Haunter

Ladies, gentlemen, and strange tentacly things, may I offer up: The Woman in White Words: 1718 Ingredients: Theme - Pride Character - The Grocer (well, moreso the grocer's son) Line - Red sky at night Item - comb Location - graveyard

“I still dunno if this is a good idea guys.” “S’matter Pillsy, you scared?” Nate made an exaggerated ghoulish face and lunged at his timid friend. “No I ain’t Nate, just… what if…” the boy’s eyes darted in the direction of a rustle of grass. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “What if she’s real?” “That’s the whole point, you gremlin,” Jackson interjected loudly, putting an arm around his nervous friend’s shoulder, “If she ain’t real, it ain’t worth doin. No braggin rights if you don’t do nothin! I’m gonna find the Woman in White and kiss her square on the lips. Now c’mon, shut up and help me look.” The three boys continued searching the overgrown graveyard, peering closely at weathered headstones to make out the worn names and dates in the fading light. The old boneyard, as the residents of Redemption Ridge had come to call it, dated from the time of the first Breach. The townsfolk had started a new graveyard next to the Guild-sponsored church up the hill, leaving the old boneyard untouched. “How can you dumbasses not know where her stone is?” Jackson complained, “It’s your goddamn legend! You tellin me neither of you’s ever actually seen her?” “I never did,” replied Pillsbury, adjusting his glasses, “but my brother’s best friend’s brother saw her for real. Hair all fell out after, and he ain’t never been right since.” “Matt Driediger never saw the Woman in White,” Nate chortled a couple rows over, “He drank Chip Logan’s moonshine and lost his hair and his wits with one swig. You seen Chip? Tell me I ain’t right.” “Damnation,” Jackson leaned on a mossy grave marker and looked up, “I still ain’t got used to two moons. Back Earthside there’s just the one.” “It ain’t so bad,” Nate said, “Nights are so damn dark you need ‘em both to see anythin. Man, check out that sunset. So red…” he turned to Pillsbury and lowered his voice ominously, “like blooood!” “Quit it Nate,” the third boy replied defensively. “Red sky at night, cowards take flight,” Nate snickered. “Cow turd,” Pillsbury shot back. “Gotta scoop it to know it.” “I ain’t no stall mucker!” “Nah, it ain’t muckin you’re doin with McCall’s cows, is it?” “Gross! You got filth between your ears Nate!” Nate grinned and wiggled his pinkie in his ear, then smelled it, “Yep! Careful you don’t get any on ya!” He brandished his finger at Pillsbury, who backed away in disgust. “Great,” Jackson groaned, “I’m tryin to hunt ghosts and you two’re making cow fuckin jokes. C’mon guys, help me find her grave. I wanna be there ‘fore the sun’s gone.” “Hey Jackson,” Pillsbury asked as they resumed their search, “why’re you so all fired up to find the ghost anyway?” Jackson puffed with a blustery reply but deflated and said honestly, “Clarice Booth said I was greener than my old man’s groceries. Said I wouldn’t last a season in Malifaux without running back through the Breach. I mean to show her I got the balls to make it here.” “If you want to show Clarice your balls, there’s classier places here man,” Nate said, “But don’t get your hopes up. Billy Rickets got his eye on her. He’ll take a piece of you just for thinking about her. You ain’t been around long enough to know it but what Billy wants, Billy gets.” “I ain’t scared of Billy Rickets. If he wants a piece of me, he can come get one. My pa showed me throw a punch that’ll knock out a horse.” “What, he’s secretly a bare knuckle brawler when he ain’t mindin the shop? Your pa don’t weigh six stone. Doubt he could even lift the groceries he bags.” Nate snickered at his own joke. “He always said you gotta watch out for the skinny ones, Nate. They’re the ones got somethin to prove.” Jackson said. “Say, you’re lookin a little scrawny yourself Jacky boy! Wanna prove somethin?” Nate raised his fists in a comical boxer’s stance. “Pillsy’s right, you are a turd!” Jackson grinned at his friend, then turned serious, “For real though, pa can hold his own. It was rough where we came from. Rough enough that Malifaux seemed like a step up.” “Hey Jackson,” Pillsbury piped up, “You ever see a ghost back Earthside? For real?” “Sure,” he replied, “Once I seen a guy hanged by the marshals in the town square, then two nights later I seen him again floatin around the gallows. I wasn’t scared though. My aunt’s psychic so I already knew all about spirits and stuff. He was bound to the spot he died, stuck between worlds ‘cause he died so horrible. She says it happens like that sometimes.” “Hey! Hey, over here!” Nate waved excitedly from the end of a long row of grave markers near a dark knot of gnarled trees and scraggly bushes. Jackson and Pillsbury scrambled through the tangled grass to see what Nate had discovered. Jackson sparked a candle and held it close to the headstone. He scrubbed some moss and