by S. R. Witt
“No burst healing?” Robert asked, hoping Karzic’s abilities included some way to heal a lot of damage all in one shot. Against bosses, that was a tank’s only way to survive.
Karzic shook his head and grimaced, as if self-conscious about the shortcoming. “I’m more of a sustained effort sort of healer. So long as no one takes a big whack of damage all at once, I can shift my healing as needed to keep everyone on their feet.”
Targ raised an eyebrow in Osmark’s direction as if to say, I see a lot of suffering in my future.
Sensing the doubts about his capabilities, the dwarf cleared his throat and pushed on. “I’ve also got Goradrim’s Guarding, a barrier spell that can withstand 500 points of damage before it collapses. While it’s up, hostile mobs have to stay outside the barrier. Attacks from inside the barrier pass through freely.”
“And what happens when your barrier takes 500 points of damage?” Eldred asked, a surly smirk plastered across her pointed features. “Pop, we’re all exposed?”
The dwarf glowered at the Accipiter. “No. When it’s depleted, it takes 50 Health from me and is restored to its full 500 damage capacity.”
“What are its dimensions?” Sandra asked before Robert could pose the question himself.
“It’s a half-dome, about ten feet out and ten feet up in a 180-degree arc in front of me. If need be, I can also form a full circle, though that halves the barrier’s diameter.”
Osmark considered the options available to them and asked a final question of the dwarf. “Can your Stream of Life heal you, or just others?”
“It can heal me, but I can’t do anything else while I’m using it,” Karzic said with a shrug. It is what it is. “And that’s all I’ve got to offer—though I can make a mean omelet if we get the chance to eat.”
That earned a round of chuckles from the rest of the team. Robert waited for them all to quiet down before he laid out their new battle plan. He expected an argument from Eldred or Targ, but the mercenaries all agreed with this assessment of their capabilities and their use in the plan. With that settled, Robert turned his attention to the problem of the deadly mechanical traps set by the Artifactory’s long-dead creators.
Robert reviewed the new ability he’d unlocked in the Overseer skill tree.
<<<>>>
Ability: Micromanage, Unlocked
Your investment in this ability marks you as a true leader of men. When used wisely, the Micromanage ability enables you to command player characters (PC) as well as NPCs.
Ability Type/Level: Racial, Active / Initiate
Cost: Racial Ability, Once a Day per 5 Character Levels (C.L.)
Effect 1: Command friendly PCs in your party or faction to perform any task.
Effect 2: Commanded PCs temporarily gain the Overseer’s mental abilities, skills, and attributes for the given task.
Effect 3: Boost the skill increase rate of the PCs under your command by 5%
Note: This ability can be used to command a PC to perform a single, instantaneous action, such as an attack. PCs so commanded will perform the action to the best of their ability at the instant they are commanded (unless the command specifies a delay or trigger). Once the instantaneous action is completed, the ability’s use ends, and the commanded PC returns to their normal range of actions.
If this ability is used to command a PC to perform an ongoing action, the PC will continue to perform the action until it is completed, or for fifteen minutes, whichever comes first. The Overseer must remain in sight and audible range of the commanded PC or the ability use ends immediately.
PCs with a high enough Intelligence Score can resist your use of this ability.
<<<>>>
He closed the window and explained what he had in mind to Sandra, who raised one eyebrow in a dubious expression Osmark was all too familiar with. “You’re sure this is going to work? It won’t turn me into your zombie slave or something else equally unscrupulous?”
Robert rolled his eyes at Sandra’s hyperbole. “It’s fine, trust me. I used a slightly different version with Horan, and as far as I could tell, there were no ill effects.”
“Horan’s dead,” she replied, voice monotone and unamused.
“But not because of this,” he said. “Besides, it’s the only way we can both find the traps without me taking point directly.”
Targ opened his mouth to protest, but Robert waved him down with one hand and a cutting glare. “My money, my team, my plan. This is how we’re proceeding and I want no more insubordination. Now, let’s get moving, shall we? Time is money.”
