[AP] Iron Gods by GM Rutseg

Game Master Balacertar

"Let's not go to the compound for now. Let's head to Sovereign's Watch for Zzvkgrogk's scrolls and to check it out. Isn't that where Hyrsek said he was? Or we should be eventually? Or something? I can't quite remember." Yambul grins, unsure. "It can't be any worse than this neighborhood. Poor people."

He also secretly plans to get a board for Rhoreen...

"Once there we can do some information gathering over lunch. Maybe we can ask around about the Mockery, carefully. I'll do the talking."

"I suppose we could - though I get the sense that a messy place like this probably has more people willing to talk once they understand that you're friendly. Especially if you can convince them you won't turn them in to the authorities - if you can call them that." Rūha eyes the League enforcers in the streets tensely. (Sadly no diplomacy on my end to gather info on any of our desired topics. I'd also be fine doing Sovereign's Watch first and then gathering info after.)

Rhoreen does help with the gathering information checks…by not helping at all. Her participation in such might not help much, but will try not to be actively snobbish in front of the Technic League city rabble.

”Let’s get to Sovereign’s Watch,” Rhoreen agrees with Yambul.

It just occurred to me, I should provide some helpful rolls once we’re in Sovereign's Watch.

Gather Information: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (13) + 19 = 32 Hours: 1d4 ⇒ 1 Information about the Mockery
Bluff: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (15) + 20 = 35 To try and hide what he's asking with hidden messages

Zzvkgrogk quaffs some extracts before heading out -- on a more or less empty stomach, no less.

He also quaffs a mutagen and suddenly becomes more robust looking somehow. +Con, -Cha
Ooh, I forgot how zesty these are.

Heightened Awareness (Lemon), Tongues (Babelfish)

Diplomacy Aid: 1d20 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 - 2 = 6

After awhile, he decides everyone might be better off if he just kept his mouth shut.

I sound like Izzkvitgrk. I wish I had my laser pistol.

You leave behind the Street of Lights and follow the lifeless pulse of industry eastward. The morning smog lifts only slightly as you cross into Sovereign's Watch. Broad iron towers rise like broken teeth from an uneven grid of streets. Some shimmer faintly with security wards; others are watched by quiet drones or black-helmed guards with blank visors. This is where the city's remaining mercantile interests survive under tight control: the best place to find scrolls, tools, and whispered truths, for a price.

Further in, you find the shop you were pointed to, Sootspindle's Salvage & Sundries, a dense and cluttered mess of salvage, relics, and actual magical goods. The gnome behind the counter is pale from too many years indoors and half-buried in scrolls and potions of all kinds.
Standard prices are offered

Yambul works the crowds like a shadow among machines. Careful phrases, half-questions slipped in casual talk, comparisons between crime groups and old boxing rivalries. He listens more than he speaks, drawing out stories like threads from worn cloth. By mid-afternoon, one thing becomes clear: the Mockery is real, and they have been active of recent, hitting low-tier League supply lines and smuggling medicines. Most importantly, Yambul gets a few directions about places where the kerogen is used to manufacture oil. All four are in Killbox. Two are lead by city nobles, one by the League and a third one has seen is activity discontinued and lays abandoned.

Zzvkgrogk alleviates the gnome from some of his scroll burdens.

(3 second, 7 third, 10 fourth. The gnome is suddenly rich.)

"Shall we check out the rain of stars metal, then take another look around Killbox?"

”Ohhh, that’s suspicious. Should we check out the empty kerogen-oil manufacturing plant?” Yambul is excited by the lead after he shares what he learned with the group.

Once Zzvkgrogk is done shopping, he agrees they should check out the metal star, ”Since we’re already here.” he nods and heads off in that direction.

Rhoreen will help sell the items while examining things that might be of interest.

"Yes, we should follow that plan. Metals first, then Killbox. Sounds delightful."

"Killbox? Truly... what a naming convention..." Ruha shakes her head "I wouldn't put it past one of the city's nobles secretly working against the League behind the scenes, but I agree the abandoned one seems the most likely to be a place we'll find the right kind of trouble."

She looks over to Zzvkgrogk "Rain of Stars metal?"

