The guard frowns at Cain's words and quickly protests to defend the council and the risk the party is taking, "Without the Torch the town is dying. Every day more people who can are packing up and leaving. The League demands a lot for our independence and when they don't get it they'll come to collect. They'll take slaves and lives, and probably occupy the town if you keep finding those." He gestures with a hand towards the metal guardian the party had dragged with them before continuing, "Clearly it's dangerous down there and you and he"--he gestures at the wrapped remains now--"are heroes for going in there, even if you're only after silverdisks." He looks to his partner briefly, who is still silently staggered and gawking at the smell and sorry state of the crew, before resolving, "We can carry the body to the Temple of Brigh to see about finding family or a grave, but you should bring that thing there too and talk to Father Kyte before too many see it."

"Point taken."  Zorden commented regarding the guard's speculation of what might become of Torch.

"Our friend did not escape our last bit of exploration without injury.  It's part of the reason we needed to come back rather than continue searching deeper under the hill.  Do you think anyone at the temple would be able to help him?"  Zorden asked conversationally as the combined groups worked to gather up the corpse and robot for transport.

"Thank you!" Morin replied, clearly only paying attention to the praise.  "We are heroes!  I've been saying that this whole time, and it's nice to hear someone else mention it!  The way some people around here go on, it's like they don't even know how cool it is to swim through a bunch of industrial waste, get shanked in the kidney by a gremlin, chop up a robot while it yells some bullshit about vandalism, then swim through industrial waste again!"

Morin sniffed at his tainted, reeking clothes and hair.  "Oh, speaking of which!"  The gnome focused for a second, spreading his arms wide as he took in a deep breath.  The tainted water rapidly flowed off of his body and down to the ground, leaving him pristine and fair-smelling.  The effect even combed his bushy brown hair back into shape.

"That's better!" Morin exclaimed, before turning his attention to the rest of the party.  "Who's next?  Unless any of you wanna walk into the temple smelling like someone tried to put out a grease fire with a wheelbarrow full of piss?"

OOC: Morin uses his prestidigitation SLA to clean himself and the rest of the party, assuming nobody objects.

Kalasha raised an eyebrow at Cain.  "While coin is key, there is more to a transaction than the amount of coin - goodness to the community and integrity in following through on agreements are irreplaceable values."

When realizing the trouble the golem's public display might give them, she quickly pulled out her bedroll to cover it.  Probably not enough to keep someone knowledgeable from recognizing what was beneath, but hopefully enough to keep too many tongues from wagging.

The guard nods to Zorden as he and his partner begin to haul the wrapped body off to the temple and answers, "You all look a bit the worse for wear. There's usually a priest around the temple who can patch up the bad wounds for a silverdisk."

Cain is glad to leave the body with the guards, even as he continues to argue with them. "It's not the motives of the council I question, but their methods. They should have put far more thought, and frankly, far more money into this, precisely because of what is at stake. Instead of repeatedly sending small and poorly equipped parties to their deaths with little more than a promise of a future pay, they should have organized a larger expedition and paid for everything they would need in advance. But no, instead we have to pay for our healing out of our own pockets while we are fighting to save this damned town. Bah."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 08:52, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

"Hey, Cain?"  Morin asked, as he used his magic to clear the tainted water off of the half-elf.  "I don't wanna be rude, but I gotta ask: what's your deal?"

"I mean, when I turn this whole thing into a play later, I gotta give everyone a character motivation, right?  Zed's got his whole "ice-cold mercenary" vibe going on, Kal's a paladin, and I'm here for the story.  But why are you here?  You keep talking about how the money isn't good enough, and that you don't enjoy fighting, and you don't care about the amazing buried technology down there.  And no offense, but you really don't seem like the altruistic hero type.  If you think this whole endeavor is so stupid, why do you keep going under the Black Hill?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:59, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

Cain shakes his head. "It's not about the money. I know Khonnir from before, and I promised Val I would find him, so I would have gone after him even regardless. It's just that promises of future reward are of little use down there, as all the bodies we found so far testify. The council didn't really think this through."

Mostly Cain just likes to complain.

