Act 1. I've got your back

Act 1. I've got your back
The noise of Waterdeep faded behind Zyra Emberfang as she stepped through the wrought iron gates of Phaulkonmere. The air was cooler here, touched with the scent of damp earth, flowering ivy, and old stone. The villa grounds stretched before them in quiet defiance of the city’s chaos — a pocket of wilderness carefully cultivated. Vines draped over carved archways, and winding stone paths disappeared into shaded groves and mossy nooks where birdsong echoed softly.

The main house stood at the far end of the garden, its tower just visible above the canopy. Gilded falcons glinted on its stonework, catching the light like watchful eyes. The manor's polished elegance didn’t feel ostentatious — rather, it seemed old, respected, and quietly powerful.

Among the greenery, a tall, lean half-elf stood, his long brown hair adorned with bits of foliage, and his taupe skin blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. His green-black eyes held a distant focus, as if attuned to the whispers of the garden itself.

Zyra pulls back her hood, waves a greeting at the stranger and says: I'm looking for Melannor Fellbranch. Do you know where I might find him?

Taking a step forward, Zyra removes the introduction letter from a belt pouch to proffer it to Melannor. I was told you might be able to help me find a companion for a little job...

Not immediately but Zyra notice elf meditating in the shaded groves when breeze moves branch above his head letting sunbeam touch elf's blonde hair. Despite relaxed pose there is something tense in this young looking elf's expression.

Zyra feels Melannor isn't much on ceremony, so she simply nods her thanks and moves towards Legolas with purpose. Legolas, I am Zyra Emberfang. there is a job at a blacksmith's shop which I need assistance with. I am advised not to got it alone and Melannor says you can be trusted. As it is, the blacksmith can not serve the community because the shop has been left with traps and hazards that require deactivation. There seems to be some sort of guardian lurking in the shadows of the shop as well and it has already delivered mortal violence on other hirelings. I have the skills for the traps and hazards, but I need someone to watch my back and help me overcome the guardian. I haven't been to the shop yet and I haven't introduced myself to the blacksmith looking for the help, so payment/reward is not yet certain. Although befriending a blacksmith is never a bad idea. Would you join me in getting the finer details of the job? we can decide if we want it after we meet the blacksmith. Zyra offers the small job posting note to Legolas for him to read it and waits for a response.

Legolas listen silently and almost motionless.He nodes barelly noticeable few times slowly blinking. He keep silent as Zyra finish the message and ask her questions. About half minute later when Zyra probably thinks Legolas is not going to answer - Elf rises and shortly say I will.

With a smile and sparkle in the eyes he suggests not to waste any more time and meet the blacksmith before anyone else decide to take the job. On the way to blacksmith Legolas explain: It is an outstanding opportunity to have a blacksmith owe you one. elf don't mean to reject reward, he simply explain that there is indirect added value, which is probably even more important for Legolas than the payment itself. He asks you not negotiate the reward too aggressively though.

Legolas, if we go into this, we go as a team. We can hear what Grusk Ironsunder has to say and what he has to offer. That guardian thing already claimed one life, so what ever he is offering should be appropriate for the risk.

As the Elf and Tiefling make their way to the Trade Ward and ultimately to Grusk, Zyra, continues the conversation and narrates a little about the areas they pass through having grown up in the streets of Waterdeep. She shares some details of her life, obfuscating some details about anything that might be considered nefarious. She doesn't want her new companion getting the idea she is still the criminal of her youth.

High Road, South Ward - Late Morning
The High Road bustled with life in the way only Waterdeep could manage — a mosaic of clamor, scent, and shifting motion. As they make their way to the Trade Ward and ultimately to Grusk, Zyra Emberfang strode confidently through the throng. Beside her moved Legolas, silent and smooth as a breeze through tall grass.

The stench hit them before they saw the source — the thick, wet slap of sun-warmed fish. And then the noise.

Just ahead, outside the wide-pillared entrance of the Coach and Wagon Hall, a wagon had upturned, spilling crates of gleaming, silver-scaled fish across the street. One of its wheels lay in splinters beneath it.

A narrow-faced carter stood by, red-faced and furious, gesturing wildly with a fishhook-handled walking stick. Around him, traffic had snarled. Fancy carriages, merchant wagons, and even a pair of city watch patrol horses jostled in an uncoordinated bray of irritation and shouted curses.

But the real spectacle was the Dungsweepers.

Four of them — broad-shouldered, sullen-faced louts in mud-brown sashes — were flinging fish from the cart at the front of the Coach and Wagon Hall with obvious satisfaction. Each slap of fish against the windows left greasy smears and startled the clerks inside, one of whom was screaming incoherently behind the glass.

One Dungsweeper hefted a particularly fat trout, spinning it like a club before hurling it at the ornate sign above the door.

Legolas observes the scene and thinks Humans, when they do stupid things unreasonably are hard to stop. If they stop they would admit their stupidity and that's least they would do. Especially when they do the stupid this in a group - in this case they think they demonstrate weakness admitting
But he knows words have their hidden power and message may reach human mind with a delay, you just need to keep delivering that message.

And so previously silent Legolas steps forward and speak to the Dungsweepers laud and clear: Food do not deserve such behavior. Gods see. Treat fish with contempt and the sea will stop feeding the people of this city.