The group heads towards the Palace of Fallen Stars. There is a high wall defending the inner area of the city where this and the League's compound sit. Accessing into this area proves easy, as despite there is a patrol of two gearsmen and four Leaguers at the gate, people come and go with just a visual inspection. Your presence raise looks but you are not stopped.

After a minute or so you are inside and quickly spot the palace made of Stars rain metal.

C. Palace of Fallen Stars
Looming over the city like a great obscene monolith stands the decadent keep of the Black Sovereign of Numeria—the Palace of Fallen Stars. Its slick walls rise high and terrible, worn smooth in places by the passage of time, but jagged and rough in others where new additions have been built. The central structure is capped by an immense metal dome, while numerous squat towers rise around the circumference. Statues of the Black Sovereign adorn the facade or stand atop plinths, greeting visitors with scowls and threatening postures.

The entrance to the palace is guarded with two Kellid who greet Yambul on sight "Hej kollega, velkommen"

C1. Sovereign’s Approach
A long hall leads up into the palace, passing through a column-lined hall. On either side stand statues made from old robots bound in thick iron chains, ironically meant to symbolize Kevoth-Kul’s conquest over the Technic League.

New Palace of the Fallen Stars firs floor map is available!

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (17) + 22 = 39

Ruha nods to the guards, already considering how difficult it'll be to escape from this walled section of the city if the League decides it's time to close the trap. Thankfully she has a collection of flight potions in her pouch.

As the group approaches the palace of the fallen stars, she crosses a pair of arms "Well, I can't say our host is appearing particularly humble with all those statues. Nor particularly welcoming. And the chained up robots are more than a little ironic..." She inspects them briefly to see if they're not still somehow functional.

Engineering: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (17) + 16 = 33

Rhoreen obviously chooses to completely ignore the looks of the guards, who are they to judge her in any way?

She follows closely behind Ruha, not flying for this part of things. She instead uses her legs (like a common chump) rather than let her prodigious magics carry her.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (8) + 13 = 21 vs DC 25

Yambul nods back to the guards, "Thanks. Uh, Danke."

"Where's the monument?" he wonders aloud to the guards, not expecting all this. He doesn't know what to do with all this. It's too much!

The small shard left behind stops spinning and falls flat on the table surface. It is rough-edged and black with a subtle sheen, like cooled pitch or ancient glass. Under the light of the fireplace, you spot thin amber veins shimmering just beneath its surface.

Khalia looks down on Casandalee's forearm, now her forearm, and imagines the light of her nanites running through similar veins, their mysterious circuitous patterns ever changing when she demands something powerful from them. The shard intrigues her, its symbolism and connection with the red haired woman something the Zzvkith will uncover with enough time.

...

Making their way through the city, Khalia remains stoic and silent, content to hear the words of the others as strategy and investigation is bandied about. When Sovereign's Watch is targeted, the android has no objections, as she faintly feels the sadness of the current neighborhood.

...

"Impressive, Yambul. To loosen tongues without giving away your interests... It serves us well."

Their entrance into the Palace feels like intrusion. "A place like this should be guarded better, shouldn't it? What's to prevent us from taking to the stairs and entering bed chambers and private libraries?"

As if goading her own person to test the boundaries, she tries to open a door leaving the main hall. First door on the party's right as it enters, the android tries to open it, though she won't deign to pass through doorway, should it prove to be a way out of the main hall.

Image of the Palace

The palace guard lazily scratches at his neck as Yambul asks his question "Monument? You mean the thing outside?" he grunts, then jerks a thumb behind him toward the massive chained robot-statues near the door you came in through "That's Kevoth-Kul's little joke, calls it a 'monument to victory.' Personally, I think it just creeps out the dogs"

Another guard nearby snorts "I heard he talks to them at night. The left one's named Trundle" the first guard shrugs "Better than talking to the heads, I guess"

As you step past the bound robot statues and into the Lower Court, the sudden surge of noise and motion nearly overwhelms the senses. The air reeks of unwashed animals and meat left out too long in the sun. The high, vaulted hall is a chaotic procession of life: servants bustle to and fro, dragging carts laden with food, scrubbing dried blood from the floor near one of the pillars, or awkwardly dodging the snarling wolf hounds that prowl the edges of the space. Overhead, several figures hang limply from chains, some groaning faintly, others swaying lifelessly.

