As the nearly endless arcane wars between the nations of Nex and Geb devastated the very land itself, magic became unreliable within the realm of the wizards’ conflict. It became a vast, ravaged desert named the Mana Wastes. Few now tread there on purpose, for the creatures that have survived in the wasteland are bizarre and powerful. Yet amid this dusty cradle, a settlement of inventors, alchemists, and survivalists constructed a haven for their unorthodox ideas and creations. They developed technology to rival the most powerful spellcasters by harnessing clockwork, primordial steam engines, black powder, and the secrets of alchemy.
Now, in the soot-covered city of Alkenstar, the largest settlement in the Mana Wastes, industry and innovation continue to abound. The wealthy citizens of Skyside harness the erratic but potent magical energies all around them to create colossal constructs, mighty horrors of wood and iron, and weapons of dire portent. Meanwhile, in the smog-shrouded neighborhoods of Smokeside, gunsmiths forge firearms of exquisite beauty, toxic ammunition that defies logic, and armor capable of withstanding the gruesome armaments. Throughout the entire city, inspiration and innovation fuel a vast industry of thunderous technology, explosive discoveries, and cataclysmic powers.
The race for finding the strongest weapon creates fierce competition between factions both legitimate and illicit. Power shifts to whomever claims control over the newest innovation, and patrons are willing to pay top dollar for inventors able to produce results. Occasionally, an inventor or alchemist devises something so dangerous and volatile, it threatens to topple the balance of power completely.
This is one of those moments.
Chapter 1: Punks in a Powder Keg
27 Gozran, 4722 AR
“Draw.” Bang! A crack of thunder fills the air. The smoking gun, held by a powerfully built orc man wearing leather chaps, vest, and a shiny sheriff’s badge, holds everyone’s attention. The orc slowly lowers the firearm, stowing it back in his holster. He carefully and deliberately walks up to a bloody dwarf, surveying his handiwork.
“I’m sorry it had to go down this way, brother. You picked the wrong side and that I can’t abide.” He removes his pinched-front hat, holding it over his heart. After a moment, he lowers his head.
The entire saloon erupts in applause as the pianist begins to play. The orc bows deeply, then helps the dwarf to his feet, who also bows to the attending patrons. The two walk to the bar, arm in arm, and order a bottle of whiskey.
“Thank you! Thank you!” A female dwarf stands on the bar top, addressing the patrons in a loud voice. “Whiskey is only two silver for the next hour, and that includes top shelf. Come back next week for the conclusion of Hearts at High Noon and our after-party! Now, enjoy yourselves!”
She hops off the bar to the sawdust-covered floor and catches your eyes, gesturing for you all to follow her to a back room, where a round table and private bar await. She props one foot up on a stool, leans forward on her knee, and casts a suspicious eye around the room. “Now that the show is over, let’s talk business. I'm Foebe Dunsmith, for those of you who don't know me. I brought you all here because we share some common enemies. With your help, I can make them pay—and get you rich in the process. But first, I want you to tell me why you deserve a job that could pay your weight in gold.”
"I know you, quite well, Madam Dunsmith." a young woman says, with a faint smile. Upper crust kind of pretty, healthy and pink-cheeked, with rustling silk skirts under her light overcoat. She does not look like the sort that is meant for this kind of meeting.
Other clues for the observant help tell you that No, she is meant to be here. Her eyes are angry and hard, not at all like the fluff she dresses like. The chemical smell of hair dye says she very recently became a redhead. And then there is the gun belt strapped around her waist and the fine-looking pistol nuzzling her hip.
"I wish today's visit was under better circumstances." the lady says politely, as she leans over the counter to see what spirits might make the evening a little less Hellish. Gin it seems to be her selection. Smiling wider she straightens and pours "As I said, dear Foebe, you know me, and know what I am best at is finding out what those around us want no one to know. So if this job requires information gathering, then you would be hard-pressed to find someone better."
'Or more desperate' she adds mentally to herself, before sipping her drink, and looking around at the others.
"To be fair, you are also Foebe Dunsmith for those that do know you." Says another young woman, her tone indicating either an ongoing or internal joke. Her hair is long and something between brown and red. Her ears are subtly pointed and she is a bit taller than average. Adding this to a somewhat natural presence and a striking beauty, marks her for sure as one with elven blood... her body, however, is not elvish at all.
