Arzazel follows along the back of the group still somewhat shaken about what he's seen: first elementals, then a swarm of tiny metal creatures. As the end of the pipe approaches, the half orc looks forward to finding something normal to grasp. Then, he emerges to the sight of golems and staves. Only the confinement of the pipe causes him to move closer to more unnatural things, in order to exit the pipe. He begins to think that he has departed reality.
Adurus clunks along inside the pipe. His attention is focused in the present, listening carefully to the sounds and straining in vain to see anything important. He remains curious as to what lays in store for the group inside the building.
Nathmir remains vigilant but has little to add. He was learning much as these constructs were no doubt the work of magic. The domain of Nethys, as such he had nothing to fear. Yet his patience was wearing thin as to the source. Knowledge was the domain of Nethys as well. What was happening was unknown in the extreme, the only slight connection was to the land of Numeria yet even those stories did not compare. Still remaining on alert with his crossbow should the expected, unexpected attack come.
Sampson makes his way with the group, falcata still in hand. When he exits the pipe and sees the constructs he says, "Those appear to be worthy foes. What are they?"
At Eldred's approach and introduction, the two sentry-golems once more swivel their heads without moving their bodies. The thick, red oculi thereon shift in color briefly, replaced by a blue and pulsing rune of some sort. The rune in question, though completely foreign to the Molthuni vet, seems to be of a similar composition as those that had hovered before the host of crawling automatons within the boiler room. The symbol persists for several seconds. Both sentries remain still, heads frozen in a backwards facing position for several seconds longer yet. They seem as if waiting for something. Ultimately, nothing happens, however. Their spindly legs, mostly thick metal rods of unidentifiable origins, bend slightly as if poised to burst into run—in anticipation of having to run.
Another curiosity looms to the fore even as Eldred approaches and others begin filing into the room out of the pipe behind the gunslinger. The scorched bodies littering the floor of the vestibule bear strange injuries. While the body of what appears to be a young human lady—likely a clerk—seems to have died to the initial pipe explosion, the city watch were felled by entirely different means. They appear to have entire holes burned through them: perfectly circular entry and exit wounds with a circumference little larger than a silver weight . Furthermore, the wounds appear to have not produced much blood. It would appear that they were cauterized as they were inflicted, and the multitude of tiny scorch marks along the walls of the room lend some weight to the assumption.
The door they stand before is in fact the same hallway that leads to the street outside. Odds are, these sentries and their staff-wall are what's keeping the maddened soldiers and guards outside from penetrating further into the foundries. Unfortunately, given the nature of those he studies, Eldred can't get a read on the golems. Whether they are ready to spring forward in attack or in retreat is impossible to say.
An ethereal laughter in the back of your mind, almost like a chorus of wheezes, rattles on for several seconds before finally receding.
"Bloooood. It will reeeequire muuuuuch bloooood for itsss gift. Yooours or ooootherssss; it matterrrrrs not."
Do you mean that metaphorically, or do you need the physical substance of blood? If you want the liquid, what should I do with it? If you mean killing people, that's what I do. Point me at the deader. Who are you anyway? Sampson thinks, as he stands with his arms crossed over his chest. The pose of indifference is normal for him, as he lets the others investigate the room.
Vincent makes his way out of the pipe as well, sword and shield prepared should these things decide to become violent, though he maintains a defensive posture. "Eldred, you know this place better than any of us, where should we go?"
He looks about the room, nervously expecting another wave of the miniature metal monstrosities to return.
Eldred allows his hand to hover inches from his gun for a few moments, but seeing that the sentries are making no move to attack, he shakes his head and moves away. "Carry on, boys." he mutters.
One of the bodies catches his eye, a city watchman with a hole in his chest like someone put a hot poker through him. The gunslinger lifts the brim of his hat as he takes a knee next to the dead man. "Don't make sense..."
"Eldred, you know this place better than any of us, where should we go?" The Field Squire inquires from next to him.
