Bhaakon's Fires of Creation IC

[Bhaakon]

The Foundry isn't the only drink house in Torch, but it's the biggest, has the best reputation, and--probably most importantly--it's owned by the subject of the meeting you've been summoned here for. Unfortunately it's also been closed for eight days, ever since the violet flare atop Black Hill was snuffed out. Hardly a better time to be in the bar keeping business than when the entire town is on edge, but Khonnir Baine and his adopted daughter Val have been far too busy trying to reignite Torch's eponymous jet of flame to wash mugs and tap kegs.

They'd made no small amount of progress, either. Almost as soon as the flame died out, Khonnir organized a search that found a submerged entrance to some kind of complex under Black hill, the stony outcropping Torch is built around. He tried to stay tight-lipped, but almost immediately a group of curious (a fine euphemism for 'greedy') halfling scrappers braved the caustic waters of the Weeping Pond to get the first crack at whatever was hidden beneath the hill.

They didn't come back. Neither did the next party, a pack of local drunks and brawlers who decided that spelunking would be a profitable change from theft and banditry.

Then Khonnir himself organized an expedition. Better prepared, equipped, and experienced, he returned with tales of caverns carved from the stone by whatever foul liquid tainted the Weeping Pond, a subterranean maze ending in a grey metallic door, and dragged back the carcass of some kind of arachnid construct. The same construct that lies splayed on the floor of the Foundry as you enter, limbs stapled to the wood boards, access panels pried open and loose wiring unspooled and pinned in an indecipherable web that hints at an organizing principle you can't quite grasp. Obviously broken pieces have been set aside, and scores of parchment labels in Khonnir's precise hand decorate the scratched and dented thing, with resembles nothing so much as a frog being dissected by a diligent pupil. But not a particularly learned one, as virtually all of the labels end in a question mark.

You were sure the construct was dead when it was pulled from the sulfurous waters, but one of its tool-studded arms pulls against its restraints and switches constantly between some sort of diamond-dusted wheel attachment and lens-tipped tube. More disconcerting is the babble, a stream of high-pitched whining from somewhere inside the creature that forms no discernible words but still tickles the speech center of your brain.

"It started doing that last night." Val comments in clipped tones as she ushers you past the damaged machine to a table in the back, where your actual hosts sits. Dolga Feddert isn't just the senior member of the Torch council, she's the oldest person in town, a greyed and weathered dwarf who has well into her seniority back when Torch was founded.

"Sit, Dears." Dolga smiles, her walnut skin crazing as her lips curl. The expresion had to be forced, under the circumstances, but it certainly looks genuine. Val retreats to a back room and returns with a steaming pot of very dark tea and a platter of honey biscuits before taking a seat for herself. Dolga pours her own cup, adds some cream, and takes a sip before explaining.

"I'd rather dwell on pleasantries, but the matter is urgent." The dwarf begins, her voice hoarse in spite of the beverage. "Everyone in town knows that thave been two more expeditions under the hill since Councillor Baine brought this back." She waives a gnarled hand at the robot. "And that neither has returned. Khonnir himself lead the most recent, it left the day before last. I can't speak for the Brighans who charged down there first, but Khonnir was supposed to return yesterday. We'd agreed, we councilors, that his group wouldn't spend the night down there if they could avoid it. He's a headstrong man, though, and I'd not be concerned if that were all" Dolga pauses with a wince, massaging her temples and closing her eyes.

"The voices...." Val prompts, concern dripping from her voice.

"Yes. Apologies, this headache is...never mind. Young Val came to me this morning, swearing she heard Khonnir shouting and screaming here in the Foundry last night. I..."

"I did. Loud enough to wake me in the house out back." Val cuts in. "There's no doubt it was Pa and his friends, yelling about danger and death. Something else, too, but I couldn't make out more than the shouting. I ran here in my nightclothes, but the shouting stopped before I got here, and there was no Pa. Just the machine over there, twitching and screeching like it is now. Can't decide whether to smash it to scrap or to disassemble it piece by piece..." She trails off, eyeing the fidgeting construct

If the councilor is bothered by the interruption, she doesn't show it. "Yes. I have no reason to doubt Val's word, especially with Khonnir overdue. I fear that we councilors were too worried about keeping the peace and making the next payment to the Starfall. We left the matter of the caverns and relighting the torch entirely to Khonnir, and without him... well, we need him back. That's why I've invited you here. You're competent, and I need Khonnir found and returned before news gets out that his expedition has run afoul of something. I'm prepared to offer 4,000 in gold if you can return him to us." She glances at Val before continuing, and Khonnir's young ward swallows and nods. "Even just his remains. We can...make due with those, but there's a bonus if you return him to us alive."

"Please, you must." Val pleads. "Pa will reward you himself as well, or I will in his place if it comes to that."

"If you accept, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have. I can't say we know much--that's why we need Khonnir back so urgently--but I think I've at least managed to gather a few leads and discount some of the more obvious twaddle."

