Arkham Horror: Prepared for the Worst

“We’ll need a few things,” Zoey said, leading them into a yard. She pulled a key out of her apron and walked over to a small shed. Skids followed her.

“Look, lady, I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your help back there. I mean, sure, I burned my house to the ground because this other woman—”

“My name is Lita,” the other woman interrupted. Skids sighed. He wasn’t sure which of the pair was the craziest. Roland was along, too, but he was a Fed and Skids wasn’t about to trust him, even with all hell breaking loose. Still, they were stuck in it now, whatever “it” was.

“Lita. Fine. I’m just saying I don’t know what a short-order cook is gonna have in her shed that could possibly—Jesus Christ.”

Prepared for the WorstThere was an arsenal in there. Two rifles, a shotgun, a rack of knives—not just the kind butchers used—and…

“Is that a sword?” Skids asked.

Zoey hefted the blade in her hand. Roland had already taken the initiative and picked up a shotgun, grabbing some shells off a shelf.

“For slaying demons,” she said while looking Skids right in the eyes.

“Yeah.” Skids frowned. “Yeah, I can tell this is gonna be a good night.”

Arkham Horror: The Card Game is a cooperative Living Card Game by Fantasy Flight Games. My vignettes are appreciative fanfiction of a game I love and highly recommend.

The Fall

Beaten and arrested by the Bluecoats, Lizete was interrogated for days. Her connection to the Firebirds, and their ringleader Rubix, was recent and questionable, but the ‘Coats wanted to call their investigation a success. Lizete’s only advocate came in the unlikely form of Inspector Narcus Prichard, who had been piecing together evidence against Rubix for months. But Lizete wouldn’t budge, and Prichard had to watch as his carefully assembled investigation unraveled at the hands of this woman.

Lizete Dalmore, aka Vestine, aka Adelaide, aka Crow—one of the last ones—hung for high crimes against the City of Doskvol and His Majesty the Immortal Emperor (All Glory to His Name) in a dreary courtyard in Ironhook, the only attendant being Harker, a friend of hers currently doing one of his many stints in the Hook.

As her neck snapped, a small pewter mantis tumbled from her hand, smuggled in by Harker and given to her there at the scaffold. It had belonged to Cricket, the ex-Firebird and former friend she had once been a fellow servant with at the Kellis estate so many years ago. Cricket and the Firebirds had killed Lizete’s gang, killed her friends, and destroyed the only place she’d ever truly felt at home. In a rage at the tower months ago, a lifetime ago really, Lizete fell from a window attempting to take revenge against her. She had been so angry, so broken.

There, at the end of the rope in Ironhook Prison, the broken girl finally stopped falling.

You can find more adventures of the Firebirds in our game of John Harper’s Blades in the Dark on DistractedElf’s Twitch channel every Monday from 21:00 – 01:00 Eastern Time or catch up on her YouTube channel 24 hours a day.

Arkham Horror: Helpless Passenger

“We need to restart the engine!” Jenny shouted, yanking her other pistol from her purse and slamming a magazine into it. “Leave him!”

Helpless Passenger

“I won’t!” Zoey clutched her cross in one hand, and tried to pull the frightened man to his feet. Outside she heard something scrambling on the side of the train. One of the demons, no doubt. There was something else… metal creaking. The bridge!

Suddenly a large form burst into the car. Zoey readied herself to face…

A dog?

“Duke, if he won’t move, bite him in the ass ’til he does!”

Zoey recognized the road-worn man calling out. The drifter she’d met back in town.

“Pete!” Jenny yelled, and Pete’s dog began barking loudly. “I thought they wouldn’t let you on the train.”

The passenger finally stood up, more afraid of Duke’s teeth than of pressing on ahead in this maelstrom.

“Don’t worry, ma’ams! Ain’t been a train they could keep ol’ Pete and Duke off of yet!”

“Fine, but we have to go!” Jenny nodded to the door, adjusted her hat, and sighed. “This is absolutely the last time I am riding coach.”

Arkham Horror: The Card Game is a cooperative Living Card Game by Fantasy Flight Games. My vignettes are appreciative fanfiction of a game I love and highly recommend.


NOTE: This story is a fan work for Friends at the Table, and was originally published in the COUNTER/Weight Fan Zine, edited by Quinn Milton.

The door was open, and a ghost emerged. It was a raptor. Ibex watched as Detachment sped toward him, screeching pain and fear and joy. A still-open hatch in the Divine’s side offered him a view to the picked-over bones within. Something caught in his throat. He had not seen it, not that moment, and yet the memory burned within his mind as vividly if he had. A metal hand, reaching out…

* * *

The hatch was open. And there his younger brother, Jerboa—no: Quentin. Always Quentin. Lifeless. Floating. Ibex stood on the bridge of the Seventh Sun, choking down his pain and keeping his face a calm, stoic mask. The monitors of the ship flared with Righteousness, a brief, burning expression he could not allow himself to give. His nails dug in to his hand, bleeding…

* * *

“The door was opened,” Ibex said into the comm of the old Rigger. The thing belonged in a museum. Perhaps he did too. Time had picked them both clean. Ibex gripped the controls of the machine; it had no grace or order to it—modern OriCon tech couldn’t, why would something so ancient? Now he had to wait for the others. He touched the console, willing a righteous purpose he didn’t truly feel into his hands.

* * *

The ghost ripped at him. A fragment of Liberty, a memory of Quentin. The decaying husk of Detachment was still a raptor, and its circling talons tore an impotent arm from Ibex’s Rigger, then another, then another. Desperate for some last action, he launched a blade from the ancient mech, but Liberty or Detachment or whatever it was now batted it effortlessly away. “Damn it!” he shouted, slamming his fist down on the console. He had relied on Righteousness for so long; without it, how could he trust his own frail hands?

Something else was coming through the door. Something massive and undeniable. Rigour. Liberty relented in its assault, darted off and away, leaving only memories to rip at Ibex. “One last close call,” he muttered into the comm. They heard him, the gathered forces of the Golden Branch. Years in the making, one last hope for the sector. “That’s all this was.” He touched a few buttons on the console, diverting all his power into the thrusters, surrendering the Rigger’s useless arms. He didn’t make it far before his comm sprang to life and a familiar voice filled the cockpit. Another memory. His hands trembled.


Rigour approached him. It was close now, he could see inside. Ibex—no: Attar… it had been so long since he allowed himself to be Attar Rose—looked into the face of Maryland September, the woman he had loved. But the thing from beyond the door that looked back at him was only a skeleton, like everything else he had left.

Her metal hand, reaching out…

I’m sorry, Quentin.

Flensing his flesh from the bone…

It’s like I told you…

Attar, floating…

It’s a fucking vulture.