Welcome to the game. This being Part the First: The Fires of Creation.
Torch isn’t a big town, but it shouldn’t be difficult to fill a town meeting.
Dolga Freddert - former adventurer, entrepreneur and smith, once present at the town’s founding, now its oldest councillor - peers through the slit in the office wall, trying to calculate the number of takers for the recruitment event.
"Six! Only six of them." says the old dwarf. "That’s what it’s come to now. This will be the last expedition - this is the slag from the bottom of the forge. Mere shrapnel, all that’s left. No ingots for the town to call upon, just shrapnel, that wouldn’t be enough to forge a paper-knife! Six, only six."
Kol Vestly - Dolga’s eldest, longest-serving assistant - observes his friend sadly. The pressure, he should admit, has been getting to her - he can see it clearly now. First, and without warning, the flame on the Black Hill goes out: the flame that has been the town’s fortune this last century or more. Then, the expeditions fail: Dolga’s friend, advisor and fellow councillor, the brave, brilliant wizard Khonnir Bain enters the Black Hill Caves, believing he will find the cause of the flame’s dowsing. At first, promising results - Khonnir found some strange artefacts, which he took back to his foundry to investigate. But his second expedition never returned. Others tried to follow, and they have in their own turn disappeared.
Now, the consequences. Refuse, which would once have been simply dumped into the flame’s mouth, is piling up in the streets. Some of it has found its way into Weeping Pond, contaminating the town’s water supply, and putting pressure on the water refinery constructed only a short time ago by Khonnir Bain and his friends from the Temple of Brigh. The town’s citizens have begun to complain of early-day fatigue, and strange headaches. Torch’s famous forges lie idle: the guild stores are empty, and trade is dying. Worst of all, the tribute demanded by the Technic League, up in Starfall, continues to make its relentless monthly call on Torch’s dwindling reserves.
All this has fallen on Dolga’s aging shoulders. She’s not the only councillor, or shouldn’t be. But of the remainder, two - the guildmistress Bazlundi Otterbie and Father Joram Kyte, of the Temple of Brigh - now have a full time job trying to solve the stubbornly unsolvable refuse problem. Tavern keeper Soceal Murgrave - normally so reliable - is laid up in her bed at The Evercandle Inn nursing a splitting headache (the third in as many days). And Khonnir Baine, of course, is missing.
Hence it’s left to Dolga to administer this last - very last - throw of the dice. Come one, come all, for what may well be the last expedition. With four thousand gold pieces, the odd magic item and the town’s undying gratitude as reward, for finding the secret, for re-igniting the flame, for rescuing Khonnir and for saving Torch itself before it falls back beneath the blackened earth on which it first grew.
"What do you see?" whispers Dolga. "Tell me what you see?"
Kol tries to smile whatever passes for a reassuring smile, for a crippled old half-elven, face covered in forging scars, lungs and head weakened over the years by the poor air, brackish water and the sheer metallic sting of having spent one’s entire adult life in grimy old Torch. He warily scans the room beyond. "I see five, um, humans, I suppose", he replies. "Of sorts, anyway. And a dwarf. The dwarf must be good, mustn’t it? An omen, of sorts?".
Dolga frowns. "The good omens left this town, long ago. They rode out on a caravan for better climes, cleaner air and kinder luck. All that’s left to us are discouraging, inexperienced portents of worse times to come. They’ve come today wearing armour and hopeful faces. Would you wager a town on them? Gods, but I wish I were young enough to go myself!"
"But we’re not," says Kol. "Our own flames are long since quenched. This is probably the only choice we have left. Go and wish them on their way, before they think better of it."
The formidable old dwarf sighs, hefts up her beloved, old warhammer, straightens her clothing and opens the door to the main chamber. The six hopefuls are sitting patiently, waiting to speak with her. She grimaces first, but then remembers herself. She smiles a terrifying, terrified smile.
"I assume you’ve come about the expedition?", she says. "Ask away!"
The party is sitting in the main chamber at the Town Hall. An old, female dwarf, Dolga Freddert, and her equally ancient half-elven retainer have entered the room, and stand on a platform facing the group. She looks expectantly at the group.
Despite her best efforts to remain relatively unobtrusive, Tio sits for the most part nursing a fidget, her thumbs rubbing invisible oil from her palms.