The gunslinger doesn't take his eyes from the body as he touches a finger along the wound and studies the way the flesh shows not sign of blood. "Like a flash burn...closin' a wound with a hot gun barrel..."
He hooks a thumb towards the two clockwork men and responds to Vincent's question. "Over yonder leads back to the street. I'm gonna venture a guess n' say our iron men are keepin' the crazies outta the works fer now." Eldred shifts his attention away from the body and stands up so he can glance back at the two sentries. "Best guess they'll take a shine to us so long as we don't get squirrely. Wonder if them spiders coulda been part of this...mebbee ol' Rud's been up ta somethin' after all."
Then to the flimsy door and the double doors he shrugs. "We could try each door, them double ones go straight into the foundry... The other I'm not so sure. I wonder if we head real friendly like to one of them if those iron men's eyes will go red like the spiders." Eldred nods to the flimsy door. "Better to try that one first, if those guys charge we can use it as a choke point if necessary."
His sharp eyes drift back to the dead watchman. "Curious how these fellas bought it. Looks like they got poked with a rod of some sort, like a steel pipe fresh outta the forge when it's red hot." Eldred points to the wound. "See the way it's burnt? We do field dressings where we use a hot gun barrel to pinch a wound shut. That's why I thought of the iron."
Then he glances over to the two sentries. "Or it coulda been our new friends over here. Mebbe them wall sticks are good for pokin'."
Back to Vincent. "Your call, Top. I'll lead the way."
Vincent responds, "Lead the way. I ain't about to tell ya how to navigate someplace I've never been."
The sentries, if that's what they were, and the dead people kept the Field-Squire tense, but he did his best not to show it. He didn't want his own anxiety to spill over to the rest of the party.
Eldred knuckles his brow in salute and casts a glance towards the others before turning back to the Field-Squire. "If I could make a suggestion, sir, we may want to set up defensive position near the door." He pulls the boar spear off his shoulder and offers it to Vincent. "Figure you n' the Sarge could set up a line...him slashin' with that cleaver o' his...you could set up fer a charge." He nods to the mechanicals at the other end of the room. "Adurus can support with his heavy armor n' shield."
He gestures to Zeltresh then the demon-spawn. "Not sure if ya tossers got somethin' loaded up that can trip 'em up should they come at us at a run?"
"Whatdya say Arzazel? Wanna check out what's on the other side?" He leans against the nearby wall and rests a hand on the butt of his gun and smirks. "Afterall, how bad could it be?"
...If we go to the door.
Eldred will sling his spear if there's no takers on setting for the possible charge. He'll approach the door cautiously and peer inside.
"An echoooo... a proooomise deliverrrred."
A tide of images and impressions crash through Sampson's mind unbidden. Many defy comprehension, though there are several marked exceptions that stand out in stark contrast to what is otherwise a malaise of imagery...
...A gnome being tortured, the majority of which is self inflicted. It seems as if a dream: you are watching the gnome and also are the gnome. There is an inexplicable comfort in the masochism and abuse of the flesh. And power...
...An awareness of darkness—true darkness. A haze that robs the uninitiated of all vision stretches out in all directions, a macabre and muted mockery of places that seem familiar... Nidal. Or a shadow choked copy? A foreboding swims about the corner of your vision like a miasma whose presence is comprehended, but never fully witnessed. Death lingers here, and some things far worse. Again, like a damp ichor on your tongue, you can almost taste the power within your grasp...
...Trapped. Locked within the boiler furnace. Realization dawns too late as Leovarde's maddened cackles reverberate all around. The dhampir had betrayed them all to their death. Even as the flames of the furnace rose around, the gnome clutched at the pouch beneath his tunic: his power and retribution. Pleasure overwhelms you as the flames immolate flesh and scorch bone. All the while, the gnome's chanting continues. It is a plea and a promise. A promise to serve beyond death and bring justice to he who strayed from the path: Leovarde...
The visions recede. What seemed like an hours is a matter of mere seconds. But the spirit has not concluded—not entirely. Vague impressions linger yet: blood collected by force, empowered further by profane ritual . Blood sigils are drawn upon the skin of a champion, a veritable tapestry that serves as homage to Zon-Kuthon.
