The southern building, from all appearances peeking through tiny slits in window blinds, is an office of some sort, likely the garrison's admin building. As Shiaran goes for the door handle, there's ever so slightly a minute amount of tension as she applies pressure. It becomes immediately aware to her that a trap of some sort has been set, but opening the door at any degree will likely set it off. This door, like the other trapped doors, swings outwards.

Shiaran stands from her crouch.  "Sy, I think we're going to have to trigger this one.  You up for it?"

Sypher nods.  "Everyone needs to move back."  Once everyone is well away from the door, Sypher rubs his hands together, clears his mind, and prepares to open the door.  He grasps the handle and pulls, attempting to dodge whatever might happen.  Sypher is from a time when magic, not machines made up the traps he has faced.  Prepared for the speed of arrows and bolts, he is almost caught in a hail of shot from a trenchgun.  Yet his reflexes are preternatural and he rolls almost at the same time as the sound of the gun reaches his ears.  The shot passes close enough to graze the thread of his garments, but otherwise, the young man is unharmed.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:58, Thu 08 June 2017.

Beloc, standing off to the side, mutters "Impressive." It sounds a bit muffled from underneath the helm, but audible nonetheless.

Shiaran rushes over to Sypher.  "Sy!"

"I am unhurt.  I did not expect a gun.  I am grateful to the Lord for the opportunity to learn and for the protection He has afforded me so that I may learn without injury."

Shiaran punches Sypher.  When his eyes widen and he rubs his arm in question, she snaps at him.  "Let that be a reminder then.  God may have protected you from the gun this time, but you are an idiot for not predicting machine as well as magic."

Sypher takes a deep breath and nods.  He is about to speak his apologies, but Shiaran has already turned to enter and sweep the building for further traps.

R.E.B.O.R.T. walks over to Sypher to inspect his arm. "The damage appears superficial."

He looks over to Shiaran, who has already stormed off into the building, and then back to Sypher. "There is a strange dynamic between the two of you. She greets your triumph with a physical assault. That seems counter productive. Is that normal?"

Sypher chuckles.  "Yeah.  For her, that's very normal."  He grins at Rebort and follows after Shiaran.

His head turns back towards Shiaran. "I see."

Clearly confused, but learning as he goes, R.E.B.O.R.T. takes up his position watching the groups flank while the others file into the building.

Beloc, shaking his head, follows in behind Sypher.

On the floor, wedged in between multiple nails, sits the trench gun. The trap was hastily made, using string wound around more nails driven partially in to the floor, to create  pulley attached to the trenchgun's trigger. The gun itself appears to be unscathed, though the flooring and door frame in front of it not so much.

This room, much like the front room of the armory across the way, is a sort of waiting room. There is a desk with various paperwork and knickknacks on it, and it looks to have been rifled through. The chair is tipped over, and there are several bullet holes in the wall behind it, with spatters of several day's old blood flecked on the wall and floor. Whoever sat here never had a chance. Five more chairs line the East wall.

To the south side of the building is a short hallway with two more doors, both open. The first is a room with three twin sized beds. They aren't fancy in any way. The room has been relatively left as is, save for a sturdy lock box on the floor with several dents in it, likely from bullets or heavy swings of a hammer.

The last room looks to be the commanding officer's office. The desk here too is disheveled and looks to have been hastily gone through. There is an odd looking rifle on the floor next to it, with dried blood smeared on the side. The rifle itself has a sort of odd, over sized cylinder surrounding the barrel. The only opening on the cylinder is from two bullet holes. It still has a magazine loaded in the bottom, and upon further inspection it appears completely full.

Both rooms will take a few moments to properly inspect and dig through, should the party so choose.

Sypher helps grab any and all weaponry and carry it back to the vehicle.

With no one else around, Shiaran inspects the locked chest for traps and to see if she can get it open using her particular skill set.

Beloc helps with any heavy lifting Sypher might need help with, Apache does a fine job staying out from underfoot.

R.E.B.O.R.T. keeps a keen eye on what Shiaran is doing.

The only weapons found are the broken rifle and a pistol, which is tucked in the CO's desk. The pistol is engraved with the initials T.G. The pistol itself has very fine filigree etched on the grip and along the slide over the barrel. It is a very fine piece and looks to be excellently constructed.

The safe, which also has the same initials on it as the pistol, is extremely sturdy and well made. It isn't clear to Shiaran immediately if she'll be able to pick the lock. Poking at the inner mechanisms tells her the springs inside the lock are very strong and will provide quite a bit of resistance to lock picks.

As Sypher and Beloc carry guns and scavenged gear back to the Badger, a peculiar noise draws their attention out to an open field south of the Garrison. A donkey brays as a short, armored rider sits atop it. He carries a massive pack on his back, with all sorts of shapes jutting out of its sides. The donkey and rider are heading for the gate of Midway Garrison as a slow pace. When the rider takes notice of the two, he raises a hand and waves.

