admiralvorkraft

I find with Hidden Sniper I'm almost always stoning for the ram to make it go off in the first place...

I can't blame him, Simon's an ass

Like I said, I really enjoyed the story. I just like to leave a little critique on every piece I read because I hope people will do the same for me. I think I would have liked it better if you'd stopped at the second-to-last paragraph, it would have been nicely circular, without the really heavy Gothic note at the end. I also think you could find something to do in that last paragraph that develops his character in the present, and makes him distinct from his character pre-death.

But then, enigmas are good to, especially in stories this short.

Dark indeed. I enjoyed reading it, a straightforward story well told. The last paragraph is, perhaps, a little heavy on the Gothic for my taste. It's not bad, and it fits the story well, but the monster brooding on his inescapable situation, horrified by his own dark side... I don't know, it just seems too well packaged? Maybe he gets a perverse joy out of getting to kill Simon over and over again?

Or maybe not. It works the way it is, and if you're happy with it then so am I.

Voltaire seems like an obvious fit, Abney Park as well. They really nail the weird steampunk / comic vibe. I'll second Vagabond Opera since that was the first thing that came to mind, and anything Kurt Weill composed probably fits in somewhere.

I definitely hear you on the word count front. Even that little bit of physical detail helps though.

I really like what you're going for here, and I think the style really works in this setting. Your imagery is very clear without being overbearing, so that's great too.

In the interest of providing some constructive feedback (something I'm always looking for, but that you can ignore if you like) here are a few things you might want to play with if you ever want to revise the piece.

The first thing is that the twist comes out of nowhere, you may be okay with that and if so then skip to the next paragraph. As a reader I find that I like twists that I don't see coming, but that are inevitable in retrospect. In a piece like this one I might want to show the two realities crossing, if Reginald is Winston's avatar maybe the smell of ink or whiskey drifts across the narrative barrier at some point, maybe the ding as the typewriter reaches the end of a line distracts him during the sword fight, maybe something way better that you come up with. those little notes wouldn't be unreasonable in the moment, but once the twist comes the reader would feel like they were suddenly seeing a whole picture, as opposed to being kept in the dark until you decided to turn on the lights. Maybe you put those notes in already, and I wasn't clever enough to spot them.

More importantly, I really don't get a feel for Winston or Reginald's motivation. You address it in generalities, the Marshal took everything from him, or something, but I didn't get a good feel for it. Back story is one instance where I would rather have a tangible detail that I can extrapolate from than a broad picture. Say you've decided that the Marshal accidentally killed his wife in a shootout with some Wastrel. All I need as a reader is a flash, "the haunting smell of her hair," or, "the way her blood dried on my hands as I cradled her in my arms," maybe even, "Reginald would have his revenge, the Marshal's blood would finally wash his hands clean. 'Do you remember,' Reginald said, drawing his sword, 'The night my Margaret died?' And then he attacked."

Of course, that's just my two cents. If something inspires you to go in a new direction or open up new meaning, take it and run with it, if you like your story as-is, then it's perfect.

I'll look forward to reading more of your work.

I'll hop on the congratulations train, your dialogue is sharp. I had great fun reading this story, and if you were going for a Sky Captain-esque pulp feel you nailed it. In my head the voices were all old-timey radio actors, it was great.

In the interest of providing critique, I think you could stand to look at your dialogue tags. There are a couple of times when it's not immediately clear, early in the story you have the tag, "Terrence shook his head before responding." Which I would move to the next paragraph, so that it is immediately before Terrence responds. It's just a couple of little things like that, they aren't a big deal but they force me to think for a half-second too long and it breaks the flow of the patter. That's just my two cents, I'm grasping at straws to find constructive criticism to give.

I honestly expected this to go in a more Twilight Zone direction, so I appreciated the rather gruesome surprise. There was a good flow, steadily building tension, my one complaint is that it felt like the antagonists came out of nowhere. Adding even a little bit of physical description for them would help make them feel more present in the scene.

My only other critique is stylistic, so take it or leave it. I found a few passages to be needlessly wordy, specifically, "...with the current situation unfolding before him..." In my own writing I try to avoid those sorts of general phrases, especially when I'm working under a short word count. I don't always succeed, and that's what the proofreading I don't do enough of is theoretically for, but it's something I'm aware of as I write. If you're happy with the piece, that's great. If you're looking for places to tighten it up that might be something to keep in mind.

