Act 2. Wards of Flame and Steel

Act 2: Wards of Flame and SteelThe silence that followed the explosion was dense. Then came the coughing. Choked, ragged gasps for air cut through the haze of settling dust and lingering smoke.

Zyra stirred first. Her skin was dusted with ash, and her arms bore fresh scrapes and light burns—but nothing deep. Her ears rang. Her first thought wasn’t pain, but people—she scrambled up to a crouch, eyes darting to find the others.

Next came Orryn, groaning as he pushed a broken beaker off his chest. His cap was singed and crooked, and his cheeks were smeared with black soot.

Legolas rolled to his side, rising with fluid, practiced grace despite the deep bruise blooming across one shoulder. His once-bright cloak was streaked with ash and alchemical residue, and one arm was burned lightly along the forearm. He didn’t speak—his eyes scanned the room for danger. He reached behind him, ensuring his bow was still intact. It was.

Grusk groaned from where he had been thrown back against a half-collapsed pipe. His tunic was blackened, and he was blinking rapidly like someone just punched by a door. "I hate magic bags," he grunted, brushing soot from his arms.

What was that! Is everyone ok?

Orryn choked on the settling dust, trying in vain to rub away the soot with his sleeve, muddying blood across his darkened face.

"An explosion, an' unless the afterlife is dirty and painful. One we survived. Everyone got their limbs? I feel like a horse kicked me."

His ears were ringing, and he very much doubted the wetness in his coat was from a spilled beaker. He needed to assess their situation, and this damn cloud needed to settle.

"Too much to hope we solved the clickin' problem with that stunt?"

He looked around the room, both to find an exit, and figure out what damage the explosion had visited upon the area they were in.

The alchemical worktables were scorched black and warped, their contents utterly consumed by the blast—glass fused into the surface like frozen lightning, copper tubing twisted and melted into grotesque shapes. Scorch marks crawled up the walls like claws. Whatever hadn’t already burned had spilled into smoking heaps of useless sludge.

Orryn turned slowly, eyes tracing the familiar outline of the heavy eastern door—still standing. It had been spared most of the blast. Behind him, he caught sight of the rusted cabinet—some of its contents were now nothing more than slag and char, but the satchel's remains smoldered beside it. He grimaced.

The door leading back to the previous room stood at a slight angle in its frame, scorched but intact.

Then the rubble caught his attention again—part of the collapse had shifted, revealing more of the stone wall behind it.

Legolas, ever alert, stepped carefully over a broken beam. His gaze narrowed. Between the crumbled stones and shattered piping, there—just barely visible in the soot-blackened wall—was the outline of a narrow seam. A secret door, hidden behind what had once been dismissed as structural collapse.

Above them, more pipes groaned under the strain. The explosion had warped several—one dripped a faint iridescent residue; others hissed faintly with escaping gas.

The clicking had stopped—for now.

Orryn makes his way over to Legolas, wincing as he pats the elf for his well spotted find.

"Earnin' yer keep right there! Now we just gotta spot the way in."

He looks about the rubble, moving anything away that wouldn't collapse on top of him.

"See any secret button with that great vision? Hey Zyra, ye sorted the traps above, right? Think ye can find whatever mechanism opens this?"

Buttons? Don't see any. Do you?

Elf comes closer to the doors and ignates his torch blown off by boom.
As he moves the torch around he stops and moves an inch back. Now you can also see flame jumping as if slight air movemen . Legolas takes a silver coin and slides into a tiny gap in the doors and with some efforts and for his great surprise manages to eject a door handle pulling that opens the doors

Look like Legolas beat me to it Orryn. Good work. I found the mechanism for this door as well. Although I have yet to figure out how it works. Let's keep going down the secret path and we can circle back to this door and the other large doors from the adjacent doors after.

Zyra moves to join the other and waves a farewell to Grusk saying: We'll let you know when we have the forge safe.

Orryn nodded with a grin.

