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Puppet Wars: Unstitched!

Malifaux Campaign

Designer’s Diary

Painting Tutorial

Strategy Tips

Web Comic

Gaining Grounds

Showdown

April 2013

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Volume 5

Contents

Editors:Justin Gibbs

David Hanold

Layout:David Hanold

Graphic Design:Redd Cohen

Web Comic:Paul Villar

Writers:Justin Gibbs

Mark RodgersAdrian Scott

Graeme StevensonDan Weber

Bill Anderson

Contributing Artists:Melvin de Voor

Stephane EnjoralasHardy Fowler

Christophe MadaruPablo Quiligotti

Contributors

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Welcome to the fifth installment of the Wyrd Chronicles!

There are only a couple of months until GenCon 2013. We are busy here at Wyrd working diligently on products that I can’t wait to be shared with the Wyrd community. However, we still have Chronicles due out prior to GenCon 2013, so we will have to wait until then for more details and highlights.

Justin has privileged me with the task to edit and layout this volume of the Wyrd Chronicles. I wanted to spice up the look first and foremost, and I couldn’t have done it without the help of our in-house graphic artist, Redd Cohen. Together we hope this new look is easier and more thrilling to read.

As a fan of living campaigns, I was honored to edit and layout Justin’s Malifaux campaign rules. With these rules the player will acquire Guild scrip to shape a crew’s fate with the purchase of upgrades. Fate unfortunately cannot be controlled so easily and members of a crew could find themselves permanently lost to the abyss, while others may walk away from a duel with but a mere flesh wound. Now you will be able to create a living story with your friends in which the events of one battle carry on to the next. You can find the rules for running a living Malifaux campaign in the final section of this volume.

Other exciting news is the new release of Puppet Wars Unstitched! Justin provided an article in which he explains the design process we went through to make Puppet Wars Unstitched. I had my share of work cut out for me on this project and I am excited to see it in the final stage. This was the first major project I had the opportunity to work with Justin on and I learned a lot through his lessons during the design process.

I had fun working with fans and co-workers on this volume of Wyrd Chronicles! Be sure to check out all contributions. We have another gripping story to start you off with by Mr. Stevenson. Dan Webber takes us through the creation of three gremlins. The Professor lectures us on controlling the Fate Deck. Mako’s step by step painting guide brings Misaki to life. Don’t miss the web comic featuring everyone’s favorite little runts, the Gremlins! Also included is an article on the brand new tournament format changes by Bill Anderson.

In closing, I am very thrilled to be apart of our announcement for our new Showdown card battles system. What is Showdown? Well I will allow Justin to answer that in his article at the end of this month’s Chronicles. In a later issue I will provide a detailed look on the design process for Showdown. Til’ then.. - David Hanold

Out to Play

A Note from the editor

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He placed a single candle in the center of the table. The weak flame was enough to outline the faces huddled around it and little else, but this suited his purpose. Besides, most underhand things were better done in the dark.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ said a nervous voice.

Burke recognized the speaker’s profile as readily as his high, nasal voice. Fisser was a creature of arithmetic and calculus. Pale-skinned and bird-boned, all the juices of life and humor and humanity had been sucked out of him at an early age. He was a despicable individual in most respects, but his formidable intellect and devotion had proved him a valuable asset in Burke’s rise to power.

‘He doesn’t have to,’ replied the woman directly across from him. ‘That’s my job.’

Bolivia was complimented by the candle light. Burke knew her as a plain and androgynous woman with overly large hands and feet, but in this darkness only her eyes and lips were visible and Burke’s imagination fed on the chocolate tones in her voice.

The others waited in the dark: Kudryashov cracking his knuckles in the growing silence, Alvarez with eyes so deeply sunken in his skull that they were undetectable at midday, let alone by candle light, and Dougherty who, other than the glint of a watch chain across his expansive breeches, was but a mere silhouette.

Burke had not been comfortable with Dougherty’s inclusion in their little group. He felt that lean and hungry should be reflected in appearance as well as demeanor. He found Dougherty’s girth and ruddy complexion distasteful; there was a man too comfortable in his surroundings, a man too long at the trough. A compromise had been reached, however – the bloated hog had the connections and influence they needed and, as it turned out, was far from sated with his current slice of Life’s pie.

‘He’s definitely going to be there?’ Kudryashov asked.

‘Definitely,’ Dougherty said. ‘I heard it from Lady Tannery only the other day. He returned the invitation with a case of Spanish wine.’