Once again, I liked the story. You had some fun ideas and managed to subvert my expectations, which is always good.

Good call, that's something I hadn't thought about.

The Scribe has usually been my go-to. Mostly because he tends to be in the area when I need the stone anyway.

In my fantasies there are tricky things that I can do with it, dealing damage to Graves to get Black Blood out, or killing my lawyer where I need him for Finish the Job. Reality seems to dictate that there's always an easier way to get it done though.

While each faction has certain trends they also each cover a huge breadth. A Seamus crew, and a Kirai crew are completely different, and a crew built to counter one won't do much to counter the other.

I think that it's generally a better idea to use models you know well to accomplish the schemes and strategies available, and bring a variety of abilities to the table so that you have some flexibility. 

But then, what do I know?

The defensive condition usually ends at the beginning of the model's next activation. I would assume that this is no different.

Cheap as they are, I would think you'd hit diminishing marginal returns on Depleted (at least) pretty quickly. Wastrels can potentially do so much that they may be worth running three of - actually, they might be worth running three of just because the models are so cool looking.

Even Witchling Stalkers, which pretty much live at the corner of good and cheap, seem to run out of things their best suited for doing by the time I activate the third one in a turn. In general I don't find Malifaux to reward redundancy too much.

Of course there are always exceptions to that rule and Dirial has a much better understanding of the game than I do.

I'm not primarily a TT player, but I've never run more than two of any model at once, with the exception of Witchlings. I could imagine 3 Oiran with the new upgrade, but I doubt I would ever actually do it.

The Guardian I've been running with, but I've somehow never managed to pull the heal trigger. Wastrels I always forget are dual faction, I'll give that a shot!

I've been playing a lot of Lucius lately, and starting to get the hang of him. The one ability of his that I really haven't gotten any use out of so far is Devil's Deal. I can see how to use it if I declare Neverborn, where Depleted and (relatively) easy access to healing flips make it extremely good. In Guild it has been a really corner-case ability for me, and while that's fine I was curious to see if anyone else was getting more mileage out of the ability.

I've considered running with Ryle or Candy rather than my surprisingly loyal Mr. Graves, but that cuts my mobility down quite a bit. I've also considered the Governor's Proxy, but the Scribe's defensive aura and built in Red Tape seem too good to lose. The Friekorps Librarian is an expensive enforcer with a once-per-turn heal and nothing else that I need... And that's it off the top of my head as far as available healing is concerned.

Thoughts?

C. Hoffman gets a jump on the counter game with his (0) Shakedown. All you need is a 4 of anything to generate a scrap marker next to a friendly construct within 12". Once you're in the thick of things it's nice to have someone like Joss around to generate the extra scrap you'll want to use healing or buffing your own models.

If you haven't got the core books I would make them your first investment. Every single master in the game is worth playing, and has a unique style to them. I would get a feel for playing the game before buying a crew.

That being said, I've had fun playing every master I've run so there's something to be said for just choosing the one that looks the coolest to you!

As for your second question, I don't think Lady J. has a whole lot of innate synergy with the Rifleman, but everybody likes a rifleman and an Austringer paired together and putting out ranged death like nobody's business.

Zoraida and Lilith might work. In my experience it's less that Zoraida likes what the Lilith box has to offer, and more that Lilith loves herself some swampfiends. Those two, the Waldgeist box, and the Nephilim have the most obvious synergy in multiple masters and multiple playstyles.

My two cents of course, ymmv.

My submission is up! Questions, comments, and critiques are welcome as always.

http://wyrd-games.net/community/topic/104606-iron-quill-time-and-lies-almost-over/

Iron Quill - Time and Lies

Ingredients; The Lovers, the Guild Quarter, a Broken Clock

Words 1748

Almost Over

She sits at the edge of the water watching small lizards dance. They send ripples across the pond. She think’s that they’re beautiful, shimmering iridescent in the emerald night.

Here, alone in all of Malifaux, she feels safe. The lizards, imported from Earthside are harmless, no wide grinning mouths with rows of teeth, no subtle whispers pressing on her mind. Father would throw a fit, she thinks, but she feels more at home among the reeds than she ever has in his high towers, behind his walls of alien stone.

She doesn’t jump at the rustling behind her.

“Anne...” The man’s voice is husky, but he pitches it high as though he’s calming a nervous animal.

