Redbeard

A little inaccurate seems like an odd thing to say about their IP. I mean, sure, it doesn't map directly... but neither does Fae. Wyrd has always pulled a ton from different places and put their own spin on things (Nephilim?). It doesn't seem like lack of research or inaccuracy, it seems more like putting a twist on a concept. Now, that might be more or less good, and that's up to the person to decide.

What is considered okay is largely up to the Fatemaster. Into the Steam provides some nice examples, but it can't account for all possibilities (especially in future books). For example, maybe one of your players is carrying a large sign that says "I'm going to kill the Governor-General." That will probably raise the TN, but you can't really expect that to be listed in the books. Anything overtly hostile (weapons, pneumatics that look like weapons), anything illegal (visible spells, undead things, etc), or anything that is particularly out of the ordinary (open pustules oozing fluids, a man riding on another man's shoulders, etc) is likely to bring around the attention of the guards.

But there is racism in the game world before this story. This is certainly a very overt example, but it's not exactly new. Just look at Ironsides' fluff: "The daughter of escaped slaves" is literally how it starts. That means that slavery based on race was present in the game world within the last thirty years at a minimum, from that sentence alone. Lines like "[t]he Guild's decision to uphold the horrific local laws of its member countries" also point to this issue. These are certainly not the only examples; it's just a matter of how explicit things are in the text. Yes, the Guild is certainly more accepting of different people, but that doesn't mean that everywhere in the world is going on the same way. I'm confused why you're totally okay with discrimination on things like nationality, socio-economics, and political affiliations, but skin-color discrimination is so far out there as to provide cognitive dissonance that makes the story totally unbelievable. If there was a story where a character was suddenly a total ass to a German, would you jump up and say "hold on now, I haven't seen any German discrimination so far, this is totally unbelievable!"? In this example, the game world is literally building on what was established -- slavery and racism in the US -- and Toni is using that as a justification for making a choice. That, though, feels shoehorned in to you. I guess Wyrd could have, conversely, been dealing with racism regularly to make you feel more okay with that... but you said you don't want that either. You'd rather Wyrd dance around certain issues. Well, actually, you're okay with them tackling discrimination, so long as it's not based on race.

...the truth of how many pieces Sandeep's beard is in? You've seen it, then?

You can't qualify an absolute. 'Almost never is not a thing' -- 'rarely' is a thing. I know that might seem like a silly distinction, but you capitalized 'never' to make a point, when what you're really saying is "it is rarely a good thing." No one is arguing that 4 > 5. What they are saying is that 4 + less quantifiable variables can, in some circumstances, be > 5. And, because you qualified never by saying 'almost', you actually agree.

Hm. I can't recall scheme markers in TTB. Am I missing something?

Really? It was pretty obvious that he was creating an extreme example to show that defense abilities other than defense do matter. Thus why he said "we can argue about where that line is." Having a model in Shifting Loyalties that's better than a model in the core book is not power creep, it's imbalance. There are imbalances in Malifaux, no one denies that. The question is whether the imbalances are always on the trend of creating more power with each subsequent release. In my experience, people aren't taking Crossroads models more than core models, and there wasn't a rush to proxy Shifting Loyalties models because they are so good. Unless maybe you're having a Crossroads Seven epidemic where you live? Because that would be pretty awesome.

There are two ways you can be removed from the table permanently: killed or sacrificed. You can be neither of those things until you are removed from the table. Izamu's ability happens before he is removed from the table, at which point he is sacrificed and removed. Although the wording is poor, that does not change how the ability works. I understand the question and confusion, but that doesn't change the actual functioning. You may not like the answer or agree with it, and I can't point to a specific passage in the rules... but if you tried to play a game or asked a judge at a tournament, the ruling would be the same: Vik can't heal because Izamu is never killed; he's sacrificed.

