Zyrel stows his coat, stretches for a moment as he seeks out Lanatir's aura, then bolts towards an intercept.
The party takes off hustling through the streets of Alkenstar, pushing their way through crowds and chaos of the city. The city gates give way to the dusty plains that surround the city and they follow the road a ways outside of town. The factory is immediately obvious. Bright lights and bizarre noises originate from within, multi-colored smoke billowing from it's smokestacks and forming strange, geometric shapes. Loud banging and crashing can be heard too.
A stout, dusky-skinned dwarven woman stands outside, foot tapping impatiently. She wears utilitarian coveralls and a tool belt on her waist has all manner of tools. Her voice is thick with the clipped accent of the dwarves of Dongun Hold as she speaks, "You the backup from Binderbald? I'll assume you are. You're all strange-lookin' and heavily armed so that usually suggests you're agents. Name's Yadalia, I'm here to fix this mess. The mess takes some explaining. You see, this factory was designed to work entirely self-sufficiently, like a massive golem. It was workin' well until today when the caravan came to pick up the latest shipment. Of all the products, about a third of them came to life and attacked them. They managed to trigger the failsafe and magically sealed the doors but died in the process."
She sighs unhappily at that, "They were good folks. Your primary task is to escort me as I do the checks I need to in the factory and try to figure out why in the Hells this is even happening. I'm not the best fighter, so I'm trusting you all to keep me safe. Secondary, recover the bodies of the caravan crew so they can be sent to next of kin. Any questions?"
P.S. holds her hat over her heart. “Condolences, ma’am. If there’s a hell for robots, I aim to send ’em there.”
After putting her hat on (and fixing her hair), she draws her revolver, loads it, and keeps it in hand.
“Yeah, I know machine’s ain’t got souls, but the victims do, and a Milani devotee such as myself is all about the victims—avenging ’em so the perp won’t get a next victim.
“I don’t sell it like the nuns do. Suffice to say, Yadalia, I aim to keep you safe.”
Zyrel considers.
"What, exactly, are we likely to be fighting? Wooden tools? Clockwork devices? Full sized iron golems? My current equipment is optimised for fragile flesh, not inch thick cast iron. Given a little time I change that - to a degree."
"Additionally, what defences do you have? And are you opposed to wearing elementary armour?"
Lanatir cocks an eyebrow at Finch's description of the Milanite faith.
Really?
But he says nothing on the matter.
To the dwarf, he says, "I am capable of fighting constructs, and recently acquired an adamantine sword that should be most suitable for this purpose.
If the factory is part mechanical and part magical, I may also be of some assistance in identifying the problem and fixing what went wrong. I have some understanding of both of those disciplines.
I do not presume to approach your skill, Yadalia, but I have studied more than the blade in my travels."
Yadalia nods at Zyrel, "Tools almost definitely, clockworks, maybe. Nothing like golems...I hope. No way of knowing if it's sticking to production schematics." She looks almost taken aback when Zyrel asks about her defenses, "As for me, what do you think's under the coverall? I know my job, fancy pants, don't think I don't."
She looks over to Lanatir, "Well, extra sets of eyes never hurt."
The engineer looks at the doors to the factory, "Well, don't see anythin' else worth doin' aside from headin' in. If you all are ready to go, I'd say we get to the bottom of this."
Lanatir approaches the doors.
Aakif closes his eyes and briefly prays. Then he loads his pistol.
"Abadar, the Almighty, protect us in our mission."
Zyrel paused "Do we have fifteen minutes? I can memorise either a spell to let us search things at a distance, or to open and close doors."
Pumpkin says, “Y’all need a door unlocked from afar, I got the tool for it.”
Her eyes fall to her revolver.
"Let us move quickly before too much damage is done."
Lanatir tries the door, and opens it if it is unlocked.
If locked, P.S. assesses the lock (trap check included, though Lanatir already tried the door) and unless she has a good reason not to, she offers to shoot the lock. (Lanatir might prefer to kick it, she supposes.)
Yadalia shoots a look at the party, "Hold your horses there. You think I'd show up to a job that's behind a locked door without a key?"
She produces a complex key, eldritch sigils inscribed on it's intricate construction.
Approaching the door she puts it in the keyhole of the door and says, "Alright, this'll dispel the lockdown ward on the place. Once it's open, nothin' save reactivating the ward'll close it back up."