The Android has had no pleasure these last few days; disturbed from her work by the worsening complaints rising within Torch, or else barred entirely due to mass-closure of the town's foundries and forges. First Black Hill. The stalled, and missing, expeditions. Now pollution. Reports of widespread fatigue. A contagion, perhaps? Improbable, given the speed of its spread, but not wholly outside the realm of possibility. Certainly something someone should look into. Someone that isn't her, given the task she and her...three? No, five comrades were presently volunteering for.
Five. The budding Arcanist frowns. She would have to note their names.
Regardless, the thought of yet more woes compounding Torch's current misfortunes weighs heavy on her mind, and thin lines of violet circuitry pulse anxiously beside her temples as they await their reception. Without warning, Tio's head snaps to her right, and in a brief moment of panic she wonders where her feathered companion has gotten to–before feeling the pinch of a metallic beak stab at the back of her skull.
Rust–a raven named for the shade of brass replacing a sizable portion of his throat and breast–gives a single raspy caw from her left shoulder, flapping a wing towards the now ajar door across the room and those approaching through it.
"Councillor Freddert," Tio begins, forgetting her familiar and fears as she struggles to ascertain whether one should sit or stand for this sort of affair. "Any information you might possess of our predecessors' discoveries would be of most assistance. I understand Councillor Baine made a brief return? Did he by chance detail any of his findings?"
Compared to Tio, the woman seated in the back of the chamber could not be more different in appearance. Short where Tio was tall, stocky where Tio was slender, and clad in tribal furs and tanned hide rather than the former's more modern clothes, it was obvious that she hailed not from Torch, but from one of the many roving Kellid tribes in the surrounding Numerian waste. Elaborate tribal paintings marked her face and the exposed skin on her arms, granting her an intimidating appearance. The one thing she did have in common with her counterpart, however, was her companion. She too had an animal accompanying her, a agile-looking mammal with jet black fur split by a bright white stripe down its back. The creature sat in her lap, surveying the chamber with intelligence uncharacteristic of a simple beast.
Everything about this meeting, from the building they were in to the mission they were planning to undertake, was alien to Onna. For what must have been the hundredth time since she had abandoned her responsibilities to her clan two weeks earlier to follow her visions here, she wondered what she was doing. Why did I come here? she thought, the question always unanswered.
As the raven-haired woman spoke, something about her caught Onna's attention. From where she sat, it was hard to make out... but she was almost certain that this strange city-dweller's skin bore the very same star-marks that currently lay concealed beneath her own face paintings. Onna had never seen another human with the signs upon their flesh, and knew that only one chosen by the spirits would possess them. Perhaps this is why I have been called here, she thought, satisfied with this explanation. I shall talk with this city dweller whom the spirits trust after this meeting. She waited to hear the human chieftain respond before asking questions of her own.
Adrien sits towards the back, close to the aisle so as to leave room for his robotic companion. "I'm surprised there's so few people here. No one else is intrigued enough to go looking through these old caverns? Just imagine what we might find down there!" Adrien, tall and scrawny, stretches in his seat before the councilwoman comes out to speak to them. "Baine only went so far in, and look at what he's managed to find! There must be a treasure trove down there!" He grins, picking up the walking staff from its place leaning against the wall. "Not to mention we get to help the folks of this poor town, you know?"
"Correct, I am pleased we will be able to--" comes a metallic voice from the large automaton stationed next to Adrien. A massive bipedal construct, it towers over the summoner even when crouched on its two massive legs. After a few seconds, the voice cuts own, instead replaced with a series of metallic whistles. "--help those who need protecting." Straightening to his full height, almost eight feet tall, Ozymandias emits a large beep. "I believe the councilwoman has emerged, Adrien."
The councillor rolls her eyes, and looks sidelong at Kol. One dwarf, indeed, but with a tinge of something - undesirable? - about him. Three humans, two of them Kellids from the fell Numerian hills, the other a soft city dweller by the look of him, probably another obsessive toy collector like Khonnir. And the two females? One of them, at first glance, and to a younger and more naive person than Dolga, is another Kellid barbarian. The other - well it's obvious, from the tattoos, from the strange tilt to her head, the strange choreography of her movements. And, looking back at the barbarian female - the same inhuman rhythm to her gestures, the glint of steel in her eyes, the hint of chrome beneath the skin ...
Dolga frowns. I know what you are!
Well, better tell them something. They're all we have.
"Councillor Baine found some artefacts in the caves, which he presumably added to his collection of broken toys up at the Foundry. You could ask his daughter, Val. But, like me, she's far more interested in finding her father than in poking away at these bits of clockwork."
