http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/13330806/

There's the second thread, just to be sure.

Went through all fifteen pages a few moments ago. It isn't there. Ah well. I must soldier on!

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/13330806/

"Damnit, would you both get off of me?" Krickler's grating voice was distant and muffled, like dozens of cotton balls were still stuck in Mack's ears. He was on his back, something hard under his spine. It felt like pinpricks.

"As soon as Mack gets off mine, sure." That was Grimlock's voice.

"There's a fire on your arm, cleric." Mack heard himself say hoarsely. He remembered it from when the priest of Bahamut was rushing to his side a few moments ago. He coughed afterwards. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had a broken rib.

Gently, he rolled himself off Grimlock, his gloved hands hitting the harsh grating of the floor. Steam was boiling from a few cracked pipes down below. As his hearing became clearer, he could hear klaxons going off all around him. Then he felt himself get pulled to his feet. "Up you get." It was Krickler. "And off we go. Now." There was a metal boot pushed against his ass and he stumbled forwards to the open door at the far end. He chanced a look down the hall behind him at the gearbox room.

Fire and smoke. Just fire and smoke - as well as bits and pieces of cracked, broken cogs. He heard the cry of the broken machinery trying to find purchase on each other's teeth. Those pressure bombs had done their job.

They went through the door at the end of the short hall. It led to another maintenance ladder.

And up they went.

OH FUCK YES YOU'RE BACK

>>13337649

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8u7px_GzWQ

Grimlock was beating the grease fire on his left arm with the hand opposite. "Bahamut's breath." He swore, "This is why I hate being on mechs!" His hand did not help put it out. In fact, it spread to the very hand he was using to try and snuff it with. Luckily, his armour protected him for now so he kept calm just enough to resist his desire to kick open a pipe and bath himself in steam.

"Suck it up, Cleric." The Steamborg said, grabbing the other dwarf by his burning arm to hold it still. He pulled a small tin from the pack of his personal effects, popped it open, and dumped its contents onto Grimlock's arm. The white powder clouded the hall. The priest coughed and sputtered, "What is this garbage, Krickler?"

Mack was already ten feet up the ladder. He looked down where Grimlock and Krickler still stood at the bottom. "The fekk? You carry baking soda with you?" He started laughing, "You prone to cases of indigestion, boiler brain?

The steamborg felt it necessary to justify himself for once. "I'll have you know this stuff has more uses than YOU do, pilot. ONE of them being it puts out fekking GREASE FIRES!" Words that were emphasized were accompanied by thick puffs of steam jetting from his nostrils and mouth. Mack thought he saw steam literally coming from his ears, too.

Mack laughed harder, "Oh wow, I found a way to get under your skin." He turned and casually continued to make his way back up.

The fire on Grimlock's hand and arm had been put out. He was, however, now a white, chalky mess, but he was grateful for the fact that he wouldn't roast in his own armor. "Thanks, Krickler." He said, genuinely surprised that the powder worked.

Krickler shrugs, the act of rolling his shoulders causing something in the machinery of his body to shift gears, "Don't mention it." His steam engine chuffed quietly as he began to climb. Grimlock followed in tow.

Like a man out of a manhole, Krickler was first through a floor built hatch into yet another room, this one different from the last.

They had just spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes crawling their way out of the knee and up the city-mech's thigh. It was difficult because security was getting tighter. More than once they had to duck against a bulkhead or dive under the floor in darkened areas to avoid being caught by the soldiers and engineering crew who were rushing back and forth to contain the damage they were doing to the behemoth's right leg as well as find the cause of the explosions. Alarms were still going off somewhere from the last bodily lurch caused by a near-loss of balance.

Now, they emerged into what was a ten foot wide corridor that ran a length of almost thirty feet. Krickler felt a sense of dread when he entered this room and he wasn't certain why. It looked familiar to him.

The area was completely seamless, almost as if the entire thing was made using diecast construction. He could see his blurred reflection in the walls, floor and ceiling.

The steamborg helped his friends out of the hatch and shut it behind him. They all stood still for a moment, expecting something to happen.

"This feels weird." Mack remarked.

"Yeah." Krickler agreed before stepping forwards. He started walking down the length of the hall to the door that waited for them at the opposite end.

I look at my players as they cast another perception check. This one has a really high difficulty and despite his lack of mechanical knowledge, Grimlock is the first to see it.

Set into the smooth ceiling above and the equally featureless steel floor were the tiniest of nearly imperceptible seams. If one followed them, each seam described a perfect circle. The circles on the floor and on the ceiling are perfectly aligned.

I write this information down on a post it note and hand it to Grimlock with a smile. He knows what it is even if he isn't a mechanic.

There's a thud far below them as the foot makes contact with the ground. The room comes alive as the machinery which is responsible for balancing the mech as it shifts its weight on its mechanical muscles begins to power up.

"KRICKLER, GET OFF OF-"

The pistons slam together with an ear shattering clang.

The cleric and mech pilot stare in disbelief and helplessness at what they see before them. Each piston is at least being propelled through its cylinder by a thousand pounds of pressure. Each piston is at least a few tons of solid diecast steel. Each one is part of some vast muscle system that controls the right thigh of a two hundred and sixty foot tall iron god.

And here was Krickler. A five foot something dwarf whose metal body provided him with the capability to accomplish physical feats normally unheard of even in a robust hardy race like his.

Yet there he was.

He held two pistons apart from one another. At first, he was at least still standing between them, but very slowly the power behind the machinery was too much for even his steam engine to handle. He was slowly forced into a crouch...

And was made all the more impressive looking for it when he was forced into an atlas pose; knee and feet against the bottom cylinder, hands above hiss head as he held up a city.

His eyes were shut, wincing with the strain. Steam blasted between his teeth as he gritted with effort. Steam billowed from the exhaust vents along his spine.

The pistons responded by filling the room with steam, the pressure building within them too great as they exerted themselves to close together properly. Krickler wasn't allowing that to happen - not with him caught between them at anyrate.

He started growling, spittle running down the corners of his mouth. His eyes flew open as rage filled them, the artificial optics in the left side of his skull glowing like a tiny red star. His guttural growl turned into a roar which mixed with the high pitched rumbling of his steam engine. The sound combination was distinct and unsettling as the valves of his steam engine cycled so fast that they beat a rhythm against his lungs and voice box. White, scalding vapor escaped through his screaming mouth in the form of a straight jet. A barbarian would have been impressed.

Then, slowly, with a metal groan, the two pistons that trapped Krickler began to part.

The city-mech had a near-misstep as a result. With nothing to hold onto, Grimlock and Mack were sent sprawling into the walls.

Iron slammed hard back into a cylinder. Safety measures inside the mechanisms around them were triggered, deciding that a pair of pistons were having mechanical difficulties.

Krickler almost collapsed. He was panting. Warm clouds rose from his shoulders and nostrils like exhaust. He kept himself from falling by slamming his mechanical fist into the piston at his feet.

It took him a minute for his breathing to slow.

By then, Mack and Grimlock had gotten up and were staring at him. "Dotrak's gears." Murmured Mack.

Grimlock took a step forwards, "Are... Are you okay Krickler? We thought you..."

Slowly, Krickler rose up, the vapours in the room surrounding him like a cloak. He looked at his compatriots for a moment, then grunted rolled his shoulders to make certain everything was in working order.

"Would buckle under pressure?" Krickler finished for him. He snorted a laugh, then turned, heading to the door on the far end of the now silent room.

"Let's get the fekk out of here."

They climbed. Oh how they climbed. Krickler was counting the steps on the ladder, one for each five feet. Seventy, eighty feet now. They were probably in or near the machine's hips.

