Nov NBR: The Magick Seeker Versus The Red Chapel Gang I

[Thechosenone]

(Here's a brawl between my Guild and my friends Red Chapel)

:seamus

Red Chapel Gang

Seamus

Rotten Belle

Madame Cybelle

Copycat Killer

Two Crooked Men

Two Night Terrors

Bete Noir

Strategy: Slaughter

Scheme- Eye for an Eye and Grudge

:perdita:sonnia

The Guild

Perdita Ortega

Sonnia Criid

Samuel Hopkins

Two Witchling Stalkers

Guild Guard

Convict Gunslinger

Nino Orgeta

Watcher

Student of Conflict (Sonnia)

Strategy – Reconnoiter

Scheme: Kill Protégé

Pre Game

“Mista Secretary sur’” Hugo Black tips his hat. His meeting with Secretary General of Malifaux takes place at the dead of night, a late hour even by Malifaux standards. Even the eyelids of petty criminals and thugs are heavy with fatigue at this hour. But Hugo Black is wide awake. Sleeping through this appointment could get him sent back to the gaols or even worse.

The carriage door hangs open and Lucius sits inside along with Detective Craven of the Elite Division. The black coach, drawn by dark steeds under the switch of a hooded coachman, parks along the curb of Patience Blvd holding very still and silent under the crimson glow of the Guild Reliquary. The more worldly citizens of Malifaux have always likened the appearance of the Reliquary to Cathedral of Notre Dame but the more colorful among them just say it looks like a church the way the Devil would build one.

Through its stained glass a red glow seeps into the night but from the towers, their height second only to the Pinnacle itself, burning conflagrations bleed into the sky. Their stone is blackened as flames lick out unceasingly. Smoke coils up and into the storm wracked skies. The crimson reach of the Reliquary stretches across the entire Nihil Fenn District and infects some of the outlands beyond the city border.

The Secretary exits the coach, Craven in tow, and stares up at the lantern like towers of the Reliquary. The fires reflect off his tarnished mask, the light is filled with scintillations of magick that makes him rather uncomfortable. This is not a place he comes often. If not for its usefulness the Reliquary would have suffered some unfortunate disaster that would have forced it to be condemned and its people outsourced elsewhere.

But it is useful.

“Mr. Black, are you familiar with this place?” Lucius asks.

Black nods and points to several poorly healed burn marks along his side. “Yes sur, yes I am. As a matter o’fact sur I owe your judges personally for my familiarity with Witchling temple.”

Lucius examines the eldritch scars burned into Black’s flesh. They are symbols old and powerful. They act as arcane eyes for the keepers of this place. They are symbols that turn Lucius’ stomach and claw at his consciousness. He looks away quickly and turns back to the Reliquary, his cane pointing. “Come, we need to speak with the Librarian.”

There are no doors to the Reliquary, instead there is only a tall wrought iron gate who’s every bar is inscrolled in strange runes that Lucius’ hands dread to touch. Through the bars of the gate the Reliquary comes into full view. Marbled floors and walls, pristine white with veins of swirling red. Tall columns with bright glowing lanterns. Gold adornments that wet Hugo’s appetite for theft. The place is shrouded in mystery that few have even tasted. To know what truly takes place within the Reliquary you risk not just your life but your soul.

Hugo Black was tortured here. This is the place he was freed from. He owes the Secretary General his life but its Lucius’ servants that sentenced him here in the first place. He wonders whether Lucius deserves a bullet or his thanks. No one’s paying him to kill Lucius at the moment so this seems right for now.

“Sir, may I ask what purpose this place fulfills? It looks like a church?” Porter Craven asks.

“People pray to many things Mr. Craven. Money, government, brotherhood… these are all things that we give our souls to. But just because something looks like a place of reverence doesn’t mean it is. This is a vault and nothing more. It’s filled with sorry old fragments of a time long past. Is a church really still a church if what its patrons pray to has died long ago? Do dead gods deserve reverence… or pity.”

“I don’t understand?” Craven says.

“Nor do I Detective. But feel free to ask” Lucius gestures past the rungs of the gate and to an approaching figure. Hugo grips the rungs tightly and smiles. His one good eye takes in a familiar figure he never expected to see again.

Mistress Sonnia Criid. She walks with such confidence, her long duster billowing in the cold night, her garments beneath comfortable and with no concern for pomp like Lucius. They are loose but Hugo can see a delicate form beneath that he lusts for. He aches to press against her body but his fingers thirst for the chance to wrap around her fragile neck and break it. She walks to the closed gate and taps ashes from her cigarette on Lord Matheson’s boots. Hugo remembers her smell, like cloves and nutmeg and fresh burning wood. He remembers her warm flesh and the single streak of violet in her otherwise raven hair. He remembers her smile.

She leans on the gate, still never opening it, and scans over those assembled. She recognizes Black immediately. And she knows more than most about Lucius Matheson. The Guild Guard still has color, still smells like fresh life, he’s new.

