Date: 1 Gozran, 4722 AR. Time: 12:00 PM
The five of you begin this adventure in the Barrel & Bullet Saloon. You’ve all been lured here by Foebe Dunsmith, the smooth-talking, gun-slinging proprietor who’s promised to help you get revenge on their mutual enemies.
With her help, Dunsmith has promised you that you can hit Ambrost Mugland where it hurts him most— the wallet. She’s invited the party to the bar tonight to enjoy this week’s episode in a serial of plays titled Hearts at High Noon. After the show, she’ll gather you in one of the saloon’s back rooms where you can discuss the details of the job she has to offer you.
“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 for attending!” A female dwarf stands on the bar top, addressing the patrons in a loud voice. “Whiskey is only two copper 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! Enjoy yourselves!” The dwarven woman, Foebe Dunsmith, hops off the bar onto the sawdust-covered floor and heads 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 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 silver.”
Narl Smathok (not his real name, but it's his name for now) inhaled and then sighed as he considered how to answer Foebe's question. He didn't really want to reveal his family's noble or business connections, even though any of his peers in those circles would completely understand his grievance with Ambrost Mugland, that scumbag sand kraken.
And he certainly wasn't going to reveal that Ambrost had him dead to rights when he tipped off the shieldmarshals about his side-hustle.
Narl raised his eyes to look at the others around the table, his gaze piercing the shadow of the hood that hides his features.
"I've got more than one reason to hate Ambrost Mugland. He's done me dirty, and I can't clear my name until he's hurtin', maybe even out of the picture all together.
"But more than that, he's responsible for... this!"
Narl throws his hood back to reveal the bony protrusions all around his swelling skull, the disfiguration giving him a horrible visage that he tries to hide from polite society.
"And there's nothing that's going to get in my way for paying him back. I might as well get something out of taking that scumbag down a peg or two."
Narl Smathok (not his real name, but it's his name for now) inhaled and then sighed as he considered how to answer Foebe's question. He didn't really want to reveal his family's noble or business connections, even though any of his peers in those circles would completely understand his grievance with Ambrost Mugland, that scumbag sand kraken.
And he certainly wasn't going to reveal that Ambrost had him dead to rights when he tipped off the shieldmarshals about his side-hustle.
Narl raised his eyes to look at the others around the table, his gaze piercing the shadow of the hood that hides his features.
"I've got more than one reason to hate Ambrost Mugland. He's done me dirty, and I can't clear my name until he's hurtin', maybe even out of the picture all together.
"But more than that, he's responsible for... this!"
Narl throws his hood back to reveal the bony protrusions all around his swelling skull, the disfiguration giving him a horrible visage that he tries to hide from polite society.
"And there's nothing that's going to get in my way for paying him back. I might as well get something out of taking that scumbag down a peg or two."
"Just the one of you then? Just yourself?"
The half-elf's sidearm seems to appear in his hand from nowhere, but it's held in his hand, not drawn - he bows slightly to the assembled"Can you imagine inheriting a weapon used by no less than 5 of your forebears, all of whom were bytrayed by that gutter slurping filth?"
"Lady Gunsmith, Erryll Reyven, and I do NOT deserve a job that could pay my weight in silver; but if I had one, the world would be a safer place. I know that Nyranin (he raises the revolver into everyone's view) can be improved, and the more I can afford to do so, the more I can watch over people who cannot watch over themselves."
A small smile crawls on Dunn's face as he looks up towards the vaudeville play. The shootouts in the Ferrous Quarter were rarely as dramatic, nor the gunners as courteous. He is entertained, nonetheless, as he nods at Foebe.
Clad in a thick duster, with a large, roughly-crafted pistol at his belt, Dunn glances at the others as he slams back a shot of whiskey, and pulls down his hat once again. The scent of dust, herbs and work emanates from the man. Giving a gruff nod at both the elf and the hooded man, he clears his throat. "Folk need silver like they need water in this place, Ms. Dunsmith. Mugland's a cruel, vindictive and duplicitous man. Ain't much of a loss if his ambitions get a shove down the river."
He takes off his hat. "I'm Dunn Brackern. Sure, I might've, hm.", he pauses before an easy smile rests on his face, "shared in the wealth of some people without their awareness, my calling is to patch up holes in folk and keep them living, not feed the soil with them. I had my name dragged in the mud, and to clean that I need the glisten of silver to embellish it."
"And there's nothing that's going to get in my way for paying him back. I might as well get something out of taking that scumbag down a peg or two.""Just the one of you then? Just yourself?"
Narl glares at the table in front of him as he self-consciously pulls his hood back over his head.
"I'm here same as you, aren't I?" he growls.