Clustered throughout the chamber, you see groups of richly dressed individuals, some in fine silks, others in more traditional Numerian finery laced with polished circuitry. They chat in low tones, a few have the pale complexions and unreadable stares. One figure even chuckles aloud as a servant stumbles, then shoos him off with a wave of a wand.

Khalia moves deeper into the hall. No one stops her. No one even seems to notice.

She moves through the court's controlled chaos to a side door, unwatched, unguarded, its edges worn from use. With a calm hand, she opens it and looks into a narrow, dimly-lit corridor. The air here smells of spices, ash, and something acrid beneath it. A single flickering torch sputters on the wall. At the end, a second door stands slightly ajar. Beyond it, the corridor opens into a larger chamber, its curved wall and rising ceiling revealing it as the base of a tower, and likely the palace's kitchen.

Inside, you hear the sound of pots clattering, metal scraping, and someone shouting in panic about "burning the stew again".

As Khalia turns to explain her findings, a skinny servant carrying a platter piled high with greasy bones nearly collides with her. He staggers back, barely saving the plate, and mutters with theatrical indignation, "By the Gears of the Bronze Lady, elf! Next time warn a man before you materialize like some kind of haunted toothpick!"

Ruha winces at the hanging bodies. She listens in to the conversations of the richly dressed individuals to see if she can catch what the talk of the court might be, as well as if she can learn why they're torturing some unfortunate souls here.

Perception: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (11) + 22 = 33

Seeing a potential frank (if not friendly) voice in this place, she addresses the servant carrying the platter "Sorry, we're visiting, are there any places we shouldn't go?"

Rhoreen keep pace with Ruha, letting the giant take the lead. She wonders if being here is a mistake, but also wants to see what she can see.

"What a place!" Yambul mutters under his breath. To the others he adds, "Well, let's check it out while we're here. But be careful, we don't want to get hung from the ceiling."

He'll move through the crowd checking things out once Rüha is done questioning the staff.

The servant gives Rūha a startled look, part nerves, part awe at being directly addressed by someone who could likely lift him and the platter one-handed. He glances around conspiratorially, then leans closer and says in a hurried whisper, "Right, uh, yeah. You see anywhere with black iron doors or guards? Stay far from those. One of 'em leads to the trophy vault. The other two... well, let's just say the last fellow who poked around came out in a bucket. But the palace guards usually let people hang around the main hall, the eating areas and the chapel, stay on there and the corridors and you are good"
Translation: The yellow areas in the map are public access, the grey ones private.

He straightens up, visibly regretting saying too much, and adds with a forced grin, "But hey, kitchen's that way. I have to make it back before Cheff Grald makes a fuse. Stew's a bit on fire, but it's got good bones. Literally" he jerks his thumb toward the corridor behind Khalia and quickly scurries off before more questions find him.

Meanwhile, those of you mixing in the hall, listen in snippets of hushed conversation:
"...won't back the League proposal unless they sweeten the alloy..."
"...heard that Ghartone lost another envoy to the Scrapmasters. That's five this month."
"...Kevoth-Kul's a new hound. Larger than the one before."

One particularly pale man with a face like a marble mask murmurs, "If the torch goes out in the engine again, I say we let the damned reactor melt half the town. Might clear out the stench"

No one mentions the hanging prisoners directly, but a pair of richly-dressed League members pass by with wine flutes and one mutters, "At least the moaning's stopped. That means it’s almost party time."

Zzvkgrogk speechlessly takes in the Star Rain Palace. Cool… He gawks for a few seconds then aggressively tries to ignore the vile scenes and odors bombarding his senses. He snarls, ”Look – you can see where the original structure has been recently altered with newer spaces because somehow the original wasn’t big enough...”

”Uh - Whatsyournameagain – ? BRIGH! Great work finding the kitchen!” He starts heading after Khalia. ”Do they need assistance, like possibly another cook?”

~~

"...heard that Ghartone lost another envoy to the Scrapmasters. That's five this month."