At first glance, she appears to be some sort of mercenary, since she is wearing a breastplate and has a bastard sword on her back, but anyone who actually is a warrior would see how uncomfortable she is wearing these. Despite the hot day, she wears pants and an old leather overcoat, as well as gloves.
"I'm smart." She says, looking at the others, trying to find if any of them looked surprised. "I'm very good in building stuff. Crafting, engineering, new inventions, gadgets..." She trails off, sure that everyone got the point. "If that will be useful in this job..." She shrugs. She appears to be conscious that her pitch wasn't very good.
"Could I get one of these as well?" She asks the first woman. She doesn't seem happy and it could even be said that she is a bit nervous and tired, perhaps even afraid.
The other woman watched her like she was peeling her layers in hopes to find something that made her feel better. The bluntness of her declaration of traits does seem to help.
At the request, her lips curl into a lovely smile "Of course" turning and leaning over the counter again she pulls out another glass and pours. With a flourish of her fingers and an order of "now don't keep the young woman waiting" the glass floats over to rest in front of the second woman.
Lora raises her glass in salute, then sips again. "Are you any good with locks?"
A dark cloud seems to hang over the room, thanks in part to the sole dwarf in the back. More than the close-cropped black hair or well-trimmed beard, though, it's the scowl on his face, which looks more ominous than the heavy scattergun strapped to his back.
"Are you f%~~ing serious? You want me to run over my whole list of accomplishments, like I killed a f$&*ing sand kraken, or saved a princess or some dragonshit?" he asks.
"I've been running around longer than those two've been alive. Combined!" he adds, jabbing a thumb at Lora and Evalina. "Right prick bastard-marshals may've gotten my crew, when some gorgon-breath sold us out with a story that stinks worse than its f+%@ing breath, but I got away, didn't I? I don't die, I don't quit. And that's all you f~%~ing need to know about me that you don't already."
Eva grabs the glass with her left hand and raises it as well, imitating the other woman, just in case. Her first instinct was to drink it like a shot, but she sips instead.
To her question, she apologizes. "I'm pretty sure you are not asking if I'm good at,building locks, so no, I guess I'm not... Never had the need to try it, to be honest."
Eva listens to the dwarf, rolling her eyes as he mentions her. "That is a lot of time running around. Don't you feel dizzy? I heard it is bad for the brain." She jokes, moving her indeed finger in circular motions. "Foebe is neither asking for your accomplishments, Master Oh Old One, nor for the time you almost got f+#$ed up... She is asking for your skills, and she is doing so to our own benefit, so each one of us can know each other, so please, Mathuselah, play along, ok?"
At Eva's apology, Lora simply shrugs one of her lovely shoulders and offers the other woman an 'Its Okay' smile.
Lora watches the dwarf as intently as she did Eva. She nods slightly, not at his words, but his Anger. Something she is swimming with at the moment, she is just better at Not flinging it around for everyone to see. "I believe he did 'play along', it just got lost in all that 'f~~&ing'" she says the last word like a caress, not a curse.
"'I don die. I don't quit'" Lora mimics the dwarf's rough tone and volume Jarringly well, before slipping back into her own lavender and lace voice. "That coupled with that cannon the size of my right leg strapped to his back, I'd say... he is the muscle?"
Eva cranes her neck, looking at Lora's legs, curious if her left leg was different than the right one.
"Droskar's dick," Royken curses. "What she f*%+ing said!"
Eva notices the look, so with her free hand, she grasps her skirts, pulling them up enough to wiggle the right leg back and forth a bit for visual aid.
It doesn't appear malformed in any way. In truth, it is a rather lovely specimen clad in stockings and a laced-up boot. So she must have been using the designation for effect instead of true measurement.
Then she drops the skirts and gives the dwarf a wry smile.
She does like being correct, it seems.
Royken simmers for a few more moments, his scowl growing deeper.
"I can also open your damn locks too, if you f@*$ing need!" he finally growls. "Though I lost my f&~*ing tools when I had to get out."
"Multitalented Muscle, then" the redhead coos playfully, but she keeps her place leaning against the bar. Distance helps people understand the difference between banter and flirting.
"I cannot help in that regard. While I did learn how to tumble a lock here and there, I always found if one discovered picks on you, after a rather thorough search, then it made the rest of your time together awkward at best."
"Are there tools for that?" She asks as the dwarf says he can open Lora's locks.
Royken simply grunts in response.
"...if you need 'em, I've got 'em."