It is an incomplete portrait. The spirit, it seems, offers enough to confirm the bargain's authenticity without divulging the full measure of realizing the boon.
Vincent eyes the spear and considers Eldred's strategy, then shakes his head and says, "Never been much for spears. Trained with 'em, but I am better trained with these," he raises the new blade he had received earlier. "Besides, may come a time in here that you'll need that spear, and I'd hate to be the one depriving you of it's company."
He looks about and says, "Alright men, let's move. Form up as Eldred laid out."
Sampson does as he's ordered, moving into position with his falcata drawn. Hmmm...I'll need to find something to collect blood in.
Adurus's clouded gaze is warily held on the sentries as the group moves into position; the bizarre beings are only the second time Adurus has seen mechanical wonders so intricate, the first being the swarm of nasty metal spiders that tried to kill the group. He keeps his shield high between himself and the sentries, peering over it and wondering at what exactly they are. Metal, but they move like creatures... Are they powered by magic? He's both curious and apprehensive of the metal men, and as he steps backward toward the door he wonders aloud, "You think they can understand us?"
Eldred glances back before looking in the doorway, replying to Adurus. "Yup."
"Nathmir, any insight'd be appreciated. Ya gotta feelin' on these wounds in the watchmen?" Eldred asks as he peers into the doorway. The gunslinger wonders if the enigmatic cleric of the two-faced god is on the brink of a conclusion regarding the odd contraptions and odder behaviors of the evening.
Nathmir looks over the body and at the golems.
"There are some spells that can produce rays or beams that could do such a thing. As well as certain magical items. But I may not be able to tell from the wounds alone which."
Eldred snaps Arzazel out of his fear, Arzazel nods and repeats the question with little confidence, "how bad could it be?" The large half-orc moves to the door and takes a couple minutes to listen and notice any movement or temperature differences.
|
Having been quiet as Eldred attempted to communicate with the mechanical constructs, Rutilus finally decides to pipe up as the group prepares to head out. ”I do not believe they will attack us. They seem to be focusing their energies on defending that door in particular - those staves they wield create a miniature Wall of Force effect.. and I am quite certain when I say that nothing we have could break through such a barrier. If they were defending all of these doors, it is more likely they would have attacked us on sight.”
”Alas, I do admit that I am less than prepared for fighting against constructs such as these, or the ones we encountered earlier. These ones bear a resemblance in design to the swarm we encountered, but in all my years of studying the arcane, I have yet to see constructs such as either of these.” He pauses a moment, before putting his hand onto Vincent’s shoulder to indicate that he is speaking to him in particular. ”If they do attack, I would very much like to get ahold of their staves for research purposes - they could also come in handy for our task - provided, of course, that they even work without the constructs’ presence.”
As an added afterthought, Rutilus realizes that Eldred was addressing him when he mentioned ‘tossers’. ”I have a spell that can create an acidic pool of grease beneath their feet. Should they make a move, we’ll get to find out how good their balance is. Normally, constructs are not very balanced.. but these I do not know.”
The near-ruined flimsy metal door requires a little bit of muscle to pry free from its warped frame. Whatever the cause of the explosion from within the pipeline, the debris of the blast impacted it with enough velocity to bend it into unfavorable dimensions. After bending down one of the already slightly folded top corners of the door, Arzazel and Eldred manage to pull the rest of it open. A horrendous screech of metal on stone accompanies their efforts, as the bottom of the mangled metal door scratches a trail in a semi-circle along the ground. Fortunately, this too elicits no noteworthy response from the sentries who maintain their vigil and barrier at the entryway to Rud's Wastewares.
When the door is finally pulled ajar far enough to accommodate passage within, Arzazel can't help but marvel at the craftsmanship of the lock that had once held the door fast. Had it not succumbed to the destruction of the blast, the half-orc knows that gaining entry within would have been nearly impossible short of battering down the door itself. Even then, who knows what traps would have awaited? As it stands, all have been sufficiently ruined. Peering into the darkness beyond, the half-orc realizes why: guns.