“Mr. Secretary? To what do I owe the visit? I don’t see any criminals needing reeducation? I don’t see any relics needing to be entombed?” She flicks her cigarette past them and meets Lucius’ gaze dead on. Her own pristine blue eyes meet a calculating ancient stare. “Did you come by for a chat? Maybe some tea Mr. Secretary? You are always very welcome to come inside, you know that.”

Lucius runs his gloved hand over one of the bars near her face; his fingertip tracing the runes, his eyes fixate on old symbols. “No, Ms. Criid. No, both of us are exactly where we need to be.”

“Suit yourself. I have excellent tea brewing.”

“The Governor General has need of his servants in the Reliquary.”

“The Governor has need does he? What pray tell does our benevolent Governor General crave?” She says with disgust and sarcasm that even the deaf would be able to pick up on.

Lucius gestures to Craven while he continues to examine the runes of the gate. Detective Craven shakes the awkwardness of the moment and speaks “Elite Intelligence…” Sonnia laughs at the use of those two words together. She apologizes and gestures for him to continue. “Elite Intelligence informs us of a growing Ressurectionist presence in the Iron Twist District. The Governor General would like for us to go to Barrow Row Lane and investigate the area fully.”

“The Governor… the Governor would like us go to Iron Twist would he?” Sonnia laughs cruelly. “The Governor doesn’t even know what Iron Twist is. He doesn’t even know what a Ressurectionist is. The Governor…” Sonnia’s mouth is silenced by Lucius’s hand. It grips her by the mouth, her eyes wide. The singe of burning wafts off Lucius’ flesh. His hand trembles but the grip is unbreakable. His eyes are locked with her own terrified stare.

“But I know!” Lucius’ voice is a terrible growl. His anger is unknown to Porter Craven. He’s never seen Lord Matheson shaken let alone seen his fury. “I know, Librarian! And I know for our Governor. I know that Ressurectionist filth walks our streets and that it must be dealt with. He. Agrees. With Me.” Lucius releases his grip and recoils his arm. His gentile personality quickly returning. “Mistress Criid, if you would please venture to Barrow Row and take a look around for me. I’m sure both of us would sleep easier once you poke around for us.”

Sonnia stumbles back “Of course Mr. Secretary. Of course.” She leaves for her sanctuary rubbing away an unnatural cold from her face.

“The Pinnacle appreciates your patronage.” Lucius watches her go before turning to the others. “Mr. Black. Detective Craven. Wait here. Go with Ms. Criid and deal with this problem for me. Send a message to whomever is encroaching on the Governor’s territory.”

“How sur?” Hugo asks.

“Take something precious from them Mr. Black.”

Turn One and Two

The Watcher soars overhead, its red eye devouring the dark piece by piece. It can see the lolling rocking movements of decayed beauties shambling the warehouses along Barrow Row. It can see the broken form of those that perished in the mines jerking and quivering across the sidewalks.

The eye of the creature focuses on another beauty. This one with warm flesh, with lovely curves free of rot and worm. She leans against a lamp post, her dark hair like a black flame licking out behind her. She stands with her cousin, who holds one of the loudest and largest guns a pair of hands can grip, and they laugh. Jokes told under the moonless sky and carefree smiles in a city undeserving of joy.

It watches the impish little creature following Sonnia through the dark. It watches as a man in the shadows walks whistling into the warehouse.

“Perdita, honey” Sonnia fakes sincerity “Might you and Nino do something useful and maybe get inside that building. Feel free to kill something if you want.”

“Oh, sure thing Ms. Criid. Sorry. We was just stratergizing about how to kill all the dead things. I’m really good at killing things, big things, dead things, anythings. You name it, I’ll shoot it. Course, not as good as you shoot things.” Perdita stumbles over her words. “I mean, when you shoot stuff BOOM! Fire and thunder and just wow. All I got is tiny bullets but you… You’re Sonnia Criid.”

Sonnia has been listening to this girl’s hero worship for the last twenty minutes. Her adulation, just like her annoying youth and plucky good attitude, are grating. Her and her cousin both bound into the building and almost instantly the sound of gunfire fills the place. Perdita throws open one of the doors and starts gunning for one of the crook necked men and its wretched harlot companion. The whore’s head is shredded under the bullets of Perdita’s gun while the wounded crooked stumbles into cover leaving behind a sucking sinkhole to dissuade her from following.

She stares down into the hungry hole and then the escaping zombie. The hole looks like more trouble than the zombie with its depths filled with a cloying darkness and distant moans. “Yuck.” She gives up on the quarry.

Seamus whistles his tune while gesturing for his ladies to enter the warehouse. His numbers are few and they need to be inflated. He knows his many lovelies are restless. Hugo Black is here. A frequent user and abuser of the flesh trades and he likes them alive or dead. To him, flesh is flesh. In that, Seamus and Hugo have similar tastes.

After Sybelle wobbles around the corner of a hall Seamus finds his path cut off by flames. “Oh dear. This doesn’t look good for the hero of our story.” Seamus turns his collar up and rushes through the fire claimed hall and enters a room filled with action.

