by C. M. Carney
Wick wasn’t doing much better. Xeg was gone, but the imp had torn one of the goliath’s eyes from its head. The good news was that losing half its vision was something the machine couldn’t adjust to. It continued to blast away with both arms but rarely came anywhere near Wick. The bad news was that apart from the missing eye and several dents and scratches on the its head, likely from where it punched itself trying to dislodge the imp, the goliath was undamaged. The rotten cherry on top of the crappy situation was that Wick was slowing down. He only had a few scrapes and nicks, most likely from diving and rolling away from the goliath’s attacks, but he was not landing any blows and he looked exhausted. Sooner than later his stamina would bottom out and then the mechanical monster would have him, no matter how slow it was.
“Ovyrm help Tifala, I’ve got Wick’s back.” The xydai nodded and before he turned away Gryph saw a purple halo of energy wrap itself around the adjudicator’s blade.
Gryph ran towards Wick. He spun his spear and powered the weapon up and got Wick’s attention. The gnome dodged another clumsy blow as he looked to Gryph. Gryph twirled his finger in a clockwise manner, hoping the gnome understood his meaning. The gnome nodded and then barely ducked under a saw arm attack.
Gryph watched as the gnome moved clockwise, slowly drawing the goliath after him and exposing its flank to Gryph’s attack. Gryph’s eyes scanned the beast as he ran towards it. The thick metal plating on its back would surely block any attack, but there was a weak spot where the torso met the legs. Thick metal plates hung down from the automaton’s back like the tails of a tuxedo, but as the construct moved it revealed a space between the protective plates.
Gryph thrust his spear into the gap between the thick armor and once again unleashed Penetrating Strike and Impale. It awarded Gryph a Critical Hit and he watched as more than half the automaton’s health dropped in an instant. The thing fell forward onto its knees with a thunderous boom, servos squealing and golden oil flowing from the wound like blood.
The creature was in serious trouble, but not yet down for the count as its arms spun back and down in a motion that no flesh and blood arm could have managed. The goliath’s fist pummeled down onto Gryph’s shoulder and he fell to his knees, almost losing his grip on the spear. He twisted and pushed harder taking more of the creature’s health. Despite that, it got to its feet again.
“I can’t hold it,” Gryph said as it pointed its flame-throwing arm at Wick again. The exhausted gnome slipped in the ever-widening pool of golden oil flowing from the bronze juggernaut, and his head hit the floor hard, dazing him.
Gryph knew he had only seconds before Wick would become a gnome kebab and his brain scrambled for some way to save his friend. Old training came back, and he found clarity. A dozen options flashed through his mind and then he saw the blue glint of the Icon set into the shaft of his spear and he smiled. He pushed the spear deeper under the armor on the automaton’s back, pushing until he felt it pass between the spinning rings of the machine’s dynamo core.
While the goliath did not seem self-aware in the traditional sense, it knew a mortal threat when it had impaled it in the back. Its head spun 180 degrees to look at Gryph with its one malevolent eye. Its mouth opened and then it exhaled a blast of superheated steam into Gryph’s face. Gryph screamed in agony as the skin of his face, neck and arms blistered and his health dropped by a quarter, but he did not let go of his spear, nor did the pain prevent him from unleashing his own attack.
Gryph triggered Yrriel’s Bite as the spear tip pierced the delicate wiring of the glowing dynamo’s core. The Bite didn’t do nearly as much damage as Yrriel’s Maelstrom, but he'd slammed his spear into what he guessed amounted to the mechanical beast’s brain. The goliath shook and spasmed under the electrical assault looking for all the world like a gigantic bronze man being tased.
The goliath wasn’t dead, but the shock to its central core seemed to have stunned it. Gryph just hoped it wouldn’t recover before the ten-second cooldown on the weapon’s ability passed.
He looked up to see Wick double fisting a health and a stamina potion. “Go help the others. I’ve got this,” Gryph told him and the rejuvenated gnome nodded and rushed towards his fellows. Below him, the goliath stirred as its core rebooted. It shuddered as it tried to get up, but Gryph thrust the spear deeper, spearing the construct like a worm on a fishhook. His heartbeat mirrored the cooldown clock, and when it thumped to zero, he sent another surge of electricity into the monster. It took nearly a minute, but the method finally spelled the goliath’s doom. He heard a sound like the power down cycle of an ancient desktop computer and the core went dark. The goliath was defeated.
He turned towards the others just in time to see the goliath Myrthendir was battling fall to its knees. Smoke and steam poured from cracks in its armor and a metal-on-metal grinding rumbled through the room as it struggled to stand. The Prince Regent held his energy mace in both hands and took a home run quality swing. The phantom spikes of the glowing sphere of energy crunched the automaton’s neck and tore its head from its shoulders. The head bounced across the floor as the red light of life illuminating its ruby eyes faded and died. Steam gushed from the beast’s neck and then the body fell forward and hit the ground with a tremendous crash.