The vestibule, apart from being the de facto receiving area for visitors to Rud's Wastewares, is also a well maintained storefront. What business the Alkenstar owner conducts that is not exclusive to the Molthuni war machine takes place here. This upper storeroom looks more like gun museum than a shop's warehouse. Neatly stacked and rowed are various implements and accessories pertaining to Rud's specialty. And while the collection arrayed within is impressive, Eldred notes that the condition and craftsmanship of the arsenal, while considerable, pales in comparison to the firearms the Alkenstar tycoon continues to feed to Molthune's military.
______________________________
Adurus, watching the group's back as they approach and move into the newly opened room, turns around and momentarily forgets the sentries at the sight of the room's interior. He marvels at the sight of so many guns; Adurus himself hasn't had much personal experience with them, but he knows the wounds such weapons are capable of inflicting. As he moves further into the room his gaze rests on a particularly large gun with a fat muzzle; Adurus moves up to it and cautiously looks down inside the barrel, wondering what exactly comes out of such a contraption, as it seems too big for the bits of metal which normal guns shoot.
Eldred can't help the grin spreading across his face at the arsenal arrayed before them. "Oh my stars..." The first thing to draw his attention are the kits, then the fast-draw leathers. Anything to get faster, even if it was only on the holstering...
He sees Adurus approaching the larger of the weapons. "Careful, son, that's a Blunderbuss. Slings lead in a cone so you can get up close n' real personal with folks." Eldred gently pulls the Oracle back a pace to get his head out of the barrel. "First rule o' guns, treat 'em like they're ready to belch fire at all times. This little lady will put a balcony out the back of yer skull, so mind yer manners 'round her."
"Field-squire, permission to outfit," He gestures to the ammo, quick draw holster, then the blunderbuss. "I'll make my mark fer the gear I gather, but I ain't taken responsibility fer the stuff others try n' use. No sense me suckin' court marshall fer folk playin' at it n' gettin' their fool heads blown off."
Vincent eyes the store room curiously, and sees the others begin picking around at things. He let's them study the strange new weapons momentarily, as he is currently examining one of the strange guns with blades on them. At Eldred's request, he replies, "Keep note of anything you take, Eldred. If Rud wants it back, I expect you to replace it. But if it can help us survive this night and stop whatever is going on, I am fine with you using it, on the condition that it is to be returned to it's proper owner when this is all said and done. Rest of you, unless you have had special training with these types of weapons, I'll need you to step back outside. I've seen what these things can do, even in a trained hand, so I can't risk any of us who haven't used them before to try using them now and blasting new holes in each other by accident. And these aren't spoils of war taken from fallen enemies, this is the private property of a new citizen of Braganza and Molthune, and will be respected as such."
As he himself steps out of the room behind the rest, he says, "Also, if any of you know where Viktor came across this blade, I would appreciate the information. I would like to make sure it is returned to it's proper owner when this is over. It is a valuable weapon."
Sampson crosses his arms over his chest and silently surveys the cache of firearms. The future of war. Killing without skill, killing without honor. It is a vile shame. While the others are busy admiring the guns, Sampson looks around for something to collect blood in.
Nathmir had no interest in the weapons. His faith and magic were all he needed. After all, enchantments were used on the most powerful weapons, if they were truly so impressive they could do without. He waits for the others to move on and follows.
Arzazel appraises the weapons locker for a few seconds adding another thing that he's never seen before to the wild night. Then, he heads over to the other double doors not near the golems and takes his time checking them for traps, locks, and noise, while the others drool over the guns.
Vivienne Kolstov... He remembers the crumpled note, hastily putting it into the belt pouch with the gold so the paper wasn't completely destroyed by the rain. Who were you, huh? Why'd you think this was better? he'd thought at the time.
Same reason you've thought about it, Dread.