Zyra, holds her breath, waiting to see what might happen. She gets her short spear un sheathed in anticipation of violence. She is also looking for escape routes...

One of the Dungsweepers — a stocky human with a crooked nose and shoulders like an ox — turned to face the elf, shovel still slung across his back.

"Listen to this one! Some woods-walker lecturin’ us on fishes!" he barked, half-amused, half-indignant.

Another, a wiry tiefling woman with soot-black horns and a fish scale stuck to her cheek, stepped up beside him. She jabbed a thumb at the soiled windows of the Coach and Wagon Hall.

"They think they’re above it, those guildmasters. Fancy coats, silver ink on their ledgers — but when it comes time to pay what every other guild pays? Not a copper to be found."

A third, a half-orc with a Dungsweeper’s sash cinched over a tattered oilskin, snorted and shouldered his shovel.

"We clean this city, every street, every alley. We do the work no one wants. But these gentry types? They skipped out on four months. Four! Ain’t about the fish, elf. It's about what’s owed."

The first man jabbed a finger toward the hall. "If they don’t pay Dungsweeper taxes, they don’t get Dungsweeper service. Simple as that. They want clean windows? Let ‘em wash it with their own tears."

Another dungsweeper cart was approaching. This one with human refuse.

Ain’t about the fish! Exactly my point! Why don't you just shit on their windows. Or else - sea will shit on yours.
And yes, I'm sorry for your financial situation - I didn't mean to question your rights, only methods.

Legolas turns to Zyra and say sorry for digress. We have the business to attend. informing her that he don't plan to get further involved in the action.

Whispering: I was going to say, this isn't our fight, but I respect your point of view. Hopefully they let us move along. Zyra nods down a side alley that would take them further into the trade district without crossing in front of the Coach and Wagon Hall. Then moves along with an eye on the Dungsweepers.

Zyra and Legolas slide back into the crowd and make their way along a side alley. Backward glances see the Dungsweepers pelting the Coach and Wagon Hall getting pelted with manure. Could have been worse Legolas, at least they aren't flinging their own waste at the building.

Another look around to ensure they are not being followed, then two more turns down other alleys and the new companions a just another block from the blacksmith shop.

Still smiling after his little victory against Dungsweeper’s bararism Legolas silently follows Zyra.

Master Ironsunder, Zyra and Legolas at your service. Branric told us of the trouble at the forge and we thought we might be able to assist.

Zyra motions to two of empty seats, requesting that we may join him at the table. Once seated, she unrolls the parchment. Not a lot of details, what else can you tell us of the job?

Master Ironsunder, will you outfit the expedition? We need some supplies: lanterns, spikes to disable the traps, might even need to hire an alchemical apprentice to dispose or identify the gear. Assuming we can figure out your clicker... Is it possible it's the old smiths mechanical construct, you know like a wizards gollum doing the menial tasks? Do you know about constructs, how they work, how they activate, are they switched or voice activated?

Legolas will is not going to interrupt the conversation and will wait until Zyra asked all of hersLegolas seems calm, but his brain is actually super occupied processing the situation:
what does he mean by "I’ll offer work too"? I hope it's not a work in the smith.
When a blacksmith mentions "Favor from a blacksmith" it does sound like boasting at best. Maybe he is trying to negotiate less direct rewards ? Is he broke?

Legolas rise hand before speaking:
I'm not like The last man Branric sent. Zyra - i would feel better if you don't take advance yet, not even a python. We go in. We scout. Return to the table to make commitments and plans.

Legolas lower his hand demonstrating his interruption is over and communication is back to Zyra.

Fair enough Legolas. Master Ironsunder, is the smithy locked?

No blood left, you said. How do you mean that? Did someone drink all his blood?

Legolas only want to know if there were any clue on death reason.

The walk to the Trade Ward was quick. The forge sat near a corner, wedged between a fletcher’s shop and a boarded-up tanner’s. Its façade was old, dwarven-cut stone weathered by time, with a heavy iron sign bearing the faded emblem of Barundal Hornrock — an anvil flanked by crossed hammers.

Zyra approached the thick wooden door and slipped the brass key from her belt pouch turning it with a slow, metallic click.

The door groaned open, revealing a cool, still interior lit only by the dust-softened light seeping in through narrow windows. The shop was intact — counters along the sides, racks for weapons and tools (now mostly empty), and a large central workspace where a secondary anvil sat half-covered by a leather tarp. There was a faint scent of soot, copper, and something older — something sharp and metallic.

At the back of the shop, partially obscured by a workbench and the faded shadow of a dwarven tapestry, they spotted it: a square outline in the stone floor, just visible in the slanted light. A trapdoor, iron-bound and old, with a thick, inset ring for a handle and a lock.

Legolas puts his arm on Zyra's shoulder and asks to Wait. He tries to look for any footprints in the dust

Legolas lights his torch and knees to look at the floor of this room. Seeking a track the previous explorer left or any other tracks left by other creatures. If the dead body where "just outside the main entrance" he guess either someone of something dragged the body there or the poor victim were trying to escape jut before death.
In either case, wood elf considers the dust on the floor will tell me the story unless someone smart enough put an effort to hide it, which is again an information.

Legolas knelt silently, torchlight casting long, flickering shadows across the room. The fine layer of dust on the stone floor told its tale with quiet honesty. He brushed a hand gently over the surface, eyes narrowing.

