Gnomezilla

Probably, although having at least one aura with a longer range (Promises at 6") (yes, to a Hoffman crew that's 'longer range') was nice. I don't know. Sidir is my Dashel. He may be influencing the fight, but he certainly isn't doing it on his own activation. Queeg, at least, if he is sometimes useless, well, so are the hunters at the same price point before upgrades.

I reserve the right to be petty about the people who posted without including a spoiler warning sentence so all the spoilers showed up in the recent activity list. You know, the one which sits right next to the topics on the forum front page?! It was a brief, but thorough, spoiler. *takes some of the lightbulbs from Cadaverousbirth who did grasp that this was possible, and forestalled it with a spacer sentence, but then spends the next day winging lightbulbs at everyone who didn't* *and all the nearby Ramos players* *especially all the nearby Ramos players* Pop quiz time, then: who spoke, in the first story in Twisting Fates?

It's fantastic when it works, patching in those positive flips which Hoffman is designed not to hand out, but Sidir is...so...very...slow...Maybe with Queeg there's the chance of using it for more than one, maybe two turns..

"At least 3ss of upgrades" is expensive? *kind of boggles at that, since her masters usually demand 5ss' worth at least*

Mobile Toolkit is wonderful. If you have Arcanist Assets and do not have a toolkit I would argue that you have done something wrong. You can pass up the metal gamin if you expect to keep your cards in hand, you can pass up arachnid swarms if your opponent likes to strip suits from actions (they're still hard-hitting without the tome, but not going to make you so giddy you need a fresh pair of pants), you can even pass up Howard Langston if your plans involve other beatsticks, but the toolkit can do everything except score points directly! Do you know how much the rest of Guild pays for a positive damage flip buff?