Eldred sets himself to the ritual of giving the blunderbuss a thorough review. Though it is one of Rud's personal weapons, there is no need to be foolish in thinking the gun would just fire when he pulls the trigger.
"Vivienne Kolstov, a member of the Watch." Eldred answers Vincent's question. "She's dead and lovely now, but might have some family local, or her superior may still be kickin'." The gunslinger grabs a pliable shoulder strap for the blunderbuss and begins tying it off on the weapon. He'd be able to fire it and let it drop against the sling to free his gun hand for ol' Lia. At least Rud's property wouldn't get damaged from a drop.
Finished with the rifle, he switches out his own holster, stowing it away in his pack, and straps on the fast-draw leathers low on his thigh. A few practice draws and he feels right at home with the blinding speed of the new holster.
Last but not least he reloads his spent shells and feeds them into his ready pouch for quick access.
That done he slings his boar spear over his shoulder and brings the blunderbuss up a few times to test the weight and the time it takes bring it up.
"Okie-dokie, let's see what kind of trouble we can get up to, eh?" Eldred approaches the double doors and puts an ear to the left one. "Sure hope our metal chums don't mind we take a looksee..."
○ Listen at the door and check for locks/traps
○ Attempt to open the left door quietly
The double doors are thankfully free of both traps and locks. Opening the portal as gingerly as he can manage, Eldred encounters an obstacle mere inches later. There is enough space for the corporal to peer through, however. His eyes are greeted by more grim and needless slaughter—or the aftermath of it, to be precise. The door is caught on the limp form of another of Rud's employees: a young girl no older than fifteen with a look of stark terror affixed to what had been a homely and innocent face. Nothing stirs beyond, and after a moment to study the situation, Eldred is able to risk opening the door more fully. Light from the vestibule bleeds in to a windowless hall that runs nearly the entire perimeter of the structure.
Progressing deeper through the structure, the scene remains the same: death, and lots of it. Among the dead number mostly city watch and various laborers employed at Rud's foundry. Many bear the same sort of injuries those in the vestibule did. Others succumbed to their own hands by whatever means available, including using their bare hands. Still others have been electrocuted to death—an injury whose origins can easily be guessed belong to the mechanical swarm encountered within the pipes earlier. It is more than a little jarring how many people managed to gain entrance into the place before the automatons at the entrance stymied the flow. Nearly ten minutes of moving and exploring pass, the trail of dead paving a grotesque trail towards where the killing all started. One is left wondering at how bizarre the blueprints to this place must seem: the place is a labyrinth.
Multiple twists, turns, and descending staircases behind them, finally something unusual catches the party's sight. It is hard to guess at how deep beneath the surface they have descended, but the nature of the structure takes a sudden and uniform shift away from the patchwork of various metals that dominate the structure's outer and upper levels. Most alarmingly of all, several present arrive at the same conclusion: the walls are .
The heart of Rud's foundries rests in a spherical cavity deep beneath the earth. Smooth stone walls curve away in every direction, while the adamantine core of the facility rests suspended fifty feet away from the wall in the center of the cavity—a perfect sphere itself that remains in position despite no supporting structures. An iron-wrought bridge extends from the open door that delivered everyone here. At the end of the bridge stands a single opening into the adamantine core. In front of the opening stands a single mechanism, identical to the individual components of the swarm encountered previously though much larger in size. This particular construct is roughly the size of a large cart, and unlike its diminutive cousins, multiple runes hover around its surface.
An enormous rumble of unidentifiable origins explodes from within the core itself and out through the opening the bridge feeds into.
When the door is opened and the horrible sight of the girl becomes apparent to him, Adurus only barely stops himself from retching. The stench, the terrible facial expression, the mutilation; Adurus is not used to having the dead this close, and the young boy has a hard time keeping it together as the party continues and the scene gets more grim. Sweat grows on his brow, his hands get clammy and his breathing gets heavier. As they walk he whispers to nobody in particular, "Why?"
When the group arrives at the end of the bridge, Adurus cannot yet see what the others are marvelling at; he waits patiently for more information.
