What She Would Have Wanted: Escher Chronicle Part 3

It was more maudlin than celebration, irreverent for a funeral.  Whatever it was involved a lot of Wild Snake.  The Queens had won the dust up handy and taken some turf to boot but, Mean Justine had been on the wrong end of a shotgun with an acid load and that was that.  Sunny reckoned this was as good of news she could have passed on to the Chief, now vertical again, and the proffered hooch put paid to that assumption.  The gang broke into smaller knots, swapping stories, and knocking them back.  Lotta's drink was untouched.  Shed'd crept off to herself with that new Long-Las, broken it down, and cleaned the parts as she cooed to it softly.  Maybe she had been drinking.  Off by her lonesome, Megara opened the small case Justine had kept stashed by her cot.  Scrawled on the lid was something like a fire-breathing, horned equine with tank treads for legs.  Go figure. "What would she have wanted" ,she murmured as she wandered through Mean's life in miniature.  A pict capture of her cackling at Cally who was passed out, wearing a wreath of vomit round her neck.  Loose rounds with cruciforms cut in the points.   A small collar with the name, "Bitey" punched into an iron disc.  Mags smiled as the shifted items revealed one final treasure.          

Too soon!  I'd just got you painted up nice.

My third game in the campaign saw the Carnadon Queens facing off against another Escher gang,  Dan's Purple Hearts.  As with my last two engagements it was a Standoff.  His gang had been more active in the turf war than mine but, had a spell of bad luck that placed our outfits on a more even keel.  He might have had the better equipment and gang rating but I had a healthy supply of ladypower to bring to the fight.  Both organizations saw their leaders sitting the match out, which made for an even more balanced match.  I didn't relish confronting a full gang with the Chief in abstentia so I was happy we were able to meet up and play.  A win was cause for celebration but at what cost?  Prior to the match the Queens petitioned House Escher for a favor and welcomed Mercy Beats, a new juve into the fold. After the action they acquired another piece of turf, and most of my gang sits on the cusp of some long awaited advancements.  Weighing this against Mean Justine's demise things went well.  The tiny bout of misfortune weighed heavily on her acid soaked shoulders.  The big loss here was for sentimental reasons.  Her name made me laugh and was one of my favorites.  She had accounted well for herself, and would have been my first ganger to advance, had she lived.  The kicker is that of all my figures which I don't consider quite there from a painting perspective she had arrived.  

 This match's MVP was Lotta Hertz.  Her new Long-Las performed beyond expectation with an improved punch and epic reach.  the scariest proposition Dan offered was a nest of long las snipers supported by a champion with a heavy stubber.  My plan had been to drive forward and engage his gang swiftly as possible but, when my girls hit midfield they balked in the face of that ugly snarl of firepower.  Lotta was able to dispatch one of the snipers, and in a subsequent turn I brought her into play during Dan's turn with reaction fire.  In a coupe of fortune Hertz shot true again, and put the second sniper out of action.  Last report I'd ruminated on finding the right moment for tactics cards and this was it.  The whole exchange was the highlight of the game for me with a cinematic sniper duel and Lotta saving her mates from predation.  It's only fair to mention the stubber champion remained an omnipresent threat throughout the game, dealt serious injuries to my ground forces and kept them them locked tight at center.  The latter half of the game was a clean up but,  I was far more cautious than I should have been on account of her baleful gaze.  The stubber and all those ammo dice were pretty scary too.

Impetus lost.

That caution likely caused Mean Justine's demise.  I seized the initiative and controlled the front end of the game with some help from Dan's fickle wounding dice.  Unfortunately I ran out of gas and lost the momentum doing little with the material advantage I had grown.  I felt bottled up by Dan's guns and floundered, rather than decisively cleaning up.  If I had pressed the attack on the gangers who met me at midfield I could have taken them out of action pressing him to bottle out earlier.  There were a few Purple Hearts seriously injured and begging for a coup de gras but, I wasn't willing to brave the stubber fire to get at them.  There is a fine line line between stupidity and valor that I might need to take a walk on.  The healthy size of my gang, now numbering eleven gives me some early strength I need to press measured against what feels like fragility.  I should be striking early, and decisively before attrition grinds down my greatest asset.  It was a fun game and right up until the end I felt I was doing too well.  I don't like getting stomped, and don't like feeling I'm doing the stomping either.  Maybe my idea of a perfect game is a marginal win for me.  Fortunately for Dan all his injured gang members made full recoveries.  No harm done.  I do hold him responsible for the death of Mean Justine so maybe the gloves are off.  Word in the sector is that her cousin, Mean Jolene is coming downhive seeking revenge.  To wrap this one up Dan was a very generous opponent who helped me through the rules and forgave mistakes as I made them.  He also had a second heavy stubber from his Forgeworld upgrades and was kind enough gift it to me.  Kind or fearful of Jolene's retribution.      

Heavy stubber WIP

It took four of them shuffling and straining to lug the the prodigious cylinder through the narrow mazes of the Underways.  It was back-breaking work that bled sweat from skin. Low deck-heads reached down at them with the weight of the world, and the tang of rotting steel tickled parched throats.  It had taken all of their dedication to make the passage.  The Wild Snake helped.  Mag's ghost-lamp ceased it's will-o-wisp's dance.  Her hand revealed in the pale nimbus,beckoned them near; Then a precarious portage up a groaning ladder to a forgotten loge.  Their elevated platform commanded the view of a cavernous space.  Atop a fighting platform two stimm fueled behemoths locked like a sculpture of twisted steel.  The ferocity of their combat fueling the roar of the assembled throng.  With care they rolled their cargo to the edge of the decline.  Megara wrinkled her nose as the reek of the massed Goliaths assaulted her senses.  "Could they smell any worse?", she mused and cracked a smile.  Deftly she pressed a recessed switch, signaled the girls to cast off and ran like hell.  Genuine Twist Pound.  BOOM-BOOM-BOOM   The heavy cylinder gathered momentum as it careened down the ramp all the while blaring a deafening cacophony of industrial pound.  It had been Justine's favorite.  BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. Enraptured by the the display of strength and promise of ultra violence the howling Goliaths were caught unaware until the rolling angel of noise and mayhem hammered into the rearmost ranks of the horde. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.  Shunted by the wall of vat- grown meat it came to a halt just shy of the platform, giving pause to outraged combatants recognizing they were upstaged.  With silent screams both fighters leapt from the riser with murder in their eyes.  The frenzied rain of gene-hanced blows made short work of the caster. BOOM-BO-.  As it failed, the music (If you could call it that) died, a kinetic trigger tripped, and a modded breaching charge blew, caking everything within twenty metres in a thick, steaming patina of grox soil.  The outraged bellows descended into the distance amid the laughter of the Queens.   This is what she would have wanted.