The Iron Maiden clocked the approaching "engine repair workers" first, its black head swiveling as its dark eyes locked onto them. Gears ground against each other as it raised its hammer, and its torso glowed blue with coursing electricity. The two Steel Reservists drew their batons, which also crackled with electric menace, but none of them attacked.

The agents exchanged looks that so strongly expressed confusion that one did not need to see their faces, hidden by steel helmets, to imagine the quizzical expressions they bore.

"Turbine?" Said the shorter of the two. "Is that all this is? They rushed us down here over a busted turbine?"

"Fucking rabble-rousing layabouts is what we're here for," their companion corrected them, glancing in the direction of the strike above, though he could not actually see it over the sloping ground. "Probably busted it up themselves, while they were throwing their tantrum. Putting their own selves out of work in the process, the fucking geniuses."

"Wouldn't be in there crankin' wrenches if they were geniuses, would they?" The first one laughed, then added, with a disingenuous nod at Baern, "No offense. Good you brought some muscle with you," he said, turning their attention back to Veracity. "Them animals up there get an inkling there's scabs in the building, you're gonna need it." He lowered his voice, which was already strangely pitched and distorted by their helmet. "We're on strict orders to stay at the door, but I'll keep an ear out. You get into trouble, you just bang on this door and we'll come sort it for you. Be a shame if them hooligans hurt a pretty thing like yourself."

He pressed the crackling tip of his baton to a socket on the wall, and the heavy doors slid open. With an awkward little bow, he gestured for Veracity and companions to head inside.

[None taken, you mouth-breathing bottom feeder] Baern nodded and politely tipped his cap as he traipsed past the guards. He was more than happy to let Veracity do all the talking.

[Nicely done, Vera] he mentally acknowledged as he stepped through the threshold into the engine room beyond.

Not-Veracity the hardworking and absolutely qualified maintenance technician glanced back and forth between the bantering Steel Resolve agents.  They bought the ruse completely, which of course they would, considering her outstanding disguise and performance!  Not only did they buy it, but they were also surprisingly easygoing and loose-lipped for truncheon-swinging goons.

The tradeswoman said in a voice like she'd been breathing smoke since childhood, "Oh, this that strike I'm hearin' tell of?  Flamin' pits, nobody wants ta work no more, am I right?  What's got the layabouts riled this time?"  Silently, she remarked to her companions in her regular telepathic voice, [These jackboots turn my stomach!  May as well chum up and fish for dirt while they're feeling so forthcoming.]

Not-Veracity made a show of looking flattered and perhaps interested in the Resolve officer's flirtatious offer to handle any trouble that might arise inside.  She answered back with a smirk, "It's the hooligans that you'd need to worry for more than me, but glad to be under such fine protection."  Once the door was opened, the tradeswomen touched the brim of the newsboy hat and said, "Much obliged, sirs.  Keep up the good work.  C'mon, lads!"

She sauntered in alongside her fellow 'technicians', and telepathically whispered, [Thanks.  With suckers like these, that was easy-peasy.  Now, let's see what we find inside this place...]

"Hell if I know. What I hear, they don't even know themselves. No complaints, no demands, just flat out refuse to work. 'Course they won't move and let in those that are ready to put in an honest day's labor, either. Thugs and layabouts, the lot of 'em. Bah, you've got me all worked up. Best let you get on with your own work. You take care in there."

The air in the cavernous engine room was oppressively hot, with the heat from the thermal vents that powered the factory radiating off its thick, brick walls. The smells of oil and metal overwhelmed even that of the sulfurous vent, and the floor was in places slick with oil dripping from the pistons and gears above. A massive turbine whirred in the center of the room, driving the belts that set in motion the maze of machinery that extended up through the ceiling to the factory floor above.

No one was currently stationed by the engine's many gauges and dials, but it seemed to be carrying on well enough on its own, keeping the thousands of cogs and gears turning with all the unison of a symphony orchestra despite its lack of a conductor. The noise was deafening, a combination of clanging metal and the high-pitched hiss of steam.

Vecaal puffed up a bit at the mention of bringing along muscle, proud to have been noticed at all.  Otherwise he remained silent, forcing his eyes not to roll as Veracity completely bamboozled them with her story.  If only it was always this easy!