They eventually passed the unfinished framework for a section of paneling which allowed them to look outside again. The city-mech was travelling much slower. Where it had once been taking long, confident strides, it now simply walked at half speed. It would take awhile to get to Redstsone still. "You know," Krickler realized as he looked up the side of the metal giant, past a shoulder that was the size of a small hill and up to the exposed barrels of its massive steam cannon battery, "Those haven't fired in a long while."

Grimlock stopped. They couldn't go any further since Krickler had stopped to look at the scenery. Mack was close behind.

"It was a warning shot." Mack explained, "Despite the ineffectiveness of the mine's defenses, they still don't want to take any crap. I'd wager that if this city mech-wanted to, it could tear apart the fortifications around Redstone with its guns, but they want the place intact. Makes sense since there's a lot of work still to be done on it... I mean, it's missing a left arm."

Krickler nodded. He continued upwards.

When Grimlock passed by the opening he saw something moving through the dust clouds off to one edge of the valley. His eyes squinted. "Is that who I think it is?" He asked. He pointed, two thousand feet away. The figure was fleeting, but the glimmer of sunlight off the conical shaped adamantium metal on its left arm was distinct. Mack peered up from below, having to grab onto the opening for added balance.

"Yup. There's Red Zero. Looks like Ragnar is doing alright." He grinned when he saw the fumbling, uncertain steps that the old mining mech was taking back towards its home in the distance, about half a mile away now. Red Zero was actually going faster than the city mech, thanks to the damage they had dealt to its internals. They spent a few seconds watching the drill glimmer in the sun, then continued on their way up.

"There was something I noticed on the crewmen here." Grimlock said, his brows furrowed. His body swayed with the movements of the metal they they crawled through. A few dozen feet above he could see the end of the ladder over Krickler's back. "They all have the same mark. A silver five pointed star."

"I saw it too." Mack affirmed, "It took me awhile to place it, but I know where it's from now. There's a fourth clan we never saw during the battle." He and the rest of the group clutched the handlebars tightly as the leg shifted its weight and began to swing backwards, propelling the giant forward another step, "I do not know if either of you saw it but there's a flagpole above the command bridge that has no flag."

Krickler grunted somewhere above, "Gazing at flags ain't my thing, Mack... What's it called, vexicology?"

"Vexillology" Grimlock corrected.

"Yeah, that."

"Well, at least keep it in mind when you're dealing with the clanners, boiler head." Mack advised, "Knowing the difference between one clan and another can mean the different between being able to potentially talk your way out of a fight or being shot dead."

The steamborg's arm hissed as he laughed, "Been shot ... what, at least a dozen times today. Still walking. Still breathing." His face darkened as he realized something. The memory of Thedrin's cry for help and the following explosion of his Scale Hunter flashing through his mind. "Some of our friends weren't so lucky."

Mack and Grimlock were silent for a moment of respect before the pilot continued.

"Well... You never found a body." He said optimistically.

"Yeah. Never did." Krickler responded, his voice monotone.

Mack sighed, "Anyway... Look. The silver star on the crew. The missing flag on the hull. They're North Star."

"So the crew belongs to the North Star Clan. What of it?" Krickler asked, irritated.

Mack bit his lip, searching his mind. He searched hard. "Well... That's all I got really. Compared to the other clans, they're small. Really small."

Peter doesn't know either. He never went that far in the supplements. Good, I can keep some surprises. He rolls for some history knowledge and comes up slim. I shrug my hand but I do offer him some scraps of information on a post it note.

"I don't know much about them," Mack continues, "but... I... I don't know how they would have found support from three other clans, especially big ones like Hawk, or the resources to build something like this." He banged on the hull next to him, the impact rang like an echo through the cavity in the thigh. "Especially without anyone knowing about it. Pretty fekking hard to hide a city mech."

Grimlock has been silent this whole time. His companions are startled when they hear him speak. In fact, they both stop on the ladder, directly underneath a hatch that muffles the deafening noise of the city-mech's engine that awaits not far above them.

"I know something about them." He says, he feels a shiver run up his spine.

The pilot and the mechanical dwarf look at their friend with silent expectation.

"They spend a lot of time studying the moon. Some of them know how to predict the weather patterns of the lunar rain. I picked up on the skill... It's how I knew a storm was coming today."

Krickler thinks tactically about that information, "Explains why they attacked the mine today then. Combine the cover of heavy rains with a small city mech like this, you could trounce entire armies pretty easily."

He pops the hatch, "Better bring it down so they don't tip the balance of power."

I smile at their assumptions. Oh the sweetness of their reactions when their eyes are fully opened to the sad truth.

I shall return shortly! Something on the phone calls my attention.

To entertain you, have an image from the core rulebook. It's a picture of a mech in a tussle with a Lunar Dragon.

Grease fire? Coal stained pilot leathers? Bad breath?

Then you need to get yourself a tub of Peter Ratchetbottom's special brand of baking soda. Appreciated by coglayers, mech jockeys and steamborgs everywhere!

Remember, if it isn't Ratchet, it isn't worth it!

"It's got more fekking uses than you do, buddy." - A testimony from one of our many satisfied customers!

And I'm back with a fresh cup of tea and my head bubbling with what remains of this wonderful adventure.

Just to link back to my previously archived threads before I continue:

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/13277875/

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/13330806/

Just let me have a sip of tea and I shall continue.

There. Sipped. Let's move on.

A side note while I write up the next set of posts - I should have gone to bed at 3 in the morning last night like I usually do. Would have saved my second thread from saging.

>Tea
>Using the word Fekk

You Irish?

(And as I type this a kitten sits on my shoulder. While I write this, I am actually listening to Arcanum's beautiful OST. Join me, fellows and ladies. Listen to the following song on repeat as you read the next two posts:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vq_6ObzUzog )

Krickler pushed his way up through yet another hatch set in a floor. Peculiar design, this city-mech. Then again, these were emergency hatches.

He found himself squinting his eyes. There was wind here, air rushing past him in time with the soft walk of the metal colossus they had set out to bring down.

Ten feet above him, he saw what he and his friends were looking for. As he pulled Grimlock out and helped Mack up, Krickler pointed to the exposed, whirling, noisy machinery that was set into the unfinished ceiling. Pipes shivered with each step, crank-shafts slowly spun, the thick braces that link them to unseen pistons huffing like metal lungs. Gears clacked noisily and boiler pipes rumbled with their scalding watery cargo. He saw coupling rods push and pull, linking drive-wheels that spun in time with the iron beating of this giant's mechanical heart. All the parts were new, well oiled, and have not yet felt the rigors of age and wear.

There was a moment where his own steam engine seemed to beat in synchronization with its larger brother up above. He almost felt pang of hesitation tightening what was left of the skin on his chest. Almost.

He turned to assess the room. His compatriots were busy, however.

Mack and Grimlock looked up to feel something similar to Krickler's almost-feeling.

Mack, having been in many mechs in his short but successful career, and many city mechs, saw something in the machinery above. The claustrophobic, castle-like rocky qualities and jarring gait, but homely dwarven style of Durgan-lok, or cacophonous, metallic clanging and oily, grease stained humid atmosphere of Nedderpik could not be found here. The parts here were clean and well oiled. Remembering their way up, he recollected that some of the moving parts were made out of metals rarer than iron or steel. He remembered the main drive-cog in the knee that was now undoubtedly shattered. It was solid brass.

For Grimlock, when he looked up, he saw something different. The knowledge that North Star staffed this city-mech suggested its purpose was something much different than the aggressive raid might have implied, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He did, however, feel hope. Not from within himself. It was a sensation that seemed to emanate from the engine. He could not explain that.

"We're being watched." Krickler said. His friends tore their eyes from the beautiful artistry of the engine parts above their head.