"As for his more serious findings: he explored the caves. The ones you haven't asked about. Looking for the expeditions you haven't asked about. He found numerous vermin and other scavengers, along with some strange humanoids who had the ability to blend into the shadows of the cave walls, and a nest of gremlins. Khonnir believed this indicated a deeper connection in the caves to the Darklands, but of more immediate interest was his discovery of a wall of solid metal deep in the caves. A wall made of a skymetal alloy called glaucite. He said it was like the kind we mine from the hills and surrounding plains, but formed into a structure with doors. And it was near one of these doors that Khonnir found the broken plaything that he brought back after his first expedition."
She looks over at Kol, who is shaking his head. Well, let him.
"Next question!", she says.
Arkady sits in the middle row of chairs, the dirty backpack with his few meagre belongings next to him on the floor and a simple long sword with a scorched leather sheath settled across his lap. He ruminated on the fate of the town as others took their seats - they seemed like generally good people, even if only judged from the short time he had been in the town, and the loss of the purple flame on the hilltop had seemed to upset the community's balance, adding to the fear brought by the revelation of strange construct-like devices found under the town. A fear that had seemed to turn to outright panic when the wizardly fellow failed to return a second time.
He had found himself wondering on more than a few occasions about if this was how his clan had felt in the days leading up to the catastrophe, and when the call came for anyone who was willing to help, Arkady had vowed that this would be the way to honour his clan's memory and aid in stopping another catastrophe from occurring. He had his theories on the causes of the towns troubles - the presence of the strange device found under the town all but confirmed in his mind that the Technic League had their oily mitts involved somehow, and he had determined to find out just how deep into the troubles their influence reached.
As the councilwoman and the withered old half-elf emerge from a room off to the side of the hall they were all seated in, Arkady sits up somewhat straighter and turns his bloodshot gaze towards the dwarven woman. Intently listening for information as to the nature of the proposed expedition, he scratches idly at his jaw, running his calloused fingers through his short and patchy blond beard. He raises his tufty eyebrows and raises a hand. "Whereabouts are the entrance to these here caves you speak of?" he queries, his voice raspy and dry.
"You have lost others in this cave? Were they warriors?" Onna asked (waiting for the councilwoman's response to the dwarf before she spoke). The woman's tone was measured and even, and she spoke Taldane with a slight accent, but seemed to be familiar with the language. "Has anyone in Torch seen this cave with their own eyes?" She stood when speaking, a gesture of respect for the town's chieftain.
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A broad smile splits the graying black beard of the burly man in leather, furs and iron. "No doubts or laggard questions have I, rockmother. Gladly I will I follow your kinsman"--he nods at Arkady--"to the hollow below the hill where your cunning man has fallen, returning with his body be it living or dead."
If an ethnographer ever visited the land of the Aufruhrstählernvolk, met Thüm's people and heard them speaking, he would quickly identify an Ulfen influence in their way of speaking, their permanent winter residences, their weighty names and their slightly paler skin, all of which set them apart from other Kellid tribes--perhaps the remnants of a lost Iobarian colony that interbred and assimilated into tribal society. However, if an ethnographer ever had visited them, he was quickly punched to death for asking rude questions, so the origin of the tribe's cultural peculiarities must remain a mystery.
Concern wrinkles the barbarian's brow, and he pauses at his task of whetting the immense poleax he's brought with him into the town hall. "One request must I make." He kicks the bulging rucksack at his feet. "Here are Thüm's things, his tent and his pot, his blanket and cot. If from dark caves he does not return, let them be sold, and let that little gold go to buy a raven from your priests, to be sent to Göertrüd Göertadotter to say that her father has fallen and the honor of her family is now hers to carry forward." Thüm smiles fondly at a vision of his eldest daughter raising a cairn to his memory.
Dolga pauses, having noticed, finally, the giant slab of a machine behind one of the humans. Indeed, a toy collector. Who let him bring that in? And why didn't she spot it before?
They're a polite bunch, at least.
Start at the beginning ...
"The flame went out eight days ago. It's now seven since the first explorers braved the new tunnels. The entrance was discovered by Councillor Baine: Khonnir noticed a large number of human footprints on the banks of the Weeping Pond. He had gone there the day the fires went out to test the water to ensure it hadn’t suddenly grown more toxic - and he realised that a sizeable group of people had entered the pond but had not emerged. He found an underwater passage from the pond to a series of caves."