...Ghartone... Scrapmasters?!

Zzvkgrogk quaffs an extract and tries to hone in on this particular conversation.

Perception (Eavesdropping): 1d20 + 19 + 20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 19 + 20 + 2 = 52 Acute Senses (Flavor: Mineral Water)

”Uh - Whatsyournameagain – ? BRIGH! Great work finding the kitchen!” He starts heading after Khalia. ”Do they need assistance, like possibly another cook?”

Yambul follows Zzvkgrogk into the kitchen, though he's following his stomach more than anything else.

"Hey, wait a minute now. I'm not looking for a job you know." He grins.

"Black iron doors and guards blocking the way... understood. Thank you." Ruha nods appreciatively to the servant. "Good luck with the stew."

She returns back to the main hall to catch some of the snippets of conversation before commenting quietly to her allies "Ah, I should have asked what the people hanging from the ceiling did to be in the shape they are."

Speaking of a cook, Zzvk getting hired and then doctoring the stew with stuff sounds like a fun plan. Not sure if we would want to do it yet, but it sounds fun!

As Zzvkgrogk and Yambul make their way into the kitchen, the chaos only intensifies. Steam and smoke puff from open pots, and half a dozen harried workers scurry about, barking in Kellid, and an occasional curse in Taldan. At the center, a massive, sweat-slicked man with a ladle the size of a club bellows from behind a cauldron:

"WHO SPOILED THE BLOOD BASE?! Was it you again, Crinn?! I'll stew you next time!"

At the same moment, a young lad stirs something that sparks ominously. She pauses to look at Zzvkgrogk "You cook?" she asks, tilting her head.

Before either of you can answer, Chef Grald spots you and roars "Who're these? You! Rat! You got a hat? If not, you are the hat! Get stirring, we're five minutes from disaster!"

He gestures at the bubbling mess in a cauldron labeled STEW A - DO NOT TASTE (AGAIN).

A meaty slab of something unidentifiable floats to the top and hisses softly.

You may, in fact, now be hired.

The Kitchen? They want to see the kitchen? I guess Yambul needs to see how it's done in this part of the world.

Rhoreen follows along.

Maybe Zzvkgrogk could sit on my shoulders and tell me what to do...because I don't have good kitchen skills.

She waits to see if others get to work before thinking about helping.

"You cook?" she asks, tilting her head.

”Well, actually, Cook Man here is the main cook.” he gestures at Yambul. ”I specialize in beverages, but it just so happens that I can also stir.”

He pulls up a stool and stands on it in order to reach the stirring spoon. He stirs Stew A., sniffing the air above it. ”Oh, look there’s more spoons if anyone wants to help. You there – “ he gestures at Rūha, ”You’re probably perfect for this job!”

From his vantage point he cases the joint to see what can be gleaned beyond any doors therein.

Perception: 1d20 + 19 + 20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 19 + 20 + 2 = 60

”Did you hear about the new hound? What next? This place is impenetrable, isn’t it?”

GatherInfo: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16

Yambul shrugs and follows Zzvkgrogk's lead, "OK then, watch out, stepping in."

He studies the rhythm of the kitchen a moment before inserting himself in the dance.
Cook: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (13) + 16 = 29

While he's working, he asks a string of innocuous questions, as time allows.
"So who's all this food for?" chop, chop, chop
"Is there a party? Is it a special occasion?" whisk, whisk, whisk
"Hey, what kind of meat is this?" ...

Generally he's just trying to find some information to help anchor himself in the moment.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (14) + 19 = 33 hours: 1d4 ⇒ 1

The chaos of the kitchen is one place where Ruha definitely doesn't want to be. When Zzvkgrogk locks eyes with her and starts inviting her to help out she ducks out of the way and stays in the larger hall. She keeps one ear open for any hijinks from the kitchen while otherwise listening in to gossip from the people there. She tries to judge who among them might be best connected to the Black Sovereign based on their words and body language. If the team can learn that, maybe there could be an in to get to Kevoth Kul himself!

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (2) + 22 = 24 Ouch.