Sampson keeps his eyes out for a water skin or bucket as they go. If he sees one, he takes it and shoves it into his pack. Other than that he is silent. He's seen similar scenes of slaughter many times on the front. In fact he's been the cause of more than one. The strange adamantine sphere and underground cavity however astound him. Well, as much as is possible anyway. He quirks one eyebrow up a quarter inch at the sight and makes a barely audible grunt. "We should defeat that golem and see what's inside. There might be weapons of great power there."
Nathmir, having witnessed several examples of the "runes" so far, is able to note that they are composed of Hallit characters. Unfortunately, little is gleaned beyond recognizing the language itself. The meaning of the runes—be they words or phrases—are still beyond him. Given enough time, he's certain he could piece together their purpose. Unfortunately, the constructs to whom the projections belong are not fit for prolonged study. This case proves no different.
As the distance between the large, metal creature and the two on point (Eldred and Arzazel) dwindles, it springs to life. Unlike the sentries posted at the entrance to Rud's Wastewares, this automaton's intent is clear. All runes begin pulsing a bright crimson, much like the swarms had. Apparati spring out from hidden, seamless compartments to poise menacingly at the thing's fore like a couple of weaponized antennae.
"Sampson Klein will take your life, metal beast! I challenge you!" gripping his sheathed falcata , he rushes forward towards the construct.
________________________________
Vincent likewise has been walking slack jawed at all the strange, inexplicable things in this business. But when the large metal orb springs into aggressive action, he stops and raises his sword in a salute. His eyes glow white, the magic eventually encasing his blade and the weapons of his comrades. He then points at the creature with his sword and says, "I don't know what that is, but it means us harm. Bring it down! Ever Forward! Ever Onward!"
__________
The gunslinger tries to reconcile the loss of life, especially the youngsters. They were just workers, cogs in the wheel of the war machine. Whatever is laying siege to the city, they had no mercy.
When they pass the bodies, if given the chance, Eldred will set them aside along the walls in the hopes that once the battle is done they can be given proper burial. The ones he knows, he whispers their names several times to himself so he can remember. More entries for the Butcher's Bill...
They make there way into the interior of the Wastewares. Eldred's eyes narrow as they reach the core and the construct therein, his grip on the sandalwood of his pistol shifts. "Why am I not surprised?"
He glances over his shoulder and notes the set of Vincent's jaw. Yeah we're goin' in... At the Field-Squire's order, the gunslinger leaps forward along the left side of the bridge, witnessing with satisfaction as Zeltresh lands the first blow.
Eldred pulls up within 20 feet of the metal monstrosity and levels ol' Lia. "Let's see what ya got..." He puts the trigger, his gun erupting in fire and thunder. Nearly simultaneous with the reverberation of his shot, the gunslinger's hands are flying the the ritual and reloading his weapon.
□■□■□■□■□■□■
● Delay until order given / Initiative now 18
● Move 30 ft, left side of bridge
● (20 ft Ranged Touch Attack)
●
● Reload Pistol (Free Action)
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//Rud's Core//
Those pressing into the core do so in a sudden frenzy of movement. The iron, grated bridge rattles under the weight of so much movement, though it is secured firmly enough to both wall and core to allay any concerns of it toppling away beneath them. Both of the new appendages sprouted by the golem begin to hum with some sort of energy shortly before Zeltresh's torrent of abyssal flame washes over it. In unison, all five runes floating about its spherical body flash three quick yellow pulses before returning to red once again. Blue light begins to coalesce around its "weapon-antennae", and those closer to the construct realize the two extremities are becoming coated in frost. As Sampson closes in and the others draw closer, it sprouts yet another appendage: a segmented tail erupts with a razor sharp tip not unlike a scorpion's tail.
At point with Eldred, Arzazel continues to be amazed at the odd butchery. In all his years in the slave pits, he's never seen this manner of death. He is unnerved.
When he arrives at the core and huge one of those metal swarm creatures, he is awestruck. His companions stream around him to attack the obvious enemy while he remains rooted to the floor and dumbstruck.