‘Pompous ass,’ Burke said. ‘Well, let him swagger. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be worm food.’

Bolivia tapped her fingernails on the table. ‘At my hand, naturally,’ she said.

Kudryashov chuckled. ‘You think so? The bonus is mine.’

Burke had hired three assassins and had promised the first to kill their mark a healthy scrip bonus. He cared little for which of them actually drove the knife home, only about what came after. Alvarez had cost substantially more than the others combined, and as of yet, the man was still to say a word. He turned his attention towards Dougherty.

‘Everything is in place?’ he asked the aristocrat.

The Assassins Ball’ By: Graeme Stevenson

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‘It has all been arranged, Minister,’ grinned Dougherty.

Burke laid a hand on the fleshy man’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘You’re quite sure? A power vacuum so high in the Guild won’t stay open for long. He has no shortage of competitors and I wouldn’t want the wrong man stepping into his shoes.’

Dougherty’s grin remained fixed, but the mirth lines around his eyes faded. ‘My people have been briefed, Mr. Burke. When the time comes, they know who to stand behind.’

‘They’d better,’ Burke warned, squeezing harder. ‘There’s a lot more than money riding on this.’

‘I’ve fulfilled my side of the bargain,’ Dougherty shot back, his false smile finally sloughing off. ‘I believe you have still to do yours.’

The Minister ground his teeth at the arrogance of the man, but held his peace.

Dougherty worked a thin flask from his coat pocket and unscrewed the top. A whiff of expensive brandy caught in Burke’s nose. ‘He’s smarter than you may think, sir. One doesn’t hold such a position without certain qualities.’ He waved a hand, citing examples. ‘Cunning. Ruthlessness.’

‘Arrogance,’ Burke continued. ‘Distain. Greed.’

‘Touché.’ Dougherty raised his flask in salute and tipped it to his lips. His jowls quivered when he swallowed.

‘He’ll die,’ said Bolivia, touching the hand Burke had clamped around Dougherty’s shoulder. ‘Your money was well spent, Minister.’

‘That remains to be seen,’ chirped Fisser. ‘He will be well-protected. He always travels with an elite contingent.’

The woman giggled and continued to squeeze Burke’s hand. ‘No man is a match for my womanly wiles.’

Burke relaxed his grip on the fat man, but only a little. He didn’t trust the aristocrat any further than he could throw him.

‘To success,’ toasted Dougherty, apparently ignorant of Burke’s palpable loathing.

The Minister was aware that their little gathering would not go unnoticed for long. The only purpose of the meeting was to confirm their quarry would be attending Lady Tannery’s ball, which had been done. The longer this drew out, the likelier their discovery was.

‘We proceed with the plan, then,’ he said. ‘Enough for tonight - he has spies everywhere and it would not do well for us to be seen together.’ He lifted the candle and shielded it with a hand. ‘Sleep well, if you can. Tomorrow we change the future of Malifaux forever.’

He looked at the ring of shadowed faces. ‘Tomorrow, we kill Lucius.’

When the carriage rolled up and the door opened, it was like the parting of the Red Sea.

The confusion of silk gowns, waistcoats, top hats, parasols and walking sticks opened like the flesh of an oyster to receive the pearl, conversation faded, and all eyes wheeled to the lacquered oak door and the figure emerging from within.

The Governor General’s Secretary stepped down onto the cobbles. He set the tip of his cane at his feet and surveyed the murmuring scrum of society’s finest. His immaculate gold steel mask moved impassively to take in the throng and, although the eyes within were invisible, every man and woman felt its gaze when it fell upon them.

There was an intangible sense of power about him, a subtle nimbus that was somehow more than the sum of parts that all men of influence possessed – more than attire or demeanor or reputation. Standing there quite casually on the cobbles, he exuded absolute confidence and authority. To the suddenly cowed onlookers, he was the closest thing to a physical manifestation of the Guild they would ever see.

And he was completely alone.

From his position near the back of the throng, Minister Burke was suddenly suspicious. Lucius never went anywhere alone. Being the right hand of the Governor General had made Lucius a much

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disliked fellow within rival factions and his public appearances were always carefully orchestrated security ballets. Why should tonight be different?

Lucius tapped his cane and stepped up onto the sidewalk. He was immediately engulfed by a wave of sycophantic well-wishers who crushed and shoved one another to bask in his attention, although the man himself never seemed crowded or inconvenienced in any way. He slid through his fawning admirers like a shark through an ocean of cloth, bestowing a nod here, the touch of a glove there.