The Risi glowered at Osmark, on the verge of saying something, but then thought better of it, shutting his mouth and nodding stoically. A wise decision. In short order, the rest of the group secured their gear and loot and followed Sandra out of the Scavlings’ lair and down a long sloping hallway. Her light floated ahead of her, bathing the metal, pipe-festooned walls in a cold, flat glow.
Osmark and Targ marched side by side ten feet behind Sandra to keep the Micromanage ability in effect while simultaneously providing Robert with protection in the event of an ambush. Eldred and Karzic brought up the rear. This was the weak point in his plan, and they all knew it. The dwarf was sturdy enough to stand up to all but the most overwhelming assault, which would give the rest of them time to rearrange their marching order to deal with a rear attack. Eldred, on the other hand, would fold up if she took any sort of serious damage.
A glass cannon through and through.
Osmark considered it an acceptable risk, though, and no one countermanded him. After all, Eldred had almost microwaved Targ with her summoning. She couldn’t expect everyone to be too concerned about her health and well-being when she obviously didn’t worry herself overmuch with theirs.
Robert’s plan worked to get them deeper into the Artifactory. With Micromanage in effect, Sandra used Osmark’s Clockwork skill to spot and disarm several mechanical triggers before the rest of the party could stumble into a trap. Their progress was slow and tedious, but using the Micromanage ability worked like a charm.
Idly, he wondered how many other extras the game had hidden away…
“Hold up,” Sandra whispered to the rest of the group. “There’s a lot of activity up ahead.”
She killed her light with a whispered word, but the hallway they were walking down hardly grew any dimmer without the glowing rod. Light flooded into the wide passageway from its far end. As the party crept closer to Sandra’s position, they heard the deafening clang of hammers slamming into anvils, and a rhythmic chuffing noise like the breath of a drowsing dragon.
The hallway ended at a metal archway covered in gears, pipes, and ancient rune work. Beyond the arch lay the biggest, most elaborate workshop Osmark had ever seen. On the left side of the room, six enormous foundries glowed like mouths leading into the bowels of hell. Molten metal gushed from each of them in regular intervals, filling a variety of huge molds, which moved along lines of slowly turning metal rollers.
Hulking, humanoid automatons—[Steamwraiths]—covered in bronzed plate and festooned with rivets, gears, and whirling cogs stood on either side of the lines, shaking the parts free as the metal cooled and solidified. The various parts—mostly gears, cogs, bolts, and steel plates—were then sorted by even more of the mechanical men. These automatons inspected the pieces carefully, turning them over in their heavy steel hands, discarding some of the pieces through circular holes in the floor—clearly defective—while passing others along to a second line of metal rollers.
Osmark took a split second to analyze the creature:
<<<>>>
Steamwraith
These animated suits of armor are held together by Brand-Forged sigils and powered by the steam elementals bound within their metal shells. They are physically powerful but have only rudimentary Intelligence. While they can be programmed to carry out specific actions with tireless zeal and inhuman precision, they do not actually think on their own.
<<<>>>
With a muted grunt, he closed out of the screen and turned his attention back to the assembly process. Scavlings worked the second line of rollers, using their segmented legs to manipulate the parts as they trundled by on the crude conveyor belts, picking up each piece and skillfully connecting it to the next item in line. They used either a wrench-like attachment on the tips of their legs or a powerful burst of lightning from between their mandibles—some sort of soldering iron—to accomplish the task.
Osmark couldn’t help but stare in awe: this whole area was an enormous assembly line.
Though the assembly lines were amazing feats of engineering, what was even more interesting to Robert was the activity on the far right-hand side of the room. There, more armored automatons hauled the completed husks over to tall metal benches, where they were once more inspected and sorted. Subpar creations were summarily dropped through holes in the floor, while the rest were passed on to other rolling lines leading into dark holes at the end of the room. Not far from those dark holes lay a staircase connecting to a lower-level hallway.