Once they were through the door the dragonborn added to Veracity's comment.  [Let's get away from the door, then we can plot our exploration.  Since we don't even know what we're looking for.]

Veracity didn't even break a sweat from the sweltering, sulfurous heat of the engine room.  She'd been conscripted as a chimneysweep at a young age, and the factories, manors, and refineries weren't always willing to quench their furnaces long enough for the flues to properly cool.  That's why the Chimneymaster prized his little tiefling work-slaves, because they could survive the hazardous conditions his clients paid him big coins to work through.  Compared to the hellish smokestacks and furnace vents she'd been sent down, this place felt downright cozy.

The disguised tiefling nodded toward Vecaal and mind-whispered, [Too right.  First destination comes to my mind is the boss's office.  May be there's valuable product or materials too, depending what this factory does.  Hopefully this place makes luxury timepieces or golden chamber pots or some-such.]  Realizing that they'd be hard-pressed to talk above the racket of the engines, Vera was quickly coming to appreciate these so-called whispers.  [Damnably useful, these whispers.  You make a fine accomplice for chicanery, Vec.  Cheers.]

Veracity ventured onward past the massive turbine and the constant mechanical motion of belts and pistons.  She was on the lookout firstly for ways up to the factory floor, then toward any administrative areas that presented themselves.  Keeping eyes open for anybody else, of course, and also trying to get an idea of what the factory produced.

---

Investigation to guess at what this factory does, once we see any specific equipment, signage, etc:

• 07:27, Today: Veracity rolled 21 using 1d20+3.  Investigation.

Actually, let's have a DC 10 Constitution save from everyone due to the oppressive heat and noise. Failure gives you a level of Exhaustion. Baeran and Veracity can roll with advantage because they both have considerable experience in extremely hot and/or loud environments. Vecall, if I've neglected something in your background that would confer a similar advantage, you're welcome to make the case.

Baern had seen his fair share of the insides of many an engine room, but the constant whir of the machinery was no less bewildering to him. Tunnels and stones he understood. Turbines and manifolds were for someone else to understand - unless something needed breaking, in which case he supposed he could take a crack at it. The heat and noise were both familiar though and quickly faded into the back of his awareness. He followed Vera up to the factory floor, eyes peeled for the presence of anyone else who might be in the building with them.

11:51, Today: Baern Snagglehorn rolled 14 using 2d20+4, dropping the lowest dice only.  Con save.

Success, whew!

13:54, Today: Veracity rolled 16 using 2d20, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 16,15.  Con save (advantage).

Vecaal found the heat and noise of the engine room oppressive.  He was used to the streets, where claustrophobia and stench were prevalent but this sort of enclosed, chaotic hell did not exist.  It took all of his will and might to fight it off, leaving him looking haggard and bleak as they emerged from the lower level of the factory.

OOC:
Will use Inspiration to gain advantage.
09:24, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 21 using 1d20+1. CON Save.
09:21, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 6 using 1d20+1.  CON Save.

The machines doing the actual manufacturing were all up on the factory floor, so there was no telling, from the engine room, what exactly the factory produced. What was clear, though, was that this an especially vast and complex operation, more so than was apparent from outside the building. It seemed the factory was built not only up against the wall of the caldera but extending back into it, creating room for more and larger machines, which necessitated a dizzying assemblage of pistons, belts, and gears.

That it all seemed to be running so smoothly despite the absence of anyone actively operating the engine's many cranks and dials struck Vera as strange. To her humble chimneysweep's imagination, such a complex operation ought to have required the constant attention of several individuals.

A staircase of grated iron wound its way up through the rotating gears, intersecting with several catwalks as it made its way up to the factory floor. The catwalks criss-crossed the engine room at various heights, providing access to the engine room's many moving parts.

As the party made its way slowly toward this staircase, Baern's eyes, so accustomed to the darkness of the mines, spotted a figure crouching between a turbine and a particularly large piston. It was a good hiding place, but the crouching individual was large, a half-orc by the looks of her, and so could conceal herself as fully as she clearly would have preferred. She wore the dingy blue uniform of a worker and seemed, from the way she was hunched up and shaking, more frightened than threatening.

[Worker.] Baern didn't point. He didn't want to let the woman know that she'd been spotted. [Over there behind that turbine. She looks ready to spook, but maybe she knows something?]