"It's impressive to be sure! To take a major knock like that, and still spot something so well hidden! Gotta wonder what was going on down here to be so layered with traps and hidden doors. Only one way to find out, yeah? Let's press on!"

He followed the others as they made their way through the doorway, keeping close as he could to the illumination of the elf's torch.

The hidden door swung open, revealing a chamber far colder than the scorched room behind them. The room was a perfect cube, no more than ten feet across, yet every inch of it was claimed by intricate carvings: runes upon runes, binding circles layered over magical glyphs of sealing and warding.

At the center, a raised stone platform no taller than a barrel. Resting atop it was a small chest—metal-banded and marked with more glowing etchings, its lid magically clean and untouched by dust or time. Hovering just inches above the chest, spinning slowly on its axis, was a crystalline shard. It glowed with a pale azure light, casting reflections like broken stars across the ceiling.

Anyone one familiar with magic warding?

"My specialization is more mechanical than magical, but maybe I can make some sense of it anyway."

Orryn scanned the room, trying to piece together the purpose of the various runes that lined the room's every surface, especially the ones upon the chest.

Orryn you have no idea what the runes are. They are definitely not schematics or blueprints. They don't show gears, flow paths, or locking mechanisms.

Zyra, that crystal’s holding something in—or out. Probably both. No mechanical traps, no physical locks that you can see. This is arcane. Definitely arcane.

I guess Grusk wouldn't be interested in this. Neither am I.
Legolas leaves the magical room and backs to safety before gnome blows up something again.

As Legolas steps out of the small room, Zyra turns to Orryn: The crystal floating above the chest is the key, I just don't know if the chest is keeping something locked up or protecting something inside. how about we loc this room up, continue exploring the rest of the forge. We find some clues as to what's in the chest or what the room is for somewhere else.

Zyra hesitates a little before continuing: On the one hand, there is nothing inherently dangerous about leaving this room as is and mapping it for Grusk would be technically a fulfillment of the contract... On the other hand, I would like to know what's inside.

Orryn picked at his soot caked beard, features tight as he considered the various arcane symbols scattered throughout the chamber. A few moments after Legolas departed. Orryn threw up his hands, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Bah! These damn magics are beyond me! I'm a smith and tinkerer, not some long studied wizard!"

He rubbed hard at his eyes, smearing the collective grim like runny eyeshadow.

"Sorry, the explosion seems to have rattled my patience. I won't deny I'm curious as well, but these symbols could end us faster than we could consider the meaning of regret. We need more information. Something to clue us in to what was going on. If we don't find it here. Grusk told me of someone that might know more about Barundal Hornrock. Could be useful to look into. For now, we can check the other rooms."

He pulled his tattered pack off, retrieving a torch which he ignites with a few grunting strikes. He slings the pack on again and nods towards the doorway.

"I'll hold the light, you spot the traps. Sound good?"

Looking back with longing, Zyra leads the way to the other iron door in the Alchemy Lab. She opens the small hatch, she had found earlier, for the release mechanism. Orryn, here is the mechanism to open this door. I can break it to open it, but I think Grusk will appreciate it, if we can minimize the damage. I didn't see any signs of traps so it should be safe for you to tinker open.

Zyra looks over to their elf companion: Legolas, are you ok if we finish exploring the exits in this room before we move on to the two unexplored doors in the forge?

Sure. Exploring every area is part of the job I believe. Picking and poking magic...
Legolas shrugs. He don't have a strong opinion, just caution

Orryn brushes past Zyra upon request. Leaning close with torch in hand to suss out how the mechanism functioned, and whether he could open it without further damage to the area.

Orryn, you are able to open the door without damaging the mechanism.

---

A wave of heat washes over you as the door opens. The next chamber is compact and circular, no more than thirty feet across, with smooth stone walls reinforced by dark steel ribs. A dim red glow pulses from narrow channels carved into the basalt floor—vein-like grooves that snake inward toward a central pit.