[We played the Fight Night scenario from Crossroads. Fun fact: it is literally possible to score all your strategy points on turn one. As the one who got crushed, I strongly recommend reading up on your opponent's models' Tactical Actions before trying it. ALL of them.] She only watched the brawl long enough to spot a gap in the combatants' attention, and escaped. Hoffman had given her orders, and he did not trust McMourning, and she did not trust Ramos. A mechanic relieved her of the scrap metal she'd brought back to them from the hunter, a proof of the truth of her message. She left them behind and let herself into the private workstation, and dug into the pile of clean shop towels where she'd made a hiding place for her doll. The child tucked it into her arm, sat in the soft hollow where the doll had been, and confessed to it, "...I'm scared. "It's Ok to sneak through the city when it's just me. But I'm going to be bringing constructs too. I can't hide all of them! We're going to the q-quarantine zone, and--and somebody's going to grab us--" She whimpered, then looked through the doorway, to where the mechanic was prepping the requested constructs. "I should've asked for a peacekeeper too. Howard Langston went home with Ramos. Mr. Hoffman's going to need another construct." The child looked down at the doll and the metallic fist welded onto its arm, and then up at the inspiration for the repair. "...He's going to need another construct that the mechanics don't help keep track of...." She walked over to Ryle, held up the doll, and moved the doll's arm. Ryle copied the motion, even to the flexing of his own metallic fingers. The child watched him, and tried to figure out whether he was fully repaired. Ramos had said something about ligaments, but she didn't know what those were. Hoffman had been trying to measure something about the motion, but that was on the wound which was no longer there. And, she now knew, he would never look right when he moved, because his construct parts were always fighting his flesh. She watched the inhuman motion a few times more, then shook her head, and put the doll away again. "You've got to work." Then she straightened up, and gave the order in her best imitation of Hoffman's tone. "Ryle, follow me. Protect me." The child marched out to the main workshop, hoping she did not go alone. She marched through the rubble with Ryle still following, hands tied in front of her, eyes burning with angry tears. To have threaded through so much of the quarantine zone safely, and then to be caught, not even by one of the quarantine zone's inhabitants-- "Hey, you ladies are missing out. I could be a lot more entertaining with my hands free." --but by McCabe himself! The one who had gotten Ryle shot! She had been so infuriated that when the cries broke out from the derelict buildings not far from them, she had only listened, and not translated the pidgin for him-- "McCabe, you know me for a reasonable man, who respects you." "What're you getting at, Sidir?" "Shut up. Now." --and let the Viktorias and their ronin encircle and capture them all. They marched according to their station, their hands bound, a woman with a well-used sword keeping step with every living prisoner, and another with a hammer like Johan's pacing alongside the unfettered Ryle. The student of conflict lifted her hands briefly up to the level of her shoulder, holding an imagined katana horizontally, with its imagined point aimed at the child. It was not enough to threaten the child and set off Ryle, but the message was clear: do nothing. Instead she only listened to the women chatter, secure that no man understood their dialect, and learned what she could. They bet for and against McCabe's someone, wagered on their someone, called McCabe an overgrown boy and Sidir a beast, argued whether they should sell the constructs or release them and deny ever having seen them, asked if the student was ready to graduate to being a ronin (she did not smile at this but the look in her eyes was pleased, and the child couldn't help but smile too) if the child would take her place (she stopped smiling), wondered whether Luna would make a good meal or not.... They re-entered the patch of dusty ground which served as a warehouse, all but the pure constructs which were blocked by crossed daitos. The child risked a quick look and failed command back at them all, even at the cost of the student snapping, "You kena?" "No lah," the child sighed, and turned back into the Viktorias' lair. The student sniffed, and pushed the child ahead of her to a heap of climbable boxes. Up they went, to stand at the top and look down on a cleared scuffed circle of ground. Taelor had split Ryle off from the rest of the procession, and held him at bay with the relic hammer while a ronin affixed a chain loop to his belt and anchored him to a bolt driven into a slab of rock. Further off, McCabe and Sidir now grumbled under the guard of a man in black, while the Viktorias flanked and herded forward a bulging nightmare of spilled guts and bullfighters' barbs. "What's that?" gasped the child. "Killjoy, he kena you ah!" The student of conflict rummaged in the nearest box and withdrew a paper bag, pulled out a stick of horehound candy, broke it in half, and offered the smaller piece to the child. Killjoy was tethered similarly to Ryle, and the instant the ronin nodded all four women leaped out of the area. The combatants' chains strained but did not snap, as they leaned into the chains and tested the ranges of their restraint. The ronin clustered on a different heap overlooking their own Guild prisoners and gossiped not in the pidgin but in their native tongue; Taelor plonked herself down, across the clearing, next to a Freikorps librarian and punched her joyfully in the shoulder as she tried to sketch the scene; the Viktorias leaped alongside McCabe and Sidir, and spoke together to them both. It was not the well-honed English which the student sometimes chose to use, but understandable enough. "Place your bets." "Well, ladies, I'm a bit short on scrip at the moment--" Sidir cut him off, again. "We bet our freedom. You know how this ends." "That wasn't very interesting," said the Viktoria on McCabe's side. "I think it's refreshing," said the Viktoria on Sidir's side. "I agree with her," Sidir added. McCabe opened his mouth to reply, but his Viktoria crammed a twist of fabric into it. "McCabe bids his silence. On Killjoy." Upon their heap, the child watched the twins snicker, and said, "I accept, and I bid the freedom of the constructs. On Killjoy." She took the piece of candy and started slurping on the end like a straw. It was a dirty fight from the first goad. McCabe snuggled up to a Viktoria and, under the guise of trying to paw her, sawed his bonds against her sword until they parted. On the instant, he snatched the gag from his lips, shouted "Take this!", and flung a small glowing bottle down to Ryle, then a smaller dark badge all the way across to the death marshal sitting at the feet of the ronin. Sidir and the death marshal shot to their feet at the same time, Sidir intercepting the other Viktoria's sword with his wrists to cut himself free and jumping down almost into the circle, the death marshal sprinting through the combatants' circle as Killjoy roared and charged at him, the cleaver sinking into the rock itself, leaving a fine gouge. Even as Killjoy wrenched and wheeled and raised his cleaver against Ryle, the death marshal loosened the coffin's cradle so it swung to the front of his body, but he did not slow down. The Freikorps librarian scrambled atop another heap to safety, but Taelor was too slow: there was a green flash as the box slammed into the woman, and Taelor was engulfed. Sue fired at the death marshal, but only agitated Luna, who then lunged for his throat. The Viktorias ignored the chaos, screaming with laughter at first as Killjoy's cleaver dented and sliced Ryle's gun-arm into uselessness, but when Ryle recoiled at the same time as Killjoy's last blow and the combined forces wrenched the bolt out of the rock, their laughter climbed up into a cry of rage. "Cheating!" they shouted, and leaped off of the pile, splitting, rebounding, cuffing Sidir as they passed him on either side, to cross katanas behind Ryle and hurl him back toward Killjoy. And the child clutched the candy so hard it snapped in her fist, whispering, "Block with the gun again, Ryle. It's easier to fix, that way. I'll get you out of here, I promise. Just have to take another couple of hits..."

And then you try running them without power loop and realize shoddy Arcanist build quality and slipshod maintenance means most of them can't hit the broad side of a barn without the performance optimization thereof! (Yes, I did play Ramos. Once. Know your enemy, and all that. Definitely did not have the complexity I crave.)

Wow. That is kind of pointless then. High point value to set up burning without LoS was bad on its own, but without it...