There — a set of footprints, booted and heavy, moved from the entrance to the corner where a faint outline of a trapdoor could be seen beneath a smudged rug. They went in… and came back out. In a hurry, judging by the depth of the heel marks on the return path. Grusk’s, most likely.

Aside from those solitary steps, the dust lay undisturbed. No drag marks. No claw prints. No hurried scuffs or other tracks of struggle or pursuit.

The forge had been abandoned… and undisturbed. Whatever happened, it happened below.

In the quiet, only one sound broke the stillness: from below the stone floor, deep in the forge’s belly, came the softest, most distant click.

Click. Click.

Then silence.

Clear. Legolas stands up and suggest Zyra to enter and investigate. He keeps close to doors and considers
Unlock trapdoors, tie a rope and open them from distance for safety. Or do you dare to open them by hand?

Well, we have the key for the trap door... you want to position yourself so you can target the opening and I'll use the door as a shield

Zyra, leas down, waits for Legolas to get in position, inserts the key and unlocks the trap door lifting it with caution and giving Legolas a clear line of sight to the opening.

Zyra slipped the iron key into the concealed lock and turned it with a soft click. She paused — listening — then slowly lifted the trapdoor, using its weight as a makeshift shield. The hinges creaked, old but oiled, revealing a flight of stone stairs descending into utter blackness.

The torchlight licked down the passage, illuminating the first few steps. Beyond them, only shadow remained.

OOC:

can we retrospectively say Legolas gave his torch to Zyra to free his both hands to hold a bow

It was locked, wasn't it? Legolas whispers.
If the previous adventurer went downs the stairs he unlocked it, but the he was found dead upstairs... this is all too strange.
Let's double check this room first.

Legolas makes a full circle around the room to make sure no creatures hiding in the shadows before he reach Zyra and hands his torch to her. He puts an arrow into his bow aiming down the stairs and with a silent nod informs Zyra he is ready to proceed behind her.

As you descend the stone stairs, the air grows cool and dry. You arrive in an octagonal chamber, its floor laid with cracked blue tiles dulled by age. The walls gleam faintly, sheathed in timeworn polished marble.

Three towering statues of bronze dwarves stand sentry—each nearly ten feet tall. One looms to the west, another to the east, and the third dominates the northern wall. The eastern and western dwarves clutch axes and stout shields; the northern one grips a pair of heavy axes above his head, poised as if mid-battle.

Two iron-bound oak doors rest in the northeast and northwest corners, heavy and imposing.

Good idea Legolas. Remember the body was taken away and the smith has been back in, he must of locked the trap door to keep the clicker down there. Nodding to the basement trap door.As we arrive in the octagonal room, Zyra holds the torch high over head. Legolas, do you see any more used paths on this floor, any patterns in the dust? Zyra, scans the area and waits for Legolas' assessment before taking the final step on to the cracked blue tiles.

Zyra. Eastern statue elf says focused on the named statue but continue in a slightly different voice would you cut yourself enough to let a drop of your blood on the floor. Just a gut feeling...

The voice is partially indicating Legolas are no sure about the idea and is probably hoping Zyra will say no

Zyra turns to Legolas with a raised eyebrow: What's that again?

Legolas shakes head in No motion. He takes his arrow and cuts his own forearm to let few drops of blood on the other end of arrow.
He then toss his arrow to estern statue drawing another arrow to his bow. And waits a moment.

Nothing happens.

Clear. elf moves to pick his arrow up, never taking his ayes off the statue. Moving back to stairs he say doors... guess we wouldn't figure out until try. There must be something about the doors though

Legalos warn companion and hope her skills will help figure what's up with the doors.

Zyra is confused by the elf's actions. He is obviously on high alert so Zyra takes a tentative step on to the tiled floor and slowly moves across to the door, confident that Legolas is covering her advance.

Zyra, then inspects the door carefully.

Zyra will move to the side of the door and use the but end of her spear to move the well worn handle on the Northeast corner door.

Zyra raises her spear, angles it carefully, and nudges the door handle with the butt end. For a heartbeat, nothing happens—then a deep, grinding click echoes through the chamber.

The air shifts. A groan of ancient gears turning reverberates through the stone floor, followed by a thunderous clang. From the eastern and northern statues, the bronze dwarves' weapons jerk downward with terrifying speed towards the ground just ahead of the northeast door, with Zyra in between.

Zyra attempts to roll away from the attacking statues raising her spear to try to deflect the incoming blow.

The moment the axes began to fall, Zyra’s instincts kicked in. But the mechanism was faster than it looked—merciless, precise. The force drove her sideways, her roll thrown off balance. She hit the cracked tiles hard, a sharp pain lancing through her shoulder as she skidded across the dusty floor.The northern statue’s descending blade missed her by inches because of her positioning, but the warning was clear—this room didn’t tolerate curiosity.

Dust billows up from the impact as marble chips scatter. Then the trap resets with a slow, mechanical whirr, the weapons grinding back to their raised positions, as if waiting for the next person to test the door handle.