Suspended over that pit by three heavy iron arms is a crucible of what looks like blackened adamantine, no larger than a barrel but very, very heavy. Its surface is scorched and pitted, etched with runes that flicker faintly red, in time with the pulsing floor.The walls are marked with advanced forge-control mechanisms: levers, dials inlaid with dull gemstones, and pressure valves sealed shut.

One small hatch, roughly 2ft by 2ft, lies open in the nearby wall, revealing a crawlspace filled with tubes and calcified heatstone going through the walls, over the ceiling and under the floor.

There are no further doors here. At least, none that you can see from where you are.

Is it the heart of this place? Elf looked astonished. He would suggest to remove it as the last resort only, but it may be the only possibility to turn "clicking spirit" off.

Orryn, you know that heatstones are alchemically treated stones of volcanic glass. When crafted, they provide enough heat to keep chambers warm in the coldest winter. One heatstone keeps a 20-foot-square area comfortably warm even in extreme cold (below –20° F), or a 40-foot-square area in severe cold (between 0° F and –20° F). They can also be used as crafting materials for magic items.

A single heatstone is activated when struck against any hard surface. After this time, it continues to provide heat for anywhere from 24 hours to three years before losing its heat and then calcifying. An active stone does not emit enough heat to cook food or cause harm.

Orryn made his way over to the controls. If he could figure them out. It would clue him into the purpose of the room. So far, they only had a handful of details to go off of. The heart Legolas speculated over could very well be housed in the rune littered chest, but with magic involved, it was not impossible there could be some sort of core in this very room. Further speculation was pointless. For now, he would figure out what he could here, then look elsewhere.

"Might be nothing more than another place of production. I'll figure out what I can here. Have a look around if ye want."

Orryn, with your background in tinkering and crafting, you begin to understand the room’s purpose. This is not just another mundane workspace. The adamantine crucible suspended over the central pit is a marvel.

Given the setup, this forge could be used to:
- Smelt and shape extremely rare or magical materials—things like mithral, adamantite, steel or even magically volatile ores or alloys.
- Bind or contain magical entities, such as a fire elemental, to sustain intense and endless forge heat.
- Craft or repair magical weapons and armor, assuming the right tools and skills are brought to bear.

You also do the math in your head—and it’s staggering. If the crucible is truly made of adamantine, even a modest estimate puts its value at over 60,000 dragons. It could be dismantled and sold for a fortune, although doing so would obviously destroy its function as a forge.

---

The control mechanisms, however, are damaged—corroded valves, seized hinges, a few shattered gem inlays. You can’t safely operate them as-is. But with time, tools, and maybe access to replacement components, you could repair them. Fully restoring this forge would be a serious undertaking—but entirely within your capabilities.

---

Either way, that project can wait until the dungeon is secure and Grusk has authorized and paid you.

For now, you’ve learned: this crucible was designed to craft greatness—or contain an infernal heat.

All this is very impressive and I'm convinced that the old dwarf wasn't a simple blacksmith. I suggest we secure the alchemy lab and the two adjacent rooms and then we continue exploring the two unopened doors in the forge above. I think the clicker won't attack us unless it perceives us as actively thieving or destroying its domain.

Zyra, makes more annotations to her sketch and asks Orryn for details on the crucible room release mechanism and for Legolas to give her details on the secret door release so she can add more notes.

Legolas have made his conclusions about the small room and is not much interested in discussion between Zyra and Orryn
He walks out of alchemy lab and try to open forge's north doors - are they still locked as Grusk experienced it? he wonders, not believing the doors to be locked with a simple keys ... not in this place.

"The value of an apprenticeship here grows by the hour. This place carries extraordinary capabilities. If Grusk puts in the funds and effort, with which I would assist. We could forge more than just fancy daggers, an' nifty trinkets."

Orryn paused in awe. His mind filling with the possibilities such a room alone could contribute to his dreams of grand mechanical creations. With this, new alloys could be forged. Any design, only limited by imagination. They had to clear the place of danger. This was the break he needed.