*looks at a collection of small, medium, and giant stompybots* I see no problem with this. Samael is rather good but just too expensive. Yes my opponent who was testing out Guild on our terrain heavy boards was having a great time setting my crew on fire when they stood next to terrain, no matter about line of sight--but I was having just as much fun parking a much cheaper watcher near the rest of his crew to ignore line of sight just as efficiently. (For one turn, anyway, and then I had to throw McCabe into melee to distract my opponent from the VPs my minions were about to score as they "retreated" after being wounded.)

I got the peacekeeper first, still don't have the rail golem, and haven't regretted it. The peacekeeper is the tank. You put it somewhere, add some more armor, heal it up with scrap, and it will not be removed. The rail golem does not look like any sort of tank. Yes the rail golem hits things very hard and very often, but so does Ryle that you already have.

"You run along now, and be quiet about it," the Freikorps librarian said, and propelled the child back toward the constructs with a pat on the shoulder before turning back to the chief archivist. Meanwhile Hannah fitted a mouthguard which left her lips parted and wrapped a strap around her hand. "We can't catalogue if there's interruptions." Hannah settled herself into the suit's harness, lay her hand upon her book, and closed her eyes. The meditative trance swept over her in seconds, muscles all stilled but held in readiness, a pencil strapped to her hand and poised over a loose sheet of paper. Her eyes twitched under their lids, her arm pulled her unresisting hand leaving pencil marks on the page, and, after half a minute, her tongue began shaping disconnected words. She mumbled through the mouthguard but the librarian set down the transcriptions without trouble. "Now, Lazarus. Talk about Lazarus," the librarian prompted, shaping every syllable with care. "Firebase...broad. Without flesh. I have it, he hasn't...Control..." "Control. How did you control Lazarus? You must say." "Lazarus is all mind, my mind, his...The flesh does not stop me. All metal..." The child frowned, realizing then what stolen knowledge Hannah and her note-taker sought to catalog. As she left she glared at the scrap metal which had once been the hunter. The pile rose into the air as though trying to explode into shrapnel, but failed and fell back to earth clattering. Hannah's eyes snapped open, and the child smiled to herself to hear the Freikorps librarian's ladylike curse. The arachnid-legged constructs and Hoffman parted ways, then. "Let him take you out of the quarantine zone," Hoffman had told the child, "then return to the workshop. Prepare another watcher and hunter, and a warden for the arrest of McCabe. I have his track now. I will intercept him. Bring them all to me." She had nodded, and obeyed, and now struggled to keep up with Howard Langston's pace. He did not step slowly, nor send constructs and child ahead to scout the best paths, and she resented it. But it was not wasted time altogether. Watching his conduit claws sway to the rhythm of his torso instead of the pace of his construct feet, she saw what Hannah had struggled to express. When the living flesh moved itself, the construct body part did not resist. Joss moved like that too, and Ramos, the entire body moving in mechanical harmony as the living parts controlled the metal. Hoffman was different: his construct moved him, and he surrendered to it altogether; his body chose not to fight for control. Ryle, though...his movements were not in harmony, and now she realized that the construct repairs inside him forced their own rhythms upon his muscles and skin. Ryle was different. Ryle was an abomination.... Not far past the wall of the Quarantine Zone, at the steamborg's rendezvous point, they concealed themselves to better overhear an argument which was walking towards them. "Nothing! Not one wink!" The child recognized Francisco Ortega's voice, raised in vexation. "What is wrong with that nurse? Has she been blinded?" "Get rid of that coat, that's the problem." She peeked through the boarded-up window to see McMourning pluck at the fancy cuff of Francisco's sleeve, and the gunslinger pull it angrily away. "They aren't fond of fancy clothing, you see. They're mad about bare skin, every one of them. Why, if I didn't cover up with this," he tugged at his own lab coat, "I'd never be able to get any work done." Beside her, Howard Langston stifled a snort of disbelief, which was nonetheless drowned out by Francisco's own laugh--and Joss's. Ramos strode forward as though he had expected to meet the Guild men there all along. "Good afternoon, Dr. McMourning! Not too many dead to collect today, I would hope!" "Well, can't complain," replied the coroner, "there's no sense in leaving them out here to be picked over by every would-be resurrectionist in the city. I do wish they'd die a bit closer to the center of Malifaux, though. It's a long walk back even with the help." He nodded at one end of the street where a death marshal picked over a collapsed shed with a pair of feet sticking out from beneath it, then to the other where an austringer held out a disheveled raptor for the nurse to examine. Francisco, meanwhile, bristled at being referred to as 'help'. When Howard Langston stepped out of hiding and over to Ramos, he turned his anger outward and unsheathed his dueling sword with a hostile grin. "You. We fight now, no?" Howard Langston, in his turn, grinned and raised his construct claws while cracking his knuckles together. "Always." And then, as ever, they tried to murder one another, ignoring the protests of their respective leaders. "You'll excuse me, then, but I have to stand behind my people," Ramos concluded, and sent electrical energy dancing around them all in a protective circle. "And you'll excuse me for solving the problem--watch where you're aiming those lightnings!--a bit more directly," retorted McMourning, as he hopskipped over the lowest circles of energy and into the melee before either combatant realized the duel had expanded into a brawl.

