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"What does he look like?" Karse shrugs. "Shortish, brown hair, balding. Nothing special. Grannt was given a full description.
"There's a platoon of Prosper units, so about twenty. Norn should be able to handle them - the problems got worse with each subsequent iteration of manufacture, the first Prosper 'forged were relatively normal."
In response to Gil's query he adds, "Prosper is not common knowledge. Grannt doesn't know the full details, only that he needs to track down Ranticar. But if you mention me and him, Grannt should know you are legitimate."
He turns scornfully to Rodergo. "You don't just "shut down" warforged - they are thinking creatures. They need to be studied. That's what I would expect of a Thrane. Wait? A Thrane? Here, in the complex?" Karse blinks, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time. "What? I...?" The figure shimmers and vanishes.
"That... That made no sense whatsoever. He was talking as if Norn and the Prosper warforged was in the field, in the warzone, right now. But the war has been over for some time. But he's also responding to our questions now..."
"Man, metaphysical s%#! like this makes my head hurt far worse than anything the Caretaker threw at us."
Janosz walks over to the ravaged body of the hobgoblin and starts klooking through its pockets. "We are in a bit of a predicament. That lord of blades character has been notified about our presence here, and is most probably on his way here. However, we're in no shape to leave right away either."
"How about us searching the complex for useful gear and then hunkering down for the night. In the morning we try to sneak out - preferably with one of us invisible and flying, carrying the others in the tent. That way we might avoid rouge 'forged."
"Give me a good night's rest and I'll be able to wrest more information from him," Rolund indicates at the fallen hobgoblin.
"Meanwhile, what do we do about our fallen companion? Can he be fixed?"
"What's that light?" Bor and Runzyl say at the same time looking at the northern-most console.
Gil will hustle over to the console to try to identify it. "Let's assume it is not a good thing. Grab anything you want to save or search and get out!"
Perception
Knowledge (Arcana)
UMD
"RUN! NOW!" Janosz slings Ikar's body over his shoulder and legs it towards the door. "Someone shut the door behind me! Get into that side room in case the blast takes the doors off the hinges!"
Gil peers at the console. There's a burnt out connection but it's a simple matter to reconnect...
Just as Janosz yells, a female voice suddenly begins to intone, coming from all different directions at once. "-ree minutes and thirty seconds. All personnel must evacuate to the surface immediately. The facility self-destruct sequence has been initiated. The facility will self-destruct in three minutes and twenty seconds. All personnel must evacuate to the surface immediately. The facility self-destruct sequence has been initiated..."
"Basher..."
"Three minutes. Three minutes??!! You have got to be f!!#ing kidding." Janosz paces wildly around. "We're screwed. There's no time to set up the tent, get inside, have Lightbringer swim through the flooded level and then get us to the top."
"We have two, maybe three options. The first is to try the other doors. That may just lead us into more trouble, or it could work. We could try to stop the countdown; Gil and Ezreal, you were pretty good at shutting the machine down; maybe you could stop this, too? Finally, we can pile into the tent while Gil casts her flight magicks on Lightbringer - he might then be fast enough to get to the entrance before the whole thing blows."
"... in three minutes and ten seconds..."
A haggard-looking Runzyl scowls, looking for any means of rapid egress. "Perhaps if I were endowed with flight, I would be strong enough to bear a few of the others with me... to save time in preparation?"
He does not seem entirely convinced of the validity of this option, but he is clearly at a loss for better ideas.
"Everybody into the tent! Bor grab Basher and drag him in. The Warforged and Frogshanks; you're outside." Rolund starts issuing commands.
"Do any of you have any magic to speed our exit?" Rolund asks the spellcasters.
Gil casts Fly on Lightbringer and Janosz.
Once done, if the tent is not set up, she aids those setting it up.
"... two minutes fifty seconds..."
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"Let's go!" Rolund shouts as he helps Bor drag Basher into the tent.
Lightbringer takes down the tent and shoulders it once the last member of the party enters it. He turns to Janosz, "Lead the way."
As the tent folds itself up, Lightbringer grabs it and he and Janosz take flight, powered by Gil's spells. They fling themselves through the doors to the forge chamber and down the corridor, plunging down the stairwell towards the water. Janosz takes a deep breath and grabs hold of Lightbringer's weapon harness, and together they plough through the water-filled passage. They burst through to the surface at the other end as the voice declares, "... two minutes and ten seconds..."
The two companions hurtle back through the testing ranges, dodging through the doors and past the silent, dust-covered machines. They bank as they soar over the tables in the refectory where they defeated the bodaks and up the corridor towards the main loading area. "... one minute and forty seconds..." They shoot through the loading bay and into the monorail tunnel.
The brick walls of the tunnel pass in a blur as they bob and weave through the twists and turns. Dogging their heels is the ever-present voice, calming calling out their doom. "... one minute and ten seconds... one minute... fifty seconds... forty seconds... thirty seconds..." The tunnel seems endless, flickering lights and shadows, crumbling bricks chasing them for what seems an eternity.