Zyra gens up and Dusty herself off. A quick check of the damage to her shoulder and dismisses it. Now, with a better understanding of the trap, she gets to work finding the over ride switch…

Circling the room low and swift, Zyra examined the bases of the statues, pausing at the western dwarf. There—just beneath the heel, a faint groove in the marble, unnaturally symmetrical. She knelt, tracing it with calloused fingers until she found the edge of a hidden panel. A quick jab with her dagger popped it open, revealing a tangle of bronze rods and a stone lever inscribed with dwarven runes. Carefully, she yanked the lever down with a decisive clack. The statues gave a subtle shudder, then stilled entirely. No more whirring, no more tension in the air. The trap was intact but disabled—at least, for now.

Back to the same door and open it with a little too much confidence...

Flush with the small victory, Zyra strode back to the northeast corner with a touch too much swagger. Gripping the handle again—this time with bare fingers—she gave it a confident yank, bracing for resistance or the creak of old hinges.

Instead, nothing. Not even a shudder. The handle wobbled in place but didn’t budge the "door." Her brow furrowed. Pressing a hand flat to the surface, she felt cool stone beneath the wood veneer. Those were not doors. A façade, a wooden panel in front of the walls. Just a beautifully crafted decoration meant to deceive.

Zyra scoffed, annoyed at herself. The way forward was somewhere else.

Zyra glances over to Legolas and says: Don't worry, each step gets us a little closer to sorting this all out... She then head to the other set of door to verify if they are real or another ornament. She take out her picking tools and starts probing the seems of the doors to see if there is a cavity behind this set.

Legolas waits patiently

Zyra crouched before the second "door" and set to work, sliding slender tools along its edges, tapping lightly, listening for hollows. Nothing. No give, no echo—just solid, unyielding stone beneath the illusion of iron-bound oak. Her jaw tensed. Another lie.

But then—something. Not from the door, but along the floor nearby. A whisper of motion caught in the grime: a subtle, irregular smear trailing away from the entrance and curving toward the base of the eastern statue. She narrowed her eyes, following the faint trail and pressed her palm to the polished marble base, feeling the faintest seam. With a careful press, a hidden panel gave way with a soft click.

Stone grated against stone as the panel shifted inward, revealing a narrow stairwell spiraling down into darkness. A faint breath of air wafted up—dry, metallic, hot and tinged with soot and secrets. Zyra looked down the steps and allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk.

There you are

Good job. But. We still don't know who killed our predecessor. Did he leave any footprints on the steps ?

Zyra pulls out a note book and charcoal pencil and starts sketching the room and annotating the mechanism releases and triggers. A value added service for the blacksmith. Can you check the steps while I finish up the notes on this room?

I'm not going there alone Legolas will wait.

Zyra glanced toward the opening, brow knitting slightly. Her eyes lingered on the first few steps, noting the smooth stone surface, untouched by grime or debris. The spiral stair descended into darkness. Too clean. Pristine, even.

Beside the opening, Legolas stood still as stone, gazing down with narrowed eyes. His elven senses also took in every detail—the subtle polish of the stone, the absence of even a single spider thread, the sterile quality of the floor.

Legolas puts bow on back. Ready? he takes his torch and leads the way down stairs. Moving quietly but swiftly.

Zyra allows Legolas to get a small lead then proceeds to follow him further down into the basement...

The stairway winds downward before opening into a large chamber.

The room is rectangular and lined with 6 soot-blackened pillars carved with dwarven runes—some still faintly glowing red as if reluctant to go dark. At the far end stands a wide forge basin of black iron, cracked but intact. Heat no longer rises from the cold forge.

Scattered throughout the space are heavy anvils, bellows half-eaten by mildew, and workbenches littered with things like rusted tongs, hammers, and old crucibles.

Slender metal pipes run from the forge, upward into the stone ceiling, and in one corner, a wide, low shaft gapes—perhaps once used for coal or airflow.

A heavy iron door sits in the southern wall, banded and bolted. Two more doors sit in the north and eastern walls, the last one just besides the forge.

Last but not least, a soft, rhythmic click… click… click echoes from somewhere deeper in the shadows of this room —metallic and precise, like a clock with malicious intent. It’s not the scamper of rats or the groan of wood.

Can you read dwarven runes? I can't. We may need to find some who does. but first he would like to make sure this location is safe.

Legolas concentrate on the sound source trying to figure out where it come from. Given he could see doors by the southern, north and eastern walls he would go west until he could see the wall behind the shadows of this room

ready to retreat if attacked he warn Zyra

Legolas stiffened near the western entrance, eyes narrowing as he focused, body poised like a coiled bowstring. He stood still, measuring the shadows, tracking the clicks. Then, just as suddenly as they had begun—Silence.

A sharp, metallic clang! shattered the stillness. Silver-forged tongs, worth at least 20 dragons, crashed to the floor near one of the workbenches, spinning with a ringing finality before coming to rest.

Nothing else moved.

The silence after the fall was worse than the clicking—expectant, as if something had noticed them and was now waiting and evaluating.

Zyra glances up at the runes. Legolas. We may need someone with a different skill set.

On a hunch, Zyra will step forward and says to the room: You dropped something. Put it back in it's place. wispering to Legolas: Don't touch anything other than the floor and the walls.

Legolas is an expert of that - will see who is more patient.

Click… click… click…

The sound returned, sharper now, more immediate. It came from somewhere behind the forge—then shifted, as if circling. Zyra’s eyes darted toward the movement, but saw nothing. Then, just behind her, the room answered back.

"You… (silence)… Put it back in its place."