...Well. I was in the headspace to appreciate that but. Well. Wow. This millenium? They're sure?

This mini will make an excellent base for Raethford from Crossroads also. I am pleased. I thought Von Schill's grudge was against the Governor-General which was, and he outlived the SoB, so... Queeg has a nasty little pencil-thin mustache, yes, that needs to be painted on. As for the...style cues from the New Romantic movement, if you're going to glitter up Queeg I insist you bring Sonnia along. That jacket of hers, the cut of it may as well have been lifted from an Adam and the Ants video shoot. (I shall continue to live vicariously through this paint job until I learn to paint charvet.)

You and I, maybe. The Firestarter, I trust he's figured out a way to make it work. And by work, I mean buuuuuuuurn.

True. Shame that there is no chance whatsoever of the fluff for either justifying it. Lucius: This is your employment contract. You will find it all to be in order.... Firestarter: *applies cigar to paperwork, watches as the paper barely even singes before extinguishing the cigar itself, purses lips* Lucius: ...You will also find it has been dipped in fire-retardant salts, as has your Guild uniform, as will any other paraphernalia you will be issued. If you insist upon burning them regardless, I shall have you transferred to the witch hunters' division, to be reassigned as Sonnia sees fit. Good day. As for Samael, if he developed rogue mage talents I think he'd march himself down to the crypt before allying with the Arcanists.

I dunno, it does keep her out of Leveticus' sphere of influence, which necessity is part of the reason wave 4 seems devoid of non-Gremlin constructs I suspect. At the least, the question has to be asked, if that is the way to avoid Mr. Grabby Mechano-Hand messing up the hiring pools. And no, there's no particular heat to that lack of characteristic. I don't even know what she does yet, other than look awesome. *looks at a Miss Anne Thrope who is currently destined to be an alt-femme-Joss* Although I should look into that in case I want to proxy her for awhile.

Oh...I see. Fortunately I have that kit too.

...You...you didn't tag it 'modification'...did you? (I know, rhetorical question, no hope of being answered aye or nay until someone's book ships and I didn't pre-order it myself.)

One of the flasks exploded and knocked her over with the blast. That art (and by extension, mini) was awesome. I thought there couldn't be a more intimidating female than the femme-executioner. I was wrong. Definitely from the same 'make no mistake, I ONLY tolerate your BS because you pay me well enough' family tree as Dashel. But what intrigues me, as a hopeless devotee of giant stompybots, is the construct with the caged man, on a peacekeeper-sized base, with a weapon corresponding to no construct which I can bring to mind....

It wasn't in stock three months ago, the last time I heard someone inquire via mispack. The request to add limited edition models' cards to the print-on-demand service was heard, but not yet done. No luck.

It beats 11ss for a peacekeeper tarpit against armor-ignoring enemies, that's for certain. And I would have been wary about the thrall's cost, but the Ten Thunders seem overjoyed at their equal cost, equal station Jorogumo, so who knows? Maybe thralls are going to have something to make them shine just as bright. I'll probably try them out as part of my anti-terrifying kit, which oddly enough is Hoffman supporting Ryle instead of the mostly ruthless kit of McCabe (Why. Is. The. Fastest. Master's. Crew. Box. So. SLOW. To. Walk.) as independent flankers. Also I want to see what happens when they try to do that friendly push at that stubborn lil' watcher positioned far out in front. I was wondering why shackled magical prisoners were so...brawny, but I guess it's a visual hint that they were to be tarpits?

The Guild: Ruining things for the Arcanists by press-ganging their potential recruits since forever. Besides, Phiona's purely living, regardless of the plate which is her skull: no construct-based fun for anyone.

I'm so happy about the theme on Dashel's upgrade. It feels exactly like the missing piece to his fluff AND mechanics. Perfect. Debt to the Guild damage boost...is that per model's activation or for the turn? Very important for obey shenanigans. And as for curfew... "Rat milk?" "...Yeah. Yeah, let's go with that."

I don't know. Killing something gets it off the board for one game. If you want it gone from their list, you have to regret making them take it at all. Bouncing straight-flip blasts off of its poor defense and onto the rest of the crew, O.S.A. copying Gobble You Up... right back at them (I haven't faced the local Teddy in months after merely threatening with that one. Note to self: find more punishing counter to Nekima), the pine box with a side order of damaging conditions ticking away on it, that sort of kill.

I think I'll save time, not wait to face my usual Resser opponent, and turn beetroot red and sink under the level of the Malifaux tabletop now. Again.