“That’s where we’re going to have to do our sneaking,” Robert whispered, pointing out the darkened area of the massive chamber near the ends of the lines. “There aren’t a ton of guards down there, and it’s dark enough that we should be able to sneak past.”
Targ growled. “We should just smash our way across. It can’t be more than a couple hundred feet from here to the staircase.”
“There are a couple of hundred armored workers down there,” Eldred snapped. “We can’t fight that many even with my servitors.”
“Eldred’s right,” Osmark said, though he loathed the thought of abandoning all the experience and loot this room could offer. He was peeved, really. These restricted areas were carefully designed to provide the maximum amount of EXP with the easiest possible mobs—yet his dungeon didn’t seem to fit that mold at all. “We’re sneaking through,” he said, “and that’s the end of the discussion. Sandra will take the lead, and I’ll follow behind her. With any luck, we’ll be through here in no time.”
Sandra took a deep breath, dropped into a crouch, and nodded to Robert. “Let’s do it.”
Fortunately, the roar of the foundries’ fires, the screaming hiss of molten metal splashing into molds, and the banging and clanging of the assembly lines’ innumerable moving parts filled the room with such clamor nothing short of an all-out assault would attract much attention. As long as the party didn’t do anything stupid, he thought they’d be all right.
They watched the automatons work the assembly line with rigid precision, then carefully moved from position to position in a ballet as regimented as the rotation of a clock’s hands. Once it became obvious none of the automatons were moving anywhere near the path Robert intended to take, he triggered the Micromanage ability and slipped into Sandra’s thoughts, willing her forward. Slowly, his assistant stole through the foundry, hooking right near a jutting pylon, skirting around a cooling barrel, then heading straight for the stairs as she scanned for clockwork traps.
Once she’d made it through safely and undetected, Robert took point, leading the rest of the crew along the same path until they came to the stairs where Sandra waited. Quickly, they stole forward, their footsteps ringing out on the metal steps as they descended, but the awful racket blended seamlessly into the factory’s pervasive clangor. None of the automatons turned in their direction; they might as well have been invisible.
The stairs connected to a gargantuan hallway studded with pairs of hulking iron support pillars, which, in turn, connected to another section of the assembly plant. More automatons worked there, busy installing complex pipes and steam gauges into the empty robot shells manufactured above. At the far side of that room was a steel door, covered in elegant golden rune work. Osmark had played enough MMORPGs in his days to spot the entrance to a boss’s lair. There was no doubt in his mind.
Sandra took a step forward, but Robert lashed out, one hand digging into her shoulder before she could go any further. They were so close now, yet the defenses in this section had been minimal. Almost nonexistent. An apprehensive paranoia bloomed inside his chest as he scanned the hallway. He just couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something crucial. Clearly, this was the most important part of the Artifactory—the central manufacturing facility—and furthermore, this was the final challenge before the boss.
Yet everything had been … easy. Too easy.
Why weren’t there more defenses? More traps?
He broke the problem down, looking at the points of failure the system might experience, one at a time. He started with the most obvious weak link in any security setup: the wandering mechanical creations.
With so many of the Steamwraiths and Scavlings moving around, there was no way the Brand-Forged could’ve relied on mundane mechanical triggers for the security systems. Not here. Even if they trusted their creations to follow orders precisely and without the slightest deviation, machines were never perfect. A single misstep from a misaligned Scavling’s leg could easily trigger a mechanical trap. The Brand-Forged were too smart for that, which meant whatever security precautions they had in place needed to be foolproof.
There were no workers in the hallway, though, which meant it would be a perfect choke point to catch intruders flatfooted.
“No one move,” Osmark barked, a dark thought creeping through his skull.
If I was a Brand-Forged, how would I protect my assembly lines?