You've heard tell of a large serpent or some sort hunting in Crowfeather Lake since Khonnir Baine managed to make the water there drinkable. If it swam up to the Weeping Pond, it could well be picking off adventurers entering the caverns

You heard some gossip that Junkmaster Garritt--a local gmonish scrap peddler--found something interesting not too long ago. Something powerful enough for light to beam out of his shack as bright as a second Torch a couple weeks ago. Could be nothing, could be something pulled out from under Black Hill.

Word is that the Seven Tears Farm is being raided by some kind of creature. So far it's content to steal food, but the size of the tracks suggest it could be a serious problem if it decides people look tasty

Shortly after the torch went out, a group of drunken dwarves went up to its dead crater and found a pool of bubbling sludge. They, of course, decided to drink some. Rumor has it that one grew tall and strong as an ogre for a few minutes, but the second died horribly as the strange liquid melted right through his guts and out his belly.

[Hattish Thing]

Shiloh:

Several seconds after Freddert begins to speak, Shiloh rolls her mismatched eyes and abandons her visual inquiries into the other members of this hastily formed group and focuses instead upon lazily tinkering with a particularly bizarre technological device seemingly crafted entirely out of scrap metal and volatile material. She nods absentmindedly as the dwarven councilwoman explains the situation, albeit in a somewhat roundabout way. A few times during Freddert's expositive speech, the technologist raises an eyebrow, somewhat intrigued before falling once more into boredom.

Finally, she grows too impatient to remain silent, fidgeting constantly within her chair.

--

She takes an enormous bite out of a honey biscuit before chewing quite loudly, spraying bits of food as she speaks. "How much of a bonus are we talking, huh? A chance to blow some **** up is right by me, but I was told there'd be a right daggy-corker in this." Ignoring her headache, Shiloh speaks loudly, volume fluctuating from an almost respectable level to near shouting, as is standard for the partially deaf technologist. She tosses the half-eaten biscuit down haphhazardly before rising, stretching as she does so.

Groggily, the sunburnt technologist stumbles over towards the machine, reaching for a rusty tool at her belt as she does so.

--

She takes a long draw from a questionable canister at her belt before kneeling down beside the device.

"Ya wankers really did a number on 'er, dincha. Something old as a right blighter like this'n, I ain't expect it all ridgy-didge, but this... real number, real number. Looks like ye muddied th' thingummyjig, the... the doovalacky, I'm right surprised ye dint straight-cark th' bastard!"

"Gonne take meself a look-proper, gedgit yer oldie's tools fer me, will ye, Val?"



https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ab/e4/a5/abe4a564f585fa53c3f2596d5b7c7cfc.jpg

[Bhaakon]

"I don't think Pa did this. It was dead when he found it, he said." Val replies, but fetches the tools she and her father had be using to prize the thing apart. "I don't really know anything about it. He was explaining to me what some of the parts were for, but he was sort of busy with the expedition, too, so he wasn't lecturing as much as usual."

While Val is gon, the old dwarf explains what the bonus might be. "We've...acquired a means to return Khonnir to us if you find his body. Or even just a few pieces of it. If that's not necessary, then we've no further need of the scroll..." She just lets the hint hang there.

You recognize the construct as an arachnid robot specialized for repair work. It's one of the most common models of robot, often seen trying vainly to repair large pieces of wreckage or (to greater effect) fixing other robots and supporting them with a net launcher. With its complex electronics, it's quite vulnerable to strong electrical discharges. Even a cursory glance tells you that this unit is extremely damaged, but critical systems appear intact.

Though clever enough for most purposes, repair drone usually work in large groups coordinated from a centralized control room.

The damage appears to extend to the unit's power supply. It's either functioning on reserves battery or somehow receiving power from an external source

[Ilorin Lorati]

The Second V of Many, Verocia, Baine of Robot Existence. (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1640738)
F CG Human Tattooed Sorcerer (Impossible), Level 3, Init 6, HP / , Speed 30
AC 13, Touch 12, Flat-footed 11, CMD 11, Fort 3, Ref 4, Will 4, CMB -1, Base Attack Bonus 1
Haramaki (+1 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 7, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 20
Condition None
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/300828099602546698/469535133834149888/2euo8qc.jpg

Verocia sat and listened. It wasn't that she wanted to be quiet - those who knew her would know full well that she was, quite possibly, the most talkative person in town once she found something she wanted to talk about, but for once in her short life the young, tattoo-laden girl simply had nothing to say. What could be said? Her adoptive father, Khonnir, was missing. Her sister had taken control - as least as much as was possible, all things considered - of the situation, and the both of them had worked themselves raw to light the Torch over the last few days. To her credit, Verocia tried to help with the inn, but it was simply too much! The end result was what everyone currently saw.

With a grunt, she stood up and started collecting up the empty mugs and dishes that she could carry. It wasn't much, but she couldn't stand seeing the tavern like this while there were guests. " 's for repairs," the girl remarked between trips to the kitchen, looking at the spider from a distance. The attachments were far too specific to be for anything else. "Looks like part of a swarm, which is why it's so specialized. It has the luxury of it."