Her own voice, hollow and strained, echoed from the shadows. But it wasn’t quite right—the cadence warped, the pause unnatural. A mimicry scraped through metal and stone, as though some unseen thing had recorded her and was trying to speak.

It may looks strange to Zyra - a person from city - as to what's Legoals is doing, but he behave the way he would trying to tame wild animal.
Elf ducks to look smaller and thus less intimidating. He reach out his free arm toward the forge and slowly approach it.

Peace. No harm. Peace no harm he repeats as a mantra.

The clicking faltered.

Then the reply came—not from a single point, but from everywhere. The forge, the pillars, the very runes.

"You… Put it back in its place. No harm. Peace. Don't touch anything other than... Put it back in its place."

The voice was a blend of Zyra’s and Legolas’s now, layered and distorted.

Legolas rise. And talks normally Where is it's place? Is ti event the tongs that needs to go to it's place? he point at the object with a finger.

Click… click… click…

The sound resumed, faster now, more deliberate. As if something was trying to decide what to say but couldn't find the right words.

Zyra continues to observe Legolas and continues to scan the further reaches of the forge.

You don't have much of experience speaking with people, do you? You say yes when you agree with what I say . You Say no when you disagree. I will ask you a question and you have to answer yes or no. Question is: did you understand me?

Zyra and Legolas
The clicking faltered.

"Did you understand me? You… Put it back in its place. No harm. Peace."

Again, a blend of Zyra’s and Legolas’s voices with an added emphasis on the "me" word.

Orryn
The Yawning Portal's most notable feature, a 40-foot-wide well descending 140 feet into the depths of Undermountain, dominated the main room, drawing the eyes and imaginations of all who entered.

As Orryn Fiddlefield stepped through the heavy wooden doors, the familiar scents of ale, roasting meats, and the faint hint of adventure greeted him. The murmur of conversations, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of mugs, filled the air. Behind the bar, Durnan, the inn's stalwart proprietor, polished a tankard with practiced ease.

Legolas considers before explaining Zyra his viewpoint. No idea if this is just a random echo of our voices as it does not seems to answer. I'll try to communicate with body language instead, if not I give up. Maybe you have any idea what to do here.

Legolas approach silver-forged tongs that recently fell on the floor. And slowly extend his arm toward the object and freezes, listening for the change clicking or any other changes....
Elf can't believe whoever dropped the thing on the floor is asking to put it back - either that whoever is testing us if we are to obey their commands, or is just capricious. Now only a curiosity is driving Legolas.

Zyra and Legolas
The clicking had stopped. No grinding of gears, no echoing reply. Just silence. Heavy, deliberate silence. Whether this was a test, a trap, or simply the whim of some long-dead forge-spirit, Legolas couldn’t say. But the air around him felt charged with expectation.

Meanwhile, at the Yawning Portal
Orryn shuffled through the Yawning Portal with the eagerness of a begger scrambling for loose coin, skirting around the sporadic groups that littered the area as he made for the bar. He grabbed a stool for the convenience of height and removed his hat, holding it against his jacket so as to not be read as rude.

"Pardon my askin', Durnan sir. Lookin' for Grusk Ironsunder. By way I hear it, he has put out fer technical help, an' I've a mind to apply. Happen to have seen him around?"

Orryn
Durnan looked up from the mug he was wiping — more out of habit than need — and gave Orryn a glance.

"Over there."

Following the gesture, Orryn’s gaze landed on a broad-shouldered half-orc seated alone near the fire. Grusk Ironsunder looked like he’d been carved from the forge itself — thick arms marred by long-faded burns and fresh nicks alike, forearms bare despite the chill in the stonework around him. His massive hand nursed a tankard with all the gentleness of a man who respected strong drink, not just consumed it. Laid out on the low table before him was a sprawl of parchment blueprints, curled at the edges and weighted by bolts and bits of scrap metal. A half-eaten heel of bread sat forgotten beside them.



Grusk didn’t look up right away. His eyes were fixed on one particular corner of a schematic, brow furrowed in contemplation. Durnan’s voice rumbled just enough to be heard.

"Hasn’t left that spot in near two hours. He is planning something."

Legolas, just go slow and put the tongs up on the workspace but make sure you keep them at arm length, not a hint of you trying to take them for yourself...

Hammering Out A Deal
With a courteous nod, Orryn hopped from the stool, combing a hand through his hair to smooth out any chaotic strands as he approached the distracted half-orc. Hearing the hardy smithmaster blurt out a half mulled thought, Orryn saw his moment to chime in.

"This wouldn't happen to be related to yer smithy issues, would it?"

Hat in hand, he extended his other in greeting.

"Orryn Fiddlefield, fellow craftsman, an' if ye find it worthwhile, a hopeful apprentice! I hear ye've got troubles clearnin' yer shop. Dangerous sorts."

Getting To The Point
Orryn hangs his hat on the back of the chair, slipping his pack off so that he could lean over the table to fully view the sprawled blueprints. As Grusk rumbled into the briefing. Orryn lingered on the details of the study. If Hornrock was keen on note taking. The information alone could be well worth the risk. Those secrets lost to time could make his own craft that much more fine tuned, more practical. Another push towards finding a way forward. That magic need not be leaned on so heavily.

