After abandoning any attempt to rumble with the Wizard who had commandeered the flying ship we found, over a belief that he was capable of instantly slaying one of us, we drove the metal cart away and up the jagged igneous slopes of a volcano.

The glass-twinkled rocks looked like they’d graze you if you walked within a yard of them.

We crested the rim of the caldera on foot having left poor mindless Barriel in the vehicle. We felt confident that she would survive if left with adequate goodberries and the window open a crack.

Looking back we could see various regions of the underworld laid out beneath us, which were previously only scrawls on a map. Ahead deep in the bowl, nestled in magma, was a square well-appointed fort. We scrambled down over the edge, and saw a number of peculiar semi mechanical creatures across on the far side.

They asked our “function”, I told them that we seek to protect the innocent.
Which is true, fundamentally, in terms of intent. Mx 6741 invited us to descend further. To do so we had to cross a fine cable to a platform that lifted up from the fort by means of various gears, cranks and pulleys.

At the bottom we were, not warmly welcomed, but not met with hostility. We were advised not to pass through a particular portcullis. Specific rules were clearly what was needed here, with little concern for higher morality.

We met further interesting fellows within, first the Futurian who seemed mathematically assured that our arrival was a harbinger of his own demise; to his credit he didn’t seem fussed, very stoical. He informed us that they did have a single Nirvanian Cogbox (having traded the first of two of them away to legendary wizard Mordankeinen and that we’d be taking it, which was reassuring. His own lack of existential dread kept me from worrying over their coming expiry.

In a further room in the fort I found a large fellow called the distributor who was manning their stores. We made highly profitable exchanges of scrap and druidic wood-futures for some valuable magic items. Clearly supply and demand are rather peculiarly balanced here.

At an altar within, noting from each creature we’d met and admiration of balance I offered a waterskin and a torch. In the name of the Supreme Modron Primus.

At final stops for a chit chat we got into a library and various revelations were offered to the Druid by the Modrons Historian and the Metaprogrammer, including the passage through to the Modron Vulcan who had incorporated the mechanical doo-hickey we needed into his own mechanisms.

It looked as though the way forward was long predicted violence. Difficult to muster the rage required to wage decent violence I suppose but, I suppose muscle memory will kick in when the time arrives.