Since gathering info in the kitchen is going to take a while, Ruha may wander around the other open areas on the ground floor that seem well-trafficked. Ultimately not sure what we want to accomplish here right now other than get general info about what the situation with Kevoth Kul is and understand the layout.

Rhoreen tries to help as best she can without getting her hands dirty, or really, doing any real work. This isn't how she planned to spend her first full day here, and while it might excite some tourists, it's not what she expected.

Kitchen
Chef Grald glares at Yambul, wiping his brow with a scorched rag that only smears the soot further. He gestures with the dripping ladle at the stew and grunts "What's this, then? Tek Makul need one of his pretty boys in here to make sure the Black Sovereign doesn't get a little spice in his dinner? I thought the eyes of the Seers were supposed to sniff out poison, or is it not poison you're worried about? Maybe it's the League's special sauce you're here to drizzle in..."

He snorts, then points the ladle directly at Yambul's chest, voice lowering "Tell your boss: if he wants to meddle in the kitchen, he can come stir the blood base himself"

Meanwhile, Zzvkgrogk, from his perch, watches the ebb and flow of the kitchen's organized chaos. The southern door opens intermittently, revealing glimpses of pantry shelves, cots, and the edge of a mop bucket, definitely servant quarters and food stores.

He also sees staff occasionally ascend the back stairs with covered trays, while others carry dishes southward, out of the main kitchen area.

Chef Grald barks back at Yambul's first question with a shake of his head, "You'll wait like the rest. We're feeding a damned army in here. Black Sovereign's got a party going, sure, but there's also the palace guards, the League's precious Captain Ghartone and his lapdogs, and don't even get me started on the hounds. Those things eat better than most Kellid clans"

One of the younger assistants, a nervous-looking man named Crinn, whispers while checking the roast, "This one's for the Sovereign" he nods at Stew A "League sees to it he gets the best... lamb's imported, real stuff. Tray over there, that one's Ghartone's" he gestures quickly at a covered platter on a nearby tray.

Zzvkgrogk's sharp eyes catch the corner of a clipboard wedged between tins of oil. It's a meal schedule, clearly not meant to be left in the open:
- "Sovereign Tier - Private Delivery - Tower Level 3 - DO NOT DELAY - Send two carriers"
- "Hounds" - Kennel Bay 2 - Raw Protein Ration Mix - Night Watch Only
- "Night Shift Enforcers" - Common Meal Hall - Optional Stims

Stacked by the southern door, Zzvkgrogk spots a cluster of polished metallic trays. One dome is half-lifted and marked with a sticker:
- "Special: 017B - Captain Ghartone"

The scent wafting from beneath is surprisingly sweet, almost floral, masking the rich aroma of meat beneath. Something tells you Ghartone doesn't share exactly the same diet as everyone else.

Main hall
Meanwhile, in the hall, Rūha notices a quiet but unsettling pattern: some guards enter and exit the second door to the west, and those who come out move with vacant stares and sluggish, dreamlike steps, as if drugged or deep in some trance. Their faces are slack, and their boots drag slightly, yet no one around seems alarmed.

At the first door to the east, she sees two Seers in ink-dark robes slip inside with deliberate pace, their eyes hidden beneath cowls heavy with sigils.

To the south, two hulking hill giants pass in and out through wide double doors. Their presence draws only mild glances from staff and soldiers alike, as though their movement is just another part of palace routine.

Not wanting their kasatha to walk the halls alone, Khalia stays nearby Rūha. "I feel only slight relief that no one pays much attention to our comings and goings. That might change if we decide to follow any of them into the rooms beyond. The addled guards are the least of our concern..."

The android whispers thanks to Erastil of all gods that the first door led to something as benign as a kitchen. She won't test her luck again, though she won't discourage Rūha from attempting to do so herself.

Ruha whispers back "If they're not keeping a close eye on us, that can only help if we need to slip into any of the other rooms. Though... the more I stand around watching how things are going the less I like this place... and I didn't exactly like the look to start with." She nudges her head toward the people hanging from the ceiling "We were warned about the Seers before. I'd guess we'll have some serious trouble with them sooner or later. As for the addled guards, I'd guess there's a little recreational use of something going on - not surprising considering what we heard of their leader."

