The Music Man

[ChaosLenny]

Well folks liked my Lost Marshal and Pan posts. So I thought I’d do one more. I really like thinking up personalities for Malifaux. The setting really does allow for some way out concepts. One classic figure I’ve always liked is the bard. However I don’t like to think of the bard as a renaissance tight wearing mandolin playing guy. So I thought more of a Gene Autry singing cowboy with a Slash/Rob Zombie twist to it with a little Six String Samurai thrown in. I see him as an Arcanist who is master of the air element. It sounds kind of corny but I think idea actually plays out kind of cool. Did a couple page short story to give you an idea where I’m going with it.

The slums of Malifaux were a constant reminder of just how little control the Guild had of the city when it came down to it. Beyond the well kept quarter of downtown, the slums seemingly endless abandoned buildings and broken ruins spread out to the edges of the ancient metropolis. Abandoned perhaps wasn’t the best word for it, rogue necromancers, insane sorcerers, and vicious gangs all called the slums home. They plied their trade amongst the brothels, gambling halls, and opium dens that catered to the base desires of the citizenry. A trip to the slums could be a carnal adventure or just as easily a death sentence.

None of this seemed to bother the stranger who walked at a steady pace down a broken cobblestone street. Lit by the occasionally flickering lamppost that cast long shadows deepening the already dark night, the street promised to hide dangers lurking just outside the illusionary safety of the lamplight. Faded red brick and grey stone buildings, overgrown with ivy and weeds stood as silent watchers, broken out windows and doors gave the long abandoned structures the visage of leering skulls. The night air smelled of the western bog and a brewing storm.

The stranger cut a tall lean figure, his dirty blonde hair hanging low about his face and down his back under a wide brimmed hat, a hand rolled cigarette burning at the corner of his mouth. He was well built dressed in a short patched leather jacket and torn faded denim jeans. As he walked the click of his snake skin boots echoed down the empty street. The stranger had a well worn light colored acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder and a large bone handle knife at his belt. Walking with an easy grace he scanned the shadowy alleys between the buildings, the various talismans, chains, and fetishes hanging from his jacket and guitar making an almost rhythmic sound. He was accompanied by a young boy not yet a teenager. The boy was dressed in ragged overalls; he had pale freckled skin and long red hair kept out of his face by a bright red bandana. The boy was half lifting half dragging a large leather bag behind him trying to keep pace with the long strides of the stranger.

“Keep up kid, Madam Chin is paying us good Script to play at her place tonight,” the stranger said to the young boy turning his head back to address him never breaking his stride. Bret West was a wanderer and musician by trade, since the Guild had decided they needed his family’s farmland to expand the railway system that eventually led through the Breech. They offered to buy the farm but when his family refused the Guild burned it to the ground and killed his older brother. Bret did what he had to do to survive and eventually found himself in Malifaux he picked out a living playing the guitar in saloons and brothels. Overtime he found there was certain magic in the music he played. Maybe it was always there but it seemed Malifaux amplified this bit of sorcery. His playing eventually attracted spirits of air to him. They taught him how to summon the storm with his songs. He used his talents to strike back at the Guild whenever he could.

“You got it boss,” the kid said. Bret had run into the kid half starved, and being chased by a necromancer for God knows what reasons. Bret had made short work of the foul conjuror and the kid had decided to stick around. Bret had a soft spot for the orphan though he’d never admit it. The kid was tuff and fiercely loyal to the wandering guitar player, plus he kept a surprise or two in the heavy leather bag he was lugging behind him.

About a block from Madam Chin’s brothel Bret notice a trio of men step out of one of the many dark alleys framing the street. They moved to block his path. Bret stopped and quickly took stock of them. They were burly rough and tumble types. The men were attired in ragged and greasy coveralls and carrying axes and knives that looked as dull as they were rusty. Whatever horrors lurk in the dark places of the city had obviously driven them mad. Bret saw they had obscene and arcane symbols carved into their flesh. Some of the wounds looked fresh and still seeping. “Look what we got here boys,” the largest of the men said reveling rotting and what appeared to be filed teeth. The other two men chuckled at the comment.

“I want the young one first,” one of the other men said bearing the same rotting filed teeth. He gazed wide eyed with lurid lust and hunger at the young boy. “Come over here and sit on my lap,” he continued giggling. He stopped laughing at his own joke as did the other men when he noticed neither Bret nor the kid appeared to be particularly startled.

“I reckon I’ll give you all one chance to crawl back to whatever piss hole you came from,” Bret said with a slight hint of southern accent. The kid had dropped the leather bag he was carrying and was quickly fumbling to open it. Bret’s response to the men had seemed to stun them for a moment they were use to either pleas for mercy or all out flight from their victims. Their moment of confusion seemed to pass and was replaced by visages of mad homicidal lust.