Burke allowed himself to be elbowed aside, letting the Governor’s Secretary pass him and enter the hall to meet the evening’s host, Lady Charlique Tannery.

The society ball had been the obvious choice for Lucius’s assassination – a swirling mass of loud drunken socialites where physical proximity was impossible to avoid. His unfortunate demise would finally open the door to Burke’s ascension and perhaps even bring the governorship itself within his grasp. The Guild was uniquely placed to dominate all of Malifaux, but it would take a strong man to do it, not this laced and perfumed fop.

He disliked relying on the bloated Dougherty’s machinations to secure his promotion but had found that in his years under the Secretary’s yoke, there were certain qualities he lacked that were proving more and more essential in his rise to power. He had political acumen, intelligence and boundless ambition, but the areas where he felt himself lacking were in the spongier, more indulgent qualities that corpulent men such as Dougherty positively reveled in.

Burke was a grim and purposeful man by nature, and found he had little tolerance for frivolity and merry-making. Unfortunately, the further he rose within the Guild, the more his peers seemed motivated by exactly this sort of base decadence. He needed Dougherty and his fellow hogs; he needed their shoulders to stand on if he were ever to climb high enough to assume Lucius’s position.

And stand on them he would. What’s more, when he had the Governor General’s ear, he would have Dougherty and his pigs rounded up and slaughtered. He had his own pack of hungry young wolves ready to take their

place. The Guild would be a very different animal once he wore the gold mask of office.

As he watched, people were beginning to follow in Lucius’s wake, drifting through the open doors and into Tannery Hall. Having recently returned from the Orient, Lord and Lady Tannery had clearly been influenced by the culture of the Three Kingdoms as colored paper lanterns festooned the ironwork outside the hall. A many-legged dragon rushed through the crowd, undulating like a centipede while its trap-jaw mouth snapped impotently at the guests. Music was already playing from within the hall; an exotic clash of cymbals and the hum of some unknown stringed instrument.

He moved along with the current and soon passed through the huge knotwood doorway and into the entrance hall, where petite women in pink and gold cheongsams were handing out equally petite ornate glass receptacles. Burke took one and sniffed – rice wine. Normally, nothing so blasé would be found within a hundred yards of Tannery Hall, but the guests on the whole seemed quite tickled by this taste of the East.

The crowd moved on, past the famous Midsummer Staircase – a gigantic marble construction that formed a double-helix between the first and second stories of Tannery Hall. Lady Tannery’s architect had arranged for the stairs to glow like polished brass all through the summer evenings while the burnished sun shone through specially-designed elliptical windows. It was rumored that Lord Tannery had arranged the condemnation and demolition of several brick slums that were contributing inconvenient shadows to his wife’s society evenings.

And then they reached the ballroom itself. It stood three stories high with a balcony around the circumference of the second floor and a handful of more secluded viewing galleries on the third. The walls were decorated with silk murals of crimson, peach and gold thread. A single titanic chandelier hung from the ceiling, perhaps forty feet tall and comprised of infinite facets of crystal glass. A winch and cable system was cunningly hidden that allowed the monstrous thing to be lowered and each of its hundred and fifty candles to be lit individually.

At the far end of the ballroom stood a wall of tables drowned in white linen, punch bowls, goblets, wine and spirit decanters, heaped fruit, roasted fish and fowl,

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cream pastries and a hundred other confections and sweet-meats that comprised the sole diet of Malifaux’s highest echelon of society.

The alien, yet compelling music was drifting down from the second floor balcony, where a cluster of small Eastern musicians worked their craft in deft oblivion.

It only took seconds for Burke’s eye to locate the Governor’s Secretary. As expected, he was standing a short way into the ballroom with Lady Tannery’s gloved hand resting like a white bird on his forearm. These were the times when Burke could appreciate the benefits of the Secretary’s gold mask.

More than a representation of the uniformity of the Guild, more than presenting an expressionless and implacable face to the world in general, it was impossible to tell quite what Lucius was discussing with Lady Tannery out-with earshot. No facial expression, no moving lips: Lucius could deliver a platitude or a motion to war with the same inscrutability to the casual observer. Burke guessed there had been nothing more than empty compliments thus far by the way she laughed and flicked her silk fan at him, as was expected when greeting the host of such a lavish event.

But there were many powerful figures of industry and commerce here this evening and he was quite certain the Secretary’s mask would soon be hiding conversations of a different sort.