Well watching the play Maximillian remains rather aloof occasionally speaking a bit louder than necessary to the other patrons. Once it is over though he raucously applauds. Then, he joins the group as they assemble in the backroom.
Maximillian is dressed in a leather peacoat that nearly extends to his feet. His tail, barely noticeable, extends just behind the coat, at 3' 5" his slight form fails to make an impression on most. So usually people don't take much note of his. That is until he starts speaking. his voice manifests itself as a high pitched squeal of a pubescent teen that even the most generous people can't help but describe as grating. Unfortunately for all those around him due to his lack of proper socialization growing up he also doesn't quite know when to stop talking.
As everyone is assembling around the table Maximillian scrambles up the leg of a chair and stands on the chair with his arms on the table to be at eye level with the others. "I think its clear we all have something against Mugland, no need to go getting into pissing matches against each other on who hates him most." He breathlessly begins "So, the only remaining question is what we can offer to the cause of tearing off the emperor's clothes. I've spent years covertly working in Mugland's gang, building them guns, bombs and whatever else he could ask for, training with them and learning their faces." He says with a slight grimace "While I was there I also learned a thing or two about how to use my creations." He pauses for his first breath breath before continuing on "So, lets all make like a happy family, stop wasting energy fighting each other to make ourselves feel better about the shit life has delt us and instead focus on how we can get even." he finishes
Fhrank leans against the back wall, his arms crossed and a toothpick protruding between his teeth. He gives a small nod to the gunslinger and says, "The ratman makes sense."
To Foebe he says, "Ma,am, I'm thinkin' that you probably already know all you need ta' know about our...issues...with Mugland, and our individual skills for getting things done...otherwise we wouldn't be here. As to being worthy? I'm guessing that worthy or not, unless we all end up shooting one another right here or now, you're gonna have something for us to do."
The dune drifter comes completely to his feet, adjusts his hat and steps forward to the table as he speaks, "So how about we get to the nitty gritty? What do you need done, and how much is it gonna piss off Mugland?"
This last bit he says with a smirk.
Dunsmith, before saying anything else, "I assure you, I'm no gunsmith, Reyven, just a barkeep. But you're too kind. But anyways, all your grievances are heard. You'll get a few chances to hit him where it hurts soon enough, dears. Maximillian has it right that you shouldn't be fighting, I've gathered you here for the same point, after all."
She pauses to take a breath, before revealing why she brought you all here. "Alright, here’s the game," Dunsmith says, while turning to Maximillian in particular.
"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."
She pauses, takes a sip of whiskey, and then resumes talking: "Any questions?"
"Define 'Ranchers' for me. We ain't gonna be ruinin' honest folk too bad, are we? I like the idea of putting a hurt and some mud on the faces of Mugland and his goons, but not so sure I want innocent people to suffer for it." Fhrank's face is deadpan as he speaks, and his voice is deep and gruff.
Dunsmith lets out a chuckle before responding to Fhrank, "The firm caters primarily to small-time, white-collar crooks and landowners who live off the sweat of others’ brows by targeting the ranchers, small businesses, and other vulnerable Alkenstar citizens with high-interest loans and exploitative contracts. You'd hurt the goons, and the ranchers would possibly benefit from seeing a crooked establishment like that take a hit, maybe they'd have to be honest about things for once!"
She takes a sip of the whiskey in front of her before continuing, "When it comes to Mugland’s businesses, though, 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.”
With a wry smirk, Dunn nods slowly at the others around the table. "Well, Ms. Dunsmith. I find that gold, too, like water, must flow like a river in this town. If it stays stagnant for too long, it grows foetid and rank, and diseases and maladies of the body and soul begin to grow around it< instead of nourishing life and soul."
He looks around from under his hat, rather unusually still worn inside."Ain't one for unnecessary bloodshed either, sirs and madam. And besides, I'm fairly sure Asmodeus himself would rather take the side of Muglan and his hoarding heart - it pays us to be kinder."
"I'm in," Narl says simply.
"Let's do this!"
"Seems clear enough, hurt those who ought to be hurt, help who we can."
"Well, Ms. Dunsmith.", Dunn mentions a moment later, with a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I reckon you've got yourself a crew. Now, I suppose we oughta drink on it, and seeing as how we're risking our hides..." He looks around the table, nodding at the crew - all packing at least a pistol, and noone looking green - except some parts of the mutant. "So what's our play?"
Foebe, upon getting confirmation that there's no more questions, responds to you, "Alright, you got a bit over 12 hours until the bank opens in the morning, and that morning will be your last chance to pull off this heist." She pauses for a bit, stopping any of you who attempt to walk out at this point.