Zyra's words finally reached him. The elf having left the room once more.

"Er, yes. Let's go. The locked room Grusk mentioned might be important. Or maybe we will find something in the scrap room."

Legolas stepped silently from the scorched remnants of the alchemy lab, his boots leaving no sound as he made his way into the forge chamber once more.He paused before the northern door.

No clang of locks. No resistance.

Unlocked.

He opened it slowly, ears tuned for the smallest betrayal of motion. The hinges gave only the faintest groan—an oddly restrained sound. Beyond stretched a narrow stone corridor, maybe fifteen feet long, ending in another door. The torchlight danced across smooth flagstone. Dustless. Pristine.

Too pristine.

Legolas frowned. The air here was… still. Like nothing had passed this way in decades. No webs. No scraps of parchment. No loose stone grit. Just clean stone. Purposeful silence. A hollow stillness that made his skin twitch and his hand move unconsciously toward his blade. Everything about this space screamed caution. The way it was too clean, the door too easily opened, the air too breathless.

A perfect place for a trap.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and remained still, torch held low and angled forward, casting long shadows across the hallway. He didn’t enter. Not yet.

This is wrong is all elf says.

Legolas takes his shooes off and drop into the corridor. Then throw other few foot further- at a distance of his normal walking steps.

"Wrong? In what way?"

Orryn's light merges with the elf's as he crosses the forge and peers into the prestine hallway.

"Ah, that does seem oddly clean. Like the tongs perhaps?"

Curious, but cautious to the elf's method of testing the pathway. Orryn steps a few paces back. Switching his torch hand as he rubbed at his shoulder.

"Damn that dust. Gonna need to soak my arm for a day after all this. Haven't had an explosion that bad since I first started workin' on propulsion systems. The stains never fully wash out, I'll have ye know."

Legolas pressed himself against the chilly stone frame of the doorway, toes barely touching the corridor’s first flagstone as he tossed his shoe forward in a slow arc. It fell with a soft scuff a few feet further in—right where his stride would normally carry him if he were to walk casually forward.

The reaction was instantaneous.

With a chorus of clicking mechanisms, a row of iron-tipped spikes sprang from hidden slits in the wall directly to his left, stabbing across the corridor in a deadly barrier of metal. The points crossed nearly all the way to the opposing wall, a bristling fence designed to skewer whatever crossed its path.

The shoe remained unharmed, resting safely a stride past the trap’s reach.

as Zyra comes up the stairs, she sees the stabbing blades, thankful both her companions are on the good side of the trap. She continues to cross the forge floor saying: Let me have a look fellas... she then proceeds to search for the trap override.

Zyra knew there were always overrides for these things—a hidden plate, a nearby lever, something designed to let the owner of the forge or a clever person disable the danger safely.

Her gloved hands pressed against the nearby wall, feeling for seams or a pressure plate. Her fingertips fell upon a small, well-wrought stone that seemed just a bit looser than its neighbors...

Instead of deactivating the trap, a hidden nozzle opened in the wall beside her. With a rush of air and a piercing roar, a sheet of flame suddenly blossomed forward, enveloping Zyra in a brief but painful cone of fire.

Zyra shouts out a number of derogatory expletives at the forges designer! Explosions, Impalers, Cleavers and Flame throwers! This Dwarf has some serious trust issues. I got this, give me a moment.

Zyra tries again on the other side of the entrance.

The hart were just child proof, but this ... . Elf is under heavy stress again based on amount of his talking he would normally keep his thought to himself . Soul? No way a house could have a soul. Is it kind of head? Mind? Could be the ...
Watching Zyra at work Legolas turns to Orryn and share his opinion Whatever is protected so carefully may need to remain protected. And looks like Zyra got the best skills for to just turn it off rather than destroy.

Using a small, specialized tool from her belt, Zyra carefully pried away a plate to reveal the mechanisms that powered the wall’s spikes. She pressed a few components aside, disconnected a tiny gear, and wedged it in place. With a satisfying click, the pressure fell from the hidden springs — the spikes were safely disarmed.