Talk, Lucius, he thought. Spin your webs, while you can. Whatever poisoned seeds you plant tonight will die with you.

Lady Tannery had planned her event well. At the end of the first hour as the brass clock struck eight chimes, the Three Kingdoms musicians were replaced by more western counterparts and the crowd immediately began to liven up. Exotic was all very well, but there was no substitute for traditional ballroom dancing.

Almost immediately, the more inebriated and liberated couples began to dance and the infection quickly spread. This was what Burke had been waiting for.

Bolivia had chosen her mark early.

He was likely a minor noble, or the son of some industrialist or other - round-shouldered and paunchy and full of free wine. He was already unsteady on his feet and had spilled punch down the front of his starched shirt and cummerbund. He would do nicely.

She spent twenty minutes or so drifting past his eye-line until she could see his head turning to follow her with each pass. All it took after that was a smile and a momentary touch of fingertips reaching for the punch ladle and he was blustering and bowing, a rogue lick of hair hanging between his eyes. She took his elbow and gently steered him away from the banquet table and towards the center of the ballroom – she wanted him dizzy and pliable, but much drunker and he wouldn’t be able to dance at all.

After a grinding eternity of alcohol breath and loud but empty conversation, the musicians struck up a waltz and she all but threw him onto the floor ahead of her, smiling all the while and exclaiming to her surprised beau that she’d love to dance.

He adapted quickly, gladly pressing a hand to the back of her waist and then they were off into the building whirlpool of fellow dancers. As she had hoped, his balance and coordination were poor and she was the sole focus of his attention rather than the couples around them, so they bumped and stumbled and excused their way around the floor.

By their third revolution, she had found Lucius. He was dancing with a portly coiffure-haired matron in a crimson gown that probably cost more than Bolivia’s fee for this job.

She had to admit that the Governor’s Secretary was skilled. He floated around the hall with his red lady in tow as though there was no one else in the room and by his partner’s glowing expression Bolivia suspected that was just how the matron was feeling, too.

In contrast, her partner stepped on her toes. Again.

‘It seemed almost a shame to kill the man,’ she mused as they drew ever closer. Lucius may have been proclaimed a fop and a dandy by her superior, but she could not envision Burke in a similar setting –

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she suspected the man had never danced a step in his life. Instead, he would retire to a smoky games room somewhere in the bowels of the house to sink into leather upholstery and snort brandy with the moguls.

They were close now, only one couple behind. Bolivia eased the fingers of her right hand loose and used her thumb to twist the silver ring around her index finger. Its delicate rosebud relief extended a half-inch needle not much thicker than a human hair and glistening with a green sap. A single jab with this – the slightest scratch – and Lucius would be dead in minutes.

The wound would be undetectable, the poison metabolized within the hour. And no one would put together the momentary dance floor collision of the drunken noble and his plain partner with the Secretary’s collapse a few seconds later.

They swept around the floor. Lucius and his crimson lady reached the corner of the hall and slowed to turn. This was Bolivia’s chance – as her quarry began to swing left to re-join the whirl of dancers, she pushed her right hand wide, intending to swat the Secretary’s linen glove in passing and deliver her deadly payload.

And right at that moment, she felt her drunken partner’s fist close over hers, crushing her fingers and thumb together. She opened her mouth in surprise and pain but she had already registered the needle’s sting into the ball of her thumb.

She stared up at him in astonishment even as he tightened his grip around her waist and spun her away from the throng of dancers. He still wore that slightly drunken expression, but his eyes were suddenly sharp and focused. It hit her that her dance partner was stone cold sober.

A terrible coldness was spreading down her right arm and the world began to tilt away from her. She had killed with this poison many times, but had never experienced its effects for herself until now. It was stealing the heat from her body, and her head felt like it about to float free of her shoulders.

Her dance partner used his arm around her waist to lift her bodily and, with a strength that belied his paunchy frame, carried her through a narrow servant door into a dark corridor. Two bulky, slab-faced men

in black wool coats were waiting in the shadows and each gripped her with a ham-sized fist.

The servant door slammed shut as quickly as it had opened and the last things Bolivia saw before the darkness enveloped her were the pitiless eyes of her captors.

Up on the third floor gallery, Kudryashov watched Bolivia and her partner swerve out of the flow of dancers and vanish. He waited, expecting them to re-appear with much laughter at this latest slip from her drunken companion.

The seconds stretched to minutes and she did not return. Something had gone wrong, although he couldn’t quite figure out what. Had she changed her mind? Panicked at the last instant? Burke would have her head on a spike if she had run out on him.