This area could be described as follows. Despite the low ceiling above, it was fourty feet on a side side and sixty feet long. Krickler was looking lengthwise.

A gap leaves much of the floor between their end of the room and the other empty. The only way to cross the gap came in the form of a flexing fourty foot long, five foot wide, steel plate with no safety railings. The imromptu bridge is roughly fourty feet in length.

Below the plate-bridge is the surface of the valley, over a hundred and forty feet below, both feet of the city mech swinging ponderously as it continues to advance on the mine. Exposed cables run the length of the gap, but not enough to block someone dropping off the bridge. On the bridge stands a humanoid looking machine, its arms folded over its chest. Despite the flexing of the bridge, it does not slip or fall. Its hard steel face is carved with a stern expression. Its head faces the trio at all times, clearly tracking them. Despite seeing them, it does not move towards them.

My players think for a moment. Mark raises his hand. I nod at him.

"I take out the water jug of plenty and use it like a water jet to blow the thing off the bridge."

I think about that for a second, "You can do that? How much water comes out of that thing?"

I can't remember the explanation, something like four galons. A second. There are also specific rules for the amount of force a 4 gallon a second jet can project.

To be honest, I had totally forgotten Mark had purchased it before we started the game, but I allow it. I ask for a roll to hit - they tell me it'll be a ranged touch attack. I'm fine with that.

It is a hit.

To brace himself, Grimlock heads over to one side of their end of the walkway, placing his back against the wall and aiming a diagonal shot at the machine to knock it off. It tracks him but doesn't move still.

There's a rush of fluids as the jar projects its infinite contents. The android buckles a little, then bends backwards, but its legs stay in exactly the same position.

"It's welded to the fucking bridge?" someone asks me. I nod.

"Where's the exit? Fuck this." Arthur lifts his arms in defeat.

"There is an exit to the engine room ... on the other side of the bridge."

I have never DMed before, and so this is the moment where I am subjected to my first time in the iron sights of player rage.

This is also the first time I hear cries of Game Master railroading directed at me.

A moment of honesty for my audience, and to my players who are actually reading these posts as I type them.

I had prepared that bridge encounter incorrectly. I apologize for that.

It was my initial desire to force them to walk across the bridge to get to the engine room - not with the intent to kill them but with the intent to underline how dangerous it is on a walker many hundreds of feet tall. Keep in mind, this city-mech is actually the smallest class size at 260 feet. They get much taller from there.

Nedderpik, a canon city-mech built by the Stenians, is somewhere over a thousand feet tall. Imagine falling from that. You die, no matter who you are.

It was also designed to give the steamborg an opportunity to flex his mechanical muscles and bull rush the mechanical bridge-guard off.

But see, I never told them this. Mentally, I realized my mistake. I felt guilt, embarrassment, and panic when I had the accusation of railroading shot my way. Why do I admit this here when I just told you my players are also reading this, and by admitting all those feelings they could easily use that to manipulate me in the future?

Because they're all very good gamers who wouldn't do that to anyone, period, unless it was truly justified. In this case, it was, but I didn't tell them that until after the game.

On the spot, I whipped up a correction for the puzzle.

"You could try looking for another way out." I say, subtly hinting that they should just use a perception check.

But before I tell them that, the robot had to serve its purpose.

I lift my arm and point it at them, palm up and fingers together. It is the universal hand gesture for stop.

In a harsh, monotone voice, the mechanical guard says loud and clear to the party after straightening its back, "UNIDENTIFIED HUMANOIDS, THIS IS A HIGH DANGER AREA. PLEASE RETURN TURN AROUND."

Peter smirks a little, "Well, at least it's asking nicely. And, given the drop below us... It is kinda right."

Arthur folds his arms, "Then where are we supposed to go?"

"You could try looking around?" I suggest, subtly hinting at a perception roll.

The rolls are had, I pretend to look up at something in the ceiling.

"Hey guys, I found a way out that doesn't involve us crossing a dead drop bridge." Grimlock exclaims. He is pointing up to the ceiling at their side of the room. There is a hatch there, but no ladder leading to it. Someone is going to have to stand on someone's shoulders.

Grimlock elects to stand on Krickler's shoulders. The two dwarves do so while Mack has a laugh.

"You know, this might make an interesting game."

"What are you blathering about?" Krickler asks the pilot while trying to keep himself straight despite the swaggering of the city-mech around them.

"Dwarf stacking." He suppresses a, turning it into a guttural chuckle instead.

Is busy trying to pry open the hatch. He is so close to the rumble of the machinery in the ceiling that the swearing he directs at Mack is lost amongst the noise. Something about a dragon's stomach is mentioned though.

Krickler just gives him an angry glare.

Mack waits a second before he adds another element to the game he's making up in his mind while staring at them. Then:

"Points if you can get them to do it while drunk."

"Shut it!" The two dwarves say in unison. Mack bursts into laughter.

Grimlock pushes himself away from the hatch angrily, "I can't fekking open it. It's too strong."

Krickler speaks the code-word for his axe. His arm folds up and the blades deploy. There's a buzzing noise soon after.

"My turn. Mack, get over here."

"What? Why me?"

"Because Grimlock couldn't keep me stable enough. You can. Now get yer arse over here."

Wearing a set of grey worker's overalls, the engineer was stooped over a ten inch copper pipe that hooked up with one of the city-mechs immense boilers two levels above. He was tightening a washer that linked it with another neighboring pipe. When he was done, he pulled a lever on a distribution junction to send extra power to the right leg. Something was going on in the old giant that upstairs command wasn't sharing with the workers.

He didn't particularly care. He was more concerned that the engine was working overtime to compensate for the damaged limb. He gave the parts in front of him a gentle, and very careful, reassuring pat. "Don't worry old boy. We'll be at the mine soon where we can get you patched up then."

He heard something make a loud banging noise. Oh no, did the engine just have a pressure leak?

Bang.

He stood back. The hall he was standing in was actually a square alley that wrapped around this level of the city-mechs engine. It wasn't the only deck, as the engine itself filled much of the torso.

He looked to his right, there wasn't anything there. Just more moving parts and the hallway twisting in a sharp 90 degree turn to the left. Looking to the left yielded the same, the hall twisting 90 degrees in a sharp right.

Bang.

Ah, he saw it now. There was a hatch in the corner twenty feet to his left. He walked to it.

He advanced only close enough to see an axe blade bite through the metal plating. Someone was swearing behind it.

"You must be joking." The worker said. He turned and ran.

Krickler broke through just in time to see the engineer running away.

Grimlock had given him some rope to head up with. He held himself in place while Mack and Grimlock climbed up the rope after one another.

They were now in the engine room.

"The hall goes around the engine room?" Arthur asks.

I nod, "Yeah. You technically wouldn't known it but given the fact that you're not in the engine room, it isn't that hard to take a guess where the engineer is running to. Mind, this isn't the only deck the engine room is on. This also isn't the only room on the same deck. If you split up and try looking for him, you could end up anywhere... and besides, a pair of heavily armed and armored guard are starting round the corner after the engineer disappears behind it. They're coming to you with weapons drawn. There are three of them."

Krickler cracks the knuckles of his normal hand with his thumb while his axe buzzes noisily even above the roaring of the machinery around them, "Mack, Grimlock. You get the technician. I'll deal with these guys." He grins.

The pilot and cleric nod. They dart down the hall that heads towards the spine. Krickler takes a step forward to block passage to the corner. He readies himself as the guards come closer.

Hoping to catch the fleeing engineer, Mack and Grimlock head in the opposite direction. Weapons are drawn - Mack pulls out his double barreled pistol, Grimlock his special roped hook-blade.

As they round the counter and head through a cloud of steam jettisoned by a nearby blast pipe, they come across trouble of their own.