dirt away with his hand. The inscription read “Lena Rothschilde – Earnest. Righteous. Fair.” “Holy shit,” Jackson said, “This is really her?” Nate nodded, “Yeah. Story goes that she was like a town deacon or something. Cast iron bitch. She had people whipped for swearing and hanged if she caught them doin things she thought was immoral. She pissed too many folk off and the whole town turned on her. They took turns doin everything to her that she had ever punished them for. When they was done they burned her alive, then buried what was left of her bones here. She didn’t stay dead though. She was so pissed that her spirit came back. She cursed everyone who’d been in on it, and did everything they did to her back to each of ‘em. There weren’t no one left in the town by the end of it all so she finally rested… ‘til the Guild had the town resettled when they found soulstone in the hills. Now she’s wakin up, judging folk for their sins and settlin her old scores all over again.” Pillsbury’s double chin quivered and his wide eyes darted about, expecting the spirit to appear at any moment. Jackson smirked confidently, “Well, good thing I’m pure as the driven snow then! No sins to punish here!” “Seriously Jackson,” Nate said, uncharacteristically somber, “You don’t get it. This isn’t some Earthside ghost story told to scare little kids. Bad things happen in Malifaux. The Woman’s real. Folks have seen her. Folks have disappeared. I don’t think you should be messin with this.” “Getting cold feet Nate?” Jackson teased, “Figured you was braver than Pillsy here.” “Nate’s right,” Pillsbury quavered, “I heard if you look her in the eyes, she’ll burn you from the inside out. Nothin left but ashes. S’why there’s never bodies left over.” He squinted in the gloom, “Seriously guys, I think we should get gone. You made your point Jackson, you found her grave. You’re in the club, you’re a real Malifaux guy now, so c’mon, let’s go before something bad happens.” “Listen to the two of you. You sound like old maids! Oooh, ‘bad things happen!’” He parroted Nate, “You two chicken out if you like, but I ain’t leavin till I see her with my own eyes.” “I can outrun Pillsy here, so I’ll be able to escape.” Nate said, reclaiming some of his bravado. “I… I don’t wanna walk through the boneyard alone after dark,” Pillsbury said sheepishly. The three boys hunkered down as darkness fell. The old boneyard was silent but for the occasional rustle of leaves and grass disturbed by an errant breeze. The lone candle they had flickered with every whisper of wind, threatening to wink out. Brave banter faded to anxious silence as time slithered by. Dry grass rustled. The candle flickered. Minutes passed. “I think I heard something.” “What, Nate?” “I don’t know. Weren’t just the wind though.” “Guys, we gotta go. This ain’t funny no more.” “Stow it Pillsy. I’m listenin.” “There. Hear it?” “No.” “Guys…” “Stow it, Pillsy.” “Think it came from over there.” Nate nodded to the scraggly bushes. “Gimme the candle.” Jackson snatched the candle from Pillsbury’s protective hand and stood. He squinted as he peered beyond the feeble circle of light. Suddenly a figure rose from behind the large tombstone directly in front of Jackson. She was dressed in a flowing white dress that seemed to almost glow in the candle light. A white veil covered a pale face. Dirt stained her pallid hands as if she had clawed her way from the grave. In a rasping voice she shrieked, “I’ll swallow your soul!” Jackson screamed in terror and stumbled backwards, tripping over a headstone and falling flat on his back. The candle fell from his hand and went out, plunging the scene into darkness. Winded but fueled by panic, Jackson scrambled blindly away. Uproarious laughter erupted in the dark. A match flared to life and relit the candle. Nate and Pillsbury leaned against tombstones laughing hysterically at their prostrate friend. The woman in white removed her veil and joined in the amusement. “Clarice?!” Jackson looked incredulously up at the girl behind the veil. Her grinning face was covered in chalk powder. She pulled out a comb to straighten the mess the veil had made of her hair. “Man oh man oh man,” Nate gasped through his laughter, “The look on your face!” Even Pillsbury’s face had a superior look on it, “Pretty funny Jackson. We got you good!” “Green as groceries,” Clarice teased, “Told you so.” “Assholes.” Jackson grumbled. He couldn’t resist the collective mirth of his friends for long, and a rueful smile soon erased his frown. “Jackson Holt, fearless ghost hunter!” Nate said, offering him a hand up. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” Jackson groaned. “Nope,” said Nate gleefully, “Not a chance.” “So much for bragging rights,” Jackson sighed, “Guess this night’s a bust.” “Hey,” Clarice said with a twinkle in her eye, “Didn’t you say you were going to kiss the Woman in White right on the lips?” Nate and Pillsbury giggled and oohed. “Maybe it ain’t such a bad night after all…”