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.

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...

On a hunch, Zyra says: Barundal Hornrock, are you in there, were you trying to solve "death" with your construct?

Orryn straightens, tugging at his beard.

"Hm, ye need more words. Otherwise we will be playing the guessin' game all night. A good effort so far though. Now, listen well, as I don't wanna go through this twice."

He cleared his throat and began to go through a long list of commonly used words and phrases. Giving attention to directed language such as 'over here'. The goal was to build up a bank of words that the Clicker could string together for ease of understanding.

"There, that should make this easier. Now, ye mentioned somethin' needing sorted here?"

A grin pulled at the corner of Orryn's mouth. He was no poet, but he would be damned if he let such a heartfelt expression go without reply. He tipped his hat and made his own attempt to craft with words.

"Well now, I thought. With brass, it wrought.
A plea for aid. In words, it played.
So what, I ask. Will be the task?
To end the curse, let us converse.
I give my word. The list and vow.
To help ye skirt this fate somehow."

Certain that Orryn will have ton of questions Legolas will wait. He will only ask - out of curiosity (if not asked already) what was the function of the pedestal.

Leave

Zyra, disbelieving the constructs transformation, watches Legolas turn to go... turns to the construct and says:

Master Hornrock, I can understand your desire to recruit an apprentice to help you lift what has befallen you. But legally, you are not master here anymore. You owe a debt to the other master before taking on a new apprentice. After what you did to the other adventurer, I am not comfortable leaving Orryn here alone with you, and I am no smith. How long before you loose yourself again if we all leave?

Orryn bit at his lip. Wishing he had a pipe to draw on, or a mug of something dark and bitter. He had an idea, but much depended on the agreement of several parties he would need convince. A narrow path to tread, impossibly so if the Clicker did indeed end the lad that came before.

"Not the news anyone wants to hear, but it is true. This place has been considered abandoned for a long time. The city leveraged it's sale to settle debts. We are, helpful to ye or not, hired by the current owner to ensure it safe enough to open."

He held up a placating hand.

"Now, it is possible, depending how we go forward, to form an arrangement. No doubt ye know the state of this place. It needs repairs, an' materials are not without cost. If ye would prefer. Our work could be kept secret. I have lined up apprenticeship here with the current owner. If ye allow the place to produce wares and profit. Over time, I can gather what we need to progress."

He gestured to Zyra.

"The concern is also valid. Losin' yer words we can remedy in the short term, but if there is an uncontrollable side. We would need ensure our efforts do not end in bloodshed and wordless silence once more."

Legolas takes opportunity of the the clicker being busy and quickly move the to check the last room - the storage room based info we have.

Orryn pushed his hat back to scratch at his scalp.

"Shame it had to come to that. I'll not chastise ye further. Were I in yer circumstance, it might have gone down just the same. Besides, ye didn't attack the lot of us since we've come here, an' that lends to yer wish to keep things peaceable."

He looked to Zyra, correcting his hat.

"Well? If there's a deal to make, think we should all go an' meet with Grusk? Or did ye have other concerns to address?"

His gazed drifted to the empty space where Legolas once stood, now vacant.

"Er, where did the elf go off to? Legolas? Ye still around?"

That's moment when Legolas returns.
Master Hornrock I am sorry for what I have to tell yoi but that's the truth. Hornrock the dwarf is dead. Your soul is imprisoned in this metal thing. in the name of all saints you must resist and find way to reunite with your ancestors accepting your fate.

When Legolas left
The construct’s yellow eyes flared softly as Legolas left, its gaze following the elf for a moment before shifting back to Orryn and Zyra. Its brass joints clicked faintly, but its voice remained steady—patched together with Orryn’s speech and the edges of Zyra’s tone—but absent entirely of Legolas's smoother cadence.