A pair of footmen are standing guard in front of a heavily armoured door. He see the pair of heroes and immediately recognize them as not being part of the crew. Swords are drawn and battle is joined.

Roll initiative.

I might be going out soon, gents and ladies. Keep this thread live if you don't want it to 404.

>>13339878

I'm afraid I'm not that interesting. I just felt that 'fekk' is a suitable steam-punkish replacement for 'fuck' in this setting. Sounds cooler too. I also just like tea.

Anyway, off to dinner now gentlemen and ladies.

Seriously. This saga will finish tonight. Don't miss the exciting conclusion of ADVENTURES IN DRAGONMECH!

bump

And I am back.

Let's bring this to a conclusion. We're not far.

Close quarters combat inside a mech was never a fun thing. Like boarding a ship, you were never certain if the man fighting behind you was an enemy or an ally.

Multiply that feeling of closeness by a few dozen times, add into that the dangers of the environment around you like the potential to lose your weapon as you lift it high above your head to the teeth of a set of hungry gears you didn't notice in the ceiling, or a stray shot suddenly puncturing a hole in a pipe that carried high pressure steam, and you get an idea of what it's like.

City mech combat was made only a little better by the fact that there was a little bit more wiggle room, but if you were the one doing the attacking, then you better take down your enemies right quick because there were always more on the way.

And if you were fighting in the engine room? Well, that's one of the most heavily defended areas! Once they knew you were there, you generally have less than four minutes to get the hell out of there, or submit to being thrown into the brig if your lucky or out an open window down several hundred feet if you're not.

My players and their characters were all highly aware of this. They were on a timer they couldn't see. The air was tense with anticipation and anxiety.

Mack's pistol, a rare, lovely little double barreled blackpowder cherrywood carved artifact (and a Gearfreem family original!), puffed loudly as the strike plates for both barrels were sparked by a pair of flint keys. The lead bullets inside sung as they whizzed through the air and caught one of the guards in the neck. Though armored, his adams apple got shoved in by the impact. He grabbed his throat and choked, falling to the ground. His sword dropped with a clatter.

Mack whipped out an extra pair of rounds, chambering them. They were ready to be fired, sitting inside small bags filled with gunpowder. He twirled the weapon skillfully as he snapped his eye to its sights, ready to fire again.

But Grimlock as faster. He lanced his rope-sword out like a whip and caught the half-plate armored footman by his waist. The weapon wrapped around him so many times that when Grimlock pulled to trip the man, instead of falling he spun like a top. Before he could balance himself, Grimlock had kicked him in the stomach and immediately set to work tying him up.

Mack lifted a brow, "Do you always have to do that?" He asked. It only took Grimlock a few seconds to have the guard completely indisposed.

The cleric shrugged, "These are not evil men." He said, "And if I can help it, I will not end their life. I realize ... I realize some may have not survived battle with us earlier on the ground, but I believe that may be necessary to deliver us to some... some larger purpose here. I am not sure what."

Mack couldn't think of anything to say to that. He frowned and holstered his weapon.

Only to be caught in the face by the pommel of a sword he did not see coming.

Three of them. The one closest to Krickler charged first while his friends came in behind. The steamborg's engine growled in anticipation and he sucked in the heady air around him, letting the noise and scents of an engine room invigorate him like incense for a monk.

He let the axe being wielded by the dwarf attacking him strike first. It crashed into his chest and, Krickler was surprised to see, chop through the platemail he carried over his already well armored body. Despite this, he grinned, "Very nice axe!" He complimented, grunting. The other dwarf looked at him in disbelief.

"Here's mine."

Serrated steel teeth chewed away at the scale mail covering his opponent's flank, sending sparks flinging into then bouncing off of the floor. There was a gas main running along the bottom right of the hall which someone had actually meant to repair that day.

Immediately, the fuel leaking from it was set aflame. A jet of fire burst out, diagonally into the ceiling, engulfing the steamborg and his opponent.

Krickler could take the heat. Luckily, his beard was not set on fire. He had to pat down his shoulder, though. One of the leather straps holding his platemail up had caught fire.

His opponent screamed and backed away, clutching his bleeding side and his flaming head. One of his fellow guards put the fire out by tossing baking soda at his head. He fell unconscious a moment after.

Krickler took a step forward and banged his angry buzz-axe against his armored chest with a restrained grin.

The two guards looked at one another for a moment. Krickler thought they would run away.

Instead, one drew an automatic crossbow and the other a shield to go with his sword.

The crossbow's mechanisms chattered noisily as it opened fire. The man was a good shot. Three shots, three hits. Krickler actually had to take a step back to brace himself against the recoil.

The shield bearer advanced, sword still in hand. With the support of his fellow, it was easier to advance on the steamborg.

"I sunder the shield." Arthur tells me.

Krickler grins as he steps into the blow, the steel blade clanging against the side of his ribcage. "Hope you liked that shield, buddy." He states.

The guard, wide eyed, stabs Krickler again. His sword bites through the armor, opening a fresh hole in his chest plate, slides past one of the few pieces of actual flesh that remain on his body, and comes to a halt when it collides with the mechanical dwarf's iron ribcage.

And then the mechanical axe comes down on the shield like thunder to a tree.

The shield splits in half, blood sprays from the guards fist as fingers are severed. He staggers backward, and the two halves of the buckler clatter to the ground. The man falls and backs away. Krickler raises his axe to finish the job when-

"Reflex check!"

"What?!"

Something small, eggshaped, and metal clangs and deftly bounces off his head. Time slows for the steamborg and it is still in the air, just two feet from his head as he turns to look, "The f-"

The grenade explodes.

Grimlock stumbled a moment and put his wrist over his eyes as a wave of pressurized air washed over him. Mack did the same. It was preceeded by loud kaboom.

"What was that?" He looked at Mack.

Mack was about to answer when they heard the sound of an angry steamborg stomping his way around a corner down the hall in front of them. In front of Krickler was the engineer who had thrown a grenade at his head.

"That fekking little pissant broken skinny dipstick of a fekking-" His eyes were wide with madness, his axe raised above his head as he chased the engineer who ran for his life.

Mack whispered to Grimlock, "Perhaps you better catch the technician before he gets caught by Krickler, eh?"

Mack took a step forward, the engineer hesitated. That gave the cleric a still target to lasso with his rope and sword. As the cleric dragged the fallen dwarf away from their peeved mechanical compatriot who was literally fuming with rage, Mack walked past the crewman and placed his arms on Krickler's shoulders. "Now hold on there. You don't want to do anything you might later regret, eh?" Mack heard his boots slide against the smooth floor. He felt like he was trying to stop a train. "Come now, Krickler, calm yourself down!"

The steamborg shouted, "He threw a damn grenade at my fekking head! The wind rushed over Mack's head as the axe was swung in the direction of the crewman who Grimlock was hastily binding by his arms."

The cleric smiled pleasantly and gave the crewman a reassuring pat on his shoulder, "Don't worry. Mack'll calm him down eventually and you won't have to worry about your head being split open."

The quivering dwarf was not entirely reassured. "What do you need to tie me up for?" He asked. "I have duties to perform. The gas fire caused by that bastard over there has stopped, but there's damage I need to bloody assess! Besides, I just used a pressure bomb. I was expecting to just knock him out!"

Behind them, the pilot had managed to get Krickler to stop swinging his axe indiscriminately by politely reminding him that they were in an engine room. He didn't want his arm to be torn off by a gear assembly bigger than he was, now did he?

"No." He answered like a child being reprimanded for doing something naughty.

"Then? Calm."

Krickler's nostrils flared. Smoke came out of them and he turned around to look for something to sink his axe into.

"I'd like to make a (craft)mech check to look for boilers." Arthur says to me. I nod.