I just stumbled across this - a local nerd pub is doing a micro fic contest on beer coasters. Just thought I'd share it with the only people I know who might thing it was as cool as I did! http://www.stormcrowtavern.com/talesfromthebeermat/?utm_content=buffer3d01e&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer If I can get my latest Iron Quill entry nailed down I may take a stab at entering.

Theoryfaux question for the wily vets - what about hiring Taelor? I know she's a merc so not techinically in-faction, but wouldn't her 'Welcome to Malifaux' go a long way to whack-a-mole-ing his summons? I've never been on either side of Nico, but on paper that seems to be one of the things she's built for.

What a wonderfully strange collection of ingredients. My brain's twisting itself in knots trying to tie them all together. Can't wait to get started!

Defilers. Digging, chopping, bleeding this land. I watch your desperate scurrying. I smell the sour stink of unwashed sweat. By day you work your mines and fields You rape our land to fuel your mortal magic. I feel the pain of every pick strike, every axe bite in my own body. You know this is not your world. You do not belong. None will speak that truth aloud, but you know all the same. By night you huddle around lantern and torch. Your little lights will not protect you in the night. I will teach you to fear the dark.

Most crew boxes will get you started with a solid core. There are a couple of exceptions that pretty much scream for additional purchases to be viable, but those are filthy Ressers or Outcasts so not a concern for a noble Arcanist like yourself. Bertmac's suggestions are pretty solid to my thinking. I think I'd weigh in strongly behind Ramos as well. His box includes two models that are staples in a lot of different crews ('cause let's face it, odds are good you're going to succumb to the Pokemon effect and eventually buy All The Things). Ramos is a solid master, and he comes with Joss and Howard Langston who are arguably a couple of our best heavy hitter/tanks. I know nothing about his totem, so can't comment with any intelligence. My understanding is that you'd probably want an extra box of steam arachnids just to handle the summoning load. Metal gamin are also very useful little critters. With the Ramos box + metal gamin + extra box of spiders you'd have a master, henchman, enforcer, and some good minions. A pretty good start. Marcus gives pretty good return on investment too, if the idea of a beasty crew appeals. It has a solid henchman in Myranda, a solid hitter (Cerberus), a tank (Cojo), and a tarpit (Razorspine Rattler)... oh, and an adorably little bunny... with HORNS! Expanding from the starter box there are a few solid picks - as was said Silurids (Scheme runners) or Waldgeist (Tank/area control) (both Neverborn faction) or a box of Canine Remains (scheme runners) (Ressurrectionist) would probably be good picks. Rasputina has the advantage of having a fairly tight themed crew if that appeals. Her box set has a big hitter/tank and some little minions. Her totem sounds pretty skookum too. Expanding in theme from there you've just got December Acolytes who are amazing. Much like Ramos's buddies, they're great in any crew! If you can find old metal you could pick up blister packs of Silent Ones or Blessed of December.