"And you're not going to give these people any money, Little V. We'll take it out of my share from the Councillor if they want it that badly." Pausing as she passed the girl she'd taken to calling one of any number of pet names, she wrapped her arms around the girl and placed her chin on the other's head... while giving the other three a very foul look. No, they would not be taking any of that money.

When it had come time to discuss going after Khonnir, Verocia had stepped forward. She knew of her own power, and the control she had over machines. Few others did - Val and Khonnir, but to many others she was just a girl. It took a lot of arguing, and eventually the pulling of the councilwoman in this very room aside to show her in private of her abilities, but here she was. Not an adventurer, just a youngling looking to save her father.

And with that, she was back to work, picking up the messes the three and handful of guests had made in the last few hours and days.

[Desril]

Valerie

She'd only been back in Torch a few hours, and the fact that the man she was here to find was missing only made Valerie sigh. Of course, after spending two years away from anyone or anything she knew she'd come back to an emergency that threatened the life of the person she was here for. At least there was a reward offered. Khonnir was family, or the nearest thing she had to it now, but there was no need to turn down money for saving him.

It'd been a few years since she was here, and the ifrit had put on a fair bit of muscle, her hair had grown out, and her armor made her look far more adventurous than she was the last time Val and Verocia had seen her, and distracted as the young women were, it didn't surprise Valerie that she wasn't recognized and for now she was fine to keep it that way. Though it certainly seemed like Torch was dealing with more than just one problem, judging by what she'd overheard in the street on the way to this little meeting, not that there was time to deal with that right now. Of course, as much as she wanted to remain anonymous, she couldn't very well not ask questions, so she cocked her head a little to the side as she raised her voice, "You said that you heard Un--Khonnir screaming from the house last night, but he wasn't there when you showed up, did he get dragged off somewhere? He couldn't have just vanished."

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

A veritable boulder of a man, Afton sits quietly considering the situation, a grim expression on his face. He listens carefully to each speaker in turn, shifting his bulk in a rhythmic sway side-to-side, a habit of the massive warpriest when he found himself lost in thought. Which, for Afton, was often. When Dolga ushered the group in and directed them to sit, he obliged, taking a perch upon the too-small stools of the inn, for a man of his stature and wideness. While Dolga exposits, he also takes a cup and a spoon from the tea tray and pours a cup. He stares into the dark mirrored ripples for just a moment, then takes a sip.

While Dolga and Val continue their explanation speaking of Khonnir's disappearance and the struggles to relight the flame atop the Black Hill, Afton is silent.

While Shiloh talks through her biscuit, inquiring of coin and of the partially dismantled machine, Afton is silent.

He nods at the technologist's assessment, not fully understanding the Scrapwall native's unique parlance, but comprehending enough to agree. And later, Verocia confirms his thoughts. Repair drone, indeed. Again he sips the steaming cup of tea, content to let the others lead the conversation for the time being. Occasionally, he glances away from the conversation to watch Verocia dart about the common room, cleaning tables and gathering stray dinnerware. He feels a compulsion to help her, but resists, considering that this briefing is for his own benefit, not hers. The girl clearly already knows what's happened to her father, after all.

It's in this moment that Afton makes up his mind. These two girls should not know the pain of losing their father, not if the warpriest has any say in the matter. His mind wanders a little, imagining the difficulty that lies ahead, when Verocia's retort about payment brings him back to earth. Finally, he speaks. "Verocia, you know I'm not here for the money. We'll find your father. We all need him back."

[Bhaakon]

"I can give them money if I want, Big V. I've saved plenty working the bar and the forge. Haven't really had much to spend it on, the way Pa spoils us." Val juts out her chin as she starts, but the defiant streak immediately melts back into worry when she mentions Khonnir. The councilor, for her part, sips her tea and pointedly avoids involving herself in the brief family squabble.

But Valerie's question diverts the youngest Baine's attention before a spat can truly develop. "I...I don't think he was here. Why would Pa shout for help and then leave? Maybe he miscast a sending, but I don't think the magic works that way. I...haven't really gotten that far along in my studies..." Val answers as Shiloh dives into the arachnid robot's thorax with potty-mouthed abandon. She quickly strips off armor and access plates, exposing new electronics, hydraulics, and lubricant lines until he finds something of note. The source of the construct's warbling whine, the thing's audio synthesizer and communication cluster, both awash in blinking amber power indicators and red-orange diagnostic warning lights.

With the speaker exposed, you get better handle on the audio it's producing. It's definitely a voice, sped up and playing backwards on a loop. It might to possible to repair the robot's com system enough to reproduce the sound properly--but you might damage or corrupt it in the process. Or you could try and decipher what is being said directly, with a educated ear and a lot of effort, but the distortion is bad enough that you might make a mistake.