“You’re late,” she says, trailing a hand through the murky water. In the depths eldritch minnows flash and flee like frightened stars. The lizards won’t eat them, or anything else, and replacements must be imported monthly at great personal expense.

“I’m sorry, Shields…”

“Your sergeant held you late for some reason, of course he did.” Anne still doesn’t look at him, “It has nothing to do with the flask in your coat, or the broken watch that you won’t let me have fixed.”

“I’ll have the money soon. I’ll fix it, and we were pulling extra patrols thank you very much. Shields says there’s no room in the budget to hire more guards ‘till spring.” He sits beside her, and pulls off his heavy boots. His feet are long and hairy, much like the rest of him, and Anne can’t help but smile as he flexes his toes with a sigh of satisfaction.

“He’s full of it. Da wouldn’t let the guards go wanting.” He’s much too paranoid for one thing… Anne relaxes, leaning into the finely spun wool of her lover’s uniform. “You should tell him to give you a rest Char.”

Charles watches their reflection in the water. He looks a fine enough figure, in his long blue coat and red britches, he’s tall enough for an honor guard but his hair is too dark and wild. Anne is curled up next to him in a dress like Oxford in the summertime, floral explosions of vibrant blue and yellow, and around her neck is a brooch with two stones, one jet black, the other like bone burning with some inner light. That stone had activated the night her mother was dragged from her carriage during the winter riots when Anne was still a little girl and the winds of December brought bloodshed and cannibalism to holly decked streets.

“I need the money, we need the money,” Charles says.

“I have all the money we could possibly need,” Anne says, “As I’ve told you time and again…”

“But…”

“But nothing, so father doesn’t want me marrying some sweaty guardsman, so what?”

“We’re not running away together, not in Malifaux.” It’s an argument Charles is tired of having, he tosses a stone into the pond, and the lizards begin to sing with voices like candle flames.

“They don’t do that at home,” Anne says.

“Sing?” Charles says.

“No, their voices are silent until the cross the Breach. It’s magic, their song, it comes from somewhere far away or deep inside.”

“It’s a pretty sort of magic,” Charles says, “If that’s what it is.” He kisses her on top of her head.

“Most magic is,” Anne says, and she nestles back, into the crook of his arm.

“Careful who hears you saying that.”

“Who’s going to tell that I like magic? The lizards? You?” She laughs and tilts her head back, the moonlight nestles in the hollow of her throat and her lips are blush red.

“Of course I’m not,” Charles runs his fingers through her hair and she shivers, inching closer to him, “Anne, I need… I’m serious. I save enough to buy a commission and we’re getting married, like we planned.”

“But what if we didn’t have to wait? Sooner would be better, right?” Anne says. She’s staring up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

“Sure.”

“Tonight would be better.”

“Anne, what…?” He tries to pull away but she’s wrapped tight around one of his arms.

“Tonight would be better, right? Because you love me, you do, you love me no matter what.” her fingers are digging into his arm and he can feel her nails even through his heavy coat.

“Of course I do, what’s going on?”

“Just promise me, whatever happens…”

“Whatever happens,” Charles says, “Mind, body, and soul. Like when we were kids.”

There’s a moment of silence, even the lizards are still, and then Anne laughs. “Remember,” she says, “I would steal meat-pies from the kitchens?”

“And we’d eat them together on the roof,” Charles finishes her thought.

“I said you were too skinny to be a proper bodyguard.”

“I was thirteen, I took it very hard.” He grins at her.

“Now look at you, all filled out and handsome,” she knocks his cap off and musses his hair, “In your grown-up’s uniform.”

“It’s what made you fall in love with me,” he says with a wry smile.

“It’s not.” It’s Anne’s turn to pull away, and she looks out over the pond, distracted.

“Anne, love… I was joking.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Her voice is hollow, “I hate it, you know.”

“The uniform?”

“What the uniform means. I hate you walking the streets at night, I hate your long patrols. It’s dangerous.”

“Five days out of six Shields has me walking the heart Guild quarter, because of my mom, because I grew up around you rich folk and can be trusted not to offend any potential donors… I’m probably the least at-risk Guard on the force.” Charles finishes talking and turns his head to spit into the reeds.

His mother brought the family to Malifaux on a personal protection contract, now she runs a private security firm that provides specialized services to the Guild’s wealthiest paranoides. She hasn’t talked to him since he pinned on the badge, something about competing with the family business.

