don’t just roll over and surrender. That tin star doesn’t change who you are,” She sounds… I dunno, disappointed? Disgusted? “The rubes in this town might tip their hats for Sheriff Riley, but I know you better than that. If you were such a born again good citizen you wouldn’t still have the stash, would you? You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still just a two bit con man.” “It’s not that simple,” Riley wasn’t shoutin anymore, “I did what I had to do. Same as you.” They both musta forgot I was there. They’re just talkin to each other like they was the only two people in the world. Two folk havin a heart to heart… with their sixguns drawn. Weirdest damn thing I ever did see. “C’mon now, put ‘er down and let’s talk this out,” he sounds like he’s tryin to soothe a spooked horse, “We can still make this right. You and me, babe, back together again. I could use a good gun and some backbone around here. Just set ‘er down and give back the stones and we can work this out.” BLAM! She puts her third shot through his hat. I shit you not. Right through his hat. “Horseshit!” she spits, “You honestly expect me to eat that steaming pile? Fuck you, John Thomas Riley. Fuck you sideways. I am not one of your cow-eyed farm girls who’ll lift her skirt for a smile, or did you just conveniently forget that when you left me? You think we’ll just wipe the ledger clean and start fresh? Hell with that. Debts always come due and here I am, honey.” I look over at the sheriff, wondering what the hell she’s on about. He’s clearly pickin up what she’s layin down. The man looks so pale I think he might just boot right there in the street. He’s got a hand in his pocket and his eyes closed. When he opens his eyes he gets this hard look on his face. He’s getting ready to make his move. “I know you Riley.” She’s taunting him now, “Right now you’re probably rubbing that goddamned lucky monkey paw and talking yourself into making a move. Don’t. Shooting was always my thing, not yours. You know I’m faster than you. You know you’ll lose. I’m three down and I’m done playing. Don’t give me any more reason to end you than I’ve already got.” Damned if that doesn’t just suck the jam outta his donut. That killer look just melts and sure enough he dumps a mangy little monkey paw, out of his pocket. “You got me,” he says, “I’m going to stand up and step out. I’d take it as a real kindness if you’d not plug me as soon as I show my face.” “No promises,” she says. She’s got a smile on her face now. The sheriff stands up real slow and deliberate and steps out into the street. He’s still got his piece out, but it’s low. He looks up at her and smiles too. I don’t know if they’re gonna start shootin or makin out. Lookin at ‘em, I don’t think they rightly know either. “Riley,” The redhead says. She sounds almost sweet on him now. “Hey Gorgeous,” he says back, “Been a long time…” He’s got a courtin kind of look on his face, all smooth and charmin. BLAM! The smile on her face don’t change a bit when she pops one in his shootin arm. He drops his gun and yelps like a kicked puppy. He staggers back a step and holds his arm. His sleeve’s bloomin red. “Thought you weren’t going to shoot me,” Riley says. His jaw’s tight but he’s still tryin to smile. “I didn’t agree to that,” She says back. “Well, you got me dead to rights,” He says, showin how defenseless he is, “I guess you’re holding all the cards here hun. What’s it going to be?” “What happened to you Riley?” Her gun never moves, but the look on her face softens. “You used to be your own man. You gone soft on the scraps the Guild throws your way? They domesticate you? You spend so much time pretending to be one of them you forgot you were faking?” “You don’t know,” He shakes his head, “You don’t know how it was after… after we parted ways. I had to get low. I figured no better way to disappear than to hide in plain sight.” “I don’t know?!” She explodes, “Ten months. Ten goddamn months I spent in that shithole while you’re up here playing Sheriff for the goddamn Guild! Cry to me about your cush gig, soft bed, and hot food and I will fill you so full of lead you’ll be using your dick for a pencil.” Riley sighs. He can feel the ice he’s on getting thinner and he’s runnin short on time. He takes off his badge and turfs it in the dust. “Listen,” he says, lookin beat, “Let’s start over. No badge, no guns. Let’s just start over.” “Bit late for that, Sheriff.” She’s still holdin her edge but it ain’t as sharp, “We’re a lot miles from where we started. Can’t just go back like the last year didn’t happen.” Damned if she don’t sound a bit sad. “I know,” he says all hangdog, “I just don’t want it to end like this. I’ve thought about seeing you again so many times. I never imagined it would be like this.” “What did you expect?” She’s up there scowling down at him, “You hung me out to dry. The Law came sniffing around and you just rabbited. You didn’t give me a second thought, you snake. I’ve just got one question for you Riley. Did you ever really love me?” Riley smiles, probably thinkin he’s finally gettin somewhere, “Yes… and I sti…” BLAM! She plugs him in the thigh. He screams and drops in the dust. “You’re a snake and a liar, Tom Riley,” she says. She clomps down the stairs and stands right over him, her huge hand cannon pointed right at his face. The sheriff’s layin in the dusty street leakin. “You and me, we’re square now. I’ve got the stash. You got a couple holes in you. I’m leaving. But I’ve got one left in the chamber and if I hear so much as a whimper out of you I’ll put you down.” She turns and walks away real slow. She walks right past where I was hunkered down and she looks straight at me. I dunno what I’m thinkin, but I muster up enough to talk. “Miss?” I say real cautious-like, “Who the hell are you?” “Miss?” She says with this smirk on her face, “Demeanor.” And then she just walks away...