[Desril]

The robots audio malfunction is nothing more than meaningless noise to Valerie, who wastes no time in writing it off. Cocking her head to the side she looks curiously toward Val, she certainly didn't know of any secret passages in Khonnir's house, but...

"It's not impossible that maybe he was there and dragged away, was it? There might be some kind of secret tunnel that he was dragged back down or something...but if there's any trace that he was there last night, I should be able to figure out where he went...unless he was there and magicked away," she admits off-handedly.

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

Afton nods at Valerie's inquiry, impressed with her observation and deduction skills. Still, the warpriest stays silent, taking another sip of slightly-cooled tea. Hmm. Magicked away could be a possibility, or maybe Val is wrong and he did miscast a Sending? But the girl is probably right, those two know more 'bout magic than I ever will, he thinks silently to himself. His stomach growls, and he obliges it by grabbing one of the few remaining honey biscuits left at the table. He bites into it, savoring the sweet flavor that floods his tongue. Chewing quietly, an idea enters his mind. With a gulp, he swallows the biscuit and takes another sip of black tea to wash it down.

"If we're not getting anywhere with Khonnir's whereabouts, we could ask around town. Maybe someone saw him outside the inn? And if we find a trail, Valerie can track 'im." He clears his throat before continuing. "There's also the matter of the strange substance pooling in the crater atop the Black Hill. I can't figure it's got much to do with Khonnir's disappearance, but you never know, checking it out could help." He turns his head and frowns at the dismantled robot for a moment. "Are we missing something?" he asks, of no one in particular.

[Ilorin Lorati]

Apparently Big V

The young mage furrowed her brow when she heard Val's and Valerie's dual commentaries, calling out from the kitchen, "Aye, but he's my father and I'm still taking the reward money from the council! Not faulting you for taking offered coin, just suggesting the entrepreneur out there not use her life's savings when the council has it covered as it does." Satisfied that at least the mess was out of the common room, the girl emerged. "My wager is that whatever else this bot is connected to heard Pa and broadcast his... screaming." She paused, shuddering at the implication of that before forcing herself to move on. Please be wrong about that.. "And Father being taken off without even an attempt at a struggle? If he had returned but was whisked away, we would definitely know." She paused, took on a quizzical look, and looked at Val with a suddenly concerned tone. "...Wouldn't we?"

[Hattish Thing]

Shiloh:

The ornery woman merely rolls her eyes as the others start yammering on about hidden passages and powerful magics. Instead, she continues to tinker with the crumbling automaton, pressing the side of her face up against an oil-smeared section of the machine, continuing to tap away at the speaker.

"Ah, quit yer earbashin'! Yer da ain't here, right boggins."

--

She tears a particularly confusing looking tangle of circuitry out of the device before continuing. "But he's not likely far, not a huge amount of range on a tinny like this. Somethin' 'bout a crater, I hears? Don't think we're gonna get much more outta this sad sop."

"Right time we split the goog, I say."

[Bhaakon]

"I...I don't think Pa was here. If someone dragged him off, there's have been a fight, and the place was all locked up when I came to look. Only me and Pa and Other V have keys." Cal shakes her head, rejecting the idea that Khonnir had been here in person and somehow disappeared.

The old dwarven councillor finishes her tea and pushes back from the chair with a creak of wood and rheumatic joints. "Seems to me like the squawking box there in your hands might tell you something. Or not. If you don't think you can tease it secrets out, there are plenty of skilled scrappers in town who might be able to. Councillor Baine was always the most reliable, but Garritt and Sanvil have similar expertise, whatever their other problems."

"Junkmaster" Garritt Burrwaddle is a gnome who bares his derisive 'title' like a badge of office. He's known for obsessively collecting, cataloguing, and tinkering with odd bits of broken technology. He's also widely considered to be somewhere around bat guano on the ecentric-to-crazy scale.

Sanvil Trett is a traveling merchant who makes the rounds in Southern Numeria, trading in bits and bobs of everything from technology to chamberpots to rumors. No one questions his expertise in technology, it's even rumored that he can decipher the chickenscratch that passes for writing on some salvage, but it's well known that his services come at a hefty price.

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

With a quiet stare, Afton listens as Dolga rattles off the short list of scrappers. Haven't heard of a Sanvil, but Garritt? Well, he's good with tech that's for sure, but... The massive man's quiet thoughts trail off as a frown forms on his face. He decides to voice his opinion early this time. "Garritt's a smart guy who knows a thing or two, but, ehhhh, he's a little... off his rocker." The warpriest points a thick forefinger to the side of his head and pantomimes a slow circle.

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia

The girl furrows her brow and huffs, apparently taking umbridge with Afton's assessment of Garritt. "Everyone Torch is a little bit twirly-eyed, and as far as crazy goes, the Junkmaster is also perfectly harmless. Sanvil, on the other hand, is smart but greedy. I remember one time I overheard a traveler trying to trade with him for one of those... uh... light ball things, and Sanvil tried to overcharge him several times over for it! Thankfully I was around to set him right, but I don't think Sanvil really likes me anymore so maybe I shouldn't be the one to go talking to him either way."