The decidedly deadpan contralto voice comes from a shadow in a corner of the room. The voice's owner is a tall woman, dressed in a dark brown duster and a black, wide-brimmed hat. Her shock of white hair falls from beneath her hat and frames her eerily-pale face quite nicely.
Foebe grins, seemingly satisfied. "Excellent. So, here’s the game. Ambrost Mugland has a decent portion of his funds invested in an old bank called the Gold Tank Reserve. It’s a rundown temple of Abadar in Ironside Quarter that’s mostly used by ranchers and crooked politicians. I happen to know they’ve sent half their clockwork handlers out for maintenance and won’t have them back until tomorrow afternoon. This is our chance to hit Mugland where it hurts.
“All you have to do is bust up the few clockworks remaining, get the vault key from the bank manager, and fill a sack with gold. Once you’re done inside the bank, run out the back.
“Mugland’s got a few crooked shieldmarshals on his payroll—including that damn bastard, Deputy Loveless. She and her goons are sure to be hot on your tail, but don’t fight ‘em: they’ll gun you down in a second if you give them the chance. Just run away and they’ll look like fools. Nothing’s sure to fry the deputy’s egg like crooks she can’t catch, trust me. You can lose them in the Wailing Scrapyard just west of the Reserve. There’s a sewer entrance within; from there, it’s a straight shot back to this saloon, where you’ll be safe. Any questions?”
The white-haired woman grumbles. "...was hoping to at least have a chance to put a bullet in that smug little s+#$'s skull. But robbing him blind will have to do."
"All in good time, darlin'" Foebe tells Crystal. “First, I have to know I can trust you. Let’s just do this job and we’ll get to the next."
Eva listens to the whole pitch and when asked if she had questions, she did not waste any time asking them. "Many in fact..."
"Imagining Mugland is not the only one with an account on that bank, how can we be sure we'd be stealing from him, and not somebody else? I'd rather not make more enemies. Does he have a particular safe or something like that?"
"If any sort of alarm is raised, how much time do we have to flee?"
"How are we splitting the gold? I know you have the info, Foebe, but we'll be taking all the risk. What percentages are you thinking about?" She asks, knowing that "their weight in gold" was probably just a figure of speech.
"If we get caught, how are you planning to break us free? If they don't just kill us of course..."
She also wanted to ask how stealing a bank and becoming an actual criminal would help her with her particular situation... but it would raise questions and she did not trust the others with enough to answer them.
Lora's eyes narrow dangerously at the mention of Loveless. If anyone is paying attention, they know there is a Hate involved there. She adds to the list of questions "And How many clockworks are Half, what armaments should we be expecting, how many workers will be present... wait. Tomorrow afternoon and we have to get the bank manager's key, you expect us to go... Now? With no prep work and not knowing each other from the--"
Lora stopped, her eyes boring into Foebe, as she gets it. She calms down, and settles herself, smoothing her vest and skirts. "I apologize for my outburst. There are too many unknowns, but you choose your party well I assume." she wasn't talking about skill here, but desperation. She could see it in the one woman's nervousness and the dwarf's anger. Only the dark one in the corner had kept things close to her chest, but the speed of which she accepted the job probably spoke volumes.
"Do you have a diagram of the escape route that we could memorize? Or will we be meeting a contact on the way?"
Royken grunts.
"Those are all f!$%ing good questions, yeah? Here's another one: What do we know about this f!!@ing manager? He going to cause any f@+&ing problems, or we going to go through him like some dumb kobold walking through Geb's ghost?"
He grunts again.
"I'm as eager to get Mugland as some dumb kid grabbing a follypop, but I don't reckon I want get my self f+#$ing killed doing it"
“When it comes to Mugland’s businesses, nobody’s innocent. That said, best to not go killing anybody or taking hostages. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind taking his ‘investors’ down a notch too, but I can’t abide working with a crew of marauders as wicked as the devil himself.
"How much time will you have to flee? I'd assume not much!
"The cut is ten percent each. I keep the rest to cover costs and fund the next part of our plan to take down Mugland.
"Don't get caught, and I won't have to figure out how to get you free!
“Usually there’s half a dozen clockworks, Baalkirk Model C-47s. But most of them are out on maintenance, so get in there before tomorrow afternoon, before they’re returned.
"You've got tonight and tomorrow morning to case the joint, make some plans. I don't expect you to rush in half-cocked, but there ain't time to dilly-dally, neither.