The others were faring just as well and Gryph took a much-needed breather as he watched. Tifala had cast another vine based spell and had the machine’s left arm tangled. Some kind of crimson colored bands erupted from Wick’s hands and wrapped themselves around the dwarven war machine’s right arm looking for all the world like a massive, glowing Christmas ribbon. Tifala yelled and both gnomes magically tugged on the bonds, stretching the goliath’s arms wide and giving Ovyrm a clear line of attack.
In a last desperate move, the goliath sent a cone of superheated steam at Ovyrm, but he dodged it by sliding to his knees and spinning by the attack. With a focused yell reminiscent of a martial arts master channeling chi, Ovyrm swung the blade of his saber in an arc. The deep red metal of the blade pulsed with a corona of pure blue mana and Ovyrm’s blow sliced into and through the wire muscled neck of the goliath. Its head thunked to the floor, and it slumped over, looking to Gryph like a giant crucified knight. Tifala and Wick released their binding spells and the metal hulk fell forward with a boom.
The group relaxed, exhausted from the battle.
“Well that was fun,” Wick said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as furiously as the sweat from his brow.
“Yes, it was invigorating,” the Prince Regent said, missing, or perhaps ignoring, the tone of Wick’s comment. “But fear not my friends, this battle was easy. Hopefully, the next foes we face will provide a more difficult challenge.”
Wick looked at the tall elf in disbelief and alarm. “Easy? I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” Wick muttered under his breath. A moment later Xeg ported onto Tifala’s shoulder, still clutching the goliath’s ruby eye. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Xeg stare at shiny pretty,” the imp said as if it explained anything.
“You left us, you little bastard,” Wick growled.
“Xeg no little. Xeg not bastard. Xeg know both moms and both dads.”
Wick scowled and looked at Gryph. “Don’t look at me man, I have zero desire to learn about the mating customs of demons.”
“Xeg no have customs. Xeg just do what want do, when want do.”
“How do you even…?” Wick started, finding his eyes drawn to the imp’s blank crotch. He quickly regretted it. “No, never mind. I do not want to know.”
The fellowship came together, trying desperately to push the images of imp mating out of their minds. Tifala healed their wounds, and Gryph nodded thanks as her soothing magic healed the blistered burns on his face, arms and neck. While most of them were exhausted and ragged, Myrthendir seemed positively energized. Gryph had known men like him back on Earth. Adrenaline junkies who loved action. A trickle of concern bubbled inside Gryph. Some of those men also got a charge
out of killing, Gryph thought. Let’s hope this Prince is not one of them.
While Tifala tended to Ovyrm’s wounds, Wick used Harvest to loot the bodies of the fallen automatons. After Myrthendir confirmed that the goliath would regenerate if their dynamo cores were left intact, Gryph enthusiastically joined him.
Wick was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, and soon they had quite the pile of loot. Wick agreed to let Gryph store it in exchange for the promise, that when the time came, they’d both get to play with their collection.
You have found Large Imbued Ruby (x7).
Thalmiir artifice has changed these gemstones into imbued rubies.
You suspect that it could be used to create a Potion of Far Sight.
You also get a sense that it could be used to craft various automatons.
You have found Thalmiir Oil (x40).
This valuable ingredient has many uses in both Alchemy and Crafting.
You suspect that it could be used to create a Potion of Quick Movement and other unidentified effects.
You also get a sense that it could be used to craft various automatons.
You have found Thalmiir Dynamo Core Level III (x2).
This mechanical device is the heart and the brain of a Thalmiir Goliath.
You suspect that it can be used to craft various automatons.
You have found Broken Thalmiir Dynamo Core Level III (x2).
This mechanical device is the heart and the brain of a Thalmiir Goliath.
You suspect that it can be used to craft various automatons.
NOTE: This Dynamo core is broken.
Gryph had yet to try his hand at Alchemy or Crafting, what with being under attack since the moment he’d arrived in the Realms. He promised himself that once he got through this, if he did, he would try his hand at both. And by the time I get the chance I’ll be stocked up on awesome stuff. Who knew corpse robbing and looting could be so fun and profitable?
19
Hands never meant for such delicate work gently pried open the metal carapace of the spider-like automaton. Blunt tipped nails protected the tips of three fingers the color of unbaked bread. The fingers were thick and powerful, better suited to holding a weapon than the thin tool they eased into the tiny gears and mechanisms inside the body of the six-legged construct. The machine shuddered as if it felt fear.
“Be calm,” said a voice that was clinical, yet held traces of warmth. “You will be improved.”
The thin metal tool parted a series of metallic wires and exposed the small glowing core. “Easy, little one,” the voice cooed, and the rings spinning about the glowing core slowed and then settled, giving unfettered access to the device that was both heart and brain.