"Grimlock will talk to the engineer to reassure him everything is okay." I nod to that too.

Peter says, "Well, I follow Krickler along. Since I have some bombs, I'll look for a boiler as well. If we take that out, we can bring this whole thing to a dead stop."

I let them make their rolls. Someone actually manages a natural 20 for the (craft) mech check.

I didn't tell them to go with a perception check because a boiler inside a mech like this is almost as big as a house. Not hard to miss. I did use it as a way to convey to them just what exactly was on this level of the gear forest.

"You do not find a boiler."

"But I rolled a natural 20." Arthur said.

"Yeah. And that's very nice, but if there is no boiler to be found, then there is no boiler to be found, right? Can't find something that is not physically there."

This was true. The bottom level of the engine room is actually the most easily accessed. The upper levels are where more sensitive parts (I mentally reasoned) are found. And in a newly built city-mech like this...

"You do however know that because this is a brand new, or at least relatively new city-mech, they designed its engine and the decks that surround it with more security in mind. In order to access the much more sensitive areas, there is only one way up. An elevator, which, incidentally, isn't that far from where you intercepted the engineer that Krickler was aiming to decapitate."

Peter crosses his arms and looks at me.

"What?"

He looks at everyone else. They all sense something is up, but the railroading accusation isn't leveled at me... thankfully.

"Alright, alright. I guess we go up the elevator then, eh guys?"

They enter the elevator. The gunmetal walls are seamless and smooth. The elevator itself is little more than an extremely thick metal slab mounted on a heavy metal rod and though they cannot see the solid metal pole, they can definitely hear it when it comes to stop with the sound of water being pumped out of its hydraulic container.

There are no rails to keep its passengers from touching the shaft against which it slides up and down, but that isn't necessary. The shaft and the elevator platform's edges sit flush with one another and are well oiled.

It is also empty when they step onto it, so no more fighting is needed.

There is only one single feature of the lift. It is a box on a thin iron pole, mounted to the right of the platform. The box is made of cheap wood, it has a speaker in it, and two buttons.

Up.

Or down?

Mack presses the command after they spend a moment looking at it, and slowly, but steadily, they ascend.

"This is where we get gassed, right?" Mark asks sarcastically.

My players are joking with one another. This is where the lives of their characters will end. They'll all die. They recognize a no-exit trap when they see it.

I chuckle a little. They were right. This would be the end of lives of their characters.

But not in the way they expect it.

"The elevator thuds as it comes to a halt. You are nowhere near the door that would take you to the second level of the engine room."

"Knew it." Peter smirked.

Arthur's brows are more focussed than ever, "Is there anything we could use to climb up?"

I shake my head, "Nope. Walls are completely seamless. The lift your on? Other than its control box, is a featureless, flat, iron slab that sits flush against the wall."

Before I give them the wrong impression however, I pause a second, then say.

"You hear a voice on the intercom." I explain, "It is a calm, soft spoken voice that nevertheless carries the heavy weight, and the awareness of the burden, of authority behind it."

For those of you who remember, I said earlier I was running the Sherlock Holmes OST from Hanz Zimmer on my USB speakers during this game. The music of that score was still playing during what happened next. (Run My Mind Rebels at Stagnation, to be specific, while you read this.)

"Hello, gentlemen." The voice says, "You're no doubt wondering why you're trapped on the elevator."

"No we're not." Arthur responds, rolling his eyes.

I soldier on. I did my best to not stumble during this critical moment, and I was very fortunate. The more I spoke, the greater the connection I felt to this NPC I was portraying.

"Well. Did you think there's wouldn't be a direct line to the command center for that elevator?" My words are steady, but incredibly sincere, and my voice remains dead serious.

"Of course." Peter says with a smirk.

I resist the nervousness that's growing in my stomach here, not because of the response I am getting from my players, but because of what this junction in the adventure represents.

"I... I have to commend you on the impressive progress you three made with climbing up and damaging Perihelion."

I think I see an eyebrow raise on one of my player's faces as I reveal the name of the city-mech.

"Very impressive. In fact, we're all a bit impressed that someone boarded the Perihelion and nearly made it to the control bridge. Maybe you're interested in knowing why we are attacking Redstone. Are you?"

"Oh great. The monologue." Someone throws their arms up in exasperation.

Peter, however, a DM and a man who also himself likes to dabble in villainy, furrows his brows and lifts his arm, "Now now. Come on. The DM has made this a really entertaining game for us so far. I think he's earned the right to monologue."

Mark and Arthur think about this, but they fall silent. One of them is smirking still.

"Alright. Let's hear it." Arthur says.

In game, their characters are no doubt feeling the same way. Oh how predictable THIS is. They're stuck with no way out and the BBEG is preparing to monologue at them. Great. Where's the exit?

"But first, I think a gesture on my part. I want to have your ears... And your sincerity of attention." I lean back, "You don't hear his voice anymore. There is a pause and a downward spiraling whine is heard somewhere in the heart of the engine. Transmission axles disengage, leg servos slow. The Perihelion comes to a halt, its steam powered heart idling."

I lean forward again, my face serious again. I don't know why but I'm trembling a little. Keep in mind, I am very new to DMing so... I was nervous. I really wanted to make a good impression.

"I've had my crew bring us to a halt to show you I am not stalling you." He explains, "Will you listen to me now?"

"Who are we talking to?" Mack asks, "There's no sense in talking to someone with no name."

"My name is Pardo Arkenholm, and I am the Mech Lord of this walking city."

Mack hesitates for a moment, looks at his compatriots. Krickler shrugs, his face serious. Grimlock doesn't move. He is listening, and while the rank's meaning is known to him, it doesn't make him want to kneel or act courtly.

Peter hesitates for a moment. I know he's read some of the supplimentals so for a Mech lord to directly address them, that's a pretty big fekking deal.

Arthur and Mack are waiting patiently for me to go on. I think they both still expect the cliched BBEG speech, but, roleplay wise, I did strike a chord with them by having the Mech Lord stop the entire city for them.

And so... the explanation is given.

"You are all aware of the ... diplomatic relationship shared by the Stenians and the Iron Tooth clans. There isn't one. We're all publicly and universally branded as outlaws and criminals, and we are treated as such, despite the fact that many of us actually follow a monastic way of life. That, combined with our... other cultural differences, it is very hard for a public friendship to exist between us and our Stenian cousins."

There is a moment where my voice is harsher with the next statement as the Mech Lord emphasizes a point, but he quickly returns his tone to calm, "This treatment has forced our hand to take the resources needed to build our own city-mech for protection from threats we might not be able to handle without one." I pause, then I look straight at Mark.

"My sources tell me there is one among your number who is a worshiper of the Dragon Father." Mark tilts his head slightly, brow raised. Ah, that's what I needed to impress him. "You most of all know that there exist dangers far worse than those brought on by the petty political warfare that occurs between the factions of of our world."

Mark's chest swells a little at this, no doubt Grimlock is doing the same. As soon as his chest swells, his face darkens, and he nods. Player and character agree. The Mech Lord is speaking reason.

He continues.

"Once Perihilion is complete, the presence of a complete city-mech under Irontooth control will give North Star and its allies some kind of footing to bargain for an amicable truce or maybe even an alliance with the Stenian Confederacy. A truce or, an alliance, would allow the Stenians and the Irontooth clans under my banner to stand against much bigger problems. Much worse problems. Until then, we must take first. Apologize later. But to you, I offer three choices. Leave peacefully, if you won't leave peacefully, then I ask that you respect Iron Tooth cultural honour codes and engage me in personal combat."

There is silence around the table. Everything just got serious.

"Or join me, and help me finish Perihelion."

Really serious.

Peter is the first to break the silence. He leans back and says, "Moral ambiguity." He claps his hands once and laughs.

