The Machine | Corruption of Lani

The tunnel around them was unlit, but Brylla could feel the surface beneath her boots was sleek and smooth like the steel of a blade. As far as she could see ahead of her there was nothing but darkness and this smooth tunnel. Whispering a few words, the cleric caused light to fill the tunnel so that some of her companions could see as she did. The passage was wide, at least 10 feet across, and had considerable height that was unusual in a subterranean tunnel. Most would have only built in this way if they needed to bring very large wagons or beasts of burden through the passage.

Her elven companion had already begun slipping forward into the darkness, moving so quietly and carefully that Brylla lost sight of him. This had not been unusual over the last ten-day, so she knew Tanthalas would make himself seen if needed. Still, it concerned her how still it was. There was no light, no sound, and no dust. She ran one of her gauntleted fingers across the smooth surface of the wall. Someone was clearly cleaning and shining these surfaces regularly, and yet there seemed to be no sign of anyone passing through here.

The group marched forward, slowly, following the long straight tunnel for several minutes. Brylla did not sense it turning at any point, nor were there any passageways or doors. Only a single long tunnel leading to some unknown location. Why had the door been positioned so far from the actual entrance? Why would the builders need this length of tunnel? It didn’t make sense to her.

Ahead, outside of the light, Brylla could see the figure of the elven ranger waving at them to come forward. He had discovered a three-way intersection that seemed to direct them towards a cavernous dark chamber. At the intersection were several unlit braziers and two large stone statues, shaped as dragons, guarding the entrance. Their maws were open, exposing their teeth, with their wings folded back in the style reserved usually for pretentious gateway lawn ornaments. It seems they had found what they were looking for.

Stepping past the statues and into the great cavern before them, Brylla was shocked at what they found. It was enormous, too large for her to see the whole room, with ceilings that vaulted high above them. Strange cylinders and containers rose up high above her, easily three times her height or more, many of them made of a similar material as the floors and walls. What she saw felt familiar, in a way, to some of the arcane technology that she had seen in Lani, but this all seemed much older. Looking around, she spotted the signs of her people in the construction. Stairs that had just a little bit of a shorter span between the steps than most taller folk would desire, or support pillars that were built wider than strictly necessary.

There was a low thrumming sound, emanating from the direction of the opposite side of the large metallic chamber, centred on what appeared to be a large box that was glowing with a faint red colour. Box might have been the wrong word, though, for the thing was massive, almost the size of a dwarven house in Nidavellir! She could make out few details from this far away, but in the low warm glow of the red light was the silhouetted shape of a figure, motionless.

Accompanying this strange scene was, of all things, music. A string instrument of some kind was filling the room with pleasant, albeit unexpected, musical accompaniment. The pace was slow, but soothing, and Brylla felt a sense of calm from it. It was as if all her worries could be carried away on that melody, following it into a stream of tranquility and peace. Ahead of her, Tanthalas had paused to listen to the music as well, but he was reacting strangely. It was as if he wasn’t even seeing the world around him, but something else altogether.

Where was that music coming from?

Ilandriel

Flynver, who had been making sure to keep very close to Brylla, followed the dwarf’s gaze, trying to see what she saw up ahead. It was so dark in here and he could barely make out the hand in front of his face. Flynver hadn’t thought to bring a light, knowing the red-headed cleric usually had one ready, but as the wizard entered this massive cavern of humming machinery he wished he had brought his own. Audak, his long tattooed arms currently holding the light aloft ahead of them, was close enough to Flynver so that the wizard was able to make out the strange architecture around them and watch the light bouncing off the solid steel structures.

That music seemed to be drawing him in, despite all the amazing things to examine around him. He moved with Brylla, trying to stay near the well-armoured dwarf, as they caught up to Tanthalas. The ranger had paused for a moment, but then had joined in the music, playing his drum. The beat echoed off the walls for a few bars, joining effortlessly in with the cello and creating a wonderful accompaniment. The stringed instrument did not falter, but continued playing. Flynver noticed that as Tanthalas drummed he was looking off to Flynver’s right at something in the room immediately around the large structural wall that Flynver was against.

Rounding the corner, Flynver almost stopped as the glowing scene before him came into view. An elf, seated with a cello, was playing an endless tune, looping on the melody again and again. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders, nearly touching the ground. Her finely-featured face seemed tired, as if she had been playing for a long time, but she stayed focused on the task at hand. Flynver could not guess her age, but by her strange dress the halfling could tell she was not up on modern fashion. The cellist was focused on the newcomers, startled by the sudden drumming accompanying her and by the appearance of multiple new figures. Her hand suddenly twitched when her eyes fell upon Flynver, a sour note breaking the flow of the calming melody. She tried to catch up in the rhythm and get back on track as quickly as possible, but the halfling had drawn her attention.

“Garym?” she whispered, her voice hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s okay, you can stop playing now” Flynver replied, tipping his top hat to the elven bard. Hopefully, he could play along with whatever confusion the elf was feeling.

“No, it can’t be. I saw you die!” voiced the cellist, shaking her head.

Try as she might, closing her eyes didn’t make the halfling before her disappear. Flynver could tell she was conflicted in the moment and that he had an opportunity to sway her. He still didn’t quite understand why she was calling him Garym, but who knows what this elf had been put through.

“You’re right, it’s a misunderstanding, I’m not him” admitted the wizard, hoping to gain some trust, and possibly some answers. Perhaps the elven cellist could shine some light upon what had been happening. “Why are you doing this?”

Before the elf could answer, however, Tanthalas’ voice called out from deeper in the cavernous room, by the glowing red lights of the machine.

“It’s Echo! They have Echo hooked up to this thing!”

The Prisoner

When the halfling had started chatting with the bard, Tanthalas had decided to move further in and investigate the room’s central fixture. The red glow emanating from the large structure at the back of the cavernous chamber pulled his attention. As he got closer he realised how immense the thing was. It stood several stories tall, a very old design of tech that Tanthalas had not seen before. Now that he was closer, the thrumming noise emanating from the machine reverberated in his chest. Standing in the light of the red glow, he saw tubes running from all over. They were hooked into a small figure in a green cloak who was slumped over, unmoving. The tubes seemed to connect to different parts of the figure’s body and the ranger thought it was highly likely that the prisoner here was being drained of something.

He reached forward, flipping back the cowl of the hood, to reveal the fine features of the little halfling druid they had met the week prior in Greenfell.

“It’s Echo! They have Echo hooked up to this thing!” Tanthalas called out to the others, trying to get their attention.

He fiddled with the cables, but it zapped his hand when he tried to take one out. A scream erupted out of Echo as she spasmed in pain. Removing the wires directly seemed to be a dangerous game to play with Echo’s life. He could hear approaching feet coming from a hallway somewhere to his left. They didn’t have much time.

“We have to get her out of here!”

The elf could hear Flynver talking to the cellist trapped inside the energy sphere at the other side of the room. He seemed to be pleading their case and while the ancient elf was hesitant, Tanthalas could tell she was torn. She tilted her head towards a console at the back of the room, before returning her focus to her playing. The music seemed to be faltering though, an unease in the melody. Flynver was getting through to her!

Tanthalas’ ears picked up the sounds of boot steps, somewhere down a corridor to his left. He couldn’t see anything, but they didn’t sound far off.

********

Audak had been following along quietly, not sure that his particular skills were really helpful in this situation. It was so dark, and more than a little creepy, in this tomb of steel. For a young man raised in the wilderness, the humming machines and eerie luminescent screens seemed otherworldly and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He didn’t like it, not even a little bit. He kept as close as he could to his elven friend, using Brylla’s magical light added to his greataxe to afford him some vision in this large tomb.

When Tanthalas called out about Echo, the barbarian protectively surged forward, trying to help where possible. Nothing he did seemed to help, but they could clearly see that the machine was hurting the little halfling. From across the way, Brylla and Flynver were shouting about something that was near them, somewhere in the dark near the high-up glowing things. Leaping into action, the barbarian rushed across the dark floor, surging over several giant black cables that were running across the length of the cavern. What were those doing here?

Within the edges of his light, Audak suddenly saw the dark outline of an industrial staircase, climbing high above his head. The barbarian took the stairs two at a time, moving as swiftly as his legs could take him, hoping that they could free Echo before anyone arrived. At the top of the stairs Audak found himself facing a confusing array of glowing panes of glass and draconic script, along with several additional large cables running along the floor towards the ground below. Lifting his axe, he readied to bring it down but thought better of it, deciding to stay at a distance from these strange machines. He balanced the long shaft of a javelin in his hand, holding the haft of his axe forward to light his target. With full force, Audak sent the sharpened metal rod flying through the air, slamming into the machine before him. Sparks flew, the alcove around him briefly illuminating as it seemed as if lightning itself was being unleashed in every direction. Then darkness. The whirring of the enormous machine hooked up to Echo seemed to falter, its light fading just a little. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start!

The Choice

The others were dealing with Echo and the machine, but Flynver was focused on this cellist. She seemed to be the key piece of whatever was going on. He had almost broken through by looking like whomever that Garym person had been. Clearly that was an emotional point for the elf. Flynver could tell that the elf was wavering. His words were sowing doubt in whatever lies she had been told. Even the little hint she had provided by nodding towards the machines was a small but important victory. For a moment, though, Flynver wondered what would happen if her playing did stop. If this machine came crashing down and the music stopped, what type of a world would they see?

“Why are you playing like this? What is this all for?” the halfling asked, needing to know more about what they were facing. The answer came from behind him.

“I’m glad you saved me the trouble of tracking you down” came the powerful lilting voice, speaking from a position high in the rafters. Flynver couldn’t see her, but the almost musical cadence of the words echoed across the cavernous steel room, almost seeming to come from every direction. He had heard this voice earlier that day, from the stairs at the tower. Its edge was as recognizable as the deceptive lilt of the words. “As I said before, you seemed like you would prove useful, and perhaps you now understand better the lengths required to protect this world.”

The elven musician’s eyes went wide, then narrowed, looking off at a point in the darkness. Flynver tried to follow her gaze, but could see nothing but the darkness.

“You need to understand the sacrifice that was made here” the voice continued. “Ilandriel has been playing for over 2300 years, her life and power extended only by this machine. She is all that stands between our world and the Dark. Her and her companions, the Forgebound Wardens, were not unlike you in their early years. They became heroes in Lani, valiant warriors for the Council of Nine, defenders of this realm. They fought back the Dark and sought to take the battle to them.”

This elf was part of the Denn guard? From before the Lighting? How was that even possible? How could this machine keep even an elf alive for this long?

“But they failed. They were the strongest heroes of the realm. They sacrificed EVERYTHING to save this world. One by one they gave themselves to the machine to give Ilandriel the extra years and power that would be needed. But the centuries passed and we were no closer to safety. Your friend here, the little halfling, is saving the world with her sacrifice. She stands against the Dark, as the Council and the Forgebound Wardens once did those millennia ago. Do you understand now how important this is? Ilandriel will not be able to go on like this forever. Join us. Fight against the Dark.”

Flynver could tell that the speaker believed these words. They didn’t care what was being done, or who was hurt, so long as it served the greater good of protecting the world at large. They truly believed they were doing right.

“I was talking to HER” Flynver spat back in response, shouting his voice into the darkness around him, his eyes once again returning to Ilandriel. “They lied to you. My friend here didn’t choose to give herself to this thing, nor did the others. They have used you.”

Again, the music faltered. Flynver could see the that his words were striking home, wearing away at the elf’s resolve. He was nearly there! Somewhere to his left he heard Audak running up some stairs, followed by the sound of something sparking out. The others were hacking at the machine’s cables, trying to remove the power that was draining Echo’s life. They were so close.

A loud sigh seemed to float across the darkness.

“Fine, have it your way” came the resigned voice of the ancient being. “All of you, take them.”

Rough Ride

Al had been careful to stay away from the light, wearing the shadows as a cloak, and using his new spectacles to help him examine clues around the cavern. While the others were engaging with musicians and trapped druids, Al was gathering information. He had found a document storage and a desk, littered with log books that looked like they tracked arrivals to the chamber, as well as the usage of the machine and how long each individual was able to last. There were hundreds of entries across the two log books and it seemed like the documents in the cabinets went back thousands of years! All of it was written in draconic script, but not all by the same hand.

The luminescent pane of glass before him seemed to display some symbols which also seemed to be in some ancient form of the draconic tongue. He tried pressing the glass, hoping to activate it somehow, but nothing happened. He gathered up the few log books on the table, stuffing it away. On the other side of the wall he could hear Flynver talking to someone, and Tanthalas was shouting from the other end of the cavern. But it was the voice that filled the steel chamber that caught his attention. He walked down the short flight of stairs from the work table, trying to see where the voice was coming from. The voice was rambling on and there was something about the musical pattern to its speech that was familiar, something just on the fork of his tongue, but he couldn’t place it.

He missed most of what they were actually saying as his eyes scanned the room. Something was moving at the top of a set of stairs across from him. He couldn’t make out the details, but he thought he heard the sounds of a few figures moving through the dark.

“All of you, take them.”

He heard those words clearly, no mistaking the disdain and frustration behind them! To his left came a cracking and rumbling sound that echoed loudly through the dark. Through the doorway he saw the two statues they had passed earlier, now shaking. Large chunks of rock were splitting and crumbling away, their inhabitants stretching out, wings spreading as the dragons’ heads swiveled back towards their master’s voice. The two reptilian shapes climbed down from their perches, powerful legs pushing them off into the air. Al could only watch as a large dragon flew straight towards him at a speed he could hardly comprehend. Its cousin flew high into the darkness, the leathery flapping of its wings causing a gust of wind to blow down towards the heroes.

This was bad.

In the dark, his lenses couldn’t distinguish the colours of the creatures. He could only see their shapes, long tails swishing behind them as their wide wingspan propelled them forward above the steel structures around him. As the dragon’s maw closed on him, he held on tight, pushing back against the rows of razor sharp teeth. Though he held respect for his ancestors and cousins, he wasn’t about to allow one of them to make him a snack!

With a free claw, Al grabbed onto one of the dragon’s horns, launching himself out of its grasp and around behind it. The dragonborn’s claw dug deep into the scales on the back of its neck, one arm gripped around the throat of the dragon, choking it fiercely as Al tightened his hold. Unable to shake the rogue loose, the creature flailed back and forth, trying in vain to lose its unwanted rider. The head snapped one way, then the other, Al grinning as he held tight. The dragon pushed up into the air, hoping to throw the dragonborn off from on high.

Loosing one of his claws, Al pulled a bottle from his belt, smashing it against the dragon’s back. A dark liquid spread across its scales, coating the creature in oily goo. The rogue thought this might be a good time for a witty parting phrase, but instead loosened his grip on the dragon’s throat and propelled down the creature’s back, sliding towards its tail. As he slid, he lit a match between two clawed fingers and flicked it behind him. As his arm gripped the dragon’s tail, using it as a rope to swing towards the ground, a roar of pain erupted above him as the dragon’s back lit up in a roaring blaze. The entire cavern suddenly blossomed with light as the massive flying torch lit up the room.

“Oh, so it was a bronze!” thought Al as he landed smoothly on the ground, looking up at his handiwork. “Sorry, cousin… no hard feelings!”

The Ballad of Garym

It was very loud now. For centuries upon centuries, it had always been quiet. Except for the hum of the machines or the footsteps of the Old Ones. And of course her music. The melody had lost meaning to her after the first few hundred years. She had tried to add some flair to her song in the early days, trying to keep the creative juices flowing, but eventually gliding the bow across her instrument had become like breathing. It was just something that happened without thinking and she didn’t even really hear it anymore. She didn’t dare move too far away from the stage upon which she sat, unsure of the repercussions were she to stop the enchantment. Somehow, her music was keeping everyone safe, and that was enough.

In the early days it had been difficult to watch as her dearest friends had walked up to the machine, staring into her eyes as they allowed the Old Ones to hook them up. At the time, she was much younger than she was now, though still old by elven standards. The life in their eyes would drain as they slumped over, giving of themselves to keep her playing. First Hodor, then Lirien, their quiet gazes filled with sadness as they said goodbye for the last time. Such strong warriors, dedicated to saving their world. Thandar had been so proud when he stood there, his old dwarven body still as stout and full-bellied as ever. Ilandriel still remembered the gravelly sound of his voice as he muttered through his beard, though she had long since forgotten any of the old cleric’s stories.

Garym had been the hardest of all. The tiniest of them, just a small wisp of a halfling in his robe and scraggly hair. He had smiled so widely when it was his turn. Ilandriel had a soft spot for Garym, for the little wizard had found a way into her heart that she had rarely allowed others to do. For her, the only love had been music and the Lore. A Harper’s life was one of solitude, study, and sharing of knowledge. Garym had changed all of that when he had convinced her to join the Forgebound Wardens. Though her memory failed her often these days, she still remembered him laughing as they fell endlessly through a vortex during one of their extraplanar adventures. Her tears had fallen upon her cello when he was removed from the room, his life force spent after nearly two decades in the Machine. He had deserved a warrior’s end. Or at least one with laughter.

After his passing, she had weaved his story into the notes. Moments of joy, moments of sadness, moments where they had fought… all captured on the strings. The crescendo at the end of the fifteenth measure was always one of her favourites to play in the early days. Over time, with the constant looping, with face after face lit up in that dull red glow of the Machine, the notes had lost their meaning. And so the centuries passed, in the quiet, with the music surrounding her, and her eyes closed in the dark cavernous room. Stillness. And quiet.

But now it was loud. There was shouting. And drumming. And the sounds of armoured boot steps upon the ground. And a face… Garym?

Her hand slipped while bowing the strings, a strange dissonance in the music bringing her to alertness. She felt the tug on her concentration as her spell began to lose form. Working quickly, she found the rhythm again, bringing the melody back out of her instrument, regaining composure, but it was no illusion before her. It was real. Garym looked as if he hadn’t aged a day in over a thousand years. How could this be?

But it couldn’t be. Her heart’s hope drained out as she realized it was a trick, a play of the lights, or perhaps an illusion. There was someone there, real enough, who was speaking, asking questions, wanting to know how to free their friend. Her eyes shifted to look at the tiny robed halfling hanging from the wires of the great glowing Machine. These adventurers, so much like her friends, worked in the dark trying to save a single friend, not knowing the danger they would be in.

And Garym, or whomever he was, simply asking her to stop playing. It was so tempting… she was so tired. So very tired.

Another voice, one she recognized, disturbed the room with its melodic structure and tone of authority. She recognized it: one of the Old Ones. Her eyes went to stare at Dru, as powerful and fierce as when they had met 2500 years ago. Ilandriel had learned so much from the dragon and the Old One had supported Ilandriel in upholding the ideals of the Harpers and protect this world and its history.

A loud sound echoed through the chamber… rocks crumbling, then leather flapping in the air. The bard had heard those wings beat before, but never in this room. There seemed to be panic in the dark, figures rushing about the room as they scrambled for cover. The halfling wizard who looked so much like Garym was in the middle of the room, pack open, trying to pour a potion down his throat. Perhaps a last-ditch effort at protection? The lightning screamed through the air, striking the wizard with full force.

“Nooooooo!!!”

Her playing stopped. Ilandriel didn’t even realize she was doing it, but as Flynver’s form fell to the ground, charred by the lightning, her voice cried out and she channeled something deep inside her into the little halfling. The force around her yielded, its magic gone, the protection of all of Lani lost. But life came back to the halfling’s face! She watched as he drew breath once more and his eyes opened wide, surprised at the sudden shock of the dragon’s breath and then the magical surge of power from the bard.

Ilandriel, standing tall, strode forward to face down the massive blue dragon flying above them. She would not watch Garym die again!

Hero time

Tanthalas looked down the long length of the room, seeing a dragon, on fire, flapping through the air towards his companions. Higher up still, there was a second one coming down from the darkness, its blue scales lit up by the lightning escaping its maw. The ancient one named Dru was locked in a battle with the elven bard, her seemingly innocent form slowly transforming into a more draconic one as she attempted to subdue the one she had called Ilandriel. Upon whom, it seemed, so much depended.

On the other side of the room, Al and Audak were attempting to take out that blasted gnome and his sniper. Al was clutching at his chest, where an arrow was sticking straight out, but Audak was using his massive form to protect the dragonborn. The wizard lay on the ground, in the middle of the room, trying to get to his feet. Brylla, her shield in front of her, braced herself in the center of the room, facing down two massive flying lizards who were converging on her position.

Things looked bleak.

As Blitz chewed through the final cable, Tanthalas caught Echo as she fell limply into his arms. The little halfling was still, but breathing. He looked at her small face, then back at the scene standing between himself and the doors. The exit was too far away to see, several hundreds of yards away from where he stood before this giant monstrosity of a machine. Between him and the exit was the promise of death.

Lifting Echo up and bracing himself for what was to come, the elf prepared for the most heroic thing possible in this moment: It was time to run.