Nicely done. I really liked the balance and weaving together of the flashbacks and the current story. The chase had good tension and pacing, and the flashbacks were a nice counterpoint that told the backstory well. The narrator/protagonist felt very engaging and I liked him immediately. I loved the way you used the two 'don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you. You're a good boy' lines to bring the story full circle. I felt like that worked perfectly. The 'did you ever truly love me' line felt a bit like a round peg in a square hole, kind of mashed in there but not really smoothly. Granted, it's a tough line to work in given the story you're telling. All in all an extremely enjoyable read! Very well done!

Hey all, Well, we're in Week 1 of Nythera and I'm looking forward to expanding my crew. My arsenal currently consists of: Barbaros (leader) + Nephilim Gladiatus Illuminated (injured: -2 Wp) Beckoner Waldgeist Terror Tot (Campaign Equipment) Grisly Trophy (1SS upgrade to give model Terrifying (All) 12) My primary opponent is running Arcanists: Joss, 2x Rail Workers, Arcane Effigy, Arcane Emissary, Imbued Energies and a couple disposable campaign upgrades I'm getting torn apart. I figured I'd poll the hivemind for suggestions on what to add to my Arsenal going forward. I'm torn between trying to add a big beater like Teddy or Hooded Rider or Mature Neph or going for a run-and-hide sort of list and adding another scheme runner or two. Angel Eyes is also on my radar to soften up those bloody armored + HtK models before the hit me. Any crew expansion suggestions?

I'm in. My ideas are already tripping over each other trying to find some way to integrate all the elements. I love the randomness of the element collections each month. It always stretches my brain in all manner of interesting ways.

Wha?!?! Whoa! Thanks all! I'm totally surprised. I didn't think I stood a chance against some of the other entries. I certainly had a tough time choosing my votes. A great round working with some very interesting elements to tie together.

Lol, just a bit much overkill? Hitting a fly with a sledgehammer?

I just played my first game with Zoraida this weekend. All in all I was pleased with her and her little friend. I summoned the little blighter on T1 and immediately hemmed Johanna, then proceeded to try unsuccessfully to Burn her down with Hex Bag. She kept healing with her (2) healing tactical, which had the net effect of her not doing much else, and she was a very willing subject to Obey with the + flip for being hemmed. I didn't actually have to move Mama Z or the doll the whole game (anomalous situation, granted) but that left me at a loss. Just what do you do with a Voodoo Doll's own activation? If they're on the move, he'd have to double walk just to keep up with Zoraida, but on a turn where they sit still, just what do you do with him? I didn't need to walk. I didn't want to hem a different target. There was nothing to flail at with his tiny little nubbin-arms. One turn I focused twice just so I felt like I'd used his AP. What tricks and shenanigans am I missing out on here?