“Or what are you going to do music man, beat us with your guitar,” the largest man hissed at Bret. The other two continued their psychotic giggling at the largest man’s statement. The three of them quickly began to move towards Bret and the kid, waving their rusty blades.

A slick smile crossed Bret’s face, as he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Green witch fire ignited over his hands and he pulled the guitar around and began to strum cords as his fingers danced across the fret board. The notes took on a howling wail as he played echoing out in a deafening cry, the sky answered the howl with furious wind and rain blasting back his assailants. Small man sized whirlwinds began to take shape in the street flashing with the same green fire that played across Bret’s fingers. They became swirling tornado like figures with burning emerald eyes, arms made of dust and wind sprouting from the whirling vortexes of energy that could be called their bodies. The dust devils’ eyes burned with supernatural fire as they found their prey still struggling to recover from the onset of bellowing wind and deadly screeching of the guitar’s cords.

The dust devils wasted no time moving towards the men who had been laid to the ground by the supernatural wind and screeching echoes flowing from the guitar. They descended upon the closest mad man clawing at him with their ghostly talons, the man screamed in horror and rage as the devils gathered him up and with the force of tornado threw him down the alley. The sickening crunch of bone echoed down the street amplified by the screaming wind as the man crashed into the side of one of the abandoned buildings with such force it shattered organ and bone.

The other two men were doing their best to rise against the force of the summoned gale. The self mutilated ruffian that had wanted the kid for himself eyes grew wide with terror as he forced himself to his feet. The kid had taken a large brass gun, more of a cannon out of his bag and leveled it directly at the lunatic. It was a huge weapon bestowed with cogs and some kind of mechanized firing system. The kid had a smile despite his face turning red hefting the weight of the massive gun. “Put this in your lap mister,” said the kid as he leveled the gun straight at the once leering man. The kid pulled the trigger, the gun roared with a gout of flame knocking the kid off his feet and sending him spinning to the ground. The psychotic only had a moment to reflect on the humor of the kid firing a gun- cannon almost as big as him before the slug hit him. The heat, flame, and force of the massive weapon literally ripped the man in half in shower of blood. The kid looked up at the carnage he created with a smile on his face.

The last of the trios mad grin had turned to a look of wide eyed horror at the scene unfolding in front of him. His gaze fell back on the music man who had pulled demons and storms from the sky with a few strums of his guitar. He was covered in blood from his compatriot torn in half by the kid’s massive weapon. “Please no,” he managed to whisper perhaps the last sane part of him wanting to live.

His plea was lost on the wind. Bret began to play a different tune on his instrument. The last of the men could feel the sound, an echoing vibration grinding through him. Shattering bone, and ripping veins, he could feel the very air pushing his lungs apart. His vision dimmed as his insides were turned into a mess of visceral liquid before his eyes finally burst, it was surely an act of mercy his heart followed. He fell over dead bones shattered in a sack of skin lying on the ground seeping blood onto the cracked cobblestone.

Bret finished playing as he did the arcane fire faded; with a nod he seemed to dismiss the whirling vortexes of carnage that he called dust devils. He looked back at the kid picking himself up. “You know kid we could get you a smaller gun,” Bret almost chuckled as he watch the kid struggling to get the weapon back in the bag. Bret slung his guitar on his back, as he waited for the boy to finish packing the weapon.

“Heck no boss I like this one just fine,” the kid said still grinning ear to ear.

[Nathan Caroland]

Disturbing and well written - nicely done.

[Viktorias_Secret]

I really enjoyed this! Something in the story really struck a chord with me.

Seriously, I liked it alot. I could clearly see the figure in my head and the one of the kid. He definitely would be an Outcast. Thanks for sharing. Write more.:whip:

[Iron Man]

i really liked the story, the characters had a lot of character, and the visual descriptions really helped me see everything in my head.

i do have 2 criticisms though, and i hope your not offended, i just read a lot so pick up on things like them.

1. calling the main character the stranger, then naming him within 3 paragraphs, is a bit pointless. it takes away the whole mystery of the word stranger.

2. some of the sentances would have had more impact if they were shorter, maybes swapping some commas for full stops.

3. i know its personal choices, but when i read the ruffians 'i want the young one first' i heard in my head 'i want the young'un first'. losing the perfect english can make people sound more red neck.

bret west is a pretty cool character, and not something ive seen before. i like it.

[ChaosLenny]

Thanks guys for the feedback. Not offended at all on the criticism I'll be the first one to tell you I'm a horrible grammatic writer and I shouldn't self edit and I totally agree with you especially on the stranger it was over used:)...I'm glad you guys like my ideas, my favorite thing about the Malifaux setting you can take a couple different genres and mix it up it a new way