I think people need to take a step back from blame language. This isn't really about who's to blame. Blaming Wyrd for the behavior of a few individuals is certainly ridiculous, but the argument about sexism in gaming isn't really about blame. What bigotry, ignorance, and cruelty people encounter in wargaming is not Wyrd's fault... but that doesn't mean that there's nothing to be said for the opportunity Wyrd has to try to push the paradigm in a different direction. So what's the problem with sexy models? There is no inherent problem with them. The fact that a model is sexy does not, in itself, constitute a problem. If Wyrd wants to make sexy models until the cows come home, they have that ability and that right. And doing so wouldn't, by default, make them a sexist company. The problem arises when a certain level of acceptance becomes prevalent within a culture to the point that something like sexism becomes ubiquitous. We can easily look to the income gap between men and women to see this in effect. Women make less than men for the same jobs. Is this any individual company's fault? No. I would go so far as to say that, in almost all cases, the manager responsible for making those pay decisions isn't consciously deciding to pay those women less. For him (and I'm defaulting to him, but it could just as easily be her), the things that he's been taught to value in business are things that are seen as more masculine. If a woman embodies those values, it is often off-putting, and if she doesn't she's not as qualified as her male counterparts... leading to things like inequal pay. Is that manager making that decision sexist? In many cases, probably not. It's more akin to an ignorance of the cultural norms that are creating a pervasive generalized sexism. So back to wargaming. Is Wyrd doing something wrong? No. It's not. But that also doesn't mean that it's doing something right. The fact is that wargaming is a male dominated hobby. It contains a certain history that makes it not only uninviting to women, but sometimes outright hostile to them. Culture is a very hard thing to change. As can be seen on this thread, for many there is no problem at all or it is not Wyrd's responsibility to do anything about it. I would argue that the purpose of bringing issues of sexism in gaming to light is to help try to push toward change. So while Wyrd continuing to create models as it does is not wrong, it is also not right. It just is, and that's perfectly fine. But sometimes, we can also strive for more than fine. A continuance of the status quo is not going to begin to change the status quo. The reason there are people out there who think it's okay to be terrible people is because they are on the extreme ends of a spectrum. And there will always be people at the extreme edges of a spectrum. Therefore, an attempt to eliminate ass-slapping rape-talking bigots cannot really be made with those people directly. Instead, the aim is to shift the center of the spectrum (i.e. the average wargaming) a little more to the inclusive side. As the average player becomes more accepting and inclusive, so too the extremes will begin to shift over time (and those that stay extreme will be marginalized to their basements instead of their LGS). And that's really what we're talking about here. Shifting the average place of the conversation so that the extremes of the spectrum are not so bad. Because there will always be assholes, but maybe we can stop them from being sexist assholes. Wyrd, as a company, has an opportunity to try to change some of the dialogue and social-acceptableness of certain things be showing what's important via their models and art depictions. Any individual Henchman can only influence their direct community, but Wyrd can influence everyone who plays Malifaux. And they can do this in subtle ways that hurt no one: including more diversity in general. This sends the message that diversity is the norm in very subtle, subliminal ways... and that shifts the spectrum. To me, that's what's being called for here. To ask a company that has done nothing wrong (and in fact has done many things right) to keep doing what they're doing and maybe take it a step further where they can. Wyrd has a fairly unique ability to shape the message and the conversation for a subsection of the wargaming community. And they can choose not to do that, and that is perfectly okay. But they can also try to take a step out there and do more than just be okay. They can try to be better and better, and they can try to be great (well, they are great, but great as it applies to inclusivity). As I said at the beginning, it's not about blame. It's not about what Wyrd did wrong (which is probably nothing) or those assholes around the world that makes things worse. It's about the chance to consciously shape a message that shifts a paradigm so assholes are assholes about losing and not about something like gender. That's my take on all this discussion, anyway. Thanks for reading.

I'm looking for well painted Arcanists to expand out. Mostly Marcus, Colette, Kaeris, Rasputina. I have various things I can trade for them, special editions and whatnot (nothing painted). If you're willing to part with what you've got, PM me what you're looking for from Wyrd's line and I'll see what I can do.