The adventurers who had just defeated the four goliaths at the city’s entrance would have noticed a similarity to the more massive cores that powered those automatons. While those were the bright red of fresh blood, the surface of this smaller one swam with currents of deep crimson.
The three-fingered hand eased the tool under the glowing core and with a low click, it detached from the housing. The hand lifted the core as gently as a heart surgeon and examined it with a set of piercing black eyes. The face was plain, but curious. Two eyes sat in a flat face that had no nose and a thin slit of a mouth. The skin was the same color as the hands, a pale white almost yellow, that bore no blemishes of variation. A wide grin split the man’s face.
He was called Errat. He was hairless and his features were bland. He held the core close to his face, and the irises seemed to flick open and closed like the lens of a camera. The hand holding the core pulsed with a bright green light. A low hum built up in the man’s throat becoming an oddly melodious refrain as he slowly eased the magical energy into the core. If there had been anyone nearby to observe the delicate procedure, they would have said that he seemed unaware of the hypnotic nature of his song.
The dominant red glow of the core resisted the influx of energy for just a moment before drawing it in like a dry sponge sucking up water. The bright green seemed to chase the deep red light, forcing it deeper into the core where it disappeared, leaving the core a shining emerald.
A crooked smile crossed Errat’s face. It was an uncomfortable grin as if he had no experience with the facial expression, or perhaps, like the melodic humming, was unaware that he was doing it. He eased the core back into the housing and snapped it back into place. “See, much better.”
In response the rings spun around the core once more, moving faster and faster giving the shimmering core a mirage-like quality. He then snapped the outer armored shell back in place and lifted the mechanical arachnid down to the floor. It flexed and stretched each limb a few times, like a newborn testing its stability. After a moment it shook, and a whistle came from somewhere underneath its body.
“You’re welcome,” Errat said, his lips parting once more in a quirky smile. “Now go fix your sister.”
The construct shuddered and then walked with precise, timed motions to another one of its kind. This construct was broken and twisted, limbs bent and askew. The altered arachnid walked up and slowly, almost hesitantly, extended one of its forelegs to touch its damaged sibling.
A whirring noise rose from within and emerald light flowed like molten steel down thin grooves set along the length of the spidery leg. The energy flowed into the damaged construct and the metal morphed as if it were healing. Bent appendages became straight and wires and joints returned to sockets. The light grew in intensity and would have blinded most mortals, but the man with the black eyes just stared and smiled.
Soon the light faded, and the damaged arachnid hopped up and walked towards a small opening in the wall. It entered and disappeared ready to return to duty. Errat swiveled on the stone bench and patted his leg. The altered arachnid leapt from the ground and landed in the man’s lap. Errat scratched its body as if it were a house cat and the automaton cooed again.
The man closed his liquid black eyes and exhaled, satisfied at a job well done. His world felt whole once more. Then everything changed.
It started with a low stone on stone grating and grew quickly to the rumble of an earthquake. Tools and bits of deconstructed automatons jumped and vibrated on the stone table in front of him. Errat’s eyes snapped open and the deep black swirled inside them like oil. Perhaps unhappy with the exposure to light, the blackness retreated deep into the man’s irises.
Errat pushed the stone block he’d been using as a chair backwards with incredible ease and placed his hands on the even larger slab of stone that was his work desk and stood. The vibrations pulsed through his hands causing his eyes to widen further. “The city is awakening.” He said aloud, perhaps to himself, perhaps to one automaton that scuttled near his feet. His tone held notes of anticipation mixed with surprise and a wink of fear.
Errat wore no clothes which made it clear that in fact, he was not a man at all. Where genitalia would have been on all other bipedal sentient beings, this ‘man’ had a featureless blank area. His body type was otherwise male. He was tall, packed with lean athletic muscle and was completely hairless. It was as if an overly modest sculptor had made the perfect male form bereft of any sexuality.
He seemed neither aware nor self-conscious of his nakedness. The chill in the air also didn’t seem to bother him at all. He scowled as bits of dislodged dust cascaded from high above, covering his work desk like dusty gray snow. After a few moments, the deep rumble ceased, and the city settled back to silence once more.
The man looked down at the automaton he had been working on. “Let’s go say hello.”
The small machine chirped and followed Errat as he exited the laboratory through a stone archway. He moved down a long hallway illuminated by glowing globes embedded in the walls. Every dozen feet a small aperture on the wall opened and deposited several of the arachnid automatons onto the floor. They would flex and unfurl their legs and fall in line behind Errat. Several minutes later a small army of the skittering machines followed
in the odd man’s silent footsteps. The hundreds of metallic feet of his companions created a wave of metal on stone clacking.
After several minutes they reached a large gallery. The roof was a hundred feet or more above the man’s head, supported by large buttresses of metal and stone. At the far end of the room, a massive set of gilded doors lay closed, barred by massive bolts and cross braces. Like nearly everything else in the ancient city, the doors were polished and free of grime and dirt.