"You literally can't miss the Wailing Scrapyard from the rear exit of the bank. There’s a rumor it’s haunted. It’s probably just the Nailgobblers, though. They live in the heaps. If you need to resupply while you’re there, you can probably trade with them—they’re friendly enough. But if they offer you anything to eat, don’t look at it too closely. Just hold your nose and swallow.
"Sewer’ll be the least of your worries. Get a map from the Nailgobblers and you’ll be back here sippin’ whiskey with me in no time.
"The manager's a Mugland crony named Dresh. She's loyal to him, but shoot a few holes in her, and she might change her tune."
Lora thinks about anything she knows about Dresh or the Nailgobblers.
Eva half smiles as Foebe mentions for them to hold their nose and swallow. She had some experience with that, with "some" meaning "a lot".
"What the f#$$ is a nailgobbler?" Royken asks, shaking his head.
”They’re a goblin tribe that lives in the Scrapyard,” Foebe clarifies.
Both Eva and Lora know a bit about Irkem Dresh. She runs the day-to-day affairs of the Gold Tank Reserve. She’s far from qualified as a financier, but got the position by brown nosing Mugland. She likes the finer things in life and does not like being shot at.
Eva also knows quite a bit about the clockwork handlers.
Once you have asked all their questions, Foebe gives you a bag of holding type I, which you can use to stow the stolen gold, plus a hat of disguise for each of you. “Here’s a few things you might be able to use. Keep the pouch and put all of the gold in it, you hear? Otherwise it’ll slow you down. Put on the hats so you can keep your identities secret, but don’t muss ‘em up—I’ll be wanting them back when you’re done.” Thereafter, she excuses herself from the table and heads back to the saloon, leaving you alone to plot your mission.
CASE THE BANK
Characters who wish to investigate the bank’s physical location can do so with a Perception, Thievery, or relevant Lore check. If they succeed at a DC 12 check, they get one piece of information; if they critically succeed, they get two pieces of information. Multiple pieces of information are available to discover.
FIND A BANK EMPLOYEE
This activity is only available for the first 4 hours of the party’s preparations. By visiting saloons and other establishments in the area around the Gold Tank Reserve, the characters can locate one of the bank’s tellers with a successful DC 15 Diplomacy check to Gather Information.
ASK ABOUT THE WAILING SCRAPYARD
This activity is only available for the first 4 hours of the party’s preparations. By checking with waste-disposal services, tinkers, and junk shops around town, the characters can learn about the Wailing Scrapyard with a successful DC 15 Diplomacy check to Gather Information.
Lora crosses her arms, a clear sign she is not happy, but after a moment she forces them to uncross. "Information about the inside is best gotten from those forced to toil in the place. I think I'll go after a teller of the Reserve and pump him for all the information his little brian has that might interest me." she waits to see if anyone has any objections. "I can switch establishments after and see what I can dig up about the scrapyard and its gobbies, if there is time."
Downing the remaining gin in her glass in one gulp, she adds "Meet up here before the nights over to plan, then to bed like good little girls and boys to be Nice and bad before breakfast?"
Lora slips into the guise of a cute as a button and slightly tipsy scullery maid who is Very interested in men going places, which the busty little woman very clearly and vocally seems to think are Bank Tellers. Respectable, good with money, and even more important, within reach.
She does express a certain amount of distrust, that she's gotten lied to in the past about someone's profession, just to get extra nuzzly before finding out differently, so she needs details, for proof.
The young man in question keeps getting distracted in the nuzzling parts, so it takes Lora quite a while to extract all the information she needs from him.
At least it was an enjoyable time.
With a bit of asking around, Lora is able to locate a wayward employee. A teller named Byrin is currently brooding at the Barrel & Bullet, upset he was recently passed over for a big promotion. A ring of keys dangles enticingly at his belt as he knocks back shot after shot of whiskey.
Biting her lower lip, Lora the scullery maid is over the moon, near smitten to her toes and back at the idea of holding his keys. Her nuzzles cloud the poor employee's mind, her pleading to just Touch them whispered in his ear.
It has to be one of the weirdest fetishes the teller probably has been faced with, but the young woman seems very eager and willing and... well could you say no to that.
When the deed is done, she leaves the sleeping teller a note Promising she'll return them on the morrow, she just wanted a little more time with them. She even leaves a time and place to meet up, though the scullery maid will be hopefully long gone by that point.