Bete already crawls from the remains of a slain belle. Sybelle howls, her body devoured by fire cast by the Witch of Nihil Fenn, Sonnia Criid. His eyes, lascivious and hungry, take her in. Flames roll and twist around her, the smoke is like cloak of ash woven by her magicks. She is so beautiful and with but a single flaw. Her beating heart. That, Seamus considers, will have to go.

Turn Three and Four-

“Mista Hatter, pleasure ta be blowin ya away!” Hugo Black raises his pistols and points them toward the charred Seamus.

“Sorry me lovelies.” Seamus says painfully and with sincerity.

“Dem rotties won’t miss you.” Hugo grins and spits. “I’ll keep em warm fer you. Don’t be sad.”

“Oh no, not me Mr. Black sir. Sorry they won’t be able to have ye.” Seamus’ hand glows with sinister light and spectral leering skulls. It gulps at Hugo’s vitality. Seamus’ burns heal while the convict weakens and eventually slumps over against the wall barely able to breathe. “Stay right there Sir. Keep that heart beatin’ strong and I’ll see if I can’t send a belle yer way in good time.”

Bullets rake across the wall near Seamus and flames encircle his position. He loses interest in Hugo and in the scrap between Bete and Nino. “You’re this murderer that I’ve heard so much about? I like your hat.” Sonnia says while closing in. Marshal Hopkins at her side.

“ey that would be me pretty miss. And I thank ye for the compliment.”

“So I’m guessing this is the big dance number?” She asks.

“Seems so.” He twists and brings his big gun to bear but not before she launches gouts of flame that sear his skin and force Bete back and away from claiming Nino completely. Hopkins is about add his own ammo to the attack but one of the destroyed belles rises up again her claws and teeth hungry for him. Seamus dances into the fray attempting to dig one of his blades into Sonnia’s neck only to have it shatter against her sword. The very presence of her weapon drains at the magick filling the air leaving a dry choking void inside Seamus’ soul.

Turn Five and Six

Bete sings her nursery rhymes while stalking closer to Sonnia. She pays her no mind, knowing that Seamus must be dealt with. She points her blade toward him and calls upon some of the oldest of magicks in Malifaux, the many portals and gateways that lead to everywhere and nowhere. One such gateway opens beside Seamus, howling and gusting. The Hatter turns to stare into its mystery. “oh… very pretty.”

“Untini!!!!!” The screeching of a stout rag covered Witchling echoes out as its form barrels into Seamus. The Hatter is swallowed by the hungry maw and the Witchling takes his place. Bete screams as her ghastly mate vanishes. She slams into Sonnia battering her against the wall and sinking her blade into the woman’s shoulder pinning her in place. Sonnia passes out from the pain while Bete’s blade creeps up to her neck. The conjured Witchling ends Bete’s threat with its ruined blade and his nullifying aura prevents her phantom presence from lingering here. "Defy the trade...." Its wispy etheric voice speaks with a hushed reverence. "Die over and over"

Sonnia wakes up with Perdita kneeling beside her. The trademark moaning of the dead is gone. “You alright Ms. Criid? I swear I would of helped if I knew you was tangling with Seamus. I’m so sorry I was….”

Sonnia puts her hand on Perdita’s shoulder and quiets her. “Hush. I’m fine and you did amazing work.” She means it to, no sarcasm, just sincerity.

“Thanks Ms. Criid. I hope maybe we can work together again?”

“You saved my life Perdita. If that’s all you want in return than how can I say no?”

“I hope you don’t find out how to.”

The two exchange a brief smile before the real investigation begins.

The Results

Red Chapel Gang- No Victory Points earned.

Witch Hunters- Six Victory Points earned.

:flame::congrats::flame:

Witch Hunters Win

Edited November 21, 2011 by Thechosenone

[Ozz]

Only found your last Dreamer game, and now this one, and i am rapidly starting to enjoy them:D

Only thing though here, you have a different image of Perdita to me:) I always thought of her as someone with little interest in anyone else, just there to shoot the Neverborn and anything else that came to close:p

[Thechosenone]

Thanks man, glad you enjoyed. Feel free to seek out my other material in the writing room or my narrative bat reps here too. Thanks for the read.

[Kadeton]

Only thing though here, you have a different image of Perdita to me:) I always thought of her as someone with little interest in anyone else, just there to shoot the Neverborn and anything else that came to close:p

Yeah, I found that a little jarring too... there's a story in Book 2 that recounts a meeting between Perdita and Sonnia, and it has a very different tone to this story. I can't really see Perdita hero-worshipping anyone - if anything, I'd expect Sonnia to be impressed at how bad-ass Perdita is.

Anyway, otherwise enjoyed it, as usual. I think your style of batrep is great.

[Thechosenone]

Thanks for the read. My vision of malifaux is fair;y different from the souce material. Feel free to look at my other stuff but I understand it may not be for everyone.

Im happy with the reads alone.