Just like it says on the tin - how many Silent Ones are you likely to field at one time assuming a 50SS game and the standard play-to-schemes-strats-opponent-board caveat? I've got 1, and may be able to score another 1 or 2. Is there much cause/opportunity to bring multiples, or do you find yourself bring 1 if you bring any? Currently my primary crew is Colette, but I'm working on scrabbling together a Rasputina Frozen Heart-heavy crew too. And while I'm asking, any tips and tricks on using them? Cheers, Haunter

I am more interested in the bragging rights and community participation than the prize support. Not to downplay how excited I'd be to win free toys - a box set is a massive gift in my current spot in life. I was excited to write before I knew about the tangible rewards. I'm just really pleased to be involved in a community of interesting, thoughtful, and talented writers (writing geek fan fic to boot!) If the prizes disappeared tomorrow, I'd still be excited to jump in the ring next month. When I first started in I found the 1750 word limit intimidating because it was so short. I tend to run long (obviously) so I wasn't sure how to tell a whole story in only 1750. That's been part of the fun challenge. I think Ferossa's Judge's Challenge ideas are interesting, and I'd be game to participate in them when I can.

I'm a relative newcomer to Iron Quill, having entered in the last few months. I really like the format as-is. I like the weighting of the authors' votes - it feels like a perk of participation. When I write and enter something in the contest, I feel invested in the process and I like feeling like I can help propel my favorite stories toward victory. I like that those who actively participate get heavier say in who gets those all important bragging rights for the month. That said, I'm obviously a huge fan of non-writing readers voting because we want people to read and enjoy and feel like a part of the community too! Following from Laatija Grey's comment, what was the logic in the rule that writers had to vote lest they be disqualified? I don't mind it as a rule because I really like having the opportunity to vote and can't see myself not doing so. Am I alone in not finding the voting date confusing? 'Vote by X date' seems straight forward in theory (taking aside poor Edonil's technological follies). How would you determine a voting cut-off that is clearer? I think a clear cut-off date is important so there's at least nominal pressure to cast your votes. Given infinite time, many people will procrastinate infinitely. When I first started I wondered how the ingredients were chosen. Once I placed in the top 3 I saw behind the curtain. I think it's a very elegant way of ensuring a random and interesting mix, which is a big part of the fun for me. I love having to figure out how to build a story around a sometimes very random collection of elements. The addition of prize support is an amazing boon (thanks Aaron et al.!!) The idea that I can get toys for doing something I love already is pretty amazing. I suppose my question is if people feel like that changes anything? Writers - has the addition of prize support changed how you feel about writing in Iron Quill, or how you participate? Non-writers, how do you feel about people winning free swag for participating in a community-building activity? Is it a slippery slope where people will suddenly be creating contests in hopes of getting prizes? Is it harmless and cool, or a step on the path to an entitled grabby-hands Dark Side? @ Victoria - I'm curious to hear more about the idea of having judges. How would you see them being selected? Would they have to reach consensus? What sort of model would they use for coming to it? I'd be curious to hear from people who might like to enter, but haven't yet thrown their hat in the ring. What would help make it more accessible for new writers? For me, discovering Iron Quill has been a huge booster for my nascent writer-brain. It's short and manageable (I have small kids, so hobby time is very limited), has enough structure that I have a good frame to work in, and it's reinforcing to participate in a community like this. I like feeling challenged by other writers' stories and poetry - it sets a bar for me to aspire to, and some of the feedback discussions that have come from it have been very fruitful. I feel like each month I get a little sharper in my ability, which feels good. I feel like some of the regular writers have way better writing chops than I do, and I learn from reading their stories. When I see someone's work and I find that I have opinions on how to improve it, it feels good to see that I know something and might be able to help improve someone's game. TL;DR I like the Iron Quill format just as it is, but if others see improvements I'm probably game for whatever. Have contest, will write.

