Baptism of Fire

[Guild Master]

New to the forum (and the game), thought I'd start with a bit of fiction!

Apologies in advance for any "fluff" errors!

BAPTISM OF FIRE

The baroque steam locomotive jolted to a stop in Malifaux station, great gouts of steam billowing from the tender and obscuring the platform from view. Travellers stood too close to the edge stepped back, coughing and spluttering in the sudden cloud, whilst porters rushed forward to open doors and assist with the unloading of the fine luggage and hat boxes of the newly arrived. Tourists were always good for tips, and porters could easily elicit a few crisp new Guilders out of visitors whilst they were still suffering the soporific effects of crossing The Breach.

For Emmet Mason, this was his first visit to Malifaux. He had long dreamed of packing up his life in a box and travelling to this mystical land, in search of his fortune. After working for many years in the oppressive Bureau for the Extraction of Sorcerous Elements in the bowels of the Massachusetts Institute for Alchemical Technology, he was finally free of his debt and able to pursue his dream. As he watched the great and the good step off the train and into their waiting carriages and steam driven contraptions, he felt no emotion for the joyless life he had left behind. Emmet gathered together his belongings and made his way to the carriage door. He was one of the last off the train, and he took a deep breath as he stepped onto the platform, and into a new life of opportunity and adventure, where this middle aged former scientist and researcher could finally spread his wings and learn about some of the mysteries of this new dimension. His reverie was broken by an unholy screech from the far end of the platform. Emmet strained to see through the sudden snow storm that had engulfed the platform.

“Snow storm?” Emmet thought to himself. “But it’s the middle of June? This place really is a crazy land of unexpected delights!”

Emmet began to walk towards the source of the screeching noise, tingling with anticipation at the thought of getting into an adventure so soon after his arrival.

++++

Samael dived behind a pile of ornate looking luggage as the gigantic, frozen apparition hurled what looked like part of the train over his head. It collided with the platform roof, adding shards of glass to snow that was falling all around. The thing let out a scream that shattered the windows of the train carriage it was stood next to. Samael risked a glance to his left, and saw the remaining Witchling creeping up alongside the Golem, Shattered Blade at the ready. As the Witchling leapt on to the Golem’s back, Samael rolled out from his hiding place and levelled his Colt .45 at the giants torso. The pistol bucked and roared in his hand as he loosed of three shots at the Golem, two of which struck the creation squarely in the chest. The Golem swayed, almost in shock then fixed Samael with a frozen gaze, narrowing its eyes, which glowed blue with the intense magicks coursing through its system.

“Whatever you are going to do, do it now!” Samael shouted at the Witchling which was writhing around on the Golem’s back, trying to find purchase on the slippery surface of the icy creation.

The Witchling acknowledged Samael’s order and drove its rusty blade between the shoulder blades of the Golem. The monster screamed out, and desperately tried to grab the Witchling, who hung on to the hilt of its blade despite the thrashing of the Golem and being repeatedly smashed against the stations walls and the battered train carriage. Samael noted the tell tale cracks beginning to appear in the crystallised body of the Golem. His trained eye picked out a hairline crack running the full length of the great giants body, and swiftly bought his Colt to bear. Samael squeezed the ivory trigger and the weapons payload struck true. A brief look of confusion spread over the Golem’s face prior to it shattering into a million crystals of razor sharp ice. Several bystanders who had been concealing themselves around the fight were caught in the shower of deadly shards, muffled screams were swiftly followed by spouts of arterial blood from the victims.

The snow storm immediately began to dissipate, and the June sun began to reassert itself. Samael blinked in the sunlight and cautiously reviewed the scene. There were a few dead civilians, and two or three walking wounded. The Witchling was laying in a heap in a pile of hat boxes, but appeared to be breathing. The remnants of the Golem were swiftly melting and water was beginning to pool around the roof stanchions. The platform had sustained some damage, but it would all be repaired easily, and Samael made a mental note to contact the Bursar’s Office to make sure works were completed. Malifaux station was vital to the image of a lawful society, and a public skirmish between the Guild and Arcanists may not demonstrate the image of Malifaux that the Guild wished to portray. The quicker the damage was repaired, the better.

Samael looked up into the bright blue sky. Rasputina was gone, and with her another chance of apprehending the entity known as December. Samael shook his head, and gathered up the surviving Witchling, which groaned.

“You think you have problems? I have to explain this to Sonnia.”

++++

Emmet looked out from behind the crate he was concealed behind. He was clutching a quite severe wound in his left shoulder, which was weeping blood on to his new “going away” clothes. Emmet slowly stood up and looked around the devastated platform. The laboratory at the Institute suddenly seemed a lot more appealing…

[Nathan Caroland]

Quite enjoyable - keep at it!

[Guild Master]

Thanks for the reply, Nathan. This is a great setting you have created, and one of the most inspiring I have encountered in 20+ years of gaming. Having been immersed in the 40k universe for so long, this is like a breath of fresh air.

I plan to write a short piece of fiction for each encounter poor old Emmet has with each faction as he struggles to survive his first week in Malifaux.

Then again, a plan is just a list of things that don't happen...

Dan.