She turns the key and opens the door.
It opens onto a surprisingly well-appointed reception room. It seems entirely normal aside from the humanoid wood mannequin sitting at the receptionist's desk. Yadalia says quietly, "Well, that ain't supposed to be there."
It looks up at the party, strongly gesticulating about...something. The mannequin's face is totally blank, and it's silent aside from the slightly creaking of it's limbs.
"I don't believe we have fifteen minutes, Zyrel. The more time we take, the less favourably the Tetrad will look upon us." Aakif answers.
Lanatir cocks his head and tries to interpret whatever message the wooden mannequin is attempting to convey.
"I understand, Aakif. Let us enter, then."
When the door opens, Zyrel enters silently, bow in hand.
"If you understand us, raise one arm to vertical. If you are also non-hostile, raise both arms to vertical." Zyrel's eyes continue to roam the room.
Maybe you should just hit it? These sort of constructs are not much for small talk, especially crazed ones[/b]
"It does not seem hostile, Elsa."
Lanatir lowers his sword. He waits for the mannequin to respond to Zyrel.
The mannequin stands, staring at Zyrel with shallow wooden eyes. It outstretches it's arms to the side before leaping at the elven spellblade!
Most of the party was on edge, but Pumpkin Spice was just a bit too slow on the draw to beat the mannequin's somewhat supernatural reflexes.
Pumpkin Spice wants to shoot it anyway, but she simply keeps her gun in hand for now.
“Not hostile… those words might apply to a living being, but we don’t know what these machines are up to. Maybe Madam Secretary here’s telling Sergeant Pepper [i]in there—”[/b] P.S. points out whatever hall or door she can see from the ‘recepticon’s’ room. “—that we’re coming, prepare the gatling guns and the chainsaw swords.
“Just speculating though. The shaking and shimmying might be a screw loose.”
As she belabors the point to just shoot the thing, P.S. turns her back on the mannequin at the wrong time.
"It seems you were right, Elsa."
Lanatir slashes at the mannequin before it can strike Zyrel.
Of course I'm right. Next time listen, please
Zyrel transfers his bow to his left hand, and a tiny razor-sharp spike appears in his right. He dances the dart to the left and right, weaving a confusing pattern.
Aakif fires his pistol at the mannequin, hitting it with a glancing blow. Lanatir and Elsa's blows crash onto the wooden figure, and it teeters but stays standing.
It swings twice at Zyrel, with the nimble warrior dodging one blow of it's wildly swinging arms. The other seems like it'll be a devastating overhead strike, but at the last minute his forewarned instict kicks in and he blocks the blow with his forearm! It hurts, and he takes 3 damage, but it could've been a lot worse.
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Pumpkin Spice moseys to where she can get a shot.
“Yeah, I was thinking just shoot it without waiting for provocation. Ah, well, better late than never.”
She points her piece at the enemy and fires!
Lanatir strikes again, his blade chopping into the wooden form.
"I had hoped it was a reasonable construct, some intriguing new form of life, and our information was in error. Such is not the case."
Wishful thinking never gets the pot Elsa says, casting another spell
Zyrel shakes his arm, glad that it is simply numb from the impact rather than broken - or worse.
"It seems a reasonable precaution. I say this as the one who bore the brunt of the consequences. Of course, if we could do our best to correct our course I would appreciate it."
Aakif grants the party the blessings of Abadar.
"Fear not, Zyrel, Abadar's grace will protect us."
P.S. Finch and Elsa both fire their projectiles at the mannequin, and it barely clings to animation. That is, until Lanatir darts in, slicing the thing in half. It tumbles to the ground.
Yadalia raises her eyebrows and nods, "Not too shabby! That doesn't bode great for what else is in there, but you all seem to handle yourself well."
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Pumpkin clears the spent casing, and loads a single bullet into the emptied chamber.
“I wonder… are these machines really alive? I get the inkling a mechanism that walks, talks and gawks is still just a tool, no more alive than my revolver.”
She’s simply responding to Lanatir’s words… but then a thought hits her.
“Which gets me thinking, if these machines are like guns, they ain’t deadly without a person pulling the trigger. We find out who the trigger man is, I intend to project some unladylike words his way, followed by bullets.”