This is my surprised face! Wow! I'm sort of stunned... but not so stunned that I'm not also really thrilled! Thanks for the vote(s) of confidence! I was really excited by the 2nd and 3rd place entries as well, and I'm proud to share the podium with such good work. ... ... ... Okay, now that the shock has worn off, I shall do a happy dance! This was a fun story to write. I started off with the Night Market as a location, and that I intended for one character to sacrifice the other. Then I started writing. It was clear pretty early in the first draft that Geoffrey was the sucker. Poor Geoffrey. I struggled for a long time with the 3rd act, scouring my rule books for an appropriate villain. In unrelated googling I stumble across a pic of Ama No Zako that I think was from the Frozen Moments diorama section and it clicked. Oni, meet lunch. I was tickled with the idea of the extra-dimensional tent, but worried that the stark change of setting would be too jarring and feel too out of sync with the bleakness of the Quarantine Zone and Night Market. In the end it felt like it worked well enough. I'm excited for the next round... and curious about this whole 'rules discussion' thing Edonil's talking about.

I would welcome English Teacher feedback. Tense, voice, grammar, punctuation, you name it. I'd love feedback on broader concepts and ideas, including how the round ingredients were integrated into the story. Also narrative voice - what's working, what's not. Really, any feedback that's going to either keep me on a right track or help shore up a weak point in my writing would be great. In short: feedback? Yes please.

A small number of entries this month, but still good stuff! Always a joy to write and to read (and to listen this time too!). My votes are in as well.

Whoa. That is... extraordinary. I'm blown away. What a wonderfully artistic, evocative piece. It made me feel. Simply brilliant.

She does do other things. In this game she summoned 2 doves to balance out activation control, teleported herself out of uselessness and into the perfect position, and even used Saber Trick to help out in killing a necropunk. Her use of Doves and Practiced Production helped cement ALITS with hard to reach scheme markers. She is more versatile than that, but Prompt is still just so shiny to me (I've only played about 3 games with her so I still have giddy glee every time I use it to do something skookum).

For the consumption of the curious masses, I offer The Night Market. Word count: 1746 Ingredients used: Theme - The Lost Character - The Apprentice Line - The shadows are moving Item - Book Location - The Market

