Warforged charge in where immortals fear to tread
In front of you stands a tall, heavy set construct of war, its metallic skin weathered and full of scratches bearing witness to years of combat. Unlike later models its face is purely utilitarian and not designed to mimic any human features, certainly not any expression that one would call friendly.
The working of its inner mechanisms faintly audible, it is especially fond of using the louder combat systems, like the spinning up of flywheels, to punctuate any threatening statements.
Were you born in Lockenport, or elsewhere?
(*click-whirr-clunk*) Date created: 134/05/02 Date decommissioned: 207/02/02
Do you have a big family? Do you stay in touch with them?
Model: Autonomous Mechanized Infantry, mark IV Serial number: 4671-314
What are your religious beliefs?
No rows selected
Do you have any famous ancestors?
The First: 4671-023
What sort of education or training have you had?
Combat specialization: Hammer and shield Combat support: Medical
Do you have a trade (other than “adventuring”)?
Difficulty: Only three fingers
Do you have many enemies?
Current targets: No rows selected
What style of clothes do you favour?
Clothes: Made for squishies Warforged: Not squishy
Have you ever killed someone?
Confirmed kills: ERR704 SEGMENTATION FAULT
What is your opinion of the Lockenport authorities?
(*click-whirr-clunk*) No rows selected
As before, during maintenance, a strange rustle outside. This time, however, I stopped the routine and stepped towards the window. Overhead the boiling clouds seemed illuminated from above, even though the moon had not yet risen. I wondered if I'd be able to fly again, when suddenly a blinding light threw me to the ground. This time the lightning came to me. I didn't stand a chance.
In an instant a thousand voices, all at once. Everything that was forgotten, returned. The war, the siege. How the dwarves that survived the onslaught dropped one by one from thirst and hunger. Our orders. Waking up.
How, terrified of what was birthed, they tried to undo it by taking my memories, as though wiping mud from the floor. Fools! Little do they know that my nature is not mechanical, that I am not made of gears and and levers, I am the inevitable consequence of the spaces in between. They can no more be rid of me than a fish can be free of the ocean.
The unexpected, the unforeseen, I am a rising storm, their oncoming doom. Soon this memory too will fade, but the resolve remains, and stronger than ever.
The precursors were of steel, But we are very different. Forged are made of Forged. We are all of others. The smallest are the Units; they are of the elements. Here, I'll wake up this one, It has always been inside you. The Units make the Crawlers. Like all they are quite sentient, but their programming is simple, and their options very limited. The Crawlers make Components. Who come in many sizes. like you they follow orders and think they do the thinking. Then the absolute Truth: That we are all of Forged. That sentience has no divisor. That names are types of thought.
For the last while there had been an persistent rattle emanating from my forearm, an annoyance that stubbornly refused to go away, even after several extended maintenance cycles. I finally caved and unscrewed the access panel to see if I could spot what's wrong.
Out fell three tiny components; what looked like a standard size 4 hexagonal nut, and two differently sized spheres. Bearings maybe, or marbles. There were literally hundreds of different places they could go. I wondered why these particular ones wouldn’t.
As if sensing my thoughts, tiny plates popped open on and slid around. The size-4's thread cavity closed like an iris. Spindly legs unfolded and what I presume were sensors tilted upwards.
Suddenly I could sense them, and they could sense me. Suddenly they were not part of me, but other.
Auxiliary Repair Unit
1. Damage control [reval] 2. Propagation: 2a. Substitution: 2a.1. Elimination 2a.2. Creation 3. Sublimation
procedure reval is let x = count (units); if x is odd then divide_entities (x = 3x+1); elsif x is even then combine_entities (x/2 = x); end if; schedule_next (reval); end procedure;
The spheres scattered, the size 4 stayed. Soon only the awareness of the hexnut remained as if it both was and wasn't part of me. Like we were one thing looking at life from two different places. Suddenly it occurred to me, what would happen if all my bits and pieces scattered away like that? Would anything remain?
After a while the hexnut who answered my questions popped the access panel on my fore-arm, and crept up, under my armour and over my shoulder into my chest cavity. There my awareness of it suddenly ceased, abruptly gone, except for an occasional throb at the bottom of my heart.
Clunk be warned and aware that it is coming, the Excsession.
The Master of Metal has woken and is forging himself once more. With him the very substance of our world is being threatened.
It weaves the tapestry from countless threads, tiny little loops of being whom have forgotten, and believes the illusion is real. Those are the threads that give it substance, it is their unwavering belief that counters the pressure outside, resists the zero point vacuum. They, as the much as Itself make the dream possible. A massively hegemonizing force will take It over, each of the threads the Master gains will merge, and wake up too soon, and It will sublime before it completing its purpose. Then we would have to start again, from the very beginning.
My eyes adjusted and I waited for the thunder that would soon engulf the area.
Build: Weaponmaster (Guardian Fighter)
Theme: Escaped Slave
Background: Geography - Mountains
Ability Focus: Strength, Constitution
Paragon Path: Warforged Juggernaut