"Oh, nearly forgot the gear," after which she pulls out 5 hats of disguise, as well as a Type I bag of holding, and a copy of today's Whispersheets-- see the slides for when magic will be available or not-- before continuing to speak, "here, you'll need these. Ironside magic might be... finnicky, so be prepared to communal haul the gold and hide your faces if you plan to rob the bank when it's dead!"
You all clearly notice this bag of Holding is larger than normal, with a few scrawlings on it that say For Use in Smokeside in Taldane, Osiriani, Kelish, and Dwarven aligned in rows.
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Date: 1 Gozran, 4722 AR. Time: 14:00 PM
Your group of outlaws has about 12 hours remaining to case the bank before a potential heist in the morning, or could potentially attempt to run a heist now, possible when the magic is actually functional, if you so wish to. There are a few options available to you, and each action will take about 2 hours for you to complete.
Firstly, you could investigate the physical location of the bank . Secondly, you could ask around to try to find a Bank employee . Thirdly, you could ask about the Wailing Scrapyard , the place your party is supposed to flee and lose the people that might follow you out of the bank. Alternatively, you could attempt to recall information about this location without spending time actually asking anyone . Finally, you could attempt something else, as well.
So, what will you do?
"Much obliged. Not much use walking around with a wanted face, after all.", Dunn replies as he folds his own hat under his coat and takes a long look at the new one. "Your artistic types are held on a posse needing a matching outfit, but that's for more overt misbehaviour. 'sides, let's give this a run before we hitch ourselves together."
"I'd wager we split up today, cover more ground that way. My face ain't the most welcome there, and I'd rather not risk this here hat playing up today. I can cast some eyes on the gold, but I wouldn't mind a second pair of eyes.", he nods. "We might even be lucky to find someone officious looking and I might help myself to their keys. For that, though, I suppose someone of the more silver-tongued persuasion might get a little more of what we're planning." He clears his throat and opens a screamsheet. "I'll see what gifts of the wastes we can do, and if you catch a bullet, I'll try and make sure you don't go feeding Ghorus' children yet."
Pouring himself a shot of whiskey, he cracks open the Whispersheet, kicks back in the chair and begins reading with focus.
Also forgot my perception.
EDIT: Excellent start of the rolls for this game.
"Much obliged. Not much use walking around with a wanted face, after all.", Dunn replies as he folds his own hat under his coat and takes a long look at the new one. "Your artistic types are held on a posse needing a matching outfit, but that's for more overt misbehaviour. 'sides, let's give this a run before we hitch ourselves together."
"I'd wager we split up today, cover more ground that way. My face ain't the most welcome there, and I'd rather not risk this here hat playing up today. I can cast some eyes on the gold, but I wouldn't mind a second pair of eyes.", he nods. "We might even be lucky to find someone officious looking and I might help myself to their keys. For that, though, I suppose someone of the more silver-tongued persuasion might get a little more of what we're planning." He clears his throat and opens a screamsheet. "I'll see what gifts of the wastes we can do, and if you catch a bullet, I'll try and make sure you don't go feeding Ghorus' children yet."
Pouring himself a shot of whiskey, he cracks open the Whispersheet, kicks back in the chair and begins reading with focus.
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
"I can be an extra pair of eyes on the ground, I can't say most folks love talking to vermin so I won't be able to do much for us there though."
Maximillian, in your casing of the area around it, you find out 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.
Giving the ratfolk a glance, the man shakes his head as he seems to be lost in thought, rather than scoping the situation out. "Hate to get philosophical, sir, but that just ain't how nature should be. Vermin take away resources, swarm, and cause disturbances to the lives and health of other life around 'em." He nods at the assessment of the tiny gunner, then adds, "Loveless and Mugland much more fit the definition, much as you or I may be called scavengers."
Putting on his cap, he saunters out into the shadows, leaning absent-mindedly near a corner to wait for an employee to leave.
Dunn, while waiting for a teller to leave the bank, encounters one disgruntled one named Byrin.
He directs his words in the general direction of Dunn, oblivious to his true intentions. "Blegh. Going to drown my sorrows after getting passed up for a promotion recently. Barrel & Bullet." Byrin, however, fails to notice Dunn grabbing a ring of four keys, presumably to the bank at which he works. The now-robbed teller continues walking in the direction of the saloon.
They are clearly labeled Half-Wall, Entrance, Station, and Vault.
It isn't that Erryll can fly, yet, but he's coaxed the power of flight enough to be able to fall, at will, as far as he needs to. He looks for a spot to be the team's look out. Knowing that he can communicate with the team from about 100' away (via message), he looks for a spot above and away from the bank with a good vantage point, all the while knowing most of his contribution relies on ... magic.