"I'm impressed." Mark says.

Arthur chuckles and folds his arms. "A combat oriented resolution to the scenario." He says.

"And a pair non-violent ones." Peter adds.

Mark is hungry for more information. "Sense motive check on... Well, on him. To see if any of this is true."

The die is cast. Grimlock succeeds.

I bow a little, "He has not lied to you, but if he's with held anything, it is for his own sake of not appearing weak. You sense that he is using you three as an excuse to stall moving in on Redstone mine because he does not really want to have to harm the miners."

During the silence between your characters, he adds in, "We'd really rather not have to kill you, but we will if pressed. We will take the ore whether the miners are still there or not."

His tone is hesitant, almost remorseful. He really hates the fact that his hand was forced like that.

My players argue for awhile. Though I can't remember specifics, Peter is impressed with the opportunity being offered here.

"With the way Iron Tooth honours of combat work, you KEEP WHAT YOU KILL guys. Think about that."

I shrug, "Yeah. There is a total chance for you guys, if you so choose to fight him, to walk away with this city mech, it's crew, its mech fleet... all entirely under your control." I hide the fact that I don't recommend this course of action because it would deny them some massive opportunities for character development and understanding of the Dragonmech world.

Though Peter is suggesting that they should do that, just that it's there is impressive. He's more interested in digging further. Mark is leaning towards helping the Mech Lord complete his grand design.

Arthur, however... His character has witnessed some of very dark scenes during the course of this adventure. The neutrality of Redstone, the well-todo, genuine desire for Stenians to bring order. The fact that the Iron Tooth clan attacked. THEY are the ones who attacked first. They are the ones causing chaos.

And of course... Thedrin was never found.

"Krickler is very reluctant on anything other than bringing this thing down." Arthur explains after they argue together, with the general consensus leaning towards perhaps they should help the Mech Lord.

Peter thinks, then he looks at me. He is about to speak for Mack.

"Sir. Sire. It... it is difficult for us to come to an agreement with a person whose face we have not actually seen yet. Would it be possible to arrange for us to do so? At a place of your choosing of course. Being able to talk face to face might... help us decide."

There is silence on the intercom. Then, the soft, stone voice says, "That can be arranged."

In the background on his end of the comcaster, there's an argument. The Mech Lord is quick to end it, his voice distant, "Your disagreement is noted, Vorsha. Please be silent. I think... I think we can find allies in these men."

His voice is louder once he speaks into the sender-phone, "You will come up to the command bridge. We will meet face to face here."

The lift suddenly comes to life and it ascends. Their journey takes them almost a hundred feet before it stops in front of a pair of foreboding steel doors. There is nothing special about them other than the fact that they are very well polished.

Cogs as large as the three heroes begin to clank noisily away, pulling the doors open.

And then they step onto Perihelion's command center.

As they enter the command center, they can see that all the control consoles, command terminals, anything that has a switch on it or should be otherwise occupied by a crewman, with the exception of extremely critical systems such as engineering, are totally empty.

Their operators, the bridge security staff, and other supporting personnel are all standing at attention against the walls of the bridge or against the multi-tiered glass windows which run the length around the front half of Perihelion's head. Ahead of them, the three mercenaries can see a staircase on either side of the symmetrical bridge running up to a second tier of the bridge they can't quite see. The front of the bridge, ten feet in front of its massive collection of windows, is left empty, where Mack, Krickler, and Grimlock are expected to stand.

"Is the bridge decorated?" Peter asked. I'm not sure why, but I answer.

"No. There are no embellishments that you can see, anywhere on the bridge. In fact, there is still some exposed openings in the floor where panels are planned to be set. You are forced to walk over them. Some of the control terminals, their faces lined with buttons and dials of all kinds, lack a casing to protect their delicate internal workings.

They walk forwards as a group. Krickler is more guarded than his two friends.

When they reach the designated spot that they were expected to stand, they turn around to look up at the second level of the bridge. Senior staff are standing at attention there, a mixture of several different races.

There, on the command throne of the city mech that my players have fought so hard to to board and halt, sits Mech Lord Arkenholm. He slowly rises. Resting against the arm of the throne is a five foot rifle whose barrel flares out at the business end like a funnel. His body is framed by a blue and white cloak that falls from a pair of mundane looking grey pauldrons. A black leather jockey suit covers his body, the top dotted with rows of iron studs while the leggings are covered by bars of brightly burnished steel. His eyes are soft looking while his jaw suggests the stern qualities of a commander. Dominating his facial features is a burn that covers the entirety of his face except for a stripe of skin running from his eye to the top of his head, which is bald. His beard is thick, and peppered. A patch on his left breast is a simple five pointed white star: He is from the North Star Clan.

I ask for Grimlock to make a heal check when he sees the scar that covers much of his head. He succeeds.

On small post it note, I scribble: <This is a burn left by the breath of a lunar dragon.> No words are said, Mark makes the same face his character would. A solemn nod of understanding upon realization of the scar.

Flanking him are his lieutenants.

One is a young, serious faced, dark skinned human woman sporting a sheathed long sword on one hip and a dirk on the other. She has her hair tied in a tight bun on her head, which is held together by long steel needles. The bright red tatoo of a roaring cat on her left cheek identifies her as part of Clan Jaguar. Her armour is part half-plate and part leather leggings. A set of extra dirks line her left hip, while a small double barreled pistol sits holstered at her right. She looks down on the three heroes with the hardest of stares.

The other lieutenant is a dwarf a few decades younger than the Mech Lord. He is armed with a pair of light crossbows tied to his back. Hanging from his body are bits and pieces of bric-a-brac. Components for half finished machines and gadgets. Some of them might be complete, but it is difficult to tell one coglayer's piece of junk from another. He has a set of spectacles bridging his brow and nose, rimmed copper, and seems more interested in playing with whatever tool he has on hand than watching what is going on, but his tense stance suggests he can fight if need be. A few small spheres dot his belt, each one marked by a green dwarven rune.

I have Krickler make a perception check to see that the crossbows are highly modified, most prominent are their auto-loaders. He feels a phantom pain in his body, familiar with their bite.

To the left and behind the Mech Lord stands a man who appears more machine than anything else. His legs hiss, their hydraulics exposed, the skin of his arms is covered with nailed in steel plates. His eyes are gone. While the left socket remains bare, the right one has a black ocular implant drilled into the retinal tissue. A small glowing green pupil fiercly stares at Krickler from it, sizing up the other steamborg with a stern face. Instead of a tatoo in his shoulder, he identifies his clan with a metal plate welded into the skin of his chest. On the plate is a clenched iron fist, designating him as a member of Clan Iron Maiden.

His right fist clenches. Where a human hand should be, there is instead a mechanical monstrocity that ends in sharp claws. As it flexes, steam hisses from the exhaust pipes on his shoulders.

Peter says with a foreboding tone, "Oh, god. Those fucking hurt. See. That guy? That's the guy. If we fought the Mech Lord, that's the guy who would put the hurt on us."

The Mech Lord takes a step away from the command throne. "Let us talk."

Grimlock looked outside of the window for a brief moment. Not far from Perihelion awaited Redstone, its fate waiting to be decided here on this bridge.

"The miners," Mack asked, turning back around, "What will happen with them?"

"I will offer them the same options as I have offered you. Leave in peace, or join my cause. I will not let them fight me, I do not wish to hurt them."

Grimlock turned and argued, "How will the ones who don't agree survive? Where will they go?"

The Mech lord spread one arm to indicate the city-mech, "We have plenty of extra small mechs in the hangars. We can also equip them with carriages and offer to escort them to a safer place. We would take them to the closest Stenian outpost, but no further." He pursed his lips for a moment, "You have one of my Mech Jockeys. The pilot of the Iron Maiden?" He bowed a little, "Congratulations, by the way. I was told your battle with him was fierce, and you came out on top." His head nodded in respect. "You also have many of our pilots and soldiers imprisoned. I believe we can arrange ransom payment and a prisoner exchange?"