The Night Market “Are we lost?” Malcolm frowned at his young apprentice, “We are not lost. We do not know where we are going. There is a difference.” Geoffrey’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. He looked around at the dilapidated buildings leaning against each other like slumping drunks, vomiting detritus from their doors onto filth-crusted cobblestones. The anemic light cast by Malifaux’s two moons cast their surroundings in sepia and shadow. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter around himself. It had rained earlier in the day, leaving the Quarantine Zone smelling like nothing so much as rotting dog fur. “How are they different?” he asked after a long moment. His voice seemed to be swallowed by the oppressive silence of the street. Malcolm’s tone was even, hiding his impatience. “One is lost when one cannot find their way to their destination despite knowing where it is. We do not know where our destination is, thus we are not lost.” “Oh.” A rat the size of a house cat scurried up onto an overturned baby carriage, stretching its fat body to sniff the air. Its red eyes fixed them with a malevolent look before it flopped gracelessly down to the ground and skittered away into a crack in a wall. The pair continued to walk in silence. According to Malcolm their destination moved from night to night. From the surety with which his master walked, Geoffrey assumed there must be some art to finding it. Geoffrey caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. “Master,” he whispered, “the shadows are moving!” “Indeed.” Malcolm stopped in the middle of the wide boulevard, “Crooligans. They have been following us for three blocks. It appears you will have an opportunity to practice tonight.” Geoffrey swallowed hard and shook the tension out of his arms. Three small figures slipped from the shadows and spread out around them. The rags and bandages could not hide the ravaged features of the undead children. They wasted no time in pressing the attack. “Fire.” Malcolm barked, standing back with his arms folded. Geoffrey’s eyes rolled back in his head as jets of blazing orange and red erupted from his hands and engulfed the first Crooligan. “Air.” The flames in Geoffrey’s hands winked out like snuffed candles. His face twisted with concentration. He swept his arms around in a swirling motion. His next assailant was lifted on a gust of wind and flung against a crumbled wall with a sickening thud. “Ice.” Geoffrey drew back a fist to strike the last Crooligan. As he launched his hand forward a spear of ice formed around it, impaling the rotten creature. “Well done.” Malcolm said, clapping his panting apprentice on the shoulder before resuming his walk. Geoffrey quickly collected himself and caught up. “I suspect we’re close,” Malcolm said, “Scavengers like that are drawn to it.” “Where exactly are we going?” “To the Night Market.” They turned a corner and were met with a scene that made Geoffrey’s mind scream out in protest. A black parody of a market filled the dim street before them. At a butcher’s stall two thirds of a human body hung from a meat hook. The butcher was a misshapen creature in a bloody apron with a cleaver in one deformed hand. An apothecary’s stand was neatly arrayed with ingredients for potions, poisons, and narcotics. A hawker, clearly undead and missing an arm, touted his master’s cheap zombies in a gravelly monotone that belied the suspect quality of goods he was shilling. Humans, Nephilim, and all manner of nightmarish creatures all rubbed shoulders while green gremlins and darker things scurried about underfoot. By unspoken accord mortal enemies mingled without incident, all sharing a common purpose. Malcolm calmly led Geoffrey into the milling market, politely pausing as a cloven-hoofed creature led a gaunt and mostly naked man past on a chain. They deftly sidestepped a pair of heavily armed gremlins that couldn’t be seen until they were almost upon them. Geoffrey quailed when he accidently bumped into an eight foot tall Nephilim but the creature merely looked down at him, snuffled dismissively and lumbered on. “What…” Geoffrey could hardly formulate words, “What is this place?” “The Night Market.” His mentor replied as if it were self-evident. “But how? Why? It… it…” “It is a little jarring at first, I will concede. Rest assured, you get used to it.” “How can this be real? How can this exist?” Geoffrey was incredulous. “Common ground.” Malcolm replied, “Brought together by the one guiding principle followed by all who would seek such a place: Power. Power, true power, always comes at a price. There are those who seek it through conventional means, and there are those who take… other paths. Those who come here set aside their petty grievances, sympathies and bespoke loyalties in order to find what is most important to them. We all have something of value to someone, and we all want something. Everything has a price. This place exists for those willing to pay.” Geoffrey gawked, scarcely able to believe what he saw but unable to look away. He watched forbidden trade happen with the same casualness that one might barter for a new coat. Once he got over the shock of walking among monsters, it was the humans who fascinated him most. They looked so normal, but grossly out of place for it. A bent old woman in a threadbare overcoat haggled with what appeared to be puppet in full jester’s motley over the price of a child’s teddy bear. The animate doll seemed to communicate through elaborate pantomime. Geoffrey shivered and tried not to think about where the stuffed bear had come from or what it would be used for. He glimpsed a tall stovepipe hat and stared wide-eyed at the man wearing it. “Isn’t that the undertaker?” He said, gesturing with his head. “One neither sees nor is seen in the Night Market.” Malcolm admonished. Geoffrey swallowed and looked away. Master and apprentice wove through the crowd until they came to a grimy tent. Malcolm pushed the flap aside and entered. Fearful of being left behind, Geoffrey hurried after. Inside the tent was impossibly spacious and richly appointed. The walls were hung with silks of red and maroon finer than anything Geoffrey had ever seen. Several small paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, swirling motes within them casting soft yellow light. A low table was surrounded by plush pillows. At the back of the tent hung a curtain with a sinuous oriental dragon embossed in gold. The outer door flap closed behind the apprentice, immediately cancelling out the sounds of the outside. Removed from the abattoir stink of the Night Market, Geoffrey could smell the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms. The curtain at the back of the tent was pulled aside by a grotesque creature whose warty red skin and snaggle-toothed face seemed absurdly at odds with the beautiful blue silk kimono it wore. It bowed and growled something in the language of the Three Kingdoms. Malcolm bowed low and replied in the same tongue. All Geoffrey understood were their names as his master apparently made introductions. He did his best to swallow his fear and focus as he had been taught. He forced himself to approximate a bow similar to Malcolm’s. The Oni gestured to the table and pillows and waited until its guests were seated comfortably before folding its thick legs in a lotus position across from them. On cue a diminutive creature in robes shuffled out from behind the dragon curtain bearing an ornate bamboo platter with three porcelain tea bowls and a steaming pot. It set the platter reverently on the table and retreated silently behind the curtain again. With practiced grace the Oni carefully poured tea for Malcolm, Geoffrey, and finally itself. “Please,” it said, its words thickly accented, “drink.” Malcolm drank his steaming matcha slowly, taking time to appreciate it with every sense. Geoffrey watched his master out of the corner of his eye and did his best to mimic his actions though he failed to observe anything about what he was drinking. After several long and contemplative moments of silence, Malcolm spoke, “I am most grateful for your hospitality, Kakure Oni.” Geoffrey was aware of an odd aftertaste in his mouth. His tongue felt furry and numb. “You honor me with your presence, Malcolm Durand.” It intoned formally. Geoffrey’s fingers and toes tingled and refused to respond to his commands. Panic started to percolate in the pit of his stomach. “You have come for the book,” The Oni said after a pause, “The One Hundred Winds.” Malcolm nodded, “I hope that my offer is acceptable to you?” Geoffrey tried to shout a warning or scream in terror, but his throat would release no sound. “He is young,” Kakure Oni said, weighing the apprentice’s worth with those alien yellow eyes, “Strong though, I think.” “His raw potential is considerable, and he has proven himself an apt student. It grieves me to lose him.” Malcolm confirmed. Geoffrey grasped desperately for any part of him that might still be under his conscious control, but even his vision was blurring. The red silks washed into a red blur, the yellow lanterns into aureoles of soft light, and his master into an indistinct brown smear at the edge of his vision. Only the Oni remained in eerily crisp focus. Once again the dragon curtain rippled as the small robed minion returned. This time it bore a thick tome bound in blue leather and held shut with an ornate silver clasp. It bowed low and held the book out to Malcolm. He examined it carefully, running his hands over the worn leather covers, then nodded and rose. “I am grateful for your hospitality,” he said, offering another bow, “I thank you for your generosity. I hope that my gift will sate your hunger.” As he turned to leave Malcolm laid a hand on Geoffrey’s rigid shoulder, “I am sorry, my boy. Everything has a price.” Malcolm slipped through the outer flap of the tent and back into the pungent, noisy Night Market. Geoffrey’s world was a blur of red, yellow and terror. He could only watch helplessly as the Oni crept toward him, running an impossibly long tongue over its jagged teeth. There was a wet ripping sound and the coppery smell of blood. In his last moment he was grateful that he could feel nothing.