Mid-Day, Day 2
The party follows the guards towards the Temple of Brigh, passing through much of the town with many passers-by stopping to gawk--either at them or the barely-concealed machine Kalasha drags along--or frown and shake their heads in disapproval--hopefully just at the machine. When nearly there the guards part ways with he group, headed to Father Radli at the Chapel of the Wanderer.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:42, Mon 31 Jan 2022.

Arriving at the Temple of Brigh, the party finds Father Joram Kyte sitting in his workshop, wearing spectacles with a series of magnifying lenses and bent over an intricate array of clockwork gears which he manipulates carefully with long, slender tools. Looking up from his work, the old man pulls off the spectacles and briefly appraises the tattered party and the new metal man before greeting them, "Hmm, back already, and with another of those machines? Do you need this one dismantled and scattered too?"

Morin squinted at the old tinker curiously.  "Isn't Brigh's whole thing the preservation of knowledge?  Why would you destroy something like this?  I mean, you can't seriously believe that in a town built around a giant space-laser, with a magitech water purification plant in the middle of it, that a dead robot janitor is gonna be the thing that tips off the Technic League that there's technology nearby.  I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed."

"Wouldn't it be more reasonable, and more pleasing to Brigh if you took the time to really examine it?  Just imagine, this thing sat untouched by time for thousands of years, in perfect working order, suffering only some minor catastrophic damage from when we murdered it an hour ago.  It talked.  It felt, maybe. Just think of how much it would help your own work if you could understand how it functioned!

We are willing to offer you an extremely fair price on it's purchase."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:52, Mon 31 Jan 2022.

The old man looks down sternly from his seat at the ranting gnome and frowns before he answers matter-of-factly, "You had me dismantle and scatter the last one. You feared, reasonably, that it would awake again and cause more harm. The Technic League can't TAKE the torch and Crowfeather Palace is of no interest to them. We're far from Starfall and, until recently, we were able to pay handsomely to keep them at bay." He pauses, hoping the gravity of the situation will sink in for the arrogant gnome, before continuing, "I would love to learn more about it and see what makes it tick, but never at the risk of Torch's people or independence. But then..." he considers for a few moments before continuing, "You won't find many willing to buy something the Technic League will just take, but there is a travelling merchant, Mister Sanvil Trett, who knows and deals in technological artifacts. He may be willing to take the risk." He turns his gaze to the robot for a time, a tinge of regret in his eyes, before shaking the thoughts from his mind looking back to the injured party. Reaching down to touch the porcelain mask of Brigh on his hip he blesses the adventurers, "May Brigh guide you," and sends invigorating, soothing sensations through them each. (12 HP healed each)
[Private to Cain; Morin Matzylford; Zorden: You recognize the name of Sanvil Trett, he is known as one of the foremost experts on technological artifacts in Torch--when he is in Torch. He usually only stays for a few months at a time, running a stall at the Market Square where he should be now.]
14:29, Today: Joram Kyte rolled 12 using 3d6 with rolls of 3,4,5.  Channel Energy healing.

"Thanks for the heads up."  Zorden told the priest.

"Guess if Sanvil doesn't want it, we'll haul it to the junk yard.  Figure it'll be safe enough there.  Either the torch gets working again and it gets melted down, or it doesn't in which case it probably doesn't matter whether it gets found by the League."  He added bitterly.

Morin looked at his shoes for a second as Jorum lectured him on the dangers of technology and the Technic League.  His speech had really just been an attempt at salesmanship, done in the hope of squeezing some bucks out of the old man.  But Father Kyte's disapproval, along with the suspicious glares of the townsfolk as they walked by, had reminded him of the real stakes:  The town could be invaded and destroyed, and worse: people might blame him for it!  And really, that was the worst thing Morin could think of

"I..."  Morin started, hesitantly, before regaining his usual absurd confidence.  "You're still going to be able to pay them handsomely.  We're going to turn that torch back on, and soon.  And all the profits you've lost?  They'll be nothing compared to the array of fabulous treasure we're going to pull out of that steel ruin.  Why, we're just about to put six hundred gold back into the economy, and that's just today's work.  And...and when we're done, there won't be any treasure left under that hill, which means there'll be no reason for the League to show up!"

He looked back at the others for approval.  "Right?"  It would be a shame if this amazing machine were to be destroyed for nothing, if no knowledge or profit could come of it.  But on the other hand, Morin would gladly smash the machine if the alternative meant Cain or Kalasha might think less of him.