"He killed Thedrin." Krickler said, his voice quaking with restrained anger. "We should, by rights, kill him." Completion of that sentence was punctuated with a particularly loud growl of his internal steam engine.

At this, the Mech Lord smiled reassuringly, "Not so. Not so." He turned, "Someone, bring Thedrin in here please."

He then turns to Krickler, "I would use Raftrin's brother as... as an envoy. A gesture of good will. I am here just for help and for iron, not blood and subjugation. I have explained to Thedrin what I want. He knows what to tell Raftrin."

Thedrin is brought out from a shut door in the wall left of the upper deck that the Mech Lord stood on. He is not in chains, nor has he been stripped. He has been disarmed, but his weaponry is brought in by a second guard.

He looks at the party and rushes down to meet them, "Sirs! Hello!" He seems in good spirit and shakes everyone's hands, "He... he's going to release me to go speak to my brother."

The Mech Lord nods, "I will go down there in person after my safety is secured."

Krickler still does not remain convinced.

good work, carry on

The Mech Lord purses his lips. He is disappointed. He is trying very hard to try and get all three mercenaries to ally with him.

"I can see you are not convinced." He states flatly.

"No. I'm not." Krickler responds, arms folding over his chest. He doesn't take his eyes from the Mech Lord.

So, he steps down from the bridge's second level. The woman puts her hand on her sword pommel. The Mech lord reassures her by lifting his hand in a gesture of calm. He then continues his way down the staircase.

Every other step is a harsh clang as steel hits iron. He has an almost imperceptible limp, but Krickler can see it. He turns his head a little to focus his artificial optics on the nobleman.

His left leg is totally mechanical.

The King is now standing five feet from a steamborg whose physical strength was such that the dwarf single handedly brought pause in the stride to his city-mech. Krickler would need to do little more than to give the voice command swing accurately to slice the Mech Lord's jugular.

"Is there anything I can do to change that?" He asks.

"Don't think so." He clicks his tongue, his stare hard and distrusting.

Arkenholm bows his head in thought, surely there was a way to convince this dwarf.

"Could tell me..." Krickler began, then corrected himself, "Tell us, what you plan to do with this thing when it's done though."

The response to that question is strange.

"That is not something I can talk about." He pauses for a moment, "I know no more about it than what I have told you." He looks down with genuine embarrassment, "The... specifics of Perihelion's design were not mine to know." He looks up again, and stares the steamborg square in the eyes, "But I know someone who can tell you."

Without breaking eye contact with Krickler, he says, "Thorim. Please step forward."

A figure wearing a dark grey cloak steps forwards from the collection of senior staff on the second tier of the bridge. It takes the same staircase that Arkenholm took to descend. The party did not notice this person before, except by Krickler, who had made no mention of it.

It stops behind the Mech Lord's left and pulls the hood back to reveal a dwarven face. Beard grey like dust, his head so bald that it shines with a crescent.

His eyes are what set the entire party on edge.

They have no pupils, no irises. His eyes are instead pure white, with a hint of pearlescence when light hits them at certain angles.

Me, "Grimlock." I bow my head to his player, "You are the only person in the party aware of exactly who this dwarf is. To be more specific, you know what he is."

I scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Mark.

He stares at it, his jaw drops for a moment, wide eyed. Then he stares at me. Ah, I was right. He did read that part of the fluff.

"Guys. I... I believe everything he just said."

My players look at one another. Mark tells them nothing. I remind myself still to this day how fortunate I was to have a trio of players who can roleplay so well.

"Well, Grimlock seems pretty damn convinced, so I'll help you out." Mack says, his eyes never wavering from the stranger.

Krickler is the only one who is silent. He is still incredibly skeptical. He is silent for a long time, then he shrugs and says, "I go where my friends go." Steam rises idly from the exhaust ports along his back.

The Mech Lord lets out a long sigh which he had been holding since the trio stepped onto the command bridge. His elation and relief could not be measured. No more blood would be shed today. Talks of peace and fair exchange of men and materials between Redstone and the Iron Tooth clans under his banner would begin in earnest, and when Perihelion is fully completed and strides freely across High Point, then their real work can begin.

"We work together to finish Perihelion, then." Arkenholm said, his tired eyes creased with cheer. "And see what to do next."

Fade to black.

This is the world of Dragonmech. It is one of the first campaign settings I ever owned. It is the setting I used to run my first D&D game. It is also something I hold very near and dear to my heart.

It is a place where, very often, both sides are right.

It is place where magic is at odds with technology.

It is a place where people struggle with their faith as half-fallen moon looms in the sky, dropping its deadly cargo onto the surface below.

This scenario took me roughly a month of work to prepare.

It took me eight hours to run.

And it was thoroughly, unquestioningly fun.

There are a few people I'd like to thank for helping me. First, I'd like to of course thank my three players who made it possible to have so much fun. You have made my first time as a DM better than I could have ever hoped. I'd like to thank Peter for assembling the group, and for Mark and Arthur to tolerate my primordial ways as a neophyte dungeon master. I hope I have more adventures with you guys, as a DM and as a fellow player.

Second, but in no way lesser than my players, I'd like to thank the veteran DM (who may pop by to say hello and answer questions) who tolerated my constant pandering questions about the mechanics of D&D 3.5 and steered me in the right direction away from a lot of stupid decisions I made during the module design process. Thanks a lot. May the strongest dwarven ale fill your tankard and the rowdiest of tavern whores come knocking on your door.

Third, I'd like to thank those of you on /tg/ who have stuck with me throughout the entire retelling of my first time as a Dungeon Master, with as much accuracy as I could invest into it (with of course a healthy injection of creative narration). You guys played your part in inspiring me to give this Dungeon Master thing a try.

I hope I entertained you as much as this creative exercise entertained me. Most of all, I hope I've inspired you all to take a look at this almost unknown steampunk setting.

I doff my hat to you all. Thanks.

Now. I pray to god this thread doesn't 404 if I go to bed.

Questions?

>>13346303

The payoff was definitely worth it. And the one thing that comes into my mind...

See, the night after this game happened, I get an IM.

When I was listing all the bastard things players could do to throw a DM for a loop, I said my personal way to screw over a mech would be to summon a Celestial Bison or as many Fiendish Snakes as I could in the cockpit with the pilot and tell them to have fun. Let's see how well you pilot a mech when a multi-tonned shiny buffalo is trying to romance you or you've got a bunch of snakes in your lap (depending on alignment)

So, I get this IM, and an invite to the chat with the DM and one of the Players.

DM: Alan, you called it.
DM: The goddamn cleric did it.
Player: No summoned a bear onto the enemy mech
Player: Bear
Me: LMAO
Me: Knew it!

So the report comes in with the player still tripping out about the bear. The game was a success, fun was had all around, and I get to satisfaction of helping someone else.

And a lot of laughing my fool head off.

It's been a pleasure working with you on this, and just as much fun to read the blow-by-blow report

>>13346386

You know, all my players will now scream BEAR whenever someone mentions a bear.

Or, someone will mention: BEAR ON A MECH.

Then that will devolve into people repeating BEAR after one another.

Oh thank god.

Someone archived the thread. I can sleep now.

If there are any questions, I'll answer them tomorrow. Otherwise, I'll go over what exactly who the fekk that guy in the cloak was at the end and why Grimlock shat bricks over it.

For now. I must sleep.

This was some amazing shit, bro. Thanks for fucking sharing the story with us all. Goddamn but that had to take a long ass time just to write it all goddamn down!