"I cannot use his words. He left my sight." The construct gestured faintly toward the doorway with a segmented brass hand. "That is the curse. My voice—borrowed, stitched from the words of those I see. Lose sight, lose the words."

It tapped its temple, the sound ringing metallic and hollow. "The spell… it was meant to protect me. To return what was given—to reflect spells, wounds, attacks." It shook its head, the movement precise, mechanical. "But it twisted… it reflected sounds as well. Now, I give back only words that I hear… and only while I'm with them."

The storage room
Legolas, a sharp, acrid scent floods your nostrils as the door opens, dry and chemical, tinged with rust and something sulfurous. The room ahead is long and low-ceilinged, with shelves carved directly into the stone walls and iron crates stacked in uneven rows.

Cracked jars and shattered vials litter the floor, glinting in your torchlight. Faint labels in Dwarvish script remain on several containers—some legible, others scorched. On the northern wall, a large cabinet hangs slightly ajar, its interior marked with chemical stains and intricate sigils of containment.

Near the door, you also see a pile of gear. A backpack, a metal armor, a long sword and a large pouch full of coins. By the looks of it, it's the previous adventurer's gear.

Master Hornrock, I am willing to get Grusk or at least I agree he can be brought here and the two of you can parlé. Can you answer a few questions for me? Zyra pauses but not quite long enough to allow Hornrock to respond, she forges on with her questions:

What happens to you if Orryn chooses not to stay with you? What will you do if you can lift the curse? If we can help you convince Grusk, will you offer us something in return? Would it be useful for me to come speak with you for a few hours a few times a week to help you keep you mind and language until you can lift the curse? I could also act as a go between you and any kin you have near Waterdeep?She turns to Legolas, Legolas, I respect your beliefs, but I am not prepared to be Judge and Jury on matters of faith. I would never presume to impose my beliefs on another.

It's not about faith it's about ... Elf shakes his head and change topic I will meet Grusk and see if he is willing to negotiate with this. You can keep arguing with the un-dead murder.

Legolas turns around and leaves. Wait - at the doors he stops and not looking back say
Zyra, I believe I've helped you with what you asked me to help. Thanks for involving me. Hope to see you again
This time Legolas leaves the building and is going to find Grusk.

Thank you Legolas, I do hope we meet again... fare thee well, wherever you may fare.

Zyra, hangs her head at the loss of a companion, disappointed in the outcome. She inwardly feels she may have burned a bridge with the Emerald Enclave. That will be a problem for another time. She turns her attention back to Orryn and the construct waiting for some answers.

Orryn shook his head, letting out a tired sigh.

"We ought to go along. If Grusk is upstairs, there's little reason to remain here in the dark. Besides."

He gestured to the doorway where Legolas had departed as soon as he'd arrived.

"Better we speak on behalf of what we have experienced, rather than lettin' one that tosses words like murder about be the representative to our intention."

He turned to Zyra, a frown creasing his face.

"Not that I'm denying a death has occurred, or that I don't wish to aid what remains of the poor lad. But if the events Hornrock laid out are the whole truth, then he is no more a murderer than any of us had we needed to act against an attack."

He looked over at the Clicker, brow raised.

"So long as I'm in sight, ye have words, right? Want to come with?"

I agree Orryn, but I would like to hear answers to my questions before going up, assuming he can leave the basements... pointing at the construct.

"If Orryn chooses not to stay, I’ll speak with whatever words others bring me—visitors, workers, merchants—it’s not ideal, but I’ve endured worse."

His gaze drifted briefly across the chamber, landing on the old tools, the forge, the forgotten alcoves.

"I have no kin left, not that I know of… decades pass, ties break, names fade." His hand brushed faintly over the iron pedestal beside him. "As for the curse… I don’t know if I can lift it without losing everything that’s kept me alive. The protections, the resilience—the immortality of brass and rune. As for helping with Grusk—payment depends on your skill."

His voice turned blunt, practical.

"Payment’s on the table, but within reason. I’ll reward results, not promises. Coin, knowledge, relics—things I can part with, things earned. You make it worth my while, I’ll do the same."