"As for the explorations, there have been two expeditions supported by the council, both led by Khonnir. But there have been three other groups of adventurers try the caves. The only group to come back was Khonnir's first expedition. That was effectively the third group to try - before him there was a group of halfling adventurers, then a bunch of local thugs. After Khonnir returned there was an adventuring party from out of town, devoted to the worship of Brigh. As I said, none returned. Then Khonnir went back. And did not return either."
"Now, I've told you all I know. If you're planning to take up the challenge on the town's behalf, for which I'd be very grateful, as would we all, I can go through the assistance that the council can provide. Otherwise ... well, I assume you're not here to waste my time?"
She folds her arms and glares at the group, waiting for a response.
"Oh aye, it weren't my intent to waste no-ones time. Wouldn't have come here if it were," Arkady calls out before reaching for his pack and taking a deep drink from his waterskin. Some of the liquid dribbles from the corner of his mouth and into the thin hair on his chin, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. "Though it be sounding more like a suicide mission and less like a field trip, so any detail of the assistance on offer'd be appreciated." Despite the fresh intake of water his voice is still raspy, like the whisper of a whetstone across steel.
Dolga frowns at the dwarf. Good omen? I think not!
Through somewhat gritted teeth, she replies:
"If it were a field trip, we wouldn't be offering four thousand gold pieces reward, I think. For finding and bringing back Councillor Baine. Additionally, the council has access to a scroll, that will revive the councillor, if something - unpleasant - has occurred. So ensure in that case you bring back the body to claim your reward. If it so happens that the scroll is not needed, we will add it to your compensation."
"As for assistance. Val Baine has kindly offered use of the Foundry Tavern, as a base for you while you investigate her father's disappearance. You can use it between forays into the caves, assuming you even get back from the first one.
She grunts, derisively.
"I'd caution you, given the nature of your ... - she nods dismissively at the automaton - ... interests, to treat the offer with respect, and not to disturb or otherwise interfere with the councillor's research and private property. At any rate, my suggestion is that you go there now."
"And to get into the caves at all, you'll need to survive the flooded tunnels. Father Kyte can help with that. You can find him at the temple of Brigh or up at Crowfeather Palace when you’re ready to go."
"But for now - and to repeat myself - I would suggest you collect your gear and present yourselves at the Foundry, so that Val is aware of you. Please, for my sake and that of the council, show her the utmost respect; she has lost the person on whom she most depends and whom she most loves. For myself, as you can probably guess, I have other matters to attend to. My assistant Kol can help with anything further. If you have need of supplies, you can come back and speak to him and he'll arrange a discount scrip with the guild. But I expect you to invest directly in at least your first expedition, as proof of good faith."
She turns to the half-elf. "Master Vestry, please see them out. Ladies and gentlemen - to the extent these terms apply - I wish you, more than you can know, the very best of luck."
With that, she turns abruptly and returns to the council chambers, shutting the door firmly behind her. The party is left in the main hall. The old half-elf is looking on.
"Will there be anything else?", he asks.
That one is Kellid, Onna realizes, hearing Thum speak. He is wise to think of his family. It seems these city folk send us to our deaths. She thought of home, of the clan she had fled like one possessed. She had no family waiting for her safe return - no daughters to carry on her name.
"We will find Baine, if he be living or dead," Onna promised, sounding a lot more certain of this fact than she felt. The chieftain had left, and Onna could think of no more questions for this assistant. She turned to the others. "Which of you know the way to this Foundry?"
"I don't need anything else, I don't think. But I won't speak for the others. I've got most of the supplies I should need, between me and Ozzy anyway." Adrien turns to the rest of those assembled, before turning around quickly. "Oh, I do have a question, actually! Would Val or anyone else possess any logs Councilman Baine might have had from his first expedition? Those might be useful in navigating the tunnels, if they're available."
At Onna's question, he turns to speak to her."I've been there once or twice, but I've never really met Val..." Adrien says, looking Onna up and down with a sense of confusion. "I'm... sorry, I'm not from here originally. I don't wish to offend any of you by being presumptuous, but all are... tribal, correct?" He looks over Arkady and Thüm as well, clearly just a bit uneasy. "Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I know a number of Kellid tribes make their homes here in Numeria."
Kol looks Adrien up and down, frowning slightly. "She may, but I doubt it. If Khonnir kept journals, he'd probably have taken them back with him on his second visit. But you should ask her."