A heavy finger thumped into the prints, snapping Orryn from his reverie as Grusk dragged the pointed tour towards a sub-par section. One more reminiscent of a hastily scrawled treasure map than an official schematic. It was there, in an octagonal room, that the worst of such a job reared it's clickin' head.

"Yes, I hear as well the first sent in to deal with this clickin' contraption did not survive the encounter. A tragedy, but one we might learn from. By yer words, this deep forge must be where that..thing dwells. Ye said this Barundal Hornrock was a master. Do ye know of his works before the disappearance? Was there a theme, or a problem he was striving to solve? Given this dangerous entity may have been created by the man, such insights, if ye have them, could clue us into what we are dealin' with."

can't be do simple... Legolas thinks aloud. Test? Hmmm
He looks around all the workbenches to see if there is any pattern of how tongs are located. There should be the right place to put it. Do you see where? he involves Zyra in deduction.

Let me see...

There, it should go there. Zyra points to an emlty space not far from the tongs on the ground.

Zyra and Legolas
Zyra's gaze drifted across the chamber, scanning the heavy workbenches lined along the sides. Each was cluttered with relics of labor long past—anvils squat and unmoved, bellows sagging with rot, crucibles cracked and dust-choked. Tools lay scattered across their surfaces: rusted tongs with warped grips, hammers worn dull, chisels browned with age. She searched for a pattern, something intentional in the mess. She noticed something strange: of all the scattered and rusted tools, only the silver-forged tongs had fallen to the floor. Everything else, no matter how decayed, remained on the worktops.
With a slight nod to Zyra, Legolas reached down and carefully picked up the silver tongs. They were cool to the touch—oddly so. He turned, moving in slow, measured steps to the empty space Zyra had indicated. Without ceremony, but with precision, he placed the tongs into the empty space on the workbench.

The moment it touched the surface, a subtle click echoed through the forge. Then another. And another.

From across the chamber, the sounds multiplied—click-click... clunk… click. The noise reverberated from the heavy iron door on the southern wall, and then the eastern and northern ones as well. Bolts sliding. Latches disengaging.

The doors were unlocking.

Legolas, let's retreat to the base of the stairs and see what happens. If it is aggressive, we should be able to beat it up to the trap door.

It? What it? Legolas look around for any movement.
I am going to open the doors. elf confidently approaches southern doors. But stops on front of them looking for companion agreement.

Best Laid Plans
Orryn wanted to gather the information first. Seemed a better strategy than to stumble into danger blind. But if the others were already poking around the place, delay could mean the difference between showing up to find allies, or corpses. Besides, there was no promise the added knowledge would be useful. It could wait.

"It's not ideal, but I'd rather we get those two out of danger before spendin' time researchin'. No point in us buyin' knowledge with their blood."

He grabbed his pack off the ground and retrieved his hat. Nodding towards the exit as he finished securing his gear.

"Alright, let's get to work!"

Legolas, something was speaking from the shadows. We still don't know where the speech was coming from. The tongs released mechanisms for sure but we don't know if that just unlocked all the doors or if it just activated a bunch of traps. Let me inspect the Tongs and the work table to see if I can figure out the mechanism or at least the intent of the mechanism. Keep an eye on the shadows for me while I investigate the tongs.

Zyra will look closely at the workspace and the silver tongs to see if it a trap trigger or a trap disconnect or something else.

Legolas hesitated at the heavy southern door, his hand inches from the iron handle as he waited for Zyra’s agreement.

Meanwhile, Zyra examined the silver-forged tongs. She ran her fingers along the tool’s length, checking for pressure plates, unusual grooves, or hidden latches—anything that might suggest the tongs themselves were a trap trigger. Then she turned her attention to the workbench, scanning the wood and stone for recessed switches or release mechanisms.

Nothing.

The tongs were exactly what they appeared to be: a masterfully made and expensive forging tool. No tricks, no obvious enchantments. The space on the bench hadn’t activated a device either—it had merely been clean, waiting.

Zyra straightened, a faint frown on her lips.

This wasn’t about the tongs, she realized. Someone—or something—was watching. It saw what we did. Judged it. And then, somehow, they unlocked the doors.

Dwarf is no goblin. Goblins set them to hurt and delay. Dwarfs to protect. That's what I've red back home. Reality could differ from a book anyway Legolas share his opinion while waiting patiently.

/I agree. Dwarfs would set traps to protect, doesn't mean they are any less lethal. Zyra looks around the room trying to determine if the choice of door will matter...

Legolas,I believe our actions are being judged. Before we decide which door to open first, lets see if the marking on them give us a clue to what lies beyond each.

Zyra points to the doors closest to Legolas and indicates he should look there and then moves to the other doors to see what she can deduce.

I made my decision already. But I lack your expertise. Legolas steps away from the door and patiently wait for Zyra to choose the doors.

Zyra circled the room with deliberate care, her sharp eyes examining each of the three doors in turn. The iron-bound slabs were nearly identical—heavy, reinforced with thick bolts and steel bands, built to withstand time or siege. She ran her fingers along the rims, searching for etched runes, worn reliefs, or telltale discoloration. But there was nothing. No inscriptions. No pictographs. No worn footpath indicating favored use. If the dwarves had marked the way, they had done so in a language of craft too subtle for human—or even elven—eyes to catch.Nearby, Legolas remained still. Moments later, heavy footfalls thudded down the stone steps, followed by a deep voice grumbling with effort. The flame of a lantern came into view, revealing the broad silhouette of Grusk, the blacksmith and rightful owner of the forge. His leather apron still bore streaks of soot, and a hammer stuck out of one of its deep pockets.