I hope that you are going to continue giving us the developments of the following events, if you are planning on continuing your DMing and current storyline. I hope to see anything from giant city-on-city battles to the Red Zero and the PCs becoming 'an Char'.

My my. My thread is still here. AND I HAVE SLEPT.

There is a loose end to tie up. The hooded dwarf who gave poor Grimlock quite a scare at the end. In fact, Arthur and Peter wanted to know who it was as well, and this dwarf, should I continue the storyline, would become quite integral to the plot not only of this story but of Highpoint itself.

The dwarf was an envoy of the Moonwatchers.

In High Point's pre-lunar rain history, the Moonwatchers weren't actually the secretive group of human druids they became afterward. Many knew about them and everyone went to them for guidance. Not for fortune telling or prophesy or to strike secretive deals, no, nothing so bloody silly.

Weather dictates everything when it comes to agriculture in High point, from planting crops to the safety of caravans transporting finished goods - as it does in our real world - and by studying the moon, the Moonwatchers could calculate great insight into the seasons as to when to best make decisions about those mundane yet so essential things for everyday life.

They were, of course, the first ones to notice the alarming weather patterns in the orbiting satellite above. They knew what was coming. They knew it for three generations before the lunar rains finally hit.

Why didn't they do anything about it?

Because they spent much of that time right up until the few years when the moon filled the sky and the rains began pummeling High Point in total disbelief and also denial. There must have been something wrong in their calculations. Why would the moon be coming closer? It was impossible!

Think about it. How would you react to those conclusions?

But it happened.

So, they prepared some caves but they knew nothing would survive the heaviest of the rains as boulders fell in the thousands from the skies above.

They spent as much time as they could studying the lunar rain patterns and the moon itself. For their trouble, and the casualties they inflicted on themselves (many died studying the storms), they emerged with a unique skill: Moonwatching, which PCs can actually take... If it makes sense for them to have it.

Grimlock took it. He was a Cleric of Bahamut. He is expected to hate the Lunars (in fact, Tiamat and Bahamut pretty much hate the Lunars and their god more than each other, fancy that, eh?), he is also expected to hunt them everywhere they can be found.

So it made sense for him to have run into a Moonwatcher at some point and to have learned the skill.

That said, their studies of the moon's surface, especially now that it is so close to Highpoint, has yielded some disturbing information about life on the lunar surface. Clan North Star doesn't know what they know about it. No one does. They're incredibly guarded about what they've seen on the surface of the moon, and equally guarded on the agenda they've assembled to deal with the Lunar problem.

And, of course, that's where Perihelion comes in. Publically? It is a machine built to show the world that some of the Iron Tooth clans can come together to build something as grand as a city-mech.

Privately... It is the first step in the Moonwatcher's plan to fix the problems of the world.

How is anyone's guess.

NOW. Q&A time. As well as general anon response time.

>>13348272

You're most welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it, as well as the rest of my silent audience.

I... I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this storyline. You see, this was nothing more than a one shot scenario. The point of the entire module was to show off how FUCKING AWESOME the Dragonmech setting is. Add: five cups of steampunk, five cups of battletech, three cups of Mad Max, some moral ambiguity for spice... And when it's all done, scrape the grim dark off.

Yes, despite the grey on gray morality of the setting, it actually isn't all that Grim Dark. Sure, times are desperate, but if people get their shit together, it is possible to make life easier or to possibly even fix the problems of High Point. The future is not already cast.

Although... if I do run a game in the future, I think I will have the results of this one shot module, and the effects, have an affect on the wider campaign.

Yes it did take awhile to write but /tg/ inspired me to get shit done.

Did I get shit done?

DRAGONMECH, FUCK YES.

When you're tired of wearing that shitty leather armor and stabbing things with daggers, come ride the DRAGONMECH train! Come into a world of STEAM-powered CONSTRUCTS and battle in EPIC DUELS against LUNAR HORRORS, or equip a STEAM ENGINE to defeat you enemies with SCIENCE! Board a city-mech, and adventure into the mysterious GEAR FORESTS, full of DANGERS and ADVENTURE! Build your own mech, from various types available, from the highly efficient CLOCKWORK mechs, to the STEAM-POWERED, to the critical-immune ANIMATED, or more, and aventure into the meteor shower-wasted lands of HIGHPOINT. Uncover the secrets of the MOON, and obtain EPIC TREASURES!!!

DRAGONMECH FUCK YEAH

>>13348752
You got the shit done HARD, OP. Your setting was GLORIOUS.

>>13348767

SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS!

COME. LET US DO SOME MECH PILOT CHECKS FOR A DWARVEN JUGGERNAUGHT BROFIST.

>>13348779

Not my setting. It was made by Goodman games!

AND YOU CAN STILL BUY HARDCOVER COPIES OF THE BOOKS!

Found here:
http://www.goodman-games.com/dragonmech.html

>required cahurtai

Thanks captcha.

With regard to mech combat:

There is another element that was only factored in narratively. Mechs in this setting have something called 'maneuverability' qualities.

The Maneuverability table is very complicated and generally only useful if you have a massive, pre-gridded battlefield. Since I didn't want to muck around too much with the mech combat, I kept things simple. I cut out the Maneurvability table and simply narrated out the combat in a cinematic way not too much unlike what you saw with the fight with the Iron Maiden.

There's a lot of things that a DM can have fun with in detailed mech combat though and I encourage game masters with more experience and rules cognition than I to make full use of all the rules. It can make for some tactically interesting scenarios.

For example, if the full grid map would have been used, my Players would actually have maneuverability on their side versus the Iron Maiden (there are five levels of maneuverability, each of affect the mech's ability to turn, step in reverse, how fast it can change its facing, if it can turn in one place or if it has to move forward to do so, etc) using their Colossal mech they would actually be able to run around the Iron Maiden and bash it in from behind.

This is doubly so for smaller mechs like the Barbagula. If my Players had not taken down the Barbagula in all of ONE SINGLE TURN OF COMBAT, the little mech would have started trying to trip them with its Changler, and they would have a hard time trying to turn around to swing their weapons at it.

That said though, they had fun, I had fun. That's the most important thing here.

Pictured: The Maneuverability table.

Woops, forgot the table.

>>13348836
Do they transport their books worldwide? Because I live in South America, in a 3rd world country. Or I could just donate and use the pdf

>>13349619

I'm going to look into that for you. I think Goodman does Digital Distribution for the books as well.

>>13349619

Yes, you can buy them in a digital pdf format.

http://goodmangames.rpgnow.com/index.php?cPath=187_5169

Huh, cheap too.

Not sure where you could get hardcover copies though.

OPDM, you are a wonderful example of how gaming is done right, and I thank you for sharing this story with the rest of us neckbeards. This is exactly the kind of game I wanted to run when I first got DragonMech, and by the gods, you've shown me what I need to do. Now I just need to convince my group to give it a try again.

Also, just a request, >>13346502 here you said this thread was archived. Could I get a link to that so I can save it? I am the dumb when it comes to navigating the archives.

>>13350031

I'm still on an adrenalin high whenever I think about it.

Again though, I think the success of this game came less from my ability to DM (because, really, I didn't know what I was doing with the exception of the mech on mech combat) and more from the awesomeness of my players.

The complete archive can be found here:

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=dragonmech

> mfw I read EVERYTHING

See how theres nothing there? My face is gone

On a final note if no questions or comments are left by any of my readers, I'd like to wish you all a Happy New Year. It'll be here soon. Five hours for me.

I will celebrate it as I always have. Cup of tea and good company.

I hope it goes well for you all equally so.

Pictured: Francis E. Stanley, who, along with his brother, owned the Stanley Steamer company.

bump because of awesome before new years!