The group materializes with a sharp pop into a inky black space of oppressive darkness and stifling heat. The air hangs heavy around them, thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient rust that coats their tongues with a metallic tang.
Five hisses in a loud whisper, “I can’t see!”
“Me, as well,” mutters Arman.
The group still themselves as they hear the whispered conjuration of Mr C’s Unseen Servant spell. The pop of a vial opening, the glug of oil poured over an item of clothing, the scrape and spark of a tinderbox. A small flame bursts forth from the rough, stone floor.
From somewhere in the unseen depths of this claustrophobic cavern, the party become aware of the distant sounds of banging metal and rattling tools. These echo off shadowy walls, creating a cacophony that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Kiki moves cautiously forward, her footsteps barely audible against the rough stone floor. Suddenly, she freezes mid-stride, her body tensing like a bowstring drawn taut. Before her, illuminated by the meager light filtering through from unknown sources, stand a dozen short, squat creatures. Their grey-red skin glistens with moisture in the dim light, their squat forms unnaturally still, like grotesque statues carved from living flesh. Not a single one stirs, not even to breathe.
Behind her, Reklaw creeps forward with predatory grace, his eyes narrowing as he assesses the motionless figures. He has noted that the figures stand with an unnatural stillness. With fluid precision, he draws a dagger from his belt and sends it spinning through the stagnant air into the midst of the creatures. The blade makes a sharp, metallic clink strikes the far wall—yet nothing happens. No cries of surprise, no movement, no reaction whatsoever greets this intrusion. The eerie stillness persists, broken only by the distant metallic clanging.
Mr. C advances with measured steps, his gaze sweeping the chamber before settling on something to the south. He gestures silently, drawing their attention to a massive form sprawled across the cavern floor. It is an iron golem, once mighty but now supine, its limbs and various mechanical components scattered across the stone like discarded toys. Beside it, a tiny creature—unmistakably a topi—jerks back from deep within a compartment in the golem’s side.
Its beady eyes reflect malevolent awareness of the intruders. As if responding to some unheard signal, two more topi emerge from shadows, their movements sly and predatory. From another chamber beyond, several more of the creatures begin to skip toward the party, their clawed feet scraping against stone.
Kiki acts with decisive speed. She flings their miniaturized tank—currently under a diminution spell—directly onto the chest of the fallen golem. With a snap of arcane energies, she drops her concentration, dismissing the magical effect. The tank, instantly restored to its enormous size, crushes the golem beneath its tremendous weight. Metal screams against metal as the golem’s frame buckles and shatters. The unfortunate topi caught beneath disappears in a spray of viscera. The tank’s metal flanks scrape against the narrow cavern walls, creating a deafening cacophony that reverberates through the space, drowning out even the distant machinery.
Kiki resumes the shrinking spell, and moves toward the crushed golem, the tiny tank now balanced atop what had been its chest.
Meanwhile, Vali’s face hardens into a mask of grim determination. With precise gestures and whispered words of power, he conjures a Cloud of Daggers in the path of an approaching topi. The creature is engulfed in the whirling storm of magical blades. The scene is soon obscured by a mist of green blood surrounding the arcane weapons. The squeals of pain and fear grow faint, then cease.
The artificer moves with practical efficiency, retrieving the tank with practiced hands. His nostrils flare as he detects a change in the air—a warm current carrying the unmistakable acrid scent of brimstone. His eyes light up with recognition. “This way,” he murmurs to his companions, already moving toward the source of the warm breeze. “I believe I’ve found our exit.”