Osmark pulled the goggles down over his eyes and flicked the blue lens into place. He almost fell over in shock at the sheer number of Divine Geometry sigils inscribed into the hallway. Massive circles of glowing blue light covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Arcing branches and intricate designs curled within each of the circles, while flowing lines of arcane patterns—carved by long-dead Mechanical Artificers—powered the assembly room. This hallway was a nexus, providing energy to the plant and standing as a final safeguard against would-be thieves.
The amount of work invested into the passageway was staggering. A wave of awe surged through him, quickly replaced by a twinge of jealousy. Suddenly, a desire to surpass what he saw here burned like an inferno inside his gut. The Brand-Forged had created wonders, but they’d hidden them from the rest of the world. Osmark had bigger plans. With this tech, Eldgard was his to shape. To mold. To rule.
Just as soon as he dealt with Sizemore.
But first, he’d have to escape from the dangers littered throughout this place.
“There are alarm patterns inscribed into the floors, emanating around each of those support pillars,” Osmark said, pointing out the rivet-riddled columns marching down the hallway. “The patterns extend out about five feet in diameter. It’ll take a little doing, but I’m confident I can find us a way through with a little time and patience.” And luck, he thought, though didn’t say.
Once more he slipped into Sandra’s mind via Micromanage, guiding her through the winding maze of glowing lines visible only to him through the blue lens attached to his goggles. Osmark followed in her wake, while the others trailed behind him, clinging to his tracks with surgical precision. It was like playing a game of pantomime telephone, except the slightest misstep would end in death.
Osmark knew he should’ve been afraid, should’ve been nervous, but he wasn’t. He felt alive, as if this was what he’d been meant to do with his life. The rush of adrenaline combined with the threat of imminent destruction inspired him. He hadn’t felt this driven, this desire to achieve, since …
Since he’d learned about the asteroid on its way to wipe out all life on Earth.
He shook away the depressing thoughts and focused on the task at hand—this was his world now.
They snaked between four sets of columns, creeping up to the edge of the assembly floor and the last leg of the deadly journey. From here, they would hook a sharp right, skirt along the perimeter of the room, and cling to the thick shadows until they reached the metal door at the o
ther side. Simple, though far from easy, especially considering more wards peppered the floor in spots. He willed his plan to Sandra, and she instantly padded forward without a hint of hesitation in her steps.
Unfortunately, Karzic hissed a warning from the end of their line a moment later.
Osmark glanced over one shoulder, and his breath caught in his chest. One of the Steamwraiths had moved away from the assembly line and was approaching the dwarf with purposeful, determined strides. It was still several yards away, but it wasn’t changing course. From this close, Robert could see the armored plating was much heavier than he’d originally thought. Its entire surface was carved with glowing sigils, which he intuitively recognized as representations of strength, protection, and power.
Obviously, the steam elementals within were built to brawl.
Sandra desperately gestured for Karzic to move against the factory wall and further into the shadows.
Before anyone could respond, however, the armored worker raised its left hand and pointed directly at Karzic. It made no sound, but its hand glowed an ominous red like a branding iron straight from the fire. Then it abruptly changed direction and walked away from the dwarf and toward a heavy brass bell attached by a cross bar to one of the support structures fifty feet away. Osmark didn’t need to see the sigils connecting the bell to the rest of the factory to know it was an alarm.
If the worker reached it, he’d bring a tsunami of metal crashing down on their heads.
So far, none of the other workers had taken notice, and Robert had to keep it that way if he wanted his party to survive.
Osmark didn’t have time to explain his plan to the rest of his team. He rushed forward, carefully dodging the sigils so painstakingly worked into the floor, and threw a caltrop grenade on the ground just ahead of the armored worker.
The Steamwraith’s lead boot crunched down on the gray steel orb, detonating the grenade in a shower of tiny black spikes and swirling smoke. In any other circumstance, the explosion would’ve roused every mob in the dungeon, but the noise was a drop in the bucket compared to the clang of steel on steel echoing through the room. The black prongs bit into the automaton’s HP, but more importantly punched into the creature’s metal soles, causing the Steamwraith to stumble and falter.