He turns to Thüm. "And, sir, I did hear you, as I'm certain did Councillor Freddert. Of course, I'll take a note of your family's name; if something untoward should befall you in the undertaking of this quest, I'm sure the Council will make sure your daughter is cared for. We appreciate this venture is not without risk. The same goes for all of you, who would brave the tunnels under the Black Hill, on our behalf."
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As the words and worries of all gathered parties–and indeed Torch itself–tumble ever more from Dolga's lips, Tio found herself half-listening in the most literal sense, her dark and silken hair draping to one side as she leaned to no avail; the bite of the Councillor's voice turning blunt against her ears. The awkward bend at her neck did not last however, as some unseen, foreign command bade her body to move; rising to her feet with a crispness no organic being should possess.
As if the difference between the party's two 'Children of the Stars' was not great enough, to see Tio at her full height is an uncanny thing. Nothing about her seems particularly natural; from the pristine cut of her hair to the gait her footsteps carry as she paces the room, her movements simultaneously smooth and jittery. The scorched and battered coat she wears floats behind, its worn and thoroughly torn edge catching the heels of her boots as she walks. The sleeves are rolled and pinned well above the elbows, revealing long, pale skin–fresh, when compared to more...active members of her species–and a network of markings that sing with lilac heartbeats as she moves.
Though she maintained the forefront of her attention on Dolga's responses–(Vermin; expected. Gremins? Unfamiliar cretins. Scavengers? Darklands? Doors of Glacuite? Tio's face narrows briefly. How unusual.)–the Android did, at least, take a moment to appraise their apparent crew...
Stout build. Taut tongue. Lack of immediate familiarity with Torch. Attire not customary to urban environments. Likely an outsider then; Kellid affinity for beasts widespread. A clanswoman? The Android blinks. Remarkable example of native body art; persistent ink, well-integrated with nanite circuitry. Overall marvelous designs. Should ask if the artist is available for commissio... Tio's pacing comes to a brief, almost indistinguishable pause. ...Nanite circuitry? Hmm. A survivor of typical Kellid suspicions? Fascinating.
The quiet one; a tinkerer? She has seen his sort in passing. A name. She feels as though there should be a name there; if not his, then someone else's. She would check her notes, but the Raven at her shoulder pecks at her skull. Clearly this encounter is rigged for her to forget some piece of information; if not a name, a face, then certainly the task at hand, and Rust, at least, understands the priorities there.
Now Thüm...Thüm she doesn't quite know what to make of at all. As much as she would like to empathize with him in the event of what is likely to be, on the balance of probability, a physically draining (if not outright fatal) endeavour, the Arcanist has no such will of her own, to be exacted in the event of a violent or otherwise needless death. Tio wonders for a moment why this is the case, but the answer proves unusually simple: she has not factored in for such a direct method of existential failure, and would prefer not to. Ever.
She soon moves on, catching Arkady as he reaffirms his assistance. Dwarves. Charming allies. Best known for heightened constitution and affinity for labour. Caverns beneath Black Hill likely to require ample degrees of both. That Tio has no proper concept of "Charming" really doesn't seem to bother her.
...And as for the last of their number–a Human, blatantly, and an eight-foot construct-like being, far more advanced in its appearance than anything the lowly Android mechanic has seen in her painfully short life; rather than be flabbergasted, or even marginally impressed, Tio simply stops short of Adrien's companion in the midst of her wandering, staring up at the automation with curved lips and a single nonchalant word: "Excellent."
Of course by this point, Tio is so far gone in her own thoughts that Adrien's words wash over her ears like rain. When she does finally catch his voice, and the conversation proper, the disjunction is sharp, forced, and the Android crashes–quite visibly, given the erratic flicker to her markings–back into the present.
"On the topic of journals, there is...one thing I would like to obtain, given our point of entry," Tio states, wincing slightly as she ponders foremost on what she's been doing out of her seat. A hand pulls back at her coat, revealing a book bound to her thigh; plated with thin sheets of scrap metal and chained to the belt of her britches. "Water-sodden notes are unlikely to be of much assistance by themselves...however–"
And here Rust intrudes, but not with the sound of an animal; his brassy prosthetic hisses a little, before a deep, hollow voice emits from the box nestled at his throat: "Nid yw y llyfr hwn yn agored i drafodaeth."
Kol looks for a moment at the spellbook, then throws back his head and laughs.
"Thank you for that" he says to Tiѳ. "I understand your problem. Talk to Father Kyte; he outfitted the previous expedition and they obviously found a solution. Bear in mind that Khonnir Baine is, himself, a magician of some capability."
