“I told you it wasn’t ‘the Construction Chamber," squeaks Titchy, breathlessly running down the corridor. "It
was so obviously ‘Deconstruction Chamber.”
“Well pardon me for failing my postmodernism GCSE.” Elfbow mutters to himself, as he swings open the door to the next room.
“Quite right,” says a voice. “This is the
Construction Chamber. Welcome to my House of Unexpectedly Drastic
Surgery. I am Dr Grimwizaj."
"A tuck here," Dr Grimwizaj continues, "a tweak there, a radical readjustment of unsightly orifices, perhaps a little tentacular enhancement. Our motto is 'We can make a new being for, from or of you.'”
“I think we’re all happy being the beings we are, actually.”
“We could get rid of that unsightly lump for you.”
“No thanks. That’s Titch. We might need him.”
“Well, what about you, madam? Surely there must be something
you’d like raised, lowered, tightened or unnaturally inflated? We’ve a special
offer at the moment: bob the nose, remove that sarcastic look, relax the itchy
trigger finger – we call it the ‘Lady Sarah.’ For no particular reason…”(1)
“No, nothing, thank you. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Can you do anything for Gerald?” Getrude proffers her staff
tentatively. “He’s not what he was.”
The mad scientist-cum-beautician squints at the staff.
“So what was he, precisely? A clothes prop? A splinter from
a giant’s toothpick?”
“He’s the mightiest warrior that ever wrestled dragon or bested
basilisk.”
“Ah, yes, I see that now. Obviously practically perfect in
every way. Nothing we could do for him, I fear. However…”
The doctor squints narrowly at Gnawbone.
“…perhaps there is something you can do for me. I see this –
er – gentleman has several organs he barely uses. I might do something with the brain, which seems largely untouched. If
I could find it. Or those ears. They appear almost entirely superfluous… I
could give you a good price.”
“Hey!” objects Gnawbone. “I need my ears.”
“Both of them?”
Gnawbone considers carefully.
There’s a sudden explosion of sound in the next room, as if
a barrel of fireworks had unexpectedly decided to end it all.
“I didn’t do nuffin’!” Gnawbone exclaims.
“I didn’t do anything,” Elfbow corrects him.
“Me neither,” says Gnawbone. “Look, there’s no lever
anywhere.”
“Don’t worry about that little bruhaha next door,” smiles Dr
Grimwizaj’s. “It’s a dangerous place. We have to entertain the rejects there.”
“You give them a fireworks party?”
“It’s very simple. What we take apart in the Deconstruction
Chamber we then manipulate with art and artifice here - ” he gestures to the
tray of knives, spanners and unguents – “Any occasional fatty deposits or excesses
of flesh are, of course, stored in the Larder – absolutely nothing wasted, we’re very Green here, positively
verdant – and on the rare occasions when an unfortunate project
fails to achieve its target aspirations, the under-successful experiment has to be –
er - despatched next door.”
“You have a larder?” exclaims Titchy. “There’s a larder! Which
way?”
“Same door. But, as we’ve established, you don’t want to go
through there.”
“You’ve already had second breakfast in any case,” observes
Elfbow.
“So what? It’s nearly time for prebrunch snacks,” Titchy
scowls. “Besides which, now we know there’s a larder, we know where we’ll find
the Greatest Treasure the World has Never Seen.”
“I want to see the fireworks,” Gnawbone’s eyes glaze over, as he edges towards the door.
“What exactly do you make here?” puts in Getrude.
“Anybody and everybody,” Grimwizaj says. “Build a Bear.
Manufacture a Mannequin. Generate a Golem. Fabricate a Frankenstein. Let me introduce you to my
latest very special constructions? They’re really quite remarkable.”
With that gesture which Clerihew believes is religious,
Grimwizaj whips aside a curtain to reveal seven glittering creatures. Constructions.
Machines. Entities. Strangely lifelike, their bodies are fabricated from gold, half-concealed
in swirling cloaks of dark blue.
“Look at that,” says Gnawbone. “They’re dressed just like
Merlissa.”
"Woof!"
“How dare you!” Merlissa responds, “My gown is completely
different. I am stylish. I am a doyen of haute couture. Look at me, Gnawbone.”
She twirls. “Look at my stars and moons. And my blue is Dark Azure, nothing
like their Midnight Sky.”
“Fireworks…”mutters Gnawbone. “Fireworks…”
She twirls again.
“No, Gnawbie, I don’t think we need to go in there. Do we?”
She glances at Grimwizaj.
Gnawbone staggers towards the door whence further bangs can
be heard.
“Don’t let them through, Merl – I mean, whoever you are. Who
are you? Obviously I’ve never met you before.”
Merlissa scowls. Grimwizaj abruptly distracts everyone by
brandishing his surgeon’s cleaver delicately.
“Step away from the door. I think I’ll take those ears after
all!”
Raising his hand, the underqualified surgeon grabs a fistful
of air and suddenly the seven glittering entities lurch towards Gnawbone.
“Turn them into versatile components and redistribute them
across the room.”
“Grrr!” mutters Scruff, leaping on the nearest golden
creature and biting into its vessels, wires and cables. In a great spark of
blue lightning, the dog is flung against the door and an explosion of darkness
bursts into the chamber.
“Now, that’s not friendly,” snarls Getrude. “Get them,
Gerald!”
In less time than it might take to note that the chamber could soon
resemble a close reprise of their encounter in the previous chamber, with fists and futtocks
flailing, bodies colliding and more than enough blood donated for Dr Grimwizaj
to construct a complete, if multi-ethnic, vampire, that’s exactly what it becomes.
Golden beings are thrown everywhere, dismembered, membered, unremembered.
But every time one of them hits the floor, it rises again, unharmed.
“We’re not doing too well…”
At that moment, Gnawbone casually leaves the room, wandering
through the doorway into darkness.
“Fireworks!”
“After him! Quick!”
Heroically the party flee as fast as they can into the
darkness of the next chamber. There’s a quick flash of light and a series of
bangs like a dozen doors being slammed in rapid succession. One of them is the
door to the Construction Chamber.
Clerihew mutters a few silent gestures and the
door seals itself. On the far side, it sounds as if Grimwizaj and his
creature-things are less than well pleased.
On this side, the darkness is completely
filled.
With darkness.
***
(1) Obviously this is a work of friction. Any resemblance to any person or persons livid or dead is entirely coincidental.
I’ve put this scifi group together thinking of Stargrave, the promised futuristic variant of Frostgrave expected in April. I’m excited about that game, which seems to be designed around the idea of astro-scavengers, so this is a band of upmarket recyclers, whose primary goal is to recycle themselves, one hinge at a time.
Four of the seven constructs are from GW Killteam,
one is
an assassin figure from GW’s 40K earlier days,
and the other two are odd
figures picked up from a Bring and Buy somewhere in the days when my son
collected any and every odd sci fi figure he came across that he felt I could
afford.
The good Dr Grimwizaj is a special figure from the Partizan Show in those glory days of the wonderful Kelham Hall. I think his surgeon's kit is particularly well done. His tray of constructive instruments is another Terrain
Crate piece.
SCORING:
8 x 28mm figures: 40 points
Tray: 1 point?
Chamber: 20 points
TOTAL: 61 points
Plus 1 Squirrel point.