Good luck, everyone!

Thanks, I fixed the two errors. Last minute changes I should have edited better. I appreciate the feedback. I was too subtle in my first draft and made it more obvious here, but clearly still not obvious enough. I'm a big fan of subtlety, but it's lost if the point doesn't still get across. Ah well. I'll leave it as is for now and work on it more in the future.

Fun characters! I definitely got a feel for them while I was reading. Nice work!

I put a story in! http://wyrd-games.net/community/topic/104431-iron-quill-%E2%80%93-time-and-lies-%E2%80%93-writer%E2%80%99s-block/ It's called Writer's Block.

Word Count: 1,556 Ingredients: The Pen is Mightier than the Sword, The Lovers, A Broken Clock -------------------------------------------------------- A small sigh escaped his lips as he stood looking out the window into the empty street. It was a weary sigh, one that spoke of longing and dark dusty days in solitude. It had been a silent winter that felt as if it would stretch to summer, and these days he had so few visitors… He poured himself another glass of whiskey, turning slowly. Her saw her there, his typewriter, sitting softly upon his desk. He walked to her, hoping today she'd finally give him what he needed. These days, she was the only cure for his loneliness. The faded letters on each key spoke of their long relationship, the only one he’d ever had that was worth a damn. He took a sip before setting down his glass, and he eased himself slowly into the chair. There was no need to rush. No one was coming, and he had no place to be. As his fingers rested lightly on the keys, he smiled slightly. The cool caress of the well-used typewriter was a welcome sensation, and under his tender ministrations her keys would not stay cool for long. *** Reginald stood at the end of the square, leaned casually against the butcher’s place. He watched the two Guardsmen on patrol, moving slowly as they made their way through the crowd. He chuckled softly to himself, seeing the people part before them, not wanting to get in the way of Guild business. Poor bastards didn’t even do anything to deserve it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter, of course. It never does. Reginald knew the Guild’s reputation could easily take hold, blotting out all other facts of a man’s life. As the Guardsmen rounded the corner, Reginald moved after them. It wasn’t their fault, but today they were going to take the blame. *** He stopped typing for a moment to take a drink of whiskey and consider. His hands shook slightly, a small remnant of his past, days he wish he could forget. But the past stuck with him, at the edge of his thoughts on the best days, all consuming on the bad. He glanced at the clock. Time was refusing to pass him by. *** Turning the corner, he almost collided with the Guardsmen, and in that moment his choice was made. He drew his sword and swung at the nearest Guardsmen, who dropped to the ground with a scream, bleeding profusely from his arm. Stepping to face the other man, Reginald raised the tip of his blade. The remaining Guardsman thrust at him clumsily, but he easily deflected the blow. These were mere novices, and Reginald had far too much practice killing men. His sword moved effortlessly, his opponent barely keeping up with his onslaught. The fear was there now, in the other man’s eyes. Had he any pity, he might have felt for the man. But the Guild had taken too much from him, and today he took something back. His sword slid easily into the man’s gut, spilling his life unto the ground. As he watched he felt no satisfaction. In truth, he felt nothing at all. He grabbed the other Guardsman by the collar and lifted him to his feet. “Where is the Marshal?” he demanded. The Guardsman stared at him before comprehension sank in. “He’s on patrol in the north of town” he sputtered, and Reginald could hear the whimpering weakness in the voice. The man posed no threat, so he tossed him aside. Reginald offered the advice to the air as casually as he had thrown the man aside:“Be careful who your friends are.” *** He smiled to himself, pleased with what he’d written. He drew his fingers across her keys, relishing in the sensation. Despite everything, writing with her always brought him joy. He’d struggled with it when he was a boy, but it came easier now. Ever since he’d found Reginald… Reginald was the first friend she'd introduced him to, and he’d never looked back. He had a symbiotic relationship with her, complex and deep. He’d never let go of the typewriter. She was his, inasmuch as anything can ever be owned, and she was his sole companion. And, she almost always brought him stories of Reginald. *** His eyes narrowed