Royken grunts again at Lora's plan and then turns and immediately departs, apparently believing his response was good enough to communicate his intentions. Before he goes, he pockets the pouch and grabs one of the hats.
"Stupid f&%+ing thing better not mess up my hair," he growls.
Later, looking like a human with no beard and slightly less hair -- but still a scowl -- he heads over to see what opportunities the bank offers.
However he can't make tell much from his vantage post.
"DRANNGVIT'S T@%~!"
"These clockwork handlers aren't particular smart, thought they are still pretty good in pummeling people. Sometimes they have their fists covered in padded material, but I can almost bet this will not be the case." She explains. "They can quickly tie someone with rope, so we better have some easy to reach daggers with us just in case. Now, to beat them... it is tricky... they are very susceptible to electricity. Just hitting them with normal weapons don't really work that well."
As Lora suggests that she'll take a look on the Scrapyard, Eva stops shakes her head so she doesn't bother with it. "I know the place. Been there more than a couple times looking for spare parts."
"Also, before we go, I think we should at least introduce ourselves, no? I'm Eva." She then finishes her drink and follows Royken, also intending to take a look at the bank. Wearing the hat, Eva wills it to change her armor into a full-plate, with a helm covering her face completely.
Eva also has difficulty casing the bank. As Royken curses, she asks. "Is this good or bad? In my opinion, t!!@ are universally good things, no?"
"Royken Slatehound," he replies tersely.
Royken looks over and grunts.
"F@@&!" he curses. "Can't tell s$#~! Too many people in the way.
"Maybe they'll clear out, though..."
Eva knows the Wailing Scrapyard is home to the Nailgobblers, a group of goblin scavengers who live off the junkyard’s bounty of scrap and waste and sometimes sell good salvage to the city’s junk shops and tinkers. A mournful wailing can be heard coming from the Scrapyard at night, hence its ominous name. Locals insist a hulking ghost made of scrap metal floats around the scrapyard when the moon is dark. Eva also knows a family of evil gnolls called the Sludgespines live in the Wailing Scrapyard. The Sludgespines supposedly launch forays into the city to hunt for victims they use for foul purposes.
Staking out the bank, Eva is able to note that the Gold Tank Reserve is in a quiet neighborhood where at least half the buildings are abandoned. A ruckus at the bank is unlikely to immediately draw the attention of shieldmarshals or other outside interlopers.
Considering her previous expertise was in dealing with the Alkenstar Gunworks and not any financial institutions, Crystal's unfamiliarity with the idea of casing a bank shows quickly.
Of course, Crystal's always been a fast learner. Her second try, it's uncanny how readily she's able to case the area.
The bank is inside an old temple of Abadar—the outer walls are solid stonework, and the domed ceiling of the main chamber is only slightly cracked. Each entrance has new wooden doors with simple locks.
The back of the bank features an overgrown yard that may once have housed a vegetable garden but is now little more than overgrown weeds and an accumulation of dried leaves. Any activity in the leaf-strewn yard is likely to draw attention. A pathway leads to a side door marked “Staff Only.” This door is locked with a simple lock.
Three clockwork handlers patrol the interior of the bank and can occasionally be seen through the windows. They stop in various locations, open the shutter on the everburning torch in their head, and then slowly rotate their head in a complete circle before moving on.
You've gathered all the info you think you'll be able to. You have the keys to the bank. The stage is set. Now, it’s time to solidify your plan and put it into action!
Scullery maid gives way to dour spinster and then hunched dockworker, all before shifting back to the red head near the allies of the Barrell. With a cheeky smile she presents the keys, going over in detail which one fits in which hole. "I also can tell you way too much about Yarl's recent, rather violent breakup, and exactly where the receptionist 's mole is... Though neither of those are likely to help us. How did everyone else do?"
Crystal relays what she's learned of the bank itself.
"Didn't learn s*#*," Royken admits in his usual growl.
"Looks like they can't see in the dark, so we've got an edge on them there," he adds. "Or at least I do. Maybe I can creep up and get the door unlocked in the dark, help us get the f&&$ inside without no one the wiser."
Eva also retells what she has learned, but then tries to summarize everything so they can see the bigger picture. "Very well... about the bank itself, we know that the neighborhood is somewhat abandoned, so we'll have some time to escape even if we are to be discovered, just because it will take the marshals extra time to respond."