[Odd that all these moving parts can run so smooth with nobody overseeing, don't you think?]  Something was off about this place and the situation, but it was hard to put a finger on it just yet.

Their explorations led to a spiral stairwell of grated iron, but before they arrived sharp-eyed Baern spotted a half-orcess in hiding.  Veracity glanced in the direction he described, but it still took a moment to spot her in the clever hiding spot.  [Good eye.  She surely knows more than we do and might give us up if we leave her be.  Let's have a chat.]

Veracity in her work-worn tradeswoman guise acted as if she'd just spotted the woman by chance, and turned that way with a curious smile.  She offered a wave and called out just loud enough to be heard over the machinery, "Hey there, ma'am.  What seems to be the matter?  It's alright.  We're independent contractors, so we've got no skin in whatever's going on here."  She offered an oil-smudged hand and the warm demeanor of a sympathetic elder auntie everyone on the work-floor looks up to.

---

Persuasion to calm the freaked half-orcess:

• 10:53, Today: Veracity rolled 25 using 1d20+7.  Persuasion.

The half-orc straightened to her full height, baring her tusks and flexing her muscled arms. Hiding having failed, she resorted to bluster. "Scabs, you mean." She spoke the word without the malice most factory workers would have attached to it. She appeared more confused than disdainful. "Don't look like scabs. But can't imagine why else those goons at the door would have let you through. Anyway, there's no such thing as independent, far as the union's concerned. You're either with them or against them." Ignoring Vera's hand, he crossed her arms and waited to hear which it was.

Vecaal had hung back initially, not wanting to righten the hiding worker with his appearance.  He had learned that many were taken aback at the sight of a walking dragon-man, even all these years after the fall of the Master and the rise of the Coglingtons, especially those of lesser stature.  This one seemed brave enough once discovered and was not small like many others, so Vecaal moved forward not enough to intrude upon the conversation, but enough to be seen.  Standing straight and tall with his imperious gaze upon the half-orc, he remained outwardly silent.

[Do not let this one push you around, we have business to finish. But I wonder why she is not with her fellow workers out front?] he thought aloud, a mix of dismissal and distrust coming though his mental words.

Veracity took in the half-orcess's belligerent response to being found, and considered what it meant in light of the fright she'd showed earlier.  The tradeswoman shook her head, "Nah, not scabs.  Like I said, we're on contract scheduled weeks back.  Not replacin' anybody."  She considered what what side this one must be on, and answered carefully, "Depends which union you're meanin', ma'am.  Been involved in a few unions in my day, noble causes all, but most went about it all wrong and got busted bloody.  I'm for workers like us, at the end of the day."

The tradeswoman gave the half-orcess a canny look and asked, "What's this strike about, then?  Hadn't heard what's the issue, comin' in from outside as we have."  She then added, "Pardon my askin', ma'am, but how come you're hidin' down here?"  The question was delivered with sympathetic concern that was definitely super trustworthy.

---

Deception to sound trustworthy and on her side:

• 18:51, Today: Veracity rolled 19 using 1d20+7.  Deception.

The half-orc looked Veracity over again, then smiled. "Live by the club, die by the club."

"Sure. Not replacing anybody." Her tusky smile was patronizing, suggesting the tiefling was lying not to her but to herself. Then she folded her arms sternly across her chest.

"Look, there's been some mistake. We don't need any contractors here, and it won't be possible for you to do whatever it is they sent you to do - what did they send you to do, anyway?"

"No, I don't suppose you have heard." She chuckled to herself at some unheard joke. "Nor can I tell you. Look, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but you'll have to leave. Best you slip back out the way you slipped in. If those folks out front see you, they'll tear you to pieces. Independent contractor," she repeated with a snort.

Baern leaned against Bessie with his arms folded looking largely disinterested. [Don't think you're getting around this one, Vera. There's scabs and then there's union and right now we're scabs. Doesn't matter that we're not here to do her job. We've told her we're here to do someone's job on the wrong side of a picket and that makes us scabs. Best you can hope for is to tell her were doing some job that has nothing to do with the factory - like a gas leak, or shoring up a load bearing pile. Something safety wise that could hurt the workers if we don't get to it. She may not like it none, but hopefully she'll push off.]

