Act 2. Wards of Flame and Steel

A Helping Hand
Orryn accepts Zyra's assistance. Dusting himself off before reclaiming his hat.

"Apology accepted. I'm not wantin' to end up drained an' dead on the doorway like the first lad either. From what ye figured out, that journal hints at the major work going on here. If we could get it translated. Maybe we can learn how to undo whatever was done. Startin' to think that clicker was the product."

Legolas hushed them, warning of a possible presence. He wanted to test a theory, but if it proved true. They could wind up in the very state that worried them.

Orryn pulls a capsule shaped chunk of metal from his pack, nodding for Zyra to brave the suggested experiment.

"Think this thing relies on sight? This can produce a large quantity of smoke for a getaway should we need it."

This Is It
Orryn prepares to use the capsule-like device as Zyra works her way around the chest. As the chest's contents are laid bare. Orryn looks back at Legolas, his brow raised in question as he listens to try and hear any incoming dangers.

Legolas shows thumbs-up to Zyra's workmanship: as a matter of fact she did more than he expected. It is waiting for us, don't want to be a rude guest
Legolas pressed pressure-latched stone panel with a desire to proceed into the proceed into the chamber behind the tapestry.

The stone panel gives way with a low, grinding sigh, revealing a narrow, rectangular chamber cloaked in stale warmth and shadow. The space is no more than ten feet across—tight and low, as if carved more for containment than comfort.

The walls are lined with dozens of shallow alcoves, each about the size of a hand or a small drawer. Some are empty. Others hold the brittle remnants of unknown tools, scorched fragments of parchment, or nothing at all but a faint chemical scent. They resemble storage for delicate components, or maybe resting places for finished creations long removed.

At the center of the room rises an iron pedestal, its surface worked with fine etchings and inlaid script dulled by time. Burn marks stain its top, as if something had been placed—or born—there in flame. The stone around it bears the faintest circular grooves, worn in patterns that suggest weight and repetition.

Then—click. hiss. tap.

Orryn heard and Legolas saw it.

Just ahead of the pedestal, something moves.

It darts low and fast, no bigger than a housecat, but unnaturally fluid. Its body is a delicate construction of brass and blackened steel, limbs jointed like a mantis, tail trailing a flicker of blue light. It whirs softly with every motion. A machine, yes—but looking like an animal and alive in some subtle, predatory way.



Before you get a clear look, it slips behind the pedestal, vanishing like it had expected your gaze.

Orryn signalled Zyra to possible danger as he edged into the room beside Legolas. Arms and hands spread as well he could with torch and device held tight.

"Peace, if ye can give it. We've no need for violence, but offer it in kind. Can ye understand us?"

From what bits Zyra could pull from the journal. These entities could be trapped in mechanical shells. Victims of cruel meddling. But that didn't make them any less dangerous. He attempted to keep himself ready to act against a sudden attack, but reduce his presence. Seem less a threat. How does one calm a machine?

Gone. Too quick Legolas knows little to nothing about constructs, but he knows much about cats and this thing behavior reminds cat's.
unless it "eats" something it will take a lot of time to tame. But Orryn was to stay with blacksmith anyway... Cat will not attack two of them

Legolas moves around the pedestal expecting to see an empty hole.

Legolas rounds the pedestal with silent, measured steps, expecting nothing more than another empty recess or a mechanical shadow. But crouched low, pressed almost flat against the far side of the pedestal's base, is the creature.

It is small, sleek, its brass plating etched with hair-thin script, eyes like twin yellow pinpricks glowing faint in the low light. Its form is vaguely insectoid—lithe limbs, delicate jointwork, a serpentine tail coiled tight—but its posture is unmistakably intelligent. It knows it's been seen.



And then, it speaks.

The voice is flawless, eerily perfect, stolen from familiar moments: "This place has got me on edge. This Dwarf has some serious trust issues." — Zyra's voice, clipped.

The creature's head tilts, gears ticking, lenses adjusting. Click-click.

Then, in the measured calm of Legolas's own voice:
"Whatever is protected so carefully may need to remain protected."

The thing doesn't advance. It doesn't attack. But it doesn't retreat either. Its metal tail curls tighter, claws flexing against the stone, ready—but uncertain.

Zyra, hearing Orryn's warning of possible danger, replaces the items from the chest but leaves it open. She quietly slides her short spear out from it's well oiled sheath on her back and slowly approaches the other room. She holds the spear vertically and is held loosely in an unthreatening manor.

As she enters the room, she sees Legolas has moved around a central pedestal and is looking at something on the ground but she can not as yet see what it might be. She then hears her voice and that or Legolas spoken from beyond the pedestal. The phrases we have spoken earlier but the context not quite in line with the situation. She askes to no one inpaticular:

What have we got, gentlemen?

Orryn slowly mirrored the elf's approach, keeping low with measured steps. At Zyra's inquiry, he flicks a glance toward her, unwilling to fully disengage sight of the intricate entity.

"Possibly one of, if not the thing we've been callin' clicker."

His jaw hung open as he took in the thing's intricacies. If such a thing was forged, it shifted with ease. Alloy possessed of grace and intelligence. If the thing was trapped in a vessel, it was of the most sophisticated he'd beheld.

"Be at ease. I am Orryn, the tall ones are Legolas and Zyra. We are hired hands ensuring the safety of this workshop. Who, and perhaps what, are ye? Do ye need help?"

Legolas nods in agreement with Orryn. He add laconic
we want forge to work again. in voice

Orryn felt enough ease at the lack of mauling and or fluid draining to put away his device. The Clicker warned them to leave the journal, yet also hinted at getting it translated. Was it implying escalation would be involuntary?

"We would need to fetch one studied in dwarvish to come down. Are ye forced to prevent theft? There was another that came down here. Didn't make it out alive. Was that yer doin? Are there more like ye here?"

Parrot... based on his tone Elf is skeptical about Orryn's effort. He will wait thoughfor Legolas it does not make sense for creature to be intelligent enough to understand, think and remember but not have ability to talk or use at least simple words: yes, not, good, bad... Until he is proven wrong he is treating creature as a parrot randomly or semi-randomly at best repeating what he have header.

Zyra shift slightly so she can see the construct and is amazed at the creation. She squats down and sits, small spear across her lap and watches as Orryn continues his talk with the construct...