Trailing behind him was a much smaller figure—a gnome barely past Zyra’s hip, his cap tattered and patched, his wiry hair dusted in soot. His eyes sparkled with curiosity even as he tripped on the last step and muttered a curse.

"Ah! There you are!" Grusk boomed. "Brought help—this here’s Orryn Fiddlefield, clever with gears, alchemical items, and the like. Zyra, Legolas, meet your reinforcements."

---

Grusk raised a brow at the tight grips on weapons and the way the elf and tiefling stood apart from the doors. "You both look like you’re expecting the forge to eat you. What’s got you spooked? The clicking? Bah. That noise isn't in this room—it’s further down, I’m sure."

But the moment he said it, a click answered from the shadows beyond the forge—soft, deliberate, and unmistakably close.

Grusk froze mid-step.

Sure it was. Legolas smiles and indicate with his relaxed mannerism that there is nothing to be afraid of at the moment Grusk. You came just in time - would you share what's behind each of the doors, please. Zyra is in a process of prioritization.
Orryn, appreciate your support.

Orryn bends his hat at the two, his other hand patting for the assuring edge of his crossbow. Gaze darting between the dark patches of the room.

"Forgive us if we skip further pleasantries. I'm sure we can continue it in relative safety later. Have ye learned anythin' about that clickin' thing?"

If I may. Did you see the "clicker thing"? putting the stress on see and thing obviously suggesting that he is questioning if clicking sound comes from a thing.
I hope you could tell me I'm wrong to believe that this whole place it the thing and he turns to Orryn It has learned about us more than we learned about it.

Greetings Orryn, so far we have managed to by pass the trap above. She hands Orryn her sketch of the entrance to the stairwell which has annotations to the release mechanism and everything else we had found so far. we have been having some distant interactions with whatever is making those sounds... Zyra goes on in details about her speculations (see OCC thread) and then describes the silver tong incident (see above).

We were just now trying to figure out which door led to what when you came down. Gruskjust saved us some time on that effort. But suffice to say, I think we are being observed and what we do will dictate the watchers reaction. I wouldn't try to pocket anything and that's in my nature.

Orryn looked over the annotated sketches as Zyra filled him in on her current speculations along with the peculiar encounter they had with the entity only moments ago. Whatever the thing was, it wasn't simply attacking intruders.

"Hm, so this thing was testing how ye'd react to pricey items. Used yer words as a template to instruct ye as well. If it's a helper, that could explain it's control over the rooms."

He hands the paper back to Zyra and makes his way over to one of the pillars, still faintly glowing with dwarven runes.

"Ever figure out what these mean, Grusk?"

For that matter, did any of these symbols look like ones he had dealt with before?

Grusk shook his head, rubbing his chin. "No, I never figured out what those mean."

Orryn crouched beside the carved pillars, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he studied the ancient markings. "Ah, these are magic runes," he said, voice low and reverent.

He pointed to the first rune, which glowed warmly, like a tiny sun trapped in iron—a swirling spiral of molten orange fire, flickering softly as if holding a spark waiting to burst free. To Orryn, it seemed alive, whispering of heat and fierce energy.

Beside it, the second rune looked sharp and precise, carved in twisting lines that interlocked like tiny gears. Its edges clicked softly, as if echoing the movements of unseen cogs. Orryn imagined it as a secret code written by a master tinkerer—full of promise and sharp wit.

The third rune was etched deep into the stone, shaped like rippling waves frozen in time. Its surface shimmered slightly, carrying the distant echo of voices long past. Orryn felt a faint chill, as if hearing the faint footsteps of forgotten dwarves wandering these halls.

Finally, the last rune crackled faintly with tiny sparks of blue lightning, its jagged lines zigzagging like the erratic dance of a storm. Orryn’s hair prickled with static, as if the rune itself was restless—eager to leap free and race through metal veins.

Orryn relayed what he could to the others. Though his descriptions brimmed with mystical properties and wonder. What they didn't answer, however, was to what ends the runes accomplished.

"Now I'm no expert on magic. But I've been around the block enough to recognize the handiwork of a master. If there was any doubt. We are standin' in the workshop of true talent. Come, if the southern door leads to an alchemy lab. I might be able to determine what sort of experiments were going on before this place ceased production."

He nods to the dark patches where the clicks seemed to originate.

"So long as we are allowed to, of course."

Legolas nods as Grusk share his knowledge and though say nothing his ayes say thanks for sharing, appreciated to blacksmith.

Just as silently Legolas stare at Zyra when Orryn is about to go though the same door Elf was about to enter a moment ago. Was it seventh sense or coincidence - does it even matter? He is sure that's the right thing to do right now, but want to let Zyra take her time.

Grusk, are you staying? It is not safe still. But... If we can't find a way to release the ghost of this place, it might be better you try to befriend it. Legolas suggest to consider all possibilities.

Well whatever that thing is, be it guardian or helper or some other strange manifestation, it invited us to go deeper by unlocking the doors.
Lead on Legolas

After you - Orryn.

The southern door is unlocked. You descend into a large chamber with vaulted ceilings.