Bolivia hadn’t seemed the flighty kind, but in a plot where the stakes were this high one could be forgiven for getting cold feet. Assassinating the Governor General’s Secretary was not a task for the faint of heart.

So it was particularly fortunate that Kudryashov enjoyed his work.

He preferred knives and knew half a hundred ways to kill a man with a single stab, but Burke had wanted it done softly-softly. A metaphorical dagger in the back allowed a smoother passage to promotion than a literal one.

Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

He had affected a fairly convincing limp ever since Minister Burke had commissioned him and had been using a cane to get around the city. Kudryashov knew that Lucius would have eyes on him as soon as his name appeared on the guest list so he’d taken the precaution of keeping sharp stones in his right boot. It helped with the wincing and hobbling, and made sure he was putting a genuine amount of weight on his walking stick - the Secretary’s security men were no fools.

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The walking stick looked innocent enough, but he’d had it made by a master craftsman in Germany years ago. A twist of the stick’s head opened an aperture in the base and cocked the weapon. The stud trigger under the handle sparked an internal magnesium strip and a black powder charge, firing a two-inch steel dart at high velocity. There were no flights on this dart; instead the barrel had been carefully rifled to maintain accuracy. The projectile would punch deep into the target’s body and be all but undetectable from the surface save a tiny hole in his clothing and perhaps a spot of blood.

Kudryashov had found that shooting into dark cloth worked best, where holes and minute stains were easily overlooked. He’d had considerable success with his dart-cane, although he found it less satisfying to use than a knife. With the money he was being paid for this job, he felt he could cope with the disappointment.

A steel dart in the right spot could be lethal, but taking the shot from sixty feet up meant he’d have to go for the torso and a reduced likelihood of a kill shot. For this reason, he had carefully coated his dart with the same nasty toxin Bolivia had used on her needle ring.

The waltz was continuing unabated. Kudryashov decided to wait. A stationary target would be easier to hit than a spinning one and Lucius would be doing a lot of glad-handing as the evening wore on.

He re-settled his weight, feeling the stones in his boot prickling his tender sole. It would be a relief to walk normally again after tonight.

A short balding servant swept past carrying a silver tray cluttered with champagne flutes. He stopped the little man and took one, downing the sweet fizzy liquid in a single gulp. The alcohol would soften the pain in his foot.

Besides, why not enjoy a few of the free luxuries?

The dancing continued with slow waltz after polka after foxtrot. A few couples drifted up to the gallery, leaning over the rail to watch the guests below or to find a quiet corner for a whispered conversation. Kudryashov ignored them. At this height, the report from his dart-cane would be no more intrusive than the irregular popping of champagne corks.

At long last, sometime after the chiming of nine bells, Lucius bowed low to his hundredth partner and left the floor to considerable applause. He made his way to the far side of the ballroom where he struck up a conversation with Lord Tannery and a vast Prussian whose handlebar moustache looked to be carved from wood.

It was a clean shot, far from the mayhem of the dance floor and well lit by the giant chandelier. Kudryashov suspected he could wait the entire evening and never get a better opportunity.

He made a show of reaching down to rub his good leg, which was only a half-ruse. Standing mostly on his left leg for so long had caused the muscles to start cramping up. While he reached low, he picked up his cane and rested it on the carved oak balcony.

There was a burst of laughter from below and he used the sound to mask the click-snap of the firing mechanism being loaded with a quick twist. Still rubbing at his thigh with one hand, he swung the cane out in a distracted manner, placing a finger on the firing stud and sighting down its length.

Strangely, Lucius’s expressionless gold mask was upturned. The Secretary appeared to be looking straight at him.

Kudryashov sensed movement at his ear and turned sharply. The little balding waiter had returned, splayed fingers holding up his tray of glasses, more than half of which had now been drained. The Russian hadn’t heard him approach.

‘More champagne, sir?’ the waiter enquired.

He was about to refuse when something cold and razor sharp slid between his ribs. He twitched in shock and his dart-cane fired with a hollow pop. The dart thudded into the wall thirty feet above Lucius’s head.

There was almost no pain, but Kudryashov’s legs turned to rubber instantly. A surprised and slightly envious part of his brain realized what had happened even as the waiter adopted an expression of fake concern. The blade had already vanished.

A long knife must have been used, between the ribs and behind the upper left arm but still getting around the shoulder blade and directly into the heart. Kudryashov

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