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

“I think Garritt would be fair with what he charges, we just might have to sit and listen to one of his crackpot theories for an hour or two. The guy sure loves to talk.” Afton says with a shrug.

[Ilorin Lorati]

"But an hour or two sitting listening to him is an hour or two not searching for Pa - though regardless, we need to speak to Garritt anyways since I think he's been working on something pulled from under the hill so we'll be listening to him talk regardless. Can we get moving?"

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

"Hopefully we can nudge 'im in the direction of talking about his findings on Black Hill, then. Maybe we kill two birds with one stone if we visit Garritt first," says the warpriest in response to Verocia. Then, Afton nods to Dolga and Val. "Thanks for the tea. I think we've got our start," he says, placing his empty cup on the tray at the table. The large man stands up from the stool, and stoops over to grab his pack. He hefts the well-laden bag onto his back and fastens the straps. He checks their tightness with a couple gentle tugs.

"Yup, I'm ready whenever y'all are."

[Desril]

Valerie

Doing her best to keep her head down and not attract the attention of either Big or Little V, Valerie nodded in agreement at the plan to go see Garritt. Or more accurately, at the need to get it over with so they could get to searching for Khonnir properly. "Yeah, let's move before there's too many more chances for something bad to happen to him. Let's go see Garritt."

It'd been long enough since she was last in town that neither name struck her as particularly familiar right now, so Valerie wasn't especially worried about anyone they might go to recognizing her, but she did want to get moving. They were wasting time sitting around talking about where they might start when they had some places to at least try to do something and that was enough to make her impatient.


To Garritt!

[Hattish Thing]

Shiloh:

Seemingly uninterested in the conversation with regards to the various junkers around town, Shiloh sorts her tools back once more before leaning up against the nearby doorway. She chews some unusual-looking blackish material as she leans up, crossing her sinewy arms over her chest.

Once the others gear up to leave, she rolls her eyes, but follows.

"I say we visit Black Hill sooner rather than later, right?"

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

"I agree that Black Hill is a point of interest, but we may as well hear what Garritt has to say about his findings there first, then we can check out both the strange fluid pool, and whatever Garritt found. No use making the trek up there twice, I'd expect." says Afton, to Shiloh. In an attempt to appease her, he adds, "But I vote that Black Hill be our second stop before we really dig in to Khonnir's disappearance."

[Bhaakon]

Garritt's junkyard is on the northeastern side of town, a brisk ten minute walk that takes you through a good portion of Torch's tangled labyrinth of meandering lanes and poorly-planned architecture. Squished up on a bluff and shoehorned between ponds of varying potability and Black Hill's craggy crown, the settlement's lack of urban planning means that you have to travel more than double to straight-line distance to reach the pile of rusting scrap that marks the gnome's abode. The house/workshop itself is a ramshackle log affair patched with chunks of lumber taken from old wagons, barn doors, and, in at least one case, a long section of river boat hull (though how it reached here, leagues and leagues from the nearest navigable waterway, is anyone's guess). The building bears the scars of numerous fire and chemical spills, some recent enough to leave an nostril-burning stench of char and caustic chemicals in the air.

You walk right up to Garritt's door--a blue-gray glaucite hatch attacked to the structure with crudly rivetted wrought iron hinges--and press the big red button that serves as the gnome's knocker. A blaring siren goes off inside, followed instantly by the jingle-jangle-clank of variously sized chunks of metal hitting a hard surface and gnomish language strong enough to peel paint (if there were any left unpeeled by heat or acid). A minute passes before a foggy 'window' in the metal door makes a clicking sound and lights up and a big-bulbus, mostly bald (though, from the looks of it, due to a patchwork of burn scars rather than old age) head appears in shades of green and black.

"Whatdoyouwantcan'tyouseeI'mbusythisbetternotbeabou ttheaccidentlastweekandIcertainlydon'twantanycooki esnoramIinterestedinjoiningyouforservicesatyourtem pleoranyothergoodday."

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia Baine (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1640738)
F CG Human Tattooed Sorcerer (Impossible), Level 3, Init 6, HP / , Speed 30
AC 13, Touch 12, Flat-footed 11, CMD 11, Fort 3, Ref 4, Will 4, CMB -1, Base Attack Bonus 1
Haramaki (+1 Armor, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 7, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 20
Condition None

Verocia looks about, trying to decide if there was a place this green and black head was looking out on the group from. Eventually she sighs and shouts through the door: "My. Garritt, it's not about the accident! We need your help with a speaking box that could be related to my Pa, and since he's not here to help we need someone else with expertise!"

Then, turning and whispering, she adds to the party "what accident?"



Diplo: [roll0]

Do we really not have anyone with Diplomacy in the party? >.>

[Bhaakon]

"Speakingbox? Soundslikenonsense. HolditupsoIcansee. Probablyjustaparrottrappedinatincan..." The green and black gnomatar mumbles through the tinny speakers flanking the screen.