Too many leads lol! I'm almost inclined to check the south first since hill giants seem the most normal.

If given the option, Rhoreen would circle around to check on the hill giants as well. She's out of place in the kitchen and could be as easily out of place with hill giants instead.

She is not here to cause trouble, that she knows, and tries to stay out of people's way.

Yambul gets in there and works hard, keeping his ears open. He's not sure what use this information is to him, but maybe when the party is back in quieter spaces, he can ask the others what it all means.

For now he finishes his shift, and then pulls Zzvkgrogk away too. "Let's go find Rüha and Rhoreen and Khalia. I think I want to get out of here. It's overwhelming!"

Assuming Zzvkgrogk agrees, he'll head out to look for the others in the crowd.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Sigh, where are they! "Zzvkgrogk, can you see them?"

Zzvkgrogk takes a quick look under Ghartone's platter.

SleightofHand: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (1) + 20 = 21
He resists the urge to swap it out for some other dish feeling Crimm might take the blame, and that also that it would be unwise to call attention to his gang just now.

Turning back to the stew he says as Yambul pulls him away:

"Oh, this looks done, perfectly caramelized..."

Percept: 1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 19 + 2 = 29

"Are you O.K.? They've wandered over there -- see? Let's gather them and head to Killbox."

South of the hall, the hill giants exchange something low in guttural Giant, a glance, a nod, and then one of them lumbers back through the doors, carrying what looks like a rolled-up banner or tapestry over one shoulder. The other snorts and stands idle by the wall, arms crossed and half-dozing.

Yambul and Zzvkgrogk emerge from the steam and chaos, the smell of roasting lamb and rich stew clinging to their clothes. A tray rolls out moments later, handled by two lean servitors in copper-threaded aprons. On it, the stew the group has prepared. They veer toward the south and take the stairs there going upstairs to the second floor.

If you are done here, you make it safely out of the Palace to continue your day.

Yambul greets his allies warmly, but is eager to leave.

”Let’s check out the kerogen-oil manufacturing place that’s supposed to be empty next, like Zzvkgrogk says. If anyone asks what we’re doing, we can just say we’re looking for another piece of kerogen for some jewelry I’m working on. I can even show them the progress I’ve made so far, if they want proof.” he grins - getting into the lying portion of his diplomatic skills maybe more than he should.

If the party agrees, he starts heading in that direction.

Ruha retreats back to the entrance with Yambul "That seems sensible. My impression of this Palace is that it's chaos with a lot of different factions at work. People jostling for favor, or just pursuing their own goals under the Sovereign's nose. The question is what we can make out of it - or what we should." She shakes her head "At the very least it seems like the League has plenty of pull there, so if we can find those rebels maybe we can get some more information on the state of things there."

"Lets try that kerogen factory. If there's no leads we can come back here and start poking around. It sounds like there are more public areas upstairs we can check first before we start going where we're supposed to stay out."

”If anyone asks what we’re doing, we can just say we’re looking for another piece of kerogen for some jewelry I’m working on. ”

Rhoreen agrees, following Ruha as they depart.

"Yeah, you're right. It's not what I expected in there. It's...weirdly...weird," she adds.

With the directions provided, you are able to easily navigate the city to the area where the factory was supposed to be working.

The streets of Starfall are quieter deep into Killbox, far from the clangor of the main assembly yards and the bustling tech bazaars. The haze of smoke lingers low, caught between rusted pipes and leaning chimneys like a city holding its breath. A sharp chemical tang clings to the air, the scent of burnt oil and old industry. Footsteps echo in the street and what few figures walk this way keep their heads down and their pace brisk.

The kerogen-oil lamp factory looms ahead, a long building of stained stone and rust-bitten metal siding. Its windows, once wide enough to flood the factory floor with sunlight, have long since been bricked over, some hastily, some reinforced with scrap iron. The main entrance is a heavy double-door of scorched steel, slightly ajar but locked with a faded warning sign: Close down by Order of the Technic League – Do Not Enter

Along the south side, a corroded cargo loader juts from the wall, its platform long disused and partially collapsed, the hydraulic lifts frozen in mid-motion like a machine caught mid-scream. A set of marks, old but faintly visible, leads up to the loader, the only sign that anything may have moved here recently.