Kalasha considered carefully.  "Commerce is the lifeblood of civilized society.  If there is someone who would take the risk to buy this, then perhaps we should not deprive them of its value by dismantling it further.  I doubt that anything could come back from this kind of beating on its own, without the healing becoming quickly obvious, like a Troll's.  Similar to how I wouldn't burn a farmer's grain to keep the bandits from getting it, unless it were already needing to be abandoned."

She looked to Father Kyte and said seriously, "Thank you for the healing, your counsel, and your patience.  Would you mind if I kept guard over it here while some of our group went to fetch Master Trett?  I'd rather not parade it through the street again but I also don't want to leave it without guard, on the off chance it might somehow rise again to harm an innocent."

Cain examines the new scars where his wounds used to be and thanks the priest as well. "Well, thank you for you the healing, anyway."

Counsel and patience may be cheap, but healing, that costs money.

We are splitting up?

Cain's implied insult towards Kyte drew a surprised laugh from Morin, which the gnome did his best to pass off as a coughing fit.

"Well, we might not know much about this robot, but one thing we do know is that it can't beat Kalasha in a fight.  We'll be back with Sanvil Trett right away, and see if this wreck is worth anything to him."

OOC: I guess so.

Zorden nodded to Kalasha and then went out with the others to find out where Sanvil had set up his shop this time around.

"Alright, let's see if this heap of junk is worth something to somebody after all." Now healed, Cain will join Zorden and Morin looking for Sanvil.

I forgot, did Sesla leave us already? Or is she still hanging around us?

The old councilor nods to Kalasha and responds, "That'd be fine. Probably best not to parade it around the streets and stir up the people." He then smiles lightly and responds to Cain, either not picking up on or ignoring the slight, "You're welcome. I dedicate most of Brigh's blessings to keeping the waters clean and the people well, but your work is just as vital to Torch's survival."

Leaving Kalasha behind to watch over the seemingly dead robot, the rest of the party heads to the Market Square. As expected Sanvil Trett is there despite the smell of the nearby Seven Tears River, the declining foot traffic and business in Torch, and several remaining stalls closed up and abandoned. His stall is little more than a wooden stool and a small table with a few odd-but-fancy-looking tools placed atop it. Sanvil is a broad-shouldered and muscular man--unusual for what one would expect of an archaeologist, intellectual, and merchant--dressed in finely made clothing with a chainmail tunic, numerous pouches on his belt and bandoleer, and with long, straight, black hair pulled into a bun at the back.

Spotting customers approaching, the recognizable crew exploring the ruins under the Black Hill at that, Sanvil stands up quickly from his seat and welcomes them smarmily, "Hello and welcome, Black Hill heroes Aleed and Company! I am Sanvil Trett, expert and trader in Numerian Relics and oddities! Have you brought me a relic to identify or sell? Maybe I can interest you in some batteries? Ion Tape and a Zipstick? Maybe some Cyberart?"

Zorden gave the merchant a nod of greeting.

He then stopped a bit short to keep himself clear of the verbal fusillade he was all but certain Morin was about to unleash on the man.  Though he suspected, perhaps, one such as Sanvil Trett might be well suited for surviving such a thing.

"Aleed and Company?"  Morin asked confused.  "No.  Maybe you're thinking of the last batch of adventurers?  I don't know anybody name Aleed.  Plus, that's just a terrible name for an adventuring party!  We're the..."

He turned to Zorden and Cain, distracted by this new, more pressing task.  "What are we calling ourselves?  I was thinking maybe The Black Hill Boys?  But maybe Kalasha would have an objection there.  She's not a boy, and she seems like a stickler for proper terminology.  Black Hill Heroes maybe?  If we want to get clever, we could call ourselves The Hearse because we deliver dead bodies.  But that would get confusing in regular conversation.  Maybe something self deprecating, like Fortune's Fools?"

"I dunno.  I'm not married to any of these names.  You guys got any ideas?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:01, Sat 05 Feb 2022.

Cain snorts. "I've heard of miners carrying birds down mine shafts, so that they know to get out when the bird drops dead. So, how about The Canaries? Anyway, we are not here to buy but to get rid... I mean, to sell a priceless relic we found down below."