as he spotted the marshal in the distance. This is not going to go down easily. Best to wait until he gets away from the crowds a bit, he thought, slowing to stay a safe distance back. The Marshal is supposed to be a fair hand with a blade. The Marshal was fairly new to this part of town, only arriving last fall. He took over when the last one was discharged from service, a wicked business involving a nobleman’s daughter and an errant bullet. This Marshal was calm and collected, which is why he was brought on, and it was also what made him more dangerous. Reginald knew he’d have to approach carefully. Creeping steadily closer, he knew it was only a matter of time before his time would arrive. The Marshal had taken everything from Reginald – his entire life had changed and this man was the reason. He knew that somehow, it was the Marshal’s fault. Somehow, he’d orchestrated it all. And now Reginald would have his revenge. *** He took another sip of whiskey, emptying the glass. It would be a long time before he could afford to buy any more. He glanced around the barren room. A one room apartment on the bottom floor, first to let in the chill and the noises from the street. There was nothing left in it but the empty bottle, a broken clock, and that which he needed to write: a lopsided desk, a smelly chair, and the typewriter. He smiled again. *** “I can’t believe you dared to show your face here” Reginald said, walking from the darkness behind the Marshal. “After everything you’ve done.” The Marshal turned, obviously surprised to find someone behind him. Good. Reginald had been careful. “Do I know you, sir?” That confused look on his face, the politeness. He was good, to feign it all so perfectly. He would be, of course, to have taken things from Reginald so easily. It would have made Reginald rage, were he capable of feeling it, but that was the Marshal's fault, too. “You know me as well as you know yourself!” he said back. “After all, you took it all from me!” Reginald drew his sword. Let his intent be clear. He would face the Marshal cleanly, awarding the man the privilege he had not himself had. Calm as ever, the Marshal drew his own sword. “Put down the weapon, sir. You have mistaken me for another, and I do not wish to shed blood this day.” There’s no mistake, he thought, approaching slowly. “Today will see your end.” Reginald moved his arm to slash, but the Marshal was faster. He parried the blow, the ring of metal echoing in the street. Strike, strike. The Marshal kept up a steady beat, and Reginald was forced to give ground. A strike found the flesh of Reginald’s cheek, but he didn’t feel it. He was of singular focus. *** He could feel a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face. His fingers were flying over her keys as if trying to fend off the Marshal's blade. He was too caught up in it, and he was having a hard time slowing down. After feeling stuck for so long, he was finally going to move the story to its end. *** The Marshal had driven him back and there was nowhere left to go. A sudden thrust towards his face made Reginald flinch back, and his head shattered a window behind him, dazing him. “Marshal?” said a voice from inside. The Marshal stepped up to the window and peered inside. “Ah, Winston. Sorry, the lunatic jumped me." *** He walked over, eyeing the bleeding man who lay there, completely motionless and starting to fade. “Don’t worry, Marshal, always nice to have guests.” Before the Marshal realized what was happening, he had grabbed a piece of the shattered glass and lodged it firmly in the Marshal's eye. He broke into a toothy grin, as the Marshal collapsed on the street. Walking back over to her, he touched her side and looked at the page. Sure enough, it was all there, spelled out in clean black and white. *** As the Marshal writhed, dying, on the cold street, Winston walked back to his desk and smiled again. He opened his only desk drawer, the others having been burned that winter to keep the cold at bay. It creaked in the silence of the apartment as it slid open; it hadn't been opened in some time. He reached inside slowly, luxuriously, and pulled something out and pinned it to his lapel. *** It felt like a weight had been lifted from him. His hand steadied when he put on his old Marshal badge. It felt right. It made it all a bit easier. He looked at his broken window, and the empty space where the man who had smashed it had disappeared. A soft chime behind him made him look at the old clock, the pendulum beginning to climb its slow arcs back and forth. “Looks like it’s my time again, Marshal.” -------------------------------------------------------- Thanks! I look forward to reading everyone's stories!