Fair point. That was sort of the intent, though I may have taken it too far. I remember a character from some movie... Sin City I think, who used way over the top pedantic language in an effort to sound smart despite the fact that he was essentially just a goon. Thanks for the feedback!

Ooooh. That makes sense then! I guess there's a reason my mom told me not to make assumptions! In that case, I'd amend my comment to be that the phantom limb wants more air time! It's a cool idea, and is one of the big reveals. I'd be inclined to highlight it more. :-)

Deftly done. It takes some thinking to turn a battle report into a coherent narrative... that hits all 5 Iron Quill elements!

Good tale! Nice to see more of the Bel and Sam arc. I have a pleasantly visceral dislike of Hibble. I see him show up and just want to smack him. Clearly a good recurring antagonist. As usual, I love the little details like passing time counting cards. You do a good job of setting the scene and tone. There's a lot of drifting between past and present tense (said vs. says, etc.) that could use some tidying up. I felt like the baby-flesh new left arm came a bit out of the blue. He's trying to figure out how to lift the floorboard with 1 hand, then he has a new one 2 lines later. I had to go back and re-read to see if I'd missed it being attached. I'd be inclined to reference having the new arm while he's convalescing to establish that the procedure's been done. Well done!

My contribution to the Quill this month is . Words: 1750 Elements: Theme: Under the water Character: The innocent(?) Line: It would all be alright Item: Musical instrument Location: The Crossroads C&C absolutely welcomed! Enjoy.