Well, I ended up using: Colette -Practiced Production -Arcane Reservoir -Cabaret Choreography Cassandra -Warding Runes Johanna -Mercenary Angelica Miss Step Performer Performer I announced ALITS, and took Frame for Murder on Miss Step. The game was called for time at the end of turn 4, by which time I had butchered most of his crew and lost Johana. I won 6 to 4. Johana was heroic in her refusal to die despite being repeatedly shot by Seamus and the Copycat Killer. Miss Step (with the liberal application of Prompt) took apart Sybelle, 2 Belles, and Bete Noire in 2 turns... which would be great, except that he had Framed Sybelle. Should have seen that coming! He wisely refused to take the bait and didn't kill Miss Step so I didn't score for Frame. In retrospect, maybe she was too obvious a choice for Frame. Warding Runes on Cassandra was handy because it makes her immune to Belle's Lure, which ensured she had some autonomy. In the end she hardly did any damage, but she zipped about claiming for Squatter's Rights and dropping 2 of the markers for ALITS. I'm still a novice, but I'm continually amazed by the speed of a Showgirls-heavy crew. I claimed two markers on Turn 1, and had 2 more by Turn 3. Between Angelica's pushes, Colette prompting, two Nimble beaters, and Angelica and Cassie both getting free walks in turn 1. I love Prompt. I worry that it may be addictive. I'll pick up some other master and then feel hamstrung because my key models aren't getting 3 extra AP to do tricks! Thanks for the advice from those who commented!