---

Legolas, frustrated and unwilling to argue further, left the underground forge, parting with a cool farewell and heading upstairs to find Grusk. Zyra watched him go, disappointment and regret tightening in her chest, worried she may have strained ties with the Emerald Enclave.

Orryn, practical as ever, suggested they follow, reasoning it better they explain the situation directly to Grusk as well. He reminded Zyra that while death had occurred, if Hornrock's version of events held true, the construct acted in defense, not malice.

Orryn turned to the brass figure.
The construct's yellow eyes pulsed faintly as it answered, its voice cobbled together from snippets of theirs:

"Yes, I've got your words, if I am seeing you. If you go… words go. But if you return… words return. For now, I stay… In my forge, my walls… When you return with Grusk, I speak."Social Conflict
Player's choice: Legolas gives up on this conversation and doesn't care either way

---

Hornrock gives up on his immortal body
Grusk gives up the underground area and Zyra is paid for her help by Hornrock
??? Other goals


Legolas
Legolas quietly ascended the stone stairs, the sound of his soft, careful footsteps vanishing from the party. As he crested the stairwell back into the blacksmith building, the warmth of the room met him—along with the unmistakable scent of roasted meat and fresh bread.

Grusk sat near the anvil, crouched on an overturned crate with a half-eaten slab of salted pork in one hand, the other resting uneasily on the haft of his battleaxe. His armor was strapped on tight, chainmail coiled around his broad frame like a shell of tempered steel. His eyes, sharp and bloodshot, darted toward Legolas the moment he appeared.

The half-orc's jaw clenched as he chewed, shoulders tense, one boot braced as if ready to spring to his feet at the first wrong word. His gaze flicked toward the stairs behind Legolas, as if expecting trouble to follow. The veneer of calm was thin—Grusk was jumpy, wired, ready for a fight that hadn’t yet arrived.

"You're back," Grusk muttered, licking grease from his fingers, though he didn’t loosen his grip on the axe. "What did you find down there… and should I be worried?"

Worried? You decide.
Legolas is stressed, even more than he was when facing deadly traps. He talks a lot and quick. He begins with facts:
Hornrock's body is obviously destroyed
His soul is hosted by a construct, effectively turning him an immortal being
Hornrock killed the previous explorer and took all his belongings including money Grusk paid.

Legolas forgot to mention Hornrock insists he still holds ownership of the stuff, because it is not what bothers him, what bothers him in the immortality.

I promise this information will stay with Emeracl Enclave, but I don't believe you will be able to prevent rumors about key to immortality to exist down there. And believe me - there are humans who will do everything to acquire tht immortality and I mean everything. Should you be worried about having a tasty lunch just above the immortality forge? You decide.
We didn't make this place safer for you. In a way we made it more dangerous. I'm so sorry...

Anyhow, Zyra and Orryn are waiting for you down there. It is safe to go there for now. Hornrock will not kill you unless you try to assume ownership of anything that is down there.


Legolas is happy he never accepted any advance payment for the job simply leaves the building and returns to Melannor to share the dreadful news and seek recreation.

Orryn appeared at the top of the stairs, shielding his eyes as he continued into the well lite room. His stomach grumbled at the scents of lunch meats that lingered in the air, guiding him to the source, and man he was looking for.

"Gods, how long was I down there? I'm practically ravenous!"

As his eyes adjusted, he noted the smithmaster's change in attire, and lack of ease.

"Aww, I'm touched! Ready to go to war then? All that won't be necessary. At least, not to save our hides. The Clicker is not as violent as was assumed. In fact, there's quite a bit to discuss. Did Legolas pass through here? He said he was going to fetch ye, but I figured it best we discuss things up here."

Zyra follows Orryn up the stairs to meet with Grusk. Notices the change in attire and demeanor. Looks like Grusk wants to fight for what's his. Content to allow Orryn to take the lead in the delivery of what we have found so far.