Act 2. Wards of Flame and Steel

Orryn continued to nurse his arm as Zyra and Legolas worked to reveal and disable the traps, wincing as a particularly bright gout of flame caught the tiefling by surprise.

"Oof, that one will sting for a tenday. Shame the lab is so old, an'..well..blown up. I could have whipped up a salve for burns. There's actually an extract from a local plant that does the trick too. When concentrated it does a bit more than soo–."

He stops his lecture, shaking his head.

"Er, ye don't need all that. Not useful right now anyways."

He approached the group with hesitation, eyeing the hall as well as the exposed mechanism before patting Zyra on a less scorched section of her side.

"If ye need a moment, we can always inform Ironsunder and go get ye to some proper care. Still got no idea what sort of things all these traps are warding for. Might be like Legolas says. This clicker could be further in. Will ye be alright pressin' on? No judgment here."

Legolas stand still, now calm and relaxed as he sees traps disabled.

A few singed hairs, i should be goof for a little more exploring.

Zira will temporarily disable the fire flame trap then proceed cautiously down the open shinny corridor...

The iron door opens onto a short flight of worn stone stairs, leading downward into a smaller chamber hewn directly from the rock. This room feels warmer, more intimate—an inviting contrast to the cold, abandoned, old forge behind you.

Against the far wall rests a low-slung stone bed, its frame darkened by soot but sturdy and unyielding. In the corner, a compact hearth sits cold and ash-filled, long unused. Beneath your feet lies a brittle fur rug, cracked and faded with age.

Beside the bed stands a stone chest, its lid secured by a lock plate. A narrow stone shelf nearby holds a handful of books, their pages worn and old.

Above the bed, a polished warhammer gleams faintly in the flickering torchlight.

To the north, a large tapestry hangs from a wrought iron rod, its once-vibrant threads now softened and faded. The tapestry depicts a fierce dwarven battle against a horde of orcs—warriors locked in grim struggle, axes raised and shields shattered. Though muted by time, the artistry endures, the detailed embroidery revealing the pride and valor of the dwarf who once wove this storied scene.

---

You’ve been descending into these dark depths for quite some time now. The blackness pressed in from all directions — without a flame, you’d be blind down here.

Whoever has a torch currently lit, please roll 1d6 to consume it as you light a new one. On a 1, it means you’re lighting your last torch, and you’ll need to resupply once you resurface — or if you venture this deep again for another stretch of time.

Before They Pressed On
Orryn smiled in tight, uneasy acceptance. He'd have preferred a moment away from the trap infested workshop. Get wounds wrapped, maybe visit Theryssa Valemir for more information. But Zyra assured that she was fit enough to continue, and though Legolas said nothing. His posture eased in declaration of renewed confidence. They were ready.

"Well then, a little more it is. If ye change yer mind, an' somethin' nasty is coming our way. I got just the thing to obscure our retreat. For now, I'll stick close an' keep the torch high."

At Descents End
Orryn struck up another torch as the dying embers spelled the finality of his stock. This one needed to last, had to.

He approached the collection of books, laying one on the stone bed to peruse it's contents with care.

"Too much to hope he uses common, ye think? Might be useful stuff in these tomes."

Orryn, the books are written in Dwarvish and deal mainly with metallurgy, alchemy, and the forging of constructs and magical runes. Among them, you have found a Journal.

Orryn flipped through the textbooks. His hopes dashed as he turned page after page of dwarvish writings. The general topics he could gleam from the various diagrams and annotations that utilized universal terms. These were notes he would want translated for study another time.

Curiosity pushed him on. He reshelved the other books, making room for the journal. A task likely beyond his abiltiies, yet that would not stop his trying. Perhaps there would be things besides dwarvish he could elaborate from.

"Wouldn't happen to know anyone that reads dwarvish?"

He asked the others as he opened to the first page.

I don't but let me have a look, Maybe i can get the gist from some of the headers...

Orcs fighting dwarfs, really? Legolas looks at the tapestry . You noticed Grusk is a half orc didn't you? trying to notice anything besides the obvious pride and valor depicted. Or it's positioning - can it be hiding a secret compartment behind it? He is also looking below the bed.

Zyra, as you flip through the dwarvish journal, the text itself remains frustratingly opaque—you don’t read the language—but you begin to pick up on patterns. While the bulk of the writing is inaccessible, a few things stand out based on layout, context, and recognizable terms.

You notice diagrams of alchemical symbols and what appear to be supply chains. A particular term is repeated alongside drawings of shattered containers and jagged lines—likely explosions. And then a name catches your eye: Skullport. It’s written in bold script, underlined, and clearly meant to draw attention. That name is infamous enough to transcend language barriers, and it appears several times in what seems to be a warning or notation about sourcing volatile reagents and strange dusts from there.

A few pages later, you come across another section filled with ornate margin illustrations—swirls, runes, what might be magical circles. Though you can’t read the sentences, you pick out a consistent phrase structure surrounding a crude sketch of the adamantine crucible you just saw in the forge. Whatever this dwarf was experimenting with, the journal makes repeated reference to elemental spirits being trapped or bound within that crucible. The tone, as far as you can tell from context and formatting, shifts toward caution… but also ambition. There are indicators this dwarf was planning to use those trapped forces, likely in some form of magical or industrial process.

