Will:
HP 186 +18 temp/186
AC 34
Fort +24, Ref +24, Will (mysterious resolve) +26
Halfling Luck: Skill/saving throw []; attack/Perception []
Hero points: 2
Focus Points: 3/3
Spells (DC 36): 1st [][][][]; 2nd [][][][]; 3rd [x][x][][]; 4th [][][][]; 5th [][][][]; 6th [x][][][]; 7th [x][][][]; 8th [][][] GP []
Effects: Cursebound 1 (-5 speed)
Esirelle rolls her eyes as Cerulean starts to giggle. "Focus on what we need to do first!" she snaps.
With little in the way of spells that affect nonliving creatures, she tries a new tactic.
Tim finds Esirelle's comment absolutely hilarous, and spends most of the round laughing. He dart back in to flank with Kharya.
[
The clockwork ignores Esirelle's spell and weathers Kharya's attacks without harm. It attacks the dwarf again, scoring a critical hit with its metallic jaws!
The Wheel of Fates spins, landing on the same space. More laughing gas fills the cage.
"Hey, that's not very funny!" Tim recovers in time to attack this round.
for
for
[ooc]If that 48 hits, that's a crit. (I have keen fists.)
for
for plus
Khayra hammers another strike to the dragons gears, keeping up her shield to deflect any glancing blows.
Kharya lands a solid punch this time, then Timdok feints and delivers a critical hit to the clockwork's already weakened torso. Its whirring gears crack and grind to a halt. The entire construct screeches to a stop before toppling to the floor!
The Crown cries out, “And that’s a jackpot for our contestants! What a show, folks! Time for the winners to claim their prizes!” The audience applauds for a few moments as the stage resets, and then the card table you used in the first challenge rises back up from the center of the stage —only this time, the table is heaped with treasure!
After you gather their winnings, the Crown and the Star thank you for providing the entertainment. As the crowd in the Final Throw returns to their own interests, the two witchwyrds lead you up a flight of spiral stairs into the Final Throw’s tallest tower, eventually reaching Mera’s office.
A gilded desk, carved with cavorting angels and devils, sits in one corner of this opulent office. Across from it is a bar with an obsidian counter, its glass shelves displaying an array of brightly colored liqueurs. Mera sits at the desk.
“You put on quite the show out there. My patrons do love a spectacle, as do I. I suppose now I’ll have to get Steampuff fixed up, but it was worth it, watching you do your thing. You certainly went through a lot to earn some of my time, so please, have a seat! Can I get you a drink? I’m eager to hear what you want from me!”
"We're looking for someone named Fenton. He apparently owes you some money, but he's taking something of value from us. Maybe he was hoping to use it to pay off his debts, but we don't really care. If you can help us find him, we'll bring him back for you so you can collect what you're owed," Esirelle says, direct and to the point.
Mera's expression sours. "Aye, Fenton. He's been a regular at the Final Throw for years, but he's far from one of my favorites. He enjoys gambling, but he's not particularly good at it, and he's racked up quite the debt, indeed. On his latest visit, he put up the deed to Graymire Textiles as collateral, promising that he just landed an incredible job and would have enough money to pay off most, if not all, of his debt soon enough.
"That one's a bad seed, though. He's tried to keep it secret, but I've learned that he's a devoted worshipper of Norgorber's aspect as Father Skinsaw. I've never seen evidence of Fenton being a pattern killer or a bloodthirsty murderer, but here in Vyre, worship of Father Skinsaw is never an idle choice. Those who venerate the god of murder in such a way always have sinister motives.
"I admit that I'd prefer to keep Fenton in my debt, but at this point, I'm pretty fed up with him. I'll give you the address to Graymire Textiles. If Fenton gets in over his head, well... let’s just say his debt dies with him; whatever you find in Graymire is yours to keep, as far as I’m concerned, and good riddance!"
She pours herself a cup of liquor and downs its contents, wincing slightly. "Before you go, though, another word of warning. The Norgorberites are well represented among Vyre’s leadership, the Masks, but I think that they have something significant planned, and it's going to happen soon. If you learn anything about the cult's activities, I'm willing to pay handsomely for that information."
By the casual manner of her voice, Timdok gets the sense that she has a fair amount of familiarity with the Masks of Vyre, and he's unusually well-informed about the city's inner workings. He also recognizes Mera’s dagger earring as incorporating symbology from the one of the Mask's regaliar, the Queen of Blades...
"Well, we hate to poke our nose into people's business, and I owe old Blackfingers a favor or two, but we've got to take care of Fenton," Timdok explains to Mera. "Hard to find good help these days, and he's really put our whole production in danger. We'll take care of him, and be sure to offer you a bargain on anything that seems relevant."
