From NoelW: The Golem's Haunt (61 points?)

 “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.