“No one is safe,” Anne says, “There’s a storm coming that doesn’t care about walls, or guards, or guns. A storm carried on the wind like breath, seeping through the smallest cracks to freeze you in your sleep. You can’t fight it, I can’t… The only way is to run, and soon.” Her voice sounds as though it’s coming from a long ways off, hollow, echoing from the mountains.

“Anne, what are you saying?” Charles feels his hairs stand on end.

“We don’t have time for you to buy a commission, or save away money. It’s coming, we need to run.”

“What’s coming, what are you talking about?” He wrenches himself free and stands upright.

“Don’t you see, they’re already here.”

“Who’s already here? Where? What do they want?” He swallows back the panic that threatens to engulf him, “Tell me what you’re talking about and I can tell Shields. Or, hell, mother. I can make it to a station in seven minutes, I can have a hundred men mobilized in ten.” Anne crumples to the ground as he’s talking, and he stoops to pick her up, “Just tell me, please, where they need to go.”

“It’s too late.” Anne says, weeping, “It’s already done.”

“How, what…?”

“They found me months ago, riding on a breath of ice. Everything they needed I gave to them, keys, code words, the timing of the guard rotations.”

“Why?”

“You. They promised me, they promised they would pass you by.”

“And you believed them?”

Anne doesn’t answer, she’s shaking so hard he fears she’ll fall apart.

“That’s why it doesn’t matter,” she says, “About the money. It just matters that you…” Her head snaps up and she fixes him with blackly burning eyes, “You said, you promised, no matter what happens...”

“I did.” The voice comes from somewhere deep inside him.

“And do you…”

“I do.” His mouth is dry as he gathers her into his arms. The first explosions light up the night like a fireworks show. He doesn’t even bother putting his boots back on.

Charles tracks the blasts, it’s reflex, trying to guess the homes being hit. It’s no one too high up, no one in the Guild inner circle. It’s all the second ring homes, the successful merchants, the bankers. The sorts of people that hire his mother. He closes his eyes and he can see blasts tearing through tiled roofs, obliterating courtyards in showers of stained glass.

Now the screams are starting. Not the authoritative shouts of Guards organizing an evacuation or bucket brigade, but cries of pain and panic. Battlefield cries. He tries not to imagine how many of his brothers are out there, freezing to black on bloodsoaked cobblestones.

“What happens now?” Charles says.

“We wait. They won’t come here. Once it’s done we’ll be able to leave, start a new life. Together.” Anne won’t look at him.

“How do you know they won’t… They promised. Whoever they are you told them you would be here and they promised not to…” He pulls away, drawing his sword. The lizards start up again, singing the only funeral dirge these people will ever get. Their song gets slower as the air gets colder, and the sound of the last explosions rolls away.

Charles stands at the ready, with his back to the water, eyes probing the darkness. His fingers are already growing numb around the cold hilt of his sword.

After long minutes no one comes, but the air is freezing, hoarfrost creeps along the blade of his sword and his breath clouds in front of his face, catching on his beard and mustache and freezing in splintered tendrils.

At last Anne stands up. Her skin glows pink in light of the distant fires, even barefoot she doesn’t seem to mind the cold. As she walks toward him Charles tries to move, but he’s rooted to the spot, he can feel his eyes grow wide. He concentrates on his left hand, moving by inches.

She knocks the sword from his unfeeling hand and wraps her arms around his neck. “It’s done,” she whispers, as the second stone on her necklace flares to life, “I’m sorry about all this, let’s go.”

His vision is fading at the edges as he whispers, “Me too,” and wills his fist to close. He doesn’t hear the pistol shot, but there’s something warm drenching his arms, his front, as the two lovers sink to the ground.

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Thanks for reading! Questions, comments, critiques are more than welcome.

Seems like a four player pile-up might not be the best place to test drive a new master, especially one as odd as Colette. It sounds fun though, and it sounds like you managed to take away lessons from the game that will absolutely apply to a regular match.

I hope you let us know how it goes.

I'll be submitting something. I have no idea what yet, but there will be something.

I actually ordered the rulebook from Tempest, apparently the community there died out around the edition change. I always forget that Critical Hit exists, I'll give them a shot!

And if I ever find myself in Des Moines, you bet I'll stop in. Mayhem Comics, is it?

That is what I figured.