The gnome's feeble attempt to hide his interest fails miserably.

[Desril]

Valerie shrugs ignorantly toward Verocia when she gives the group a questioning look, whispering back, "I only made it to town a few hours ago."

Still, her ears perk up as the gnome prattles off conjecture on the sound device, and ifrit tries to take advantage of the obvious curiosity in his tone. "It's certainly not nonsense, though it came from one of those metallic contraptions, so it's too complicated for us to figure out," she says, trying to present it as a challenge and get him more curious as she motions for whoever has the thing to present it to the gnome.

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia

Verocia looks over at Shiloh, motioning for her to hold up the speaking box to the slat in the door.

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

Afton hangs back while the group engages with Garritt, failing to hide his distaste for the gnome's hyperactive demeanor and proclivity for run-on sentences. When Verocia asks if anyone knows anything about "the accident", he merely shrugs. "Garritt's always gettin' 'imself into trouble, but I haven't heard anythin' specific." The massive warpriest busies himself by picking at his teeth with a small wooden toothpick that he pulls from his pack.

In the spoilers at the top of the thread, Verocia knows that Garritt found some item that caused his shack to "as bright as a second Torch a couple weeks ago", though I don't know if that's referring to the same event.

[Hattish Thing]

Shiloh:

Clearly unimpressed by the gnome or his hovel of a home, Shiloh remains quiet, instead taking this time to seemingly stare up at the sun. After the gnome introduces himself, she grimaces, leaning up against the wall and simply hoping that the conversation would be done and over with sooner rather than later.

Upon request, she retrieves the device and lifts it up into the air.

"Prob just a parrot, naw?"

"Tch."

[Bhaakon]

The green-tinted gnome leans close to the screen and squints, which really takes some doing with his saucer-sized eyes. After a few seconds he lets out a rumbling growl and mutters. "Finefine. Cannotseethroughthiscontraptionwellenough. let me just..." The face disappears and you hear the scraping of furniture being moved and a screeching protest of gears in need of oil being forcibly disturbed before the metal hatch's many bolts finally retract with a chorus of dull clanks. The door opens an inch, then a hand's worth of calloused, greasy fingers jam into the gap and lever it open with a whine of protest to reveal a scrawny gnome with a patchy scraggle of heat-curled grey and red hair and and angry red sunburn on his face and hands (though, strangly, it doesn't continue around to the back of his neck, which is nearly so pale as to suggest he's bleaching).

"Comecome." He mutters, waiving you in and turning to point at a partially cleared and slightly charred work table. You can't notice that the wall behind the table stained with a singy-grey coating of soot, save for a Garritt-shaped patch of the original lime-green paint. In fact, quite a few of the nearby tools, knickknacks, and junk have one or more heat-damaged side, all of them pointing more or less where Garritt wants you to put the robot's communications and audio matrix.

"CanIgetyousomecoffee? Tea? Perhapsmyspeciallybrewedchymicaldistallateandand charminativebisquitsguarranteedtoprovideall nutritionandrestrequiredfor 36-to-73 hours?"

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

Afton ducks his considerable bulk under the doorframe and makes his way to the side of Garritt's cluttered workroom. When the gnome offers drinks, Afton nods. "Yeah, coffee sounds about right. I'll take it black." He stares at the various contraptions and junk strewn about the room, covering every surface, and suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Garritt's approach to tinkering, invention, and crafting is about as diametrically opposed to the blacksmith's philosophy as possible. Where Afton is deliberate, Garritt is impulsive. Because of this, Afton finds the gnome irksome.

Still, Afton puts on his best attempt to be diplomatic. Garritt's knowledge is useful, and the warpriest's general demeanor is neutral, even when dealing with people he doesn't necessarily like. Plus, Shiloh's got the device, and Verocia's the one whose father has gone missing. He's content to let them lead the negotations and he doesn't want his personal opinion of Garritt to sully the mood.

[Bhaakon]

"Yes,coffee,letssee..." The gnome pulls out a small adjustable wrench and begins fiddling with a web of mismatched plumbing arrayed against a far wall until the contraption starts vibrating alarmingly and whistling jets of steam are streaming from joints held together with globs of cracked solder, string, and putty. Then an electronic chime sounds and a whole thing instantly falls silent. Garritt produces a mug from somewhere, scrubs off a greasy thumbprint with an equally greasy rag, and opens a brass spigot to allow exactly 4,236 individual drops of perfectly brewed dark roast to to emerge in quick succession from the myriad fine nozzles of a repurposed shower head. "Sugar? Cream?" He asks, placing the drink along with small containers of the traditional additives on a odd little subdivided silvery platter.


"Nowletmeseethedevice." He reaches for the warbling voice box, and, should no one stop him, begins attacking it with a set of progressively smaller screwdrivers, levers, prods, picks, and hex wrenches. The noise grows in shrinks in volume, treble, speed, pitch, tone, and whatever other aural measurements man and gnome have created until it settles on something that you can vaguely make out as the voice of Khonnir Baine.

