Torch bustles with activity. While the dimming and relighting of the purple flame was dramatic for the town, it was, in truth, a brief few weeks. That short time did not stem the tide of artisans, miners, and metalworkers seeking to take advantage of the superhot forge atop Black Hill, nor the ancillary economy of traders, merchants, and hangers-on that has risen around them. There are groups camped out at the base of Black Hill waiting for the heavy carts to wheel down from the summit, waiting to for their turn to smelt metals on one of Golarion's hottest fires. There, just a few hundred yards around the mountain from the sulfurous pond where your adventure began, groups who would rarely speak to each other-- a caravan from from Osirion, a gang of Varisian smiths, a family of dwarven smiths, an arcane craftsman from the Mwangi Expanse, and cetera-- all sit and wait, unlikely and impatient neighbors, all eager to work with rare skymetals.
Farther from from Black Hill, visitors confine their explorations to the likes of the Copper Coin and the Guildhouse, although some make their way to the temple of Brigh, not out of adulation or reverence but to seek trade deals outside the grip of Bazlundi Otterbie's consortium and to repair whatever wounds they accrued on their journey to Torch. The Lady in Bronze, and her servant Jhoram Kyte, are happy to oblige on both accounts.
Your party arrives just an hour from nightfall. Longdreamer lands far enough away to avoid arousing suspicion, and the spectacle of the purple blaze against the backdrop of a spectacular Numerian sunset is breathtaking-- a seeming welcome home after Ashlig and Threnduil's harrowing adventures. One of your companions is dead from a tragic fall. The other has given up the dangers of an adventuring life to pursue her zealous worship of metal. Night is falling on Torch.
By the time you are walking through town, the city's windows burn with lantern light, and low-ranking guards doubling as lantern bearers ensure the paths are pocked with circles of illumination. Torch is quiet but for the dull roar of merriment spilling from the Copper Coin, Evercandle, the Foundry Tavern, and, of course, the Marrymaid. Between those bastions of celebration, though, the citizens and visitors pass each other quietly, only greeting each other upon recognition.
One of the travelers makes his way to the Foundry Tavern. He's been on horseback for days, and his behind is grateful that his mare is tied up at Lesky's stable. Under the traveler's wide-brimmed hat, his eyes are concealed by dark spectacles. His expression is impassive, his gait determined. None who see him recognize him, nor could they guess at the storm of doubt behind his eyes. Not that they pay him much attention anyway-- all eyes are drawn to the rifle strapped to his back. The ones familiar with the tech gawk hardest. Deckard Caine isn't carrying a timeworn piece of crap. Even in Numeria, she's a rare sight. He ignores them all and stalks toward Khonnir Baine's tavern.
Although Caine is focused like a shot from a laser pistol on the road that will take him to the Foundry Tavern, there is another traveler who catches his attention, albeit briefly. This is, after all, a city of strangers, and he knows to expect the unexpected. Still, he is surprised to see that massive woman pass by. She must be as tall as a half-orc. Although she is cloaked, concealing her identity, it was never easy to elude Deckard Caine's attention-- even less so since he got in the habit of wearing the enchanted duergar eyewear. She is an android. A huge one. But different. As they pass each other, he hears the vague, nearly imperceptible hum of machinery. Cybernetics? No matter. Just another stranger. This is Numeria. This is Torch. People come from the world over to use the forge here.
Just a few minutes after that forgotten moment, Deckard Caine stands outside the Foudry Tavern. He hears a pair of halfling voices leading revelers in a soulful rendition of "The Tombs of Kaer Maga."
This is an important night for Deckard Caine, a night that will change the course of his fate forever.
Nothing about that moment on the road stands out to Sigil, either. She has been in Torch for four (4) days now, looking for the heroes of Scrapwall. She lumbers down the irregularly lit streets and instinctively flexes her fists as if they were apparitional claws. Baine would not speak to her. Kyte would not speak to her. Kyte asked too many questions. They seemed suspicious. Let them be suspicious. She needs to find them. Tarrana. Gurka. Antinua. Harlock. She knows these names. They are the ones who spit in the Technic League's eye by exposing and imprisoning Sanville Trett. Others have joined them. A dwarf and an elf. Sigil would join them, too. Enemies of the Technic League are friends of Sigil's. Word was they left Torch. No one knew if they would be back. People hoped they'd be back. Not the gamblers. They wanted Ulreth back. Sigil will find them. Sigil has to find them. Torch's streets are now a peripatetic recursive loop. Sigil does not tire. They were not at the Copper Coin. Now Sigil will go to the haunted home of Antinua the elf, in which home Sigil has yet to see evidence of haunting. Unlike the other nights Sigil has spent looking for any sign of those she seeks, though, there is a light coming from Antinua's windows tonight.
Sigil does not know that her search for the heroes of Scrapwall is at an end, albeit not in the way she is expecting. Nor does she know that for all her struggles, her real journey has just begun.
INSIDE THE FOUNDRY TAVERN
Ashlig lays out his trophies and materials on the tabletop. While the many patrons try to mind their business, it's hard to ignore the many obviously expensive items that keep coming and coming from Ashlig's enchanted satchel.
Khonnir Baine sits across from Ashlig and nods with a perfunctory smile that never reaches his eyes. The crowd around your table grows quiet,
and Khonnir says with just the right touch of mirth, "Come on now, give us some space!" When he returns his attention to Ashlig, the mirth has seeped away. In his eyes, you can see your missing companions: Tarrana and Gurka. You see, too, the legacy of the ones your friends lost. "Welcome back. It's good to see you again. Do you have any news? I confess I was hoping there would be three more of you. And a mammoth. Tell me what happened." Khonnir has a calm about him. He's an easy man to like right away, even without his towering reputation in town. But his voice pleads with Ashlig.
Just then, the door opens, and Ashlig sees a human man wearing in a wide-brimmed hat, his eyes shielded by dark spectacles. The man draws less of Ashlig's attention than the rifle slung across his back. In all Ashlig's scavenging and travels, he's rarely seen the like: a machine a cleverly designed and well-cared for as Kulgara's chainsaw, but perhaps more advanced. The man draws his eyes on Ashlig and walks toward him...