Up ahead - is that daylight? "... twenty seconds..." The pair can see the other end of the monorail line up ahead. "... ten seconds..." They strain every fibre, willing themselves onwards. "... five, four, three..." The chamber is just ahead. "... two, one..." They sweep into the final chamber. The blast doors beyond are open, showing the gloomy sky of the Mournland beyond. They are nearly there. Nearly.
The voice never gets to zero. As they enter the chamber, there is a deep, rumbling explosion far back in the complex. Then a roar as more detonations coming crashing up the tunnel at incredible speed. The shockwave bursts into chamber, a gout of pulverised rock and shattered brick, picking up and hurling about crates, machinery, the corpses of the fallen and the two airborne adventurers. As debris pounds them they are caught up and hurled out of the doors and outside. They crash to the ground in a tangle of wreckage, barely conscious.
“Brother Lightbringer, a most impressive entrance,” grates a voice from nearby. "Stay where you are and don't move." Lightbringer and Janosz feel the familiar sensation of magic washing over them as whatever spells had been cast upon them are dispelled.
Groggily looking up, they see a tall warforged clad in a russet cloak, his red eyes glowing under the hood - Darkheart. The breeze stirs the dust at his feet amid the dead grasses and the sun is a huge bloody orb in the drab sky. Beyond him, a small army of warforged of all different types and sizes, from scouts to titans, are eerily painted orange and gold in the freakish half-light.
"This time, I came better prepared," he adds. He raises a hand and warforged march forward purposefully.
"Darkheart," Lightbringer states as his optic sensors narrow to focus on the warforged.
"Exit." Janosz shakes his head violently. "It's an impressive exit. Now, what do you want this time?"
Rolund takes a swig of goodberry wine and offers one to Bor. Runzyl drinks a glass himself.
Gives Bor a potion of cure light wounds.
Bor's at max.
Runzyl
wand of cure moderate wounds.
more
Runzy'ls at max.
Conducting triage......
Wand of Cure mod wounds, as I believe Gil needs 21 hp; correct if wrong.
Gil's at max, if I was correct in seeing she needed 21 hp.
Ezrael is the only other one.....
Ez needs 31 hp.
Everybody's at max.
lol
I'm so selfless.....
One hp left; not enough to waste gold on.
With the Caretaker gone and time to breathe, Gil returns to her more familiar guise as Cassandra.
"Thanks, Rodergo. I hope those two can get out safely. There wasn't much time left. Can we repair Basher?"
"I...think his soul is fled. They're really not machines. Well,.....we are machines of flesh, but......departed is departed."
"Can he be raised?"
"Maybe,.....I've never tried it though."
"I think the Church might get mad at me. Heh heh.....
So, maybe we'll keep him around for later; not like he's going to decay or anything."
Rolund frowns at the Purified's disrespect of the fallen. "It might be best to consult with an artificer. Norn should be able to provide us with such assistance."
"If we ever see him again."
Gil gives the fallen hobgoblin's body a once-over while they wait.
Perception
The warforged reach down to grab and pinion Lightbringer and Janosz.
The warforged pin Lightbringer and Janosz, knees placed firmly in the smalls of their backs as they are manacled and fettered.
"Good," says Darkheart, "If they move, kill the human."
They are half-carried, half-dragged away from the facility. Janosz looks back to see smoke and dust pouring from the doorway, and as he watches part of the hill subsides with a low rumble. Looking the other way, he sees another group of warforged, standing a little distance away. They are heavily-armed, and guarded by several squads of soldiers. In particular, there is one with heavy armour covered in clusters of serrated blades. Two dog-like constructs sit patiently at his feet. All the other warforged seem to defer to him.
"No, not him," snaps Darkheart as the warforged bearing Janosz move to bring him closer, "He is not worthy. Just him." Lightbringer is pulled away, Darkheart following, and Janosz is dumped on the ground. Warforged move in a circle about him, weapons drawn, staring silently. A titan looms above them. All he can see is the wall of warforged and a patch of sky.
The camp is eerily quiet. The warforged are largely silent, only speaking when they must. They are no tents, no fires, no horses, no chatter. Janosz just hears the occasional grating warforged voice and the tramp of feet as they move around. His guards stand over him, their attention unwavering, their sword-arms untiring, ignoring any attempts at conversation.
He is there for some time, perhaps an hour. His arms and legs are going numb when the Darkheart and Lightbringer return through the cordon of warforged bodies. Lightbringer is now unbound.
Darkheart says, with seemingly some reluctance, "Release the human." He dips his head towards Janosz. "You are to leave the Mournland the way you came. You will be followed to make sure you do. Now go!"
"Yessir. We'll get going right away." Janosz gets slowly to his feet and picks up his gear before immediately starting to walk briskly westwards. "I assume that was the legendary Lord of Blades. D'you know", he asks Lightbringer as they lope away from the camp, "if we're being escorted or just observed? Will we need to worry about rouge 'forged beasts, like those corpse-pickers?"
"We don't have a boat this time, and I don't trust our, ahem, stowed canoes to get us across the lake. We'll follow the lake until we get to its southern tip and cross there."