"As for you ...". He looks at Rust, now.
"Tawel, frân, hyd nes i mi yn dweud wrthych i siarad."
Thüm laughs heartily at Kol's kind offer. "Frail folk looking after dour-fisted Göertrud? Little gratitude you would get from her! Simply send message, and Thüm's ghost will rest."
Adrian's hesitance amuses Thüm. Sudden as a landslide, he leaps to his feet and claps the smaller man on the back. "Here is Thüm Göertatroth, Aufruhrstählernvolk his tribe," he says, thumping his chest with his axe hand. "Old age makes me weak and slow, but no less bold. Speak name, and watch friendship unfold."
"Well met, Thüm. I am the fourteenth Onna of the tribe Ehrfashrëin," Onna says, in greeting to Thüm and the skinny city-boy. "I know of your tribe. One of your clansmen wed our fiercest hunter, two generations ago." Compared to the aging warrior beside her, Onna seemed exceptionally young. Everything from her manner to her appearance showed it, though she at least had the muscles of a warrior. Conspicuously absent, however, were any scars of battle, unless they were concealed beneath her armor..
The last one, the human wanderer, looks up from a metal scrap he has been examining intently. He wears the furs of a nomadic tribesman, but appears to have pulled it in to look smaller, less of a threat, more used to urban life. He walks pace with everyone else, but his thoughts are clearly elsewhere.
"Please forgive my silence," he states. "Councilor Baine was a mentor to me, like a father. I find it hard to imagine that he would simply disappear like so many who have entered the cave before him. However, that is precisely what we must do. I would be most happy to look for him. Call me Ulok."
As the surly dwarven councilwoman leaves the room, Arkady stands to his feet and proceeds to buckle the longsword in its weathered scabbard to his waist again. He turns towards Adrien and shakes his head. "No lad, I am not 'tribal' as you put it, though I do wander. I am Arkady Bollerend, and though my clan no longer survives in this land I honour their memory with all my remaining steps."
"Like I said, pardon me for my assumptions, Master... Arkady? I grew up in Restov, I'm not much familiar with the local tribes." He nods to the dwarf, evidently believing this ample explanation. He instead turns to the assistant as he answers Adrien's question. "As I figured, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask. I'll have to ask Val, see if she remembers anything he might have mentioned..." Stroking his chin, hairless as it is, Adrien appears lost in thought, while the giant metal automaton behind him slowly whirs to life again.
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"Engaging facial recognition software, scanning--" the automaton begins, before a dim blue light flashes over the other party members in turn. "Memorizing facial details, Arkady Bollerend--" it says, the metallic "voice" buzzing slightly. It passes over Ulok next, uttering his name as well. "Fourteenth Onna of the tribe Ehrfashrëin, scanning--", it says, hovering over her longer than the others. "Anomaly detec-t-ted, presence of--" it begins, before the sound cuts out to static, and the light moves to the next. "Thüm Göertatroth, Aufruhrstählernvolk his tribe. You state age has made you weak--" the audio again cuts out, this time replaced with a few high-pitched beeps "--preliminary scans indicate you remain in excellent health; further scanning required at later date."
Finally, the blue light hovers over Tiѳ, resting as it studies her face. "Anomaly detected, presence of nanites; what is your name?" the voice asks.
To Kol, Tio merely gives an uncertain nod in response; thankful for the advice but ignorant of his humour.
"Rudimentary intelligence? Tio questions, her head angled towards Adrian as the metallic behemoth begins to catalog their party. As the automation's scanning apparatus cascades over her own form, she holds an arm to the light, ever more curious, until it sees fit to fixate on her face and pose a question in turn. A question to which Tio's features soften into a frown.
"An Android, yes...though my original designation and properties are lost." She blinks, her hands cupping firm behind the small of her back. A marbled band of silver-grey metal makes itself known above her right elbow; a riddle of odd markings and letters reading 'T I Ѳ' readily apparent upon its surface. "Oh, but monikers are still required of course; it would be ridiculous, confusing, to communicate in this culture without a proper given title. The reclaimers and residents of this place would call me Tio. You all may do so as well, should it please you."
A gentle knock at the back of her scalp suggests that a second introduction is necessary as Rust hops from one shoulder to the next, the lilac tint to his eyes suggesting the bird would rather keep his master's skull between himself and the imposing gentleman across the room. Unfortunately for the Raven, however...