Darius floats down from the top of the wall. "Who's this little fellow, I wonder".
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:53, Mon 12 June 2017.

While Shiaran examines the locking mechanism on the safe, R.E.B.O.R.T. takes a cursory glance around the rest of the room.

He finds nothing out of the ordinary and returns to Shiaran and the safe. "I recognize this model. Darius kept a similar one behind the counter for years. There is a slight flaw in the tumbler design. Applying pressure to the bottom of the opening with one pick while rotating the other counter clockwise first can sometimes cause more than one rod to synchronize at once."

"Fortunately, that design flaw prompted Darius to replace his security measures with ones more magical in nature."

08:28, Today: R.E.B.O.R.T. rolled 9 using 1d20+8 ((1)) Search check.
08:49, Today: R.E.B.O.R.T. rolled 10 using 1d20+8 ((2)) Aid another check.

R.E.B.O.R.T. uses aid another: open lock to give Shiaran a +2 bonus with her skill check.

This message was last edited by the player at 13:53, Mon 12 June 2017.

At the sight of the newcomer, Beloc glances over to Sypher and then to Apache. He quickly unloads the scavenged gear into the badger and casually walks around to the front of the vehicle. He raises a hand and returns the gesture with a slight wave.

Seeing no sign of alarm from Beloc, Apache plops down on his rear and watches the rider approach.

"Oh, I see.  Thanks, Rebort!"  Shiaran tries again with the new information.

With careful consideration to Rebort's suggestion, Shiaran manages to hear the tell tale click of the locks tumblers sliding in to place and releasing their hold. As the heavy door to the small safe swings open, Shiaran is greeted by the sight of a stack of paper bills, a locket, a hair comb, and a signet ring bearing the symbol of the Bleeding Palm.

As the rider of the donkey gets within ear shot and better view, Sypher and Beloc can make out the crimson color of his armor. From head to toe, his entire body is clad in iron. The pack on his back is also more apparent. Gun barrels, and lots of them, stick out in odd angles from the pack. Across his lap sits a trench gun, with a sling hung around his neck and shoulder. In his hand he holds a long pole with a carrot tied to the string, leading the donkey along. When he gets within 20 foot of the Badger, he raises the pole and slips it in to a holster on the side of his saddle, removing the carrot from view of his mount. The donkey abruptly halts its slow gait, causing the small rider to lurch forward a bit. He swings a leg over and hops to the ground and with a heavy thud and clatter. He unslings his lack and let's it fall to the ground behind him, and due to the shear weight, it stays sitting upright. He raises the visor on his heavy helmet, and Beloc and Sypher are greeted by the grinning face of a goblin.

"Afternoon gents. Oi've brought the latest shipment of me wares by. Don't believe oi've met you two. Krem Poot-toofs m' name, arms trades me game. Is leftenant Gunnerson still around these parts?".

R.E.B.O.R.T. glances over to Shiaran then back to the contents of the safe as he calculates the possible reasons for items like this to be left behind. "These implications don't look good. If the commanding officer was working with the enemy, what would cause him to leave in such haste that a safe full of magic gets left behind?"

Invigorated with a renewed sense of curiosity, he walks away from the safe and attempts a more thorough search of the room. "Perhaps there were more clues left behind."

Due to his colossal failure, again, he asks Shiaran for assistance.

08:42, Today: R.E.B.O.R.T. rolled 9 using 1d20+8 ((1)) Search check.

Beloc twitches for a moment when the traveling arms dealer raises his visor. His instinct was to immediately reach for his blade, but the goblin's disposition gives him pause. He relaxes and so does Apache.

"Gunnerson? I assume he was the C.O. around here. Haven't seen him, but given the recent trend, I'm sure he's up and about somewhere." He glances back over his shoulder. "This place is deserted. Best we can tell, the undead scourge overran it a couple days ago."

"Where are you coming in from?"

"Blimey. Overrun eh? Real shame that is. I loiked the Midway blokes. Never buggered me about on account a' being a greenskin". Krem looks genuinely saddened at the news. "Oi'm from all over, really. Up an' left me clan o'er on the mainland some years ago. Didn't much care for scrapin' by on lootin' and plunderin' folks who never bovered nobody. Greenskins is loik that though, and they didn't look kindly on me not takin' part. So I fled and came 'ere around... lessee... a decade ago? Stowed aboard wiff some mili'try cargo an' landed on the lovely shores a' Fildegarne, roight smack in the middle of a war. Not bein' one for direct conflict, I decided I could make me way scavengin' the battlefields and recovering gov'ment property, and a' course returning it to said entity... for a fair price on account ov me efforts. Had to bash in the skull of a few deaders here an' there to make me way. What about you lot? You mili'try as well?".

Shiaran pats Rebort on the shoulder and gives him a hand looking around for more clues as to what actually went on in this place.

Sypher stays back, attempts to be non-threatening, and lets Beloc and the wizard do the talking.