You don't get the full story, but the gist is clear enough: unstable reagents from Skullport, elemental spirits bound in an adamantine crucible, and someone with enough ambition—or desperation—to try and harness both.

Now, years later, it doesn't seem like it ended well.

---

Meanwhile, Legolas fingers traced along the edges of the tapestry, tugging gently at its corners, testing how it hung. As he peeled it back from the wall, a subtle seam revealed itself—an outline in the stone behind. He stepped back, then pressed along the edge until something gave with a muted click.

The tapestry swung just enough for him to see behind it: a narrow stone doorway, sealed shut by a pressure-latched stone panel. He crouched lower, gaze flicking across the edges of the frame—and then he heard it.

Click. Click-click.

Soft and deliberate, the sound echoed faintly through the chamber. Legolas froze, listening. The sound was not behind the panel, nor from the other room. It was beneath them. Just beneath the floor.

Look Legolas whispers to attract companion attention and points at the narrow stone doorway (the one sealed shut by a pressure-latched stone panel).

He gets prone on the floor and put his ear to the floor trying to hear anything besides the clicking.

"What? Another secret entryway?"

Orryn separated from Zyra, who seemed to be pulling more from the journal than he could. It dug at his ego. All his technical knowledge, worthless in the face if a language barrier. The sudden find from Legolas was a welcome distraction.

He stood over the prone elf, peering at the seams while folding the tapestry back to reveal more.

"Secret upon secret. Why hide this work?"

It was then that his attention went back to Legolas with his ear pressed firm to the ground.

"Ye hear something? Another trap?"

Zyra, deep in concentration speaks aloud at the revelations she uncovers.

Orryn, is this making any sense to you? She pauses, notices neither of her companions is in her peripheral vision. A sudden spike of panic, did Orryn and Legolas fall down a trap she missed...

ORRYN, LEGOLAS! she shouts, then spins to sees them near enough, the tapestry pulled aside and Orryn standing over Legolas who has his ear to the ground. She follows up her shout with a grimace and a whisper: What's going on?

Legolas had lowered himself to the cold stone floor, pressing his ear flat against it. The surface carried no vibrations or movement beyond the rhythmic click… click… click. As he concentrated, the pattern shifted subtly, the sound drawing away beneath him and toward the newly revealed room. Whatever was below, it was moving—passing beneath them—and into the previously hidden chamber.

Orryn jumps at Zyra's shout, stumbling over the elf's body as he loses his footing and crashes onto the floor. He gasps and clutches at his side, his face tight from the sudden stabbing pain.

"Gods Zyra! We barely moved a few feet away! Why would ye shout? I nearly drenched my britches!"

I am so sorry, I was so focused on the journal I lost track and you were both so quiet, I thought I had missed a trap and you both had somehow fallen victims of it. She moves over to help Orryn up. Legolas, are you alright?

Zyra takes more careful stock of the surroundings, sees the tapestry has been slightly drawn back and the new secret door that lies behind...

Good work, finding that. she says to know one in particular as she is unaware of which of her companions found it. This place has got me on edge. Maybe once we have this room sorted, we can head back up, rest, see if we can track down Orryn's lead for more information.

I'm tempted to bring the journal but until we figure out the clicker, taking it might escalate it's behavior towards us.

Hush Legolas say and rise a hand. Waits a moment and whispers: I think I hear the clicker move. Just moved away. Would anyone risk interacting with chest, but be ready to stop on my notice. I will let you know If I hear it returning

Zyra quiets and turns to the chest following Legolas' instructions. She moves over to the chest and inspects the vessel seeking any more tricksy mechanisms that might cause more bodily harm...

Zyra, you move silently across the chamber to the stone chest, every muscle coiled with caution after the forge’s earlier lessons in explosive humility. The lockplate is old but well-crafted, and as you begin your inspection, your trained eyes catch the telltale signs of a hidden mechanism. A fine tension wire runs just beneath the lid, connected to a mechanical latch inside. Following it, you spot the real danger—a faintly glowing arcane rune etched into the inner rim of the chest, primed to discharge if the latch moves the wrong way. It’s a clever trap: mechanical in trigger, magical in punishment.

You work quickly but carefully and the trap disengages.

You have also successfully bypassed the lock. Inside, you find a signet ring bearing a stylized hammer encircled by flame—clearly the forge-master’s clan crest, likely of great value to the right historian or collector. There is also a pouch of 15 platinum pieces, bundled in a bit of soot-stained linen, and a thick red magic potion, swirling sluggishly in a squat, faceted vial.

---

Legolas, meanwhile, you remain by the tapestry. As Zyra works, your focus is on the floor and the clicking noise. At first, the chamber is silent but for the subtle shifting of your allies. Then—you hear it. Click… click… click… The sound is fainter than before but clearly moving. It’s not beneath the floor anymore—it’s in the adjacent room, the chamber behind the tapestry.