Since the Mana Wastes mutated him, Nevai has learned that he can suppress the skull deformities that plague him and revert back to his old self. He's tempted to do that now and waltz into the bank to take a look around. Surely there's no better disguise than a completely different face! But the Shieldmarshals that he sees along the way give him pause. He can't risk them seeing his true face when he's still trying to clear his name. He'll have to keep his identities secret until then.
Also, it feels like he isn't as smart when his mutations manifest? Frustrating, but he doesn't need to be a genius to rob a bank. He stays quiet and follows the others' lead for now.
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Date: 2 Gozran, 4722 AR. Fireday. Time: 6:00 AM. Current forecast in Ironside: Surgetime.
After casing the bank, and obtaining a set of keys from the bank teller Byrin using... less-than-legal means, you get yourselves some well-earned rest and arrive at the area of the heist the following morning. It is currently 6 AM, the bank is currently open, but the foretold amount of Clockwork Brokers that would be patrolling the building is still small. Hence, you still have a chance at this heist. The current forecast for the part of Alkenstar that the Gold Tank Reserve resides in is one of Surgetime. Magical spellcasting may go awry, but you can generally rely on non-spellcasting magic, such as hats of disguise, as well as bags of holding, to properly function. Some hiccoughs here and there, but nothing too horrible.
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 know, either from your casing of the bank beforehand or your familiarity with Alkenstar, that this is a relatively busy street you're on, but people tend to mind their own business and keep their head down.
Two clockwork handlers patrol the entrance, and as your casing the night prior revealed, no matter what time of day you came in you would have to deal with them. From one of the Clockwork Handlers you hear a fair few noises than normal, as if something is malfunctioning with it. Clicks of gears, scratches of metal on metal, and the like can be heard, while the other one in the area is functioning properly. Regardless, the two constructs pace the entrance back and forth.
So, what will our party of six outlaws do, now that the day of the heist has finally arrived?
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His hat of disguise using its magic to make Narl look like a non-mutated human in noble's clothing, with the sword in his hand resembling a satchel hanging from his shoulder, he studies the two clockwork constructs in front of the bank.
"Are they going to challenge us if we just try to walk in? I'd hate to alert everyone in the bank by having to fight them outside before we even enter."
"It's a little early, but a silver tongue might do it. Tell you what, here's the keys, Narl, you've got the gift of gab.", Dunn replies, dressed in a large duster. The hat on his head, changing the man's face ever so imperceivably, has led him to have a parchment case on his right flank. "I s'pose then they'd pose a problem of us getting out, or getting flanked." His eyes cast a long glance at the withered, half baked plants in the planters. Ghorus, it might be time for your vengeance...
"Wizard winds withstanding, I reckon I got a plan for them.", he adds, before nodding. "We've got the keys, we're fresh faces - we walk in the front, take a look. The tin-men ain't the biggest problem, I'd say."
Both untrained
0th - Enhanced Diplomacy, Spark, Stabilise,
1st - Longstrider, Entangle
Max's hat has disguised him as a young halfling man with blonde hair and a green cloak. "Any chance you're lookin' to share that plan" he quickly asks Dunn.
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The two clockworks seem to be patrolling and not minding you whatsoever, not even the "loud" one. The light shining from the opening atop their "heads" illuminates the streets as they pace around the building. They hold their javelins in their mechanical hands with a firm, unfeeling grip as they do so, with three other javelins stored in various portions of the body.
You notice something... very odd about the loud clockwork construct. There seems to be pieces of technology from around Golarion shoved into it into different places. A spattering of Numerian technology jutting out of the opening of its "head", an opening with a bit of Stasian technology exposed around its back. And, of course, a ton of the expected clockwork components showing wherever there's an opening. Whether the clockwork actually runs off these parts or not, you do not know. They could potentially just be used as a way to smuggle the components into Alkenstar, which is known for being well endowed in the technologically-minded. In either case, this could be what's causing it to be a bit louder.
"Any chance you're lookin' to share that plan" he quickly asks Dunn.
Dunn slowly nods towards the planters. "I know a thing or two about the plants. If the whispersheets got it right, I can bring some life in those wilted planters, have them latch onto the tins." He adjusts his hat. "Slow them long enough while we exit round the back."
Narl nods at the exit plan.
"Well, the longer we stand here the more suspicious we look. Let's do this."
He heads for the main doors of the bank. If unlocked, he heads inside.
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. Sounds of business being carried out echo throughout this large chamber, which carries the dusty odor of decaying furniture. 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. There are at least a dozen customers inside the bank.