Drowning in the Desert Under water again. Don’t breathe. Lungs burning. My mouth wants to open, to gulp in air. Everything would be alright if I could just breathe. Fight it. Fight it. Don’t panic. What a stupid thing to say. Panic is the only sensible response. My pulse pounds in my ears. Bubbles escape my nose and tickle up my face past my eyes. I struggle. Thrash. I can’t hear them down here, but I know they’re laughing at me. A few more seconds and I won’t be able to fight it. I’m going to breathe in. Maybe it won’t be so bad. The edges of my vision are getting blurry and black. Against my wishes, my mouth opens. With a jerk, I’m hauled up out of the bucket. The pockmarked bastard with the bad moustache pulls me up by a fistful of my hair. I suck in a lungful of hot desert air that burns almost as much as the absence of it. The midday sun is a burning ring of fire. My eyes adjust again. Water pours down my face. “Tell the truth this time and we’ll make it stop.” It’s the one with the eye patch who speaks. He’s got a British accent. Sort of cockney, but not quite. I think he’s faking it. “Simply confirm for us that you are, in fact, the man in black and we can put an end to this.” “I told you I’m innocent!” I try not to sound as desperate as I am, “I’m not the man you’re looking for. I have no idea who killed your friends, but it certainly wasn’t me!” “He’s lying,” the moustachioed Mexican says, jerking my head back, “Just look at him. I see the black coat. I see the guitar. I see the pistolas. Sounds like the man to me. I say we just shoot him and leave him for the vultures.” “Lot of folk pass through the crossroads,” the big meathead with the wild black beard finally speaks, “We could string ‘im up like a message: Don’t mess with the Desert Dogs.” “That’s why we need the truth of it, you thick skulled Neanderthal,” replies the Brit, “If we go about saying we killed the man who will not die, we better be bloody well sure we did. If, in point of fact, we have done so, then our reputation will received a sorely needed injection of menace. If we did not, then it seems entirely likely that the man will come around to correct that error.” I say nothing. I just look around, hoping for some sort of salvation. All I see is miles of empty badlands. The pitiful camp these three scavengers have set up in the little valley looks set to blow away with the next stiff breeze. No one knows I’m here, and no one would care even if they did. Salvation isn’t coming. I’m going to die out here. Drowned in the desert. How ironic. Maybe someone will write a song about me someday. “You see my dilemma,” the Brit looks down at me with his one good eye, thumb hitched on his worn revolver, “It behooves us to be thorough in our investigation of the circumstances under which you came into our possession. I’m very sorry to have to subject you to this.” He gestures to the thug with my hair in his hand and I’m plunged into the water again. Deep breath. Water rushes up my nose. It burns and forces its way down my throat. Calm. Be calm. Be calm. Let me up! I don’t want to die here. Distorted sounds of sloshing rushing in my ears. Fight it. Lips pressed tight. Be strong. Be brave. He’ll pull me up soon. Soon. Soon? Maybe the Mexican will let me drown. Please. Please. Please. Don’t let me die. It hurts. Thought my breath would last longer. Bubbles escaping my nose. Grit my teeth. Be brave. Be brave. The Mexican wrenches me back out again. I gasp and sputter. The Brit tries to look sympathetic, but it’s so empty he shouldn’t bother. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I say, coughing out dirty water, “I’m just a musician. I travel around the small towns to sing and play for a little money. I was going to Innocence when you shot my horse out from under me.” “Yes, yes, troubadour, restless soul, intrepid wanderer,” he says, “So then clarify for me why you are sporting a brace of such fine looking side arms? It seems legitimately questionable how an itinerant bard such as yourself would be able to afford so lovely a pair of prison pistols as those.” He’s got a point. What can the truth hurt? I’m dead anyway. “I stole them.” “A troubadour and a thief then? A man of many talents!” The Brit seems amused by this. I have a faint glimmer of hope. Maybe I can win him over. I can buy some time if nothing else. “The reason I’m out here,” I try to sound confessional and conspiratorial. I think it mostly just comes off as soggy and pathetic, “is because I stole Santiago Ortega’s pistols and he would very much like them back.” The Mexican laughs. It’s a wet phlegmy smoker’s bark. “You stole from the Ortegas? Ha! Maybe we just tie you to a horse and send you to Latigo. Let the little sister use you for target practice!” I force a weak smile, “So you can see why I’m out here in the badlands. I just need to disappear for a while.” The Beard picks up the pistols out of my piled belongings and looks closely at the markings on them, “Som’bitch is tellin true. They got Ortega brands on em.” It’s not entirely true. I stole them from a drunk pistolero, but why muddy things with facts? “You’ve certainly got hefty minerals my friend,” The Brit laughs, “Though you appear to have a significant deficit of common sense.” “A’right, so I get the pistols,” The meathead scrunches his furry eyebrows till they knit, “but that don’t explain the hat ‘n the coat. They’s still awful black.” “I believe I can apprehend the intent of this clever ruse,” The Brit looks quite pleased with himself, “I think our friend here looked to borrow the man’s reputation to avoid unwanted complications. There’s not many would impugn the reputation of the man himself. A guitar and a pair of pistols in hand, all that’s needed were the clothes to complete the ensemble. By all means correct me if I misspeak.” I nod my wet head, “Guilty as charged. I figured it would be easier to skate by with a little good will on my side.” This is about as good a moment as I’m likely to get, so I play my last cards, “Speaking of good will, it sounds like you’re a few men short of a posse. We’re all men of flexible morals. What say you untie me and we start over?” “Too clever by half, my boy,” says the Brit, still smiling, “but as my associate says, I’m inclined to just tie you to the crossroads post to send a message.” His smile drops when he looks at the Mexican, “Drown him. Save the bullet.” One hasty breath before I’m face down in the bucket again. Now I panic. There’s no coming up from this one. It’s over. Heart’s pounding like a trip hammer. So hard not to breathe. I struggle and thrash. I kick something, maybe the Mexican’s foot. I hear my screams trapped in my throat. I give it everything I’ve got. Fight. Kick. Try to knock the bucket over. Noises. Gunshots? A bullet passes through the bucket, an inch from my face. The wood shatters and the water falls away. I suck air as my face mashes down into the shattered wood. The hand on the back of my head lets go. I hear his body hit the ground behind me. Silence. Footsteps, slow and even, crunching in the grit. “You okay son?” I look up through the splayed slats of my mangled bucket. He’s a silhouette against the blazing white sun. Wide brim hat, duster, a smoking pistol in one hand and the other extended to help me up. Over his shoulder I see what can only be the neck of a guitar. I nearly piss myself. “I’m okay,” I stutter, fresh dirt turning the water on my face to mud, “Thanks.” He helps me up and unties the rope around my wrists. I look around. My tormenters lie dead in the dirt with smoking holes in them. The sudden peace in the valley is eerie. “Those are some distinctive looking duds,” he nods toward the pile of my belongings. He’s got this low deep drawl that’s almost hypnotic, “Don’t suppose you’d know anything about them?” Busted. Think fast. “Yeah,” Looking pitiful comes pretty easy to me in this moment, “That’s how they snookered me. The one with the eye patch. He was dressed like you. I…” A little shift from pitiful to sheepish, “I thought he was you, I mean from a distance. When I came up close his two thugs jumped me and took everything I had. They bound me up and tortured me. They were looking for you. He dressed up like you when they robbed folk passing through the crossroads. He said he figured you’d come looking, then they’d do for you.” “So you’re just an innocent fella passing through, huh?” It freaks me out that I can’t see his eyes in the shadow of his hat. I have no idea what he’s making of any of this. “Yeah, nothing much to it,” I say, shaking my head ruefully, “I was just riding for Innocence, looking to get clear of the city and find some honest work.” “Uh huh,” He pokes at the pile of clothes with the toe of one worn boot, “Well son, might be that news travels slow, but Innocence has had some troubles of late. I’m thinking it ain’t a place for an earnest and hard-working fellow like yourself. Tell you what though, I’m heading north. Why don’t you join me? Help me get those fine looking irons back to their rightful owner.” His tone clearly implies there is a lack of alternatives, “Latigo’s always been friendly to me. I’ve a mind to repay the kindness.” I start thinking I was better off drowning.