"And this is...?" Tio waves lazily to the bird, eyes rolling as she struggles to remember the poor creature's name. "Russ? Ruth? Ratchet? Something of the sort."
"Rust, meistr," the bird croaks quietly, the annoyance overcoming his fear. "Os nad ydych yn gallu cofio eich henwau eu hunain, o leiaf yn cofio mwynglawdd."
"Quite," Tio answers, clearly not listening as she turns her attention back to those she would hope to assist. "Now if there is nothing further here...?"
"Tiѳ... Facial recognition complete." the automaton says, the blue light shutting off abruptly. "Adrien, shall I add these individuals--" its voice cuts out again, replaced with a long beep "--defense programming?" The eidolon waits a moment, swiveling its head towards Adrien, still lost in thought. A little louder than the first time, the voice comes again. "Adrien?"
"Oh! Sorry. Yes Ozzy, go ahead and do that..." he looks Tiѳ once, trying to recall her question. "More than rudimentary. Unfortunately I don't know how much damage he's suffered over the years, but I believe he was programmed to display human levels of intelligence. That said, he's... old. Damaged, and I'm not sure how to fix it. I can tell he's not operating at full capacity, but fixing him has been a daunting task." He pats Ozzy's side, a hollow echo coming from the automaton's hull. "As for introductions, my name is Adrien Belmont, of Brevoy. This here is Ozymandias." He grins as he introduces the automaton, clearly hoping others are impressed by the robot.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintances," Ozzy says, his head slowly swiveling to face all party members in turn. "OZ-M1, designated as Ozymandias. Adrien refers to me as Ozzy; I will respond to this sub-designation." Ozzy stands to his full height, nearing eight feet tall. "While not fully functional, I am designated as a combat model, and am capable of--" his voice devolves into a low humming noise "--and close-range engagements. Adrien has taught me a rudimentary understanding of human pleasantries; I believe this is an appopriate time for what he calls a... handshake?" The eidolon raises his one massive arm, extending it outwards towards the party slowly.
Fascinated, Ulok approaches Ozymandias and takes his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I've spent much time studying the intricacies of machinery and other devices."
Thinking about what has been said previously, Ulok adds, "Well, thinking logically about the problem, we need to find out what help Uncle Khonnir needs, but equally important, we need to be able to pull ourselves back out. Too many parties have disappeared down there, so making sure we can always escape and be seen is important."
Ulok taps his forehead in thought and adds, "Be seen... Does anyone know more about these humanoids that blend into the background that was mentioned? That would be a problem, wouldn't it?"
From behind the towering robot, the petite tribal woman can be seen tapping its metallic back panel experimentally with the weighted butt of her spear. "This metal fiend, it serves you?" Onna does not look hostile, merely curious. Her predecessors have seen more of Numeria's dangerous beasts of metal than she, but none have been so close to one while it was still active.
"Adrien is my master, correct," Ozymandias replies without turning around. "My primary directive is to protect Adrien, and others whom--" the sound of static comes again from Ozymandias, who has moved onto a different topic by the time his audio resumes. "Thüm Göertatroth, Aufruhrstählernvolk his tribe, I am pleased both you and the fourteenth Onna of the tribe Ehrfashrëin are not immediately hostile." A low droning sound comes from Ozymandias, clearly trying to decide on what to say.
"Our previous encounters with the tribes surrounding Torch have been... tumultuous." A low whine escapes his speakers before continuing. "One group attempted to dismantle me. I am pleased to see this will not be the case."
"You would consider yourself a mender to this then, Master Belmont? That this...'Ozzy' would be your project? Interesting." Not one to happily entertain the notion of hostile dismantlement, Tio gazes up at the titanic creation with something likely resembling pride. "I would not presume to overstate my usefulness, but should you have need of a second opinion, I would welcome the opportunity. I am told I am a remarkable smith." And then, in a slightly softer, arguably humane voice: "Or was, perhaps."
Before the words have time to leave her tongue, the thought itself is lost, and in its place rings the heavy echo of Thüm's voice. "Ropefist worth investigating. Motives inconclusive at present, but given the apparent presence of skymetal technologies and continually uncooperative relations, might I also suggest Technic League involvement? Increasingly common consensus among the workforce paints Black Hill's extinguishing as sabotage. Growing evidence suggests the level of technical skill involved in doing so is unlikely to be found amid men of any stereotypical calibre. Certainly Councillor Baine is our absolute priority in this but, if possible..." For little more than a second the Android's eyes appear to grow dim, and a blue-white jolt of unchecked power sparks out from a circuit beneath her collar, conducting loudly to the exposed metal of Rust's neck. "I would see that this incident does not occur twice. For Torch's sake."