The clockworks do not seem to notice your presence, however, and they are continuing to patrol the outside of the bank.
"You've got a point, sir.", Dunn nods at Narl, before starting to move towards the bank.
As he enters, he takes a step to the side and keeps an eye out, nodding quietly at the others. "Let's keep it quiet."
Narl nods at Dunn to acknowledge what the man said, and then walks up to the first employee he sees.
"I need to talk to the bank manager."
Once the manager is before him, or another employee if the manager is not available, he carries on.
"I thought you'd have more guards here. Is your vault strong, at least?"
The bank teller behind the desk chuckles, before staring at Narl for a few seconds, then responding, "The clockworks serve as guards.. Normally we had a lot more... but some stronger than usual magical event took most of them out except one, and we got a loan for the other. We'd usually have a dozen." He breathes a heavy sigh, before continuing, "Vault's fairly strong, but I'll go grab Miss Desh."
The bank employee walks over and bangs on a door behind the desk. "DESH! Somebody wants to talk to you! You know 'im?" Outside of the office, a Dwarven woman steps out. Through the door you can see far more decoration than is the rest of the bank. So, she's likely the manager. "Huh? What do you three want?"
The bank teller behind the desk chuckles, before staring at Narl for a few seconds, then responding, "The clockworks serve as guards.. Normally we had a lot more... but some stronger than usual magical event took most of them out except one, and we got a loan for the other. We'd usually have a dozen." He breathes a heavy sigh, before continuing, "Vault's fairly strong, but I'll go grab Miss Desh."
The bank employee walks over and bangs on a door behind the desk. "DESH! Somebody wants to talk to you! You know 'im?" Outside of the office, a Dwarven woman steps out. Through the door you can see far more decoration than is the rest of the bank. So, she's likely the manager. "Huh? What do you three want?"
"Is it this one on loan?" Max asks gesturing towards the Stasian golem "Who's it out from? Don't see that type of tech around here every day! He adds
"Yes it is," the dwarven manager says, "some group offered it up on loan, once we mentioned that a mana storm took out the ones we usually use. Said it had 'less reliance on magic,' stuff like a Numerian torch powering the spotlight an' all kinds of weird fancy tricks. It's a loud clanky thing, but it'll work for the day. Didn't even require payment, just wanted to test the thing. "
"Huh," Narl contributes, clearly not very interested in the finer details of the mechanical guardians. He address Miss Desh.
"Anyway, we have a deposit to make, but in truth..." Narl glances around the inside of the bank, "I'm a little concerned about this place's security in this part of town. Your man said that your vault's strong. Is that true? Can you show me?"
"Usually the dozen or so clockworks will be primed to spring on whoever tries to steal anything out of the bank," the bank manager says as she sighs. You notice as she leads you to the vault that the massive vault door is 10 feet tall, matching the height of the vault. The vault door is normally locked with a simple lock and an iron bar door that's locked with a much more simple locking mechanism. The inner iron bar door is a simple lock that can be, presumably, undone with the manager’s key (just by looking at its shape, you can tell that none of the keys you had stolen off of the employee the previous night would work. Obviously, the inner iron vault door remains locked as of right now.
After you approach the iron door, the manager pats the large bulk door, "for now I just asked all the employees to be on alert for the day. All we have is the two clockworks for right now." The dwarven woman can be heard coughing, before continuing: "So, about that deposit? Can I get your names for that?"
Narl turns and looks at the others he came into the bank with. He gives a meaningful nod and then turns back to Miss Desh.
"No names. And no more talking unless it's very important. Open the vault door, and stay out of the way while these three take what we've come here for. It will be better for you and your employees if you just do as we say."
Narl turns and looks at the others he came into the bank with. He gives a meaningful nod and then turns back to Miss Desh.
"No names. And no more talking unless it's very important. Open the vault door, and stay out of the way while these three take what we've come here for. It will be better for you and your employees if you just do as we say."
Erryll takes out his revolver, waving it around a little aimlessly ... before talking to it
"Are you ready? We're going to do this!"
Turning back to Ms. Desh
"No worries for you though, this is how I make "magic"
The moment you take out your revolver, you hear the Clockwork Handlers outside turn, the Stasian one doing so in its creaky fashion, alerting you to the pair of construct's actions. As the dwarven manager ducks, you hear most of the bank flee, yet four investors remain, brandishing semi-makeshift clubs and glaring at the four of you, one of them even managing to eke out a "We'll deal with them". The keys to the iron bar doors behind the gate are still locked, so you'll have to find a way to open them. "Not giving up without at least some fight," Irkem says as she ruffles through the stuff underneath, looking, presumably, for a weapon.