"What's Graymire Textiles?" Esirelle asks, curiosity piqued. Maybe there'll be some good fabrics there!
Though that whole Father Skinsaw devotee isn't great.
"Graymire's an old building in Southmarket. It was the brainchild of Yalvos Graymire, a Chelaxian business magnate who founded the factory sixty years ago as a 'modern, fully integrated textile works.' Fascinated by the mechanical contraptions of Alkenstar, he commissioned designs for mechanized looms and other machinery to use in his new venture. Unfortunately for Yalvos, the imported machinery proved staggeringly expensive to maintain and was frequently a death trap for workers unfamiliar with the equipment, eventually making it almost impossible to recruit employees. Graymire Textiles went bankrupt only five years after its founding, with Yalvos himself not far behind.
"The factory sat abandoned until Fenton acquired the property on the cheap not quite a year ago. I'm sure he's added his own defenses since then, so be on your guard."
"It sounds like he probably doesn't have to. Damn corporations trying to save money and not caring about the cost to humans, dwarves or halflings!" Esirelle says, irritation coloring her voice.
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Cerulean perks up a bit and thinks about nudging Kharya, not that a small nudge would get through the armor.
"I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if the worm managed to turn the clock-looms into active deathtraps somehow. But the idea behind having one for ourselves... oh could you imagine what we'd be able yo accomplish if we could streamline and improve on the efficacy of such a contraption?"
They sigh longingly, "It'd be like getting my hands on one of the grand alchemical machines of my homeland. The wonders I could create if I had such capital and robust equipment."
"Of course, if I get a look at the looms, there could be good uses for them still."
As you depart the Final Throw, you feel stronger from your recent experiences...
***
Act 2, Part 4: Stitcher's Redoubt
Past a rusted metal fence, its gates broken and swinging open, is an overgrown courtyard. The wrought iron letters above the gate read, “GRAYMIRE T–XTILES,” with the missing E dangling below the others. A blocky brick building casts shadows over the weed-choked yard, its exterior stained with soot and its windows boarded. Three doors lead into the building to the north, east, and west. What appears to be a discarded mannequin, clad in filthy leather armor and almost overgrown with weeds, lies slumped in the northeast corner of the yard.
"Check out that mannequin: Do you think it's junk, an illusions, or a construct? Remember those statues that got the drop on us in the Sothis sewers?" Timdok rubs his arm at the memory of old bruises.
"That mannequin is probably going to attack us, considering what we know about this place, so let's avoid it..." Esirelle suggests. "Let's see if there's a rear entrance, and try to avoid drawing any attention."
Moving quietly around the building, you spot a rear door away from the main entrance. As you approach the door to open it, however, four monstrous, bloated purple spiders suddenly shimmer into sight on the building's roof! The spiders are the size of horses and have different numbers of legs, all of them odd.
Kharya jets out flames, coating her gauntlets in a thin layer of blackpowder to give her blows an extra little pop.
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"Have I ever mentioned how much I despise arachnids when they aren't properly contained? Only thing worse is an uncontained giant spider."
Cerulean seems unnerved and hopes to spread that same unnerved feeling to the spiders themselves as their innate kitsune magic leaks into the world to infect their feeble simple minds.
They then ready a preprepared bottle of lightning quartz.
Esirelle summons a holy host of archons to take care of these awful spider things!
Cerulean's spell leaves the spiders shaken but not stirred. Two of them completely resist Esirelle's archon attack, while the others take some wounds.
Two of the spiders descend on web lines to the ground level, moving to attack Kharya.
The two on the roof try to warp the minds of Timdok and Esirelle!
Kharya reels from the sudden onslaught, but heat shimmers around her as she pounds her fists into one of the spiders, her shield up against the other.
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"Oh those are much worse than the usual arachnid menace.."
Tossing the bottled lightning cerulean quickly mixes up an innoculant and injects Timdok with it.
"Fight well love, but try not to elt the bugs bite."
You gain a +4 item bonus, and when you drink the antidote, you can immediately attempt a save against one poison of 14th level or lower affecting you. If you succeed, the poison is neutralized.
HP 205/210
AC 35
Fort +25, Ref +25, Will (mysterious resolve) +27
Halfling Luck: Skill/saving throw []; attack/Perception []
Hero points: 2
Focus Points: 3/3
Spells (DC 36): 1st [][][][]; 2nd [][][][]; 3rd [][][][]; 4th [][][][]; 5th [][][][]; 6th [][][][]; 7th [][][][]; 8th [x][][][]; 9th [x][][] GP []
Effects: Cursebound xx (-xx speed)
Esirelle lashes out with her fist at herself, then shakes her head to clear it. "I think we deserve a little more respect than that!" she says, casting a spell to draw the spiders' attention.