The party sought refuge in the abandoned smithy, its weathered stone walls offering a semblance of shelter. They had carefully combed through the area for any threats, but found nothing. With a weary exhale, they took a much-needed rest. After a few moments of reprieve, Vincent, Elric, and Chord ventured deeper into the forsaken forge, their footsteps echoing through the cavernous space.
The smithy was eerily silent. Not a sound stirred the air, and there was no sign of life. The shelves and racks that once held tools and weapons were stripped bare. The only remnants of the forge’s glory were a suit of intricately designed armor, proudly clutching a sword, enclosed in a glass display case. Behind it rose a towering cylindrical furnace, its base dug deep into the stone floor and rising up through the ceiling like a silent, forgotten monolith. A stone door, inset with glass, allowed a glimpse into the furnace’s interior, where a fire, impossibly still burning, flickered red hot—an eternal flame that had defied the ravages of time.
As they explored further, Chord’s eyes caught something unusual—toward the back of the room, a stone drain seeped dark, viscous liquid. The black ooze pooled in slow trickles around the drain's edges, glistening like an unnatural stain. His curiosity got the better of him, and he dipped his dagger into the ooze. A sharp, acidic hiss rang out as the liquid began to eat away at the blade, the metal dissolving before his eyes.
Without a moment's hesitation, the party sprang into action. Elric lunged forward, his sword drawn, as Vincent prepared to unleash a spell. The room seemed to shift, and a shadowy shape emerged from the grate, a beast formed of swirling liquid darkness and malice. Its maw gaped open in a silent snarl, and the party’s weapons met its twisting form with a fury born of desperation. They fought valiantly, their strikes breaking the creature’s chaotic shape until it was forced to retreat, slithering back down into the drain with a final, defiant hiss.
Breathing heavily but victorious, the trio turned their attention to the glass case containing the suit of armor. With a practiced flick, Chord picked the lock, and the case clicked open. But the moment he moved to retrieve the armor, the enchanted suit sprang to life, its metal limbs creaking and groaning as it swung the sword it had once held. The armor’s strikes were swift and precise, each one a deadly arc of shining steel. Yet, despite the armor's strength, Elric’s determination proved stronger. The fighter engaged the construct, drawing its attention as Vincent and Chord worked in tandem to disable its enchantments.
It was a brutal clash, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the smithy. Eventually, with the armored figure’s movements stiff, Elric’s sword cleaved through the enchanted joints, bringing the construct to the ground. They took a moment to catch their breath, victorious once more. From the wreckage, they salvaged a longsword and a set of sturdy armor.
As they rifled through the debris, something caught Vincent’s eye—an emaciated mouse, weak and struggling, had managed to crawl in through one of the grates. Its fur was thin and matted, but it still had the spark of life in its eyes. With a soft murmur, Vincent whispered an incantation, and in response, the mouse scurried up his arm to settle on his shoulder. The connection was immediate, and the little creature seemed oddly content, its tiny nose twitching as it nuzzled Vincent’s cheek.
The group’s investigation continued. It became clear that the grey ooze, once free to spread, had consumed everything it touched. The once-pristine workbenches were now barren, with even the iron anvils and tongs stripped away. No trace of metal shavings or any of the forge’s usual remnants could be found. But then, a glint of something caught Chord's attention—on the workbench, a fine, crystalline powder lay scattered, white with a prismatic sheen. It looked almost like sugar, but there was something undeniably magical about it, something otherworldly. Without hesitation, Chord scooped up a bit of the powder, tasting it on his finger.
As a side note: it is, without a doubt, always a gamble to ingest unknown white powders.
The effect was instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, Chord’s body shimmered and began to shift. His form condensed, folding into itself, until he was no longer standing but instead a small, delicate vase, yellow and elegant. From its mouth sprouted a flourishing tendril of Devi’s Ivy, wild and untamed. The magic was wild, chaotic, a reminder of the strange powers this town had harnessed. The mystery of the magic and its origins only deepened.
The group watched as the little vase with its sprig of Ivy lay on the table until finally the halfling’s form returned.
Vincent’s new companion, the mouse, scampered off his shoulder and darted north with startling speed. The party, their minds swirling with questions, continued their exploration. They cleared a nearby house of undead and then moved on to the butcher’s shop, dispatching more of the restless dead. Finally, as they surveyed the city, their eyes fell upon a large encampment of undead, lying in wait, their forms twisted and still.
Realizing they needed a plan, the party made the decision to return to the smithy, now their makeshift sanctuary, to regroup and prepare for the trials ahead. The flame in the furnace, still burning, seemed to offer a faint glimmer of hope in the gloom.
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