Awesome, I look forward to reading your entry!

Whoa... this should be an interesting challenge. I'm totally in.

Congrats AdmiralVorkraft! I loved your piece, as I so often do. Well done. Looking forward to more next round!

I like it better. Being in town fits better, and adding the Red Dog gives you a nice sense of place. The little snippets of town life also help establish the scene. I like the way you still keep the little hair-raising bit when their eyes meet. It loses a little something without the distance - Hod seeing him at telescope distance was more unsettling, but being close works better in every other way. Niggly things: you italicize all of Flynn's thoughts, except "Unfortunately, Flynn thinks, The man has a point. " This line: “He takes town scrip,” Hibble says, “If you can’t find some reason to get rid of him then I need to find a sheriff capable of the job.” - it feels like it joins two unrelated thoughts together. Maybe even just a couple words to transition. It feels like it wants to be an abrupt, irritated dismissal but it needs like a little something extra to move between Hibble's two thoughts. Maybe something like: "He takes town scrip," Hibble snaps, as if that was explanation enough," Look, if you can't get rid of him, I'll find a sheriff capable of doing the job." I like the parallel of this line: Promise thrums beneath his feet, with the later revelation of the Orchard and what's beneath his feet there.

Sweet! I'm an avid fan of your serial characters, so the start of Act II is rather exciting news!

Ooooh, delightfully creepifying! What a great villain. "I'll plant them all!" made me smile. I feel like the opening scene of Flynn and Hibble missed a bit for me. Why were they so far away watching in the freezing cold? Couldn't they have been closer? Hibble doesn't strike me as a guy who would go out of his way just to point out a mark. Once we get to Flynn and Hob it flows nicely though. I thought you captured the bewilderment of the whore after sticking Hob nicely. It was easy to picture her standing there looking lost while her captor bleeds out from a comb wound at her feet. Oh, and I think there's an unintended line break in 'How are you paying for oranges in November with town scrip?'