"Val? Verocia? Anyone? I don't have time, it's at the door." And, in fact, you can hear the shrieking grind of something fast and abbrasive eating through solid metal in the background. "Whoever hears this, leave. Just...run. There's something very wrong here, and I don't think it's accidental. Someone has turned this place on again, and it's dangerously awry. Carry what you can and flee. I'm the last one left and it's coming for..." The voice is interrupted by the dull gong of a large, flat chunk of metal striking something solid. Khonnir swears, then shouts, there's sounds of a struggle then a scream that slowly drops in volume until the transmission ends and starts over from the start.

"Ohsoundserious." Garritt observes, munching on a stale carminative biscuit and sipping a viscous sludge that certainly is not coffee.

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia watched Garritt with dulled curiosity as he opened the door and let them in, leading them through the house to what was, apparently, a coffee maker. Approaching it, but being careful not to touch it, she watched him make the brackish concoction that could only be called swill before handing it off to Afton. "Are you sure you want to be drinking that," she quizzed the man quietly as the artificer took the sound box and began working on it.


Soon enough, her attention turned to the gnome and the device he was working on, listening intently as it squealed, then morphed into a terrifyingly recognizable voice. The more than concerned daughter paled considerably as her father's panicked speech echoed through the room, turning and looking briefly at Valerie... before dashing out the door and making a bee line towards the tavern that was her home. She was going to go after her father, right now.

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

Afton, mid-sip, sprays coffee from his mouth and nose. Startled by Verocia's sudden exit, he apologizes profusely for his gaffe, coughs, then sets down the mug of coffee. He gives Garrit a quick word of "Thanks," before he slips out the door and makes his way after the sorceress, his armor clanking while he jogs. "I s'pose we're off!" he calls out to the rest of his companions, hand cupped to his mouth to make his voice carry farther.

[Desril]

Valerie's eyes were as wide as Verocia's but she'd been away for much too long and was used to being told what to do. As a result, when compared to a panicked daughter's rush to save the father that she now knew for certain was in mortal peril, the ifrit was slower. Still, she was only a few steps behind Verocia as they sprinted toward the tavern, "Right behind you, let's go!"

[Hattish Thing]

Shiloh:

Never one to turn away an offering of something free, Shiloh accepts her drink and continues to nurse it throughout the conversation. Once individuals begin to rush out of the small home, she sighs and begins to follow after the others, cup still in hand.

"So... I guess we're not going to the hill then."

[Bhaakon]

Sadly, it would seem, any skinny-dipping in Black Hill's newly discovered tar-like substance pit would have to wait for a later date as the group follows Veroncia's mad dash through Torch's windy, dust-choked streets. The woman finds herself back at the Foundry in short order, where Valerie is busy polishing spotless glassware (most of it the standardized beakers of nigh-unbreakable clear ceramic pulled from various crash site, the rare chip or scratch marring the graduation marks the only sign of an apocalyptic crash and subsequent millennia of wear).

"You find something Big..." Val begins as Voreocia bursts in.

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia shouted back at Shiloh "Never said that!" before bursting into the tavern and scurrying around the place packing up her equipment. As she did so, the girl hurriedly explained what she just heard to her younger sister. "I'm going down there, and I need you to gather people up to get to safety. Promise me you won't just sit here and hope everything turns out okay," she added, stopping and slipping over a counter to stand next to the girl. Placing her hands on Val's shoulders, the sorceress looked at the up and coming barkeep and said, with a dead serious expression, "This is not a time to be taking that risk."

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

"Verocia, I hope you aren't planning on headin' out alone. The three of us," he says, gesturing to Shiloh and Valerie beside him, "can back you up. I know I'm itching to figure out why the Torch went out, and I reckon the best way t'do that is to follow in Khonnir's footsteps." He adjusts the straps on his pack, the leather wrapped tight around his broad shoulders. "I've got my gear with me already. Val," he says, turning to Verocia's younger sister, "if you need help with the evacuation efforts, I'm sure Father Joram Kyte at the temple of Brigh will help you if you ask."

[Desril]

Valerie

Nodding at Afton, the red-head turns to look toward the sisterly duo, "I want to find him as much as you, I didn't come all this way just for him to die the day I got here," she announces, "We're going to find him and save him, together." Placing her hand on her bastard sword's hilt, she emphasizes the fact that she's not some unarmed commoner, "Whatever's down there is dangerous, but we'll deal with it, got it?"

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia

Listening to the group try and calm her, the sorceress rolls her eyes and turns her head to look at them - keeping her hands firmly on Val's shoulders; "I appreciate the vote of insanity, but I'm talking to my sister - the rest of you all weren't going to get out of this that easily, no sir."

[Desril]

The ifrit smirks, the left side of her mouth sliding into a confident grin as she nods. "Right, then let's get going, we don't have time to waste."