So I'm gearing up for a game this weekend. We're both veteran wargamers, but Malifaux amateurs. I'm running Colette, he'll be running Seamus likely with CCK, multiple Belles, Sybelle, Bete Noire, and whatever else he can muster. The strat is Squatter's Rights; the schemes are ALITS, Assassinate, Distract, Frame for Murder, and Spring the Trap. My first stab at a crew for this is: -- Crew 1 -- Colette Du Bois Arcane Reservoir, 2SS Cabaret Choreography, 2SS Cassandra, 8SS Smoke and Mirrors, 1SS Mechanical Rider, 12SS Coryphee, 7SS Coryphee, 7SS Performer, 5SS Performer, 5SS Available Soulstones: 50 Total: 49 Pool: 3 Shared from MalifauxModels (geeksong.com/Malifaux, or Google Play). The hope would be to try to claim some markers early with my speedy models, then put pressure on his crew with an aggressive offense. I figured the performers would be handy because they can interact while engaged, and can hoover up any offending enemy scheme markers from ALITS or Spring, should those appear. My biggest worry is that it's a fragile crew and could get torn apart by Seamus and his bloody hand cannon if I can't shut him down somehow. I'd be sort of relying on buffs from summoned doves and maybe duetting up the Coryphee to get past his HtW on everything. I feel like the only way I'm going to survive is to butcher a fair portion of his crew before they can do it to me. I've potentially got doves and Mech Rider summons to replace some losses (even though the doves are mostly just activation control). I'm leery of Coryphee here - I just painted them and want to use them, but Seamus could one-shot them with his gun o' doom. Are they too big a liability here? Their fast walk also means they can get lured into a pounce party remarkably fast! Would I likely be better served with something chunkier like a hastily assembled Slateridge Mauler? Johanna? Another big hitter like Miss Step? I don't have Joss, who might normally be a go-to tank. I was also thinking about Willie - litter the line with scheme markers, then just use them like a minefield to chip away at the opposing crew. Any thoughts would be most appreciated!

Reading the ingredients is conjuring up a whole whack of Iron Maiden songs for me. I'm in. Now, to hope some lighting strikes my brain and jars loose an idea!

Interesting thought. I think I'm more of a fan of the monthly Iron Quill. So far it seems to take me 2-3 weeks to write and edit a piece, which fits nicely. I like the excitement of watching other stories appear, and the anticipation of the voting. I think the slower pace of bi-monthly would make it hard to maintain the momentum. I do like the idea of the Judge's Challenge exercises as an additional bit of grist for the mill given what a helpful feedback-looped community this group seems to be. Congrats to everyone for another installment of interesting and diverse entries. Such a pleasure to read and digest. Big props to Bogo for a really neat piece. A well deserved win!

He had made mention of computer trouble a while back. I just assumed he had hit another catastrophic tech fail. Hope that's all it is.

Thanks to Surly for a smooth exchange. Bonus points for going the extra mile and checking up on things when delivery seemed later than expected. I really appreciated his thoroughness and concern.

Wow, it's great to see so many people voting in the public poll! Another fun round, and an interesting spread of submissions. Well done all!

I'm glad someone used a doppelganger! My first story centered around one, but it was garbage so I wrote a second. I thought a doppelganger was the perfect character for a story about identity. Your writer seems pretty chill about being doubled and murdered. Is the flat emotion a function of being dead? The last entry in May was my favorite - the realization that he's dead. My favorite line in it is 'Somebody's got to be me, I guess.' Something about that line just tickled me. One minor typo in October: the foreman gives giving me little bonuses