Chronicles - Malifaux

By: Graeme StevensonThe shack growled over his head. Adulio sat hunchedlike a man anticipating a blow and every so oftenglanced at the interlaced boards above him. They movedalmost imperceptibly, making the faintest of grindingsounds and giving glimpses of the night stars beyond.The movement was rhythmic, like the rickety buildingwas breathing. It was also watching him: that much hecould not deny no matter how his rational mind scoffedat the idea.He sat on an upturned iron cauldron atop a stack ofyellowed, curl-edged papers. That was the most orderlypoint in the explosive chaos that surrounded him. Thewalls were hung with bunches of dried grass, vegetablesand weeds, slabs of meat from a variety of sources (notall of them immediately identifiable) and some withskin and hair still attached, twisted pieces of birchand willow threaded with tiny brilliant flowers, lizardbones, snake skins, jumbled talismans made from birdskeletons, hand-carved wooden flutes and hundredsof colored glass shards glued together with a doughtyepoxy that reflected the shack’s firelight in a thousandslices of crimson, violet, emerald, ochre and sapphire.The source of this light came from a smoky, cracklingwood fire set in a pit in the center of the shack, abovewhich sat the largest copper vessel Adulio had everseen. It could be argued that this thing was a cauldron,but a more dented, stained, misshapen cauldron onewould have to try very hard to find. Over the cauldronand fire was a spit made from two y-shaped yew shaftsand a fire-blackened stake impaling a cluster of smalland unappetizing lizards. The heat and smoke fromthe blaze had curled the tiny reptiles into fists and hecouldn’t make up his mind whether this was dinner forthe shack’s sole patron, or yet another unknowable facetof the preparation he had been witnessing.The WHite Fiststench the moment they touched the cauldron’s hot belly.An assortment of other inscrutables were then flickedin with the tip of a curved knife, including the head ofa mouse, a number of chopped and partially crushedseeds and something that might have been either sheepwool or wadded spider thread. She then proceeded tosqueeze the fluid from a plant bulb that still had clods ofearth hanging from its roots. The dripping fluid hissedviolently and evaporated almost instantly, giving off acloud of sweet and pungent steam.‘Good,’ she had grinned as she leaned forward and tookin the scents from the cauldron. ‘Good. Good. Good.’She threw the crushed bulb aside which vanished intothe drifts of clutter and detritus that covered the shack’sfloor space. ‘Now the pledge, boy. The pledge.’Adulio had been fingering the leather bracelet ceaselesslywhile the Hag worked. It had been a gift from Lupitasome weeks before when she had tried to sell them ather stall. Although few people had shown interest, theywere pretty things made from thin strips of animal skinpleated into simple wrist bands. Adulio’s had been herfavorite, she had told him as she fixed it around hiswrist, and that it would bring him luck. It hadn’t strictlybeen a gift as such, but his heart had ached when hesaw how few she had sold and he had spent his last coinwithout another thought.It felt a sin to take it off now – he had worn it religiouslyfrom the day she had tied it in place – but the Hagcackled when he voiced his concerns and reassuredhim he would have it back. Reluctantly, he slipped thebracelet off.Zoraida gripped his bare forearm with one clawed handand took the bracelet with the other, throwing it intothe cauldron. Before Adulio could protest, she drew thecurved knife across the palm of his hand with a singlesure stroke. The pitted steel was much sharper than itDirectly across from him and busy over the cauldron looked and he barely felt the sting, but within seconds awith a selection of curios on a piece of greasy vellum red wound yawned open and blood poured freely intowas Zoraida the Hag. She was mumbling to herself in the cauldron, hissing angrily as it dripped and spattereda preoccupied way, as those who live in comparative on the hot metal.isolation tend to do. Into the empty yet scalding hotcauldron she had already scraped a handful of stalks Adulio cried out in alarm, but the Hag gripped his wristfrom an unknown bog plant that gave off a piercing with ferocious strength, her sunken eyes tight shut5 © Copyright Wyrd Miniatures, LLC