Actually, Baern, as you "say" that, you realize she's never endorsed those views herself. She's suggested that's how the other workers would feel, but she's not out there with the other workers. Indeed, she seems kind of disdainful of them, suggesting they "live by the club" - they threaten violence themselves to keep others from taking their jobs. Her disdain toward Vera seems to come from the idea that she (Vera) is lying to herself about what she's doing, not that she (the half-orc) necessarily has a problem with what you all are purportedly doing.

The Tinkerer, on behalf of Baern Snagglehorn, rolled 20 using 2d20+3, dropping the lowest dice only.  insight.

Good thing I dipped into Insight ;)

[Or... not, maybe,] Baern shifted, his look of disinterest turning into one of contemplation. [She don't seem to care about this picket. Otherwise she'd be out there on the line with the other workers. And I'd be willing to wager they don't know she's in here. Can't help but wonder if she's up to something, same as us. Maybe that's why she wants us out - and why she was so afraid when she spotted us. We interrupted her.]
This message was lightly edited by the player at 15:06, Sat 29 Apr 2023.

[Definitely up to something.  She's not with the Resolve nor the picket... Might be she's an informant for Crock, or somebody else with an interest in whatever's afoot here.  That would explain why she's hiding scared.]  As the half-orcess went on with her disdainful dismissal, Vera psychically remarked to her companions, [We need her on our side.  Time to show her the Cunning.]

Not-Veracity the super legitimate tradeswoman sighed and shook her head, "Seems the boss left out a few key details sendin' us on this job.  What else is new, am I right, friend?"  She spoke the final word in such a convincing way that the half-orcess must surely realize that it was true.*  They absolutely are friends!  Baern and Vecaal might recognize this as Veracity's uncanny magical sway over those she wanted to manipulate, a talent she referred to as the Cunning.

With regard to the job itself, she rattled off a plausible-sounding explanation of a maintenance issue they'd been sent to repair upstairs that would pose a danger to workers if not addressed.  Turning her new friend an easy smile, the tiefling tradeswoman said, "So ya see, we'd really best be about our work.  Anythin' we oughtta know before we get to it?"

---

* Bonus action Unsettling Words to spend a Bardic Inspiration die to penalize half-orcess's next saving throw:

• 15:35, Today: Veracity rolled 6 using 1d6.  Unsettling Words.

Then, casting Charm Person, DC 13 Wis save, her roll penalized by 6!  On a failure she's charmed for 1 hour and regards Vera as a friendly acquaintance.

Rolling Deception for convincing technobabble justification of our presence here, because Vera surely knows better how to BS it than her player does ;D:

• 15:36, Today: Veracity rolled 17 using 2d20+7, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 8,10.  Deception (maybe advantage?).

That roll is at advantage if the charm landed, but the result is 17 either way due Silver Tongue feature

Despite Veracity's garbled, jargon-filled explanation, a calm settled over the half-orc as she spoke. The woman uncrossed her arms and allowed her shoulders to relax down and back.

"Look," she said when the tiefling had finished. "You seem nice enough. I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I'm warning you for own safety: there's been a mistake. We absolutely cannot have any work done right now. I'm sorry you had to haul all the way out here for nothing. Hey, maybe Mister Coglinton will compensate you for your time?" She snorted and nudged her new friend with her elbow, encouraging her to smile at the obvious jest.

"I wasn't kidding, what I said before. I literally can't tell you what's going on. Look: Mister Coglinton's got us building..." Her voice trailed off into a dry, choking sound, like sandpaper rubbing against the grain of rough wood. It reminded everyone of the stifling heat of the engine room, and how parched their own throats were.

"There, you see? I literally can't tell you, because..." Again, the dry rasp sanded her words down to dust. "Upstairs, there's...." Rasp.

"OK? So I can't tell you. And I can't let you upstairs. They never should have let you in in the first place. Best you just head on to your next job and forget this ever happened."

[I don't think she's fooling. She can't spit it out.]

"What did you say your name was, Miss?" Baern asked.

"Gail," the half-orc answered. "If they give you any trouble about not doing whatever job it is that doesn't need doing anyway, you tell them Gail dismissed you."

"And when you say you can't let us go upstairs, same way as you can't tell us what you're making here... what exactly do you have to do if we go upstairs?"