[Ilorin Lorati]

Verocia

"Anything else that needs to be handled before we go after Father? ...Hells, Garritt had something we needed to take a look at, didn't we?"

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

"So I heard. And there was the strange fluid atop Black Hill in the crater from the Flame... Seems Shiloh is itchin' to check that out. I'm ready either way."

[Bhaakon]

Whatever other matters are mentioned, none feel as pressing as the message from the electronic voice box. Val, cowed, is already running around the tavern making a pile of things moveable and valuable. It's not much: the strongbox, a few bottles of valuable vintage and a couple mementos. Most everything else is too big to take, and besides, she'd need room for things from the house and lab, provisions, tools, and books. "Maybe I should buy a second donkey and wagon before word get out." She mutters as you all rush off to the Weeping Pond, the access point for the cavern complex.

Locals generally avoid the fetid body of water, tucked in a sinkhole in the side of black hill. The water reeks, it's well known to be undrinkable, nothing that lives in it is edible, and those few stupid enough to go for a swim often report vomiting and blistering rash not unlike a bad sunburn. Rumor has it that what passes for criminal gangs in Torch dump bodies here because the caustic soup dissolves them before they can bloat, but no one has plumbed the depths of the sink to find out. It is, in short, a very unpleasant location, and typically deserted despite its prime location within the town boundary.

But this isn't a normal time. Khonnir's discovery has brought attention in the form of a scraggly knot of curious residents, a few local braggarts trying to work up the nerve to make the plunge themselves, a tent where Councilor Kyte, the head of Torch's church of Brigh, has set up a small camp to tend to returning explorers or fend off anything dangerous that emerges from the waters.

The Councilor sees you and waves you over, whispering so that the gaggle of onlookers can't hear. "Dolga said you might be coming." He cuts straight to the matter at hand. "I can provide an enchantment to ease the passage through the water. You won't have to hold your breath, though it will do nothing about the smell or the burning sensation, so I'd suggest swimming briskly. The magic will persist for a full day, so I'd recommend returning before it expires. I'm told that it's possible to reach the dry caverns on a single breath, but only just."

[Ilorin Lorati]

"Do what you need to," Verocia called out as she shepherded her companions out of the building. "Be safe, for all of us." She knew this could very well be the last time she saw Val in this life, but couldn't bring herself to say goodbye; she didn't want to admit such a thing was possible out loud.

~~~

When they arrived at the pond, the girl scrunched her nose up at the smell - such an offensive odor that she covered her mouth - fruitlessly - to try and shield herself from its stench while she spoke. "I do not envy you standing out here. And thank you for the offer, we will be sure to take you up on it." As she finished her approach to the edge of the fetid pool, Verocia turned and looked back at the party. "To speak seriously for a moment, is there anything that need be done before we take a ... <cough> ... bath? I know that I was rushed, but with the moments to calm down I've realized that some more information, if we spend our time wisely, may be helpful in finding my father."

It was impossible to tell outright if she simply wanted to avoid going in that pool or if she truly thought what she said, but with evidence to suggest both ways neither of them were out of the question.

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

"The way I see it," the hulking warpriest says, clanking his way to the edge of the pool, "we can always retreat if we get in over our heads. I've got Th' Bronze Echo and the protection of Brigh. I feel ready to take a dip." He reaches up and pats the hilt of the massive Earthbreaker sheathed on his back, smiling as he responds to Verocia's question. Then, he hesitates for a moment, glancing down at his reflection in the brackish water. Afton peers over the edge of the pool and looks into the depths, his goofy smile fading from his lips. "Though, uh... I can't very well swim in my armor..." The massive man is wearing an equally massive suit of fullplate - protective, but not buoyant.

He turns to the councilor and asks "Is the entrance at the bottom o' the pool? Can I just... walk down there? Or do I hafta change?"

[Bhaakon]

The Councilor tilts his head at Afton. "I guess a body could be weighed down enough to walk along the bottom, if that's what you mean. As for your clothes, that's up to you. I wouldn't wanna be caught facing down a pack of rust monsters on the far shore in my skivvies, but I wouldn't wanna spend the rest of the day with squelching boots neither. Specially with water that will eat through soles fast as a daemon on feast day." He shrugs.

[AtS]

Afton Mordin

The warpriest nods. "S'pose I'll keep the armor on then. That breathin' spell sounds mighty useful, right about now," he says, shrugging at the Councilor.

[Desril]

Turning her head toward Verocia, Valerie just shakes hers. "Information is well and good but he's been down there long enough that we shouldn't keep him waiting any longer, especially since we know there was trouble. But, ah...we should probably figure out what we're going to do about the water...if it's going to burn away at our clothes after getting them soaked anyway there's not much of a point in ruining them, 'less one of you knows some magic to clean them after we get to the dry spot?"

Even as she says this, however, the ifrit takes a step closer to the fetid pool and reaches down to start unbuckling her shoes if no one volunteers an option.