No guards. No lights. Just silence, oil-stained pavement, and the vague sense that someone is watching from behind the wrong side of nowhere.

Zzvkgrogk walks up to the looming oil lamp factory and sniffs the air.
Smells familiar…

He reads the sign.

Oh, really?!

He whispers to his companions. ”I’ll be right back…”

He quaffs an orange extract Darkvision, Communal – Everyone has dark vision for 2 hours.
He quaffs a dark streaked amber colored extract. Invisibility.

Perception: 1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 19 + 2 = 31 Trapfinding
DisableDevice: 1d20 + 23 ⇒ (18) + 23 = 41 +25 (two more) if epics required.
Stealth: 1d20 + 26 + 20 ⇒ (1) + 26 + 20 = 47 Stealthy

Assuming no trap is blown, he slips through the door that is ajar and snoops beyond.

Ruha activates her barkskin and keeps an eye out for trouble while Zzvkgrogk scouts. Her eye is drawn to the cargo loader and the faint tracks that lead up to it. Rather than the main entrance, she gets the sense there might be something at the loader that allows access.

Perception: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (9) + 22 = 31

Rhoreen follows Zzvkgrogk around the factory, giving them lots of space to explore and sniff, but ready should trouble ensue. She makes sure her defensive magics are ready, and also keeps an eye out for trouble.

1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 19 + 2 = 25 Perception

Yambul watches as Zzvkgrogk turns invisible and slips away. He keeps giving him advice, long after he's gone...

"If you get into any trouble, just shout and we'll come runnin'. Don't go too deep, you never know what's down there that might see you anyway. Brush your teeth too, can't do that too much. Tooth film isn't invisible you know."

"Oh, I guess he's gone huh."

He leans on a piece of solid-looking rubble and waits with his falchion out and ready.

While he waits, he checks for tracks other than Zzvkgrogk's and the parties in the immediate area.

Survival, tracking: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (2) + 21 = 23

He holds off on the heroism for now, and regrets it...

Zzvkgrogk approaches the abandoned building, its facade tagged with weird techno-drawings and reeking of rot and oil. As he inspects the doorway, his keen eyes catch a faint glint, a crude tripwire linked to a small bell tucked beneath a loose floorboard. A basic alarm. With steady claws and practiced precision, he disables it silently.

The door creaks open into a narrow hallway, dimly lit and choked with the scent of damp dust and rusted metal. From the shadows, a figure emerges, a lean, masked figure in patchwork leathers, a laser rifle slung casually over one shoulder. His eyes flick down, noting the dull gleam of kerogen rock hanging from Yambul's neck.

"Didn't trip the bell. Smart" the sentry mutters, voice low but amused, pauses, then produces a short nod "You're expected"

He gestures toward a battered door further in, the sound of a lock sliding back already echoing from behind it.

Zzvkgrogk for the time being does not reveal his presence.

Instead, he quaffs another extract. Detect Thoughts (link)

Ruha gives another look around to make sure the group isn't being watched by outside factors, then shrugs "In we go, I suppose." She heads on in toward the figure.

Rhoreen will follow Ruha's lead. She trusts her for protection, as she is both giant and scary.

"Let's go figure things out."

Yambul nods at the sentry, somewhat surprised by him. "Yeah, we expected you'd be expecting us. I expect." he giggles and walks into the structure with the others.

The battered door swings open with a groan, revealing a cramped common room dimly lit by a handful of jury-rigged glowlamps. The walls are cluttered with scavenged tech, tattered maps of Starfall, and painted slogans defiant against the Technic League. The air is thick with the scent of ozone, old oil, and tension.

Seated casually at the room's center is a familiar figure, the red-haired woman from the previous encounter, her hood now drawn back. She offers a faint smirk but says nothing.

Standing besides her, half-shrouded in the shadow of a flickering overhead lamp, is a broad-shouldered Kellid man with weathered features and piercing eyes "You made it" he says with rough voice "I'm Mockery. I hear you've stirred the pot back in Torch and Scrapwall"

He crosses his arms "Question is, what are your motivations here in Starfall?"