"Oh I'd be surprised if the Technic League weren't involved," Arkady growls. "If there be people in this land having a rough time of it, you can be sure as eggs are eggs that either they are involved directly, or they're kicking themselves and wishing they'd thought of it first."
Gingerly placing a crude screwdriver back in his pack, Ulok listens to Ozzy's praise and grins sheepishly.
Thüm nods to the construct. "Not immediately hostile, my people. Most days. Ghost Wolves different, keep oldest ways. Ghost Wolves enter no caves for gold or glory--ruins are taboo to them." Thüm shrugs. "Keeps them from blowing themselves up as much as White Scars do."
"Rope Fists kiss the Technic League's ring, Thüm hears. Drunk miners gossip when gambling."
"His circuitry is... archaic is the best way I can describe it. Half of the time I get something to work some other system shuts off entirely, and when I get anything to work it's usually a mystery as to why." Adrien sighs, patting Ozzy on the back. "I'll have to show you what I mean sometime, it's like a maze to work through."
"Adrien has informed me that the Technic League is nefarious, but I am unfamiliar with other factions being discussed." A light whirring can be heard from his chest, before he speaks again. "These are other tribes? I do not yet understand humanoid social structures." Ozymandias stares on in confusion, not sure what to do with his hand after shaking with the party. After a moment, he just lets the appendage drop before swiveling his head towards Adrien.
"Did I do well?"
When the group heads towards the foundry, Thüm falls in line next to Onna. "My people still tell the tale of Roch the Healer, who took frail hunter to bride. Fierce she was, but she could not abide the Grippenwald. Living there crushes out frail folk's breath; child growing inside would be death. Left our lands, then. Did they join your tribe, or Tiger Lords?"
"Archaic?" Tio echoes to Adrian, and for an instant her lips seem to twitch into the vague semblance of a smile. "Then perhaps your construct and I have something in common." It doesn't last. "Technic League have varied interests in technological finds. Would assume they are monopolizing knowledge and discoveries for additional study. A fine idea, were they not committing systematic genocide against independent research. Ropefist...unknown. My specialty is in mechanics. Not local criminology."
Thüm is quick to point out his tribe's superiority, Onna thought. "She returned to us. She gave us two twin sons, but died in the birthing." She nodded at the older warrior. "They have their father's strength, and today have sons and daughters of their own."
"City folk say this Technic League is angered that the Violet Flame is snuffed. Rumor holds that your king, the Black Sovereign, rides for Torch."
"Well, if he is, he'd better arrive soon before Torch is little more than a ghost town. I've heard that businesses are hoping to sell as much stock as they can before moving - like the lass from Tempting Tonics. Jhestine, I think the folk at the inn were calling her. Heard tell she be setting out for Chesed soon for greener pastures and cleaner streets."
As they all talk amongst themselves, Arkady is getting himself ready to make their way to the Foundry to talk to Val.
"I don't know much of the Technic League, but I'm afraid what I do know isn't good news. Whoever might be behind this, I'd say it's time we speak with Val at the Foundry. Let's go, shall we?" Adrien pats Ozzy's metal side again, and picks up the walking staff still leaning against the wall.
"I am ready. Let us speak with Baine's daugher."
Almost simultaneously, both Tio and Rust give identical juts of the head; something you could presume to be a nod, if not for the unnecessary length of time both master and familiar spend staring at the ground.
"I believe we know the way...?" Tio answers distantly, equally keen to take her leave, her thumbs are rubbing at her palms again. Slow and methodical. Missing the feel of hammers in her hands.
The Foundry is actually a collection of three buildings, which stand close to one another - Khonnir's home, his workshop and the tavern, currently closed.
As the party approaches the complex, they hear a scream of terror coming from Khonnir's home, the small stone house behind the tavern.
Arkady pulls up short at the sound of the scream, the sound chilling in the air. "Now what are we supposing that be?" he mutters, turning to his companions in order to follow their lead.
Ulok calls out, "Val?" and runs straight for the home.
"Well that was...most unpleasant," Tio adds plainly, lips curling to a frown as her pace cleanly accelerates from a brisk walk to something better resembling a straight sprint; the benefits of an artificial body all too apparent in her gait.