"I have indeed met machine life, Miss Finch. The first time was in the city of Emergence, in the First World, but such life exists on Golarion as well. Be they technological or mystical in nature, constructed beings can have aspirations, hopes, desires... even souls, in some cases such as androids. Followers of Brigh can better explain the spiritual aspects."
Lanatir looks at the destroyed mannequin.
"I once viewed machines and innovations as a threat. A challenge to my identity. I learned the error of my ways."
His voice is calm, with perhaps a hint of remorse.
"Now, it may be that all we find in here are mindless malfunctioning constructs. But 'malfunctioning' in some cases could mean 'developing sentience and not wishing to be just a tool anymore.' And for that reason I did not wish to strike first. I think Zyrel was right to attempt peaceful communication. "
"Yadalia. Are there any investigations you can perform on this construct to help us understand what is happening? If not, I suggest we decide on a formation and proceed."
Zyrel squeezes his hand open and shut, considering. "I don't wish to delay us unnecessarily, nor waste healing on such a minor wound - but this will slow me down a little."
P.S. hears out the experienced elf. “That must’ve been beautiful, a machine with a soul… I wouldn’t take that in itself to be a treat to my existence.
“But what I’d be wary of is what I think we’ve got here. Things that mimic life, and for reasons unknown, have ended lives. They are a threat, so it’s kill or be killed.”
She turns to Zyrel, “I’d think healing ain’t a waste, if you’re hurt bad. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Pumpkin knows next to nothing of magic (or dead spots) other that the existence, so she will check the door for traps and then get ready to shoot what awaits on the flip side. “Here’s hoping what awaits ain’t a baby doll that I ain’t got the heart to shoot, even knowing it’ll be armed to the teeth with snot rockets and actual metal teeth.”
Shouldn't be any traps, this is a place people work. Ambushes are more likely
Elsa moves forward, quietly and observant.
Lanatir walks forward, also on guard.
"I may have misspoken, Miss Finch. It was not the machines with souls that I found threatening. It was they that showed me my fears about technology were unfounded."
He advances to the door in the southeast of the room and listens at it.
If he hears nothing, he will open the door.
Yadalia cocks her head at Zyrel, ”Well sure I could, but the closest guess I can give it is that the animation of this factory is, for lack of a better term, leaking. Without seeing more I couldn’t say for sure though.”
The next room looks like it would’ve once been a mess hall and cafeteria for factory workers if the factory hadn’t been magically self-operating. A confounding detail, however, is that the long-disused benches seem to have clumped together at the far en of the room and formed a structure almost like a headless stick figure.
Which is dancing. Somehow.
It seems totally oblivious to the party, lost in some strange inner world of being a dancing bench-man.
"Construct with souls sounds most concerning. We as people have limits. Constructs, if they have mind and soul, there is no knowing where their limits may be. How might they fare against the might of dragons, giants, and creatures of the deep? And if they are as capable as us, if not more so, then what chance may the kingdoms of humanity have against such forces? I pray such constructs with souls shall find faith, and join us rather than oppose us."
Aakif looks to the rest of the group and whispers "Hit it until it stops moving?"
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Benches don’t have souls.
P.S. nods at Aakif. She remains silent. Her gun does not.
The shot hits a bench.
The bench-man keeps dancing, oblivious to the flying bullets.
P.S. watches the benches dance on.
“Well, maybe if I am at it’s… er… the Bench-tron equivalent of an Achilles’ heel I reckon?”
She takes careful aim to attempt a trick shot that’ll knock the bencherina on its seat.
The bullet hits the Bench-tron on the "foot" and...still nothing.
It dances on.
“Well, if shooting it don’t work, does it respond to music?”
Pumpkin Spice draws her harmonica. As she plays, her tune is accompanied by strange acoustics that sound like bells.
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P.S. plays her tin sandwich for as long as new allies, dancing benches, and killer robots hiding in the dark will allow. If she even gets a quarter of the way into the four-minute tune, she’ll savor the minute. Playing her music brings her peace. That she’s yet two clear two spent casings is a bother that can wait…
Animated object?
Zyrel waits a while to see if Pumpkin's playing has an effect, then speaks. "So, Yadalia. This is the leakage you were referring to?"
Zyrel considers "I'm reluctant to set fire to a moving object for safety reasons. It's not blocking our way, is it?"
He looks around "Can we just... go on?"