"Since we have the keys, we do not need to worry about how strong the doors are or how good their locks are. Entering will not be a problem." She states, now more sure of the plan than before. "Once inside, we have to find Dresh, but the handlers will be a nuisance. Crystal noticed a pattern, so perhaps we can evade them altogether... if not... I may be able to hit them hard with electricity."
"Now, about our escape... the Scrapyard is not a nice place, but I think I can guide you through it. People believe there is a metallic ghost that wails, but I do not know if this is true or not, but it is certainly true are the freaking Sludgespines gnolls. If we can avoid them, we should." She isn't that sure about this, but it was what they got, so that would have to do. "If anyone is on our tail, perhaps we can even wail to scare them, or pitch the gnolls against them... who knows."
"So... we rest now and wait for the magic in these hats to recover. We'll hit the bank just before the first light. Royken will open the door and we'll slip inside. Good?"
"F*~$, yeah," Royken agrees.
You get some rest, then in the wee morning hours, you approach the bank. The stench of manure accentuates the aura of shabbiness in this part of Alkenstar. In accord with the run-down district, the Gold Tank Reserve looms above like a starving behemoth. The bank was crafted from once-gleaming stone, though dust and dirt now cake the domed glass roof. A pathway carved from a stone slab leads from the wooden boardwalk to stone steps and an elevated porch, not unlike a small stage. Two small wings of the building flank the path, each with a weed-choked planter facing the street. Impressions of giant keys etched onto the walls on either side of the entryway lend the building an air of security and stability.
You give the front doors a wide berth as you slip down the side alley and use the keys to unlock the side door marked "Staff Only." A scratched and stained round table stands surrounded by mismatched chairs in this cramped room. A series of tall cabinets lines the southern wall near the entry door; the smell of fish emanates from one of the cabinets. A door on the north wall leads to the teller stations. Just west, a pair of doors open to identical water closets.
The lockers contain little of value other than the worldly possessions of the tellers. From west to east, the lockers contain: a basic crafter’s book, 5 black candles and half a stick of chalk, fishing tackle, a clay ocarina, replacement picks for thieves’ tools, and a half-used writing set containing cartoon drawings of a magical kobold who fights undead.
"Come on, then, let's get on with it," Royken growls as he stuff the items in the bag of holding. "We can sort this out later."
Finished, he looks around.
"Let's try to find this Dresh. She's our f!*@ing priority, and if she hears us fighting the f@$+ing clockworks and makes a run for it, we'll be as f%@$ed as Bolka's c%$#, yeah?"
He'll quickly look in both bathrooms to make sure the manager hasn't holed up, then make sure everyone's ready to proceed into the front of the room.
"Just in case, if we do get discovered before we get Dresh, we split to block the front door, so she can't escape."
Despite all the logic and planning, this is still the most dangerous thing Eva has ever made, so to say she is nervous is an understatement. She watches Royken move in silence, holding her breath without realising... no one appears to notice the dwarf, so she relaxes a bit...
"FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFFFP..." She relaxes too much and soon Eva is blushing furiously while turning to Crystal, whispering. "Manners, girl!" She draws her sword, knowing that there was no chance her wild 'little' fart wasn't heard.
Lora recoils, having been to close and physically feeling the air currents on that one. "that sounded like a gusher, do you need a moment to wipe... Crystal?"
While Lora is quieter than eva the area is dark with plenty of furniture in the way.
Crystal turns a venomous glare on Eva and Lora. "If it were me, it'd be gunpowder. And one of you would be dead."
Worn stone floors and threadbare furniture define the aesthetic of the establishment. A central wooden table crosses parallel to the doors, creating a barrier between those waiting for a teller and the long wooden half wall bisecting the room into north and south. Iron bars stand on top of this half wall and reach nearly to the ceiling, ending in sharp points.
The southern half of the room consists of teller stations and two wooden doors flanking a large metal vault door on six-inch-thick hinges. A single door in the half wall allows passage between the two halves of the chamber. A double door opens to the north outside, while doors in the northwest and northeast corners lead to the east and west wings.
Two clockwork handlers patrol the front of the bank. Though Royken escapes their notice, the others quickly draw their attention!
Eva curses in silence as the clockworks notice them. Looking at Royken, she gestures for him to keep moving. She then eyes the closest clockwork, flexing her right hand, it discreetly hums, and then she points at the handlers, sending an electric arc towards it.