The walls here are lined with rusted brackets and shattered glassware—tubing, coils, flasks, and jars all coated in a thin film of crystalline residue.

Two large worktables dominate the space, each strewn with collapsed alchemical rigs and notes scorched beyond recognition.

Metal pipes run along the ceiling, some cracked open with jagged edges. A lingering scent—sharp, bitter, and strangely sweet—still clings to the air.

In the far corner, a lot of rubble has spilled from what looks like a partial cave-in, burying what may have once been a third workstation. Among the debris, the glint of shattered crystal and twisted brass tubing suggests something volatile was crushed beneath. Occasionally, a faint hiss escapes the rubble, followed by a brief flicker of pale blue light that dances like a dying flame before vanishing.

To your left, a rusted cabinet hangs partially ajar, its contents spilled across the floor—shattered vials, dried reagents, and a scorched leather satchel bearing an unfamiliar sigil. Dust motes drift lazily in the filtered light from a grated vent above, casting shifting shadows that almost seem to move with purpose.

A faded symbol has been chalked onto the floor near the center of the room, barely visible beneath a layer of grime.

There is also a heavy door set into the eastern wall, partially obscured by hanging pipes and a collapsed length of ductwork.

Grusk, I won't speak for the others but I'd be happy with some repair work from time to time and maybe a custom weapon down the road.

"My request is longer term. If we secure this place. Take me on as an apprentice. I'll help ye fulfill commissions. Learn what I can from the work, an' if we turn a profit, I'd appreciate a reasonable cut of it."

Orryn steps around the various shattered implements towards the scorched leather satchel, taking a few sniffs of the acrid air to determine if the gases in the room were familiar and more importantly, dangerous.

"If the clickin' thing is some sort of construct. There could be a control mechanism. A phrase, or perhaps some physical item. Heck, might be that unexplored room holds what we need. This is mostly gatherin' information. If the thing attacks us. We just unleash our best at it an' hope it can't withstand for long. I'm confident we will sort this out one way or another."

He stops infront of the satchel, looking about the room's ceiling.

"Mind if I have a look clickin' thing?"

He reaches for the bag, listening for any sudden metallic objection.

Orryn paused, wrinkling his nose as he carefully inhaled the lingering fumes. Bitter. Sweet. There seemed to be nothing dangerous on the worktables, but he hadn’t touched or examined anything yet.

Ignoring those for now, he moved forward, boots crunching softly over bits of shattered vials and powdered glass, and crouched beside the scorched leather satchel. The sigil on its flap—worn and unfamiliar—was marked with a half-moon over a bubbling cauldron, singed at the edges but intact. His fingers hovered over the strap.

All around, silence. No hiss. No click. No whisper of metal limbs in motion.

Legolas takes time to glance over the worktables and fixates on rubble as he tries to illustrate the cave-in process.

It may seem like elf ignored Grusk, but he didn't. Once certain of no immediate dangers Legolas turns to Grusk and explain What's your terms of telling the job is done? What if clearing the place cause the release of that Barundal Hornrock and he claims the place still belongs to him? What's Orryn's reward?

Elf pause to wait for Grusk to process the message he is trying to deliver and then comes closer and whispers: I'm from The Emerald Enclave. If you respect our goals and wouldn't mind to cooperate my cooperation is a free will of mine.
Alternatively I would accept half of the amount you paid last one in advance. 25 that is. he adds in voice.

"Fine by me. Now let's figure this mess out."

Orryn picks up the satchel, running a thumb over the embroidery before opening the flap to check for any discernable contents.

"Something definitely went wrong here. I wonder if this is why Hornrock went missing."

Zyra will explore the heavy door in the easter wall checking to see if it is locked or if there are any traps.

Done and Done Grusk. I'll have a look at this door, while Orryn looks around.

Legolas approaches the partial cave-in. Listening to the occasional hiss he asks Grusk, have you got a shovel and some buckets? There must be something beneath. after some consideration he corrects himself there may be

Zyra approached the eastern door. She crouched beside the corroded iron lock, eyes narrowing as her fingers traced the seams around it. Just to the right, half-hidden beneath grime and rust, she found it—a recessed mechanism built flush into the stone. Unlike the brutal simplicity of most locks, this was subtle, with tiny interlocking panels that clicked faintly when touched. No trap, no wires, just a clever switch that likely controlled the locking mechanism.She could force it open, if she wanted.

Across the chamber, Orryn hunched over the blackened satchel, its charred edges still warm. His thumb traced the scorched crest—half-moon over a bubbling cauldron—then slid the flap open. Inside, fragile vials clinked like ghostly bells, glowing with unstable light. The air shimmered. Energy coiled. Then—

A blue spark snapped from the satchel—lightning made curious—and leapt to a jagged shard of metal on the ruined workbench and then to a pile of red dust.Volatile dust.

---

BOOM.

The chamber detonated.

The workbench vanished in a cyclone of fire and shrapnel. Alchemical flame surged outward in a blinding wave of white-blue heat, rolling like a tidal force across the stone floor. Residual chemicals ignited in a vicious chain reaction—powders, glass, essence—all erupting in a perfect storm.

A second, deeper explosion ripped through the ceiling, bursting ancient pipework apart. Shards of stone and molten iron rained from above.

The room vanished in a choking storm of fire and dust. Everything went white.

End of Act 1