The Bulwark Laboratory
In 742 PR, as the War of the Forged was nearing its climax on the battlefields of Osugbo, 22 had just spent the night at an encampment on the front lines, after arriving just before sunset with a shipment of food and ammunition. The warforged Captain Scope, whom 22 knew from Gearguage, had requested that they stay in the area to carry out a reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines. The nearby opposing forces, apparently led by Wilgrim himself, had received repeated reinforcements over the past several weeks, particularly by a formidable new model of autom more capable of independent action-selection than any other constructs known to date.
Recent intelligence suggested that the Levinkan had designated these new units "bulwark" automs, that their improved performance might be due to an increased capacity for relational thinking, and -- most importantly for tactical purposes -- that they were being produced at a laboratory located relatively close to Scope's present encampment. Scope had asked 22 to use their shapeshifting abilities to sneak behind enemy lines to confirm the laboratory's existence, determine its location, gather any additional information available about it, and report back.
Understanding why Scope had selected them, 22 didn't need to be ordered to carry out this mission. They headed out in the early morning in the shape of a fox and were passing through a wooded valley and ascending the ridge on the far side. But luck was not with them, and they would soon be surprised by the enemy forces quietly mustering just beyond the ridge.
The Fateful Battle
Atop the ridge, hidden from 22's view by the foliage, Wilgrim sat astride his metallic mount, Eureka, accompanied by a few of his officers, about to give the order for his troops to advance. The bulk of his army was made up of much older-model automs, which had been serving him well, but from somewhