The Brute Force Method

Faeriel stands at the edge of General Taylor’s ship, the wind tugging at her cloak as the vessel carves its way toward the storm-shrouded cliffs of Graviheer. The sea is restless, and so is she — eyes fixed on the horizon, though her thoughts drift elsewhere. Taylor approaches quietly, his footsteps heavy on the damp deck. For a moment, neither speaks. “I worry about them,” Faeriel says at last, voice barely louder than the waves. “About the others.” Taylor doesn’t answer right away. He leans on the railing beside her, eyes narrowed against the sea spray. “They’re marked,” he says finally. “Each of them. Not on the skin — not in any way you’d notice. But I see it. Like a cipher written across their foreheads. Something lost in them. Or maybe something they can’t ever let go of.” Faeriel turns to him, the question forming in her throat before she can stop it. “Do I have it too?” Taylor looks at her then — truly looks — and shakes his head. “No. Not yet. But I see the longing in you to carry one. And that’s almost worse.” Silence stretches between them, filled only by the crashing of waves and the creaking of wood. The ship sails on, toward Graviheer.

Elmisnter bunker In the dim corridors of Elminster’s hidden bunker, arcane glass pods flicker to life one by one, casting long, sharp shadows across ancient walls. The party stands in the main hall, surrounded by glass cages housing dormant figures — Magen faces, coiled wires, silent breath. The security system hums with power, sealed tight against intruders. While the group debates their next move, Greg slips away, moving through rusted doorways and forgotten labs until he reaches the control room. Alone among terminals pulsing with ancient magic, he manages to activate the unlocking protocol — a soft chime signaling the system’s reawakening… and drawing attention. Back in the main hall, a towering construct stirs. Designation: Break. Its limbs unfold with a hiss of pressure, eyes igniting with hostile recognition. The party prepares for battle as Break lumbers forward, its metal fists smashing into the marble floor with crushing intent. Meanwhile, Greg fights his way back, corridors now crawling with Magen clones — sleek, agile, and eerily precise in their attacks. Their movements echo the brutal efficiency of Chissaya, each one a perfect mirror of the next. After a desperate scramble, the party reunites in the main hall, breathless and bloodied. But the challenge has only begun. Before them, the glass cages glow faintly, waiting to be activated in a precise sequence — a puzzle older than any of them, and perhaps more dangerous too.

One by one, the party begins awakening the Magen sealed in the glass cages — but each incorrect choice brings more chaos and the Magen keep reloading into the pods waitng to be freed by the next wrong input. The awakened Magen erupt into violent motion, attacking with razor-precise movements as if compelled by a script etched deep into their design. The team is forced to fight again and again, unsure if they're solving the puzzle or sinking deeper into its trap. Break, Loop, and Bug That’s when realization strikes: they’re missing a key. The numbers. The order. Greg, battered but resolute, volunteers to return to the control room. He slips back through the dim corridors alone, ducking past sparking conduits and twitching shadows of Chissaya clones. Once inside, he locates the panel that shwo the numbers above the pod in the mainhall. He puts his palms onto it once more and glowing numbers appear above each glass cage in the main hall, pulsing like beacons. The rest of the party calls out placements, working quickly to match the sequence. This time, as they activate the cages in the correct order, no constructs awaken. Instead, they remain still in their pods, and the Chissaya clones in the hallways also stop attacking. Something has changed. The security is unraveling. The door is open.

With the final cage activated in the correct sequence, the tension in the air snaps — not with violence, but with release. The glass-eyed Magen cease their aggression, returning to stillness like actors at the end of a scene. Then, with a deep mechanical groan, a massive metal door at the far end of the dungeon begins to slide open, revealing a passage cloaked in shadow and quiet. The party steps forward, deeper into the heart of Elminster’s long-abandoned sanctuary. The air grows colder, charged with residual magic. As they pass through winding halls lined with maintenance alcoves and memory chambers, they’re met by a figure. She introduces herself as Loop — a female construct with a porcelain frame, elegant and soft-spoken. Her voice is gentle, almost rehearsed, and she claims she will lead them to her master: Selena. But something in her gait is hesitant. Her eyes flicker too often toward the walls. She leads them into a chamber alive with light — arcs of crackling lightning dance from coil to coil, illuminating the silhouette of an enormous construct in the center of the room. Loop calls it Bug. She lingers at the threshold, head tilted, as if burdened by something unspoken. Before she departs, Weneon steps forward and presses the All-or-Nothing Coin into her hand — a quiet gesture of connection, or warning, or both. Loop clutches it close and disappears into the dark. Bug shifts — a behemoth of reinforced plating and sentient design, built for purpose. It regards the party with whirring optics and speaks in a voice like an avalanche: “Are you related to our master Selena?” “Are you here to protect her?” Brutebrute The party tries to explain. They speak of purpose, intentions, dreams and dangers — but they speak too long. Bug interrupts. “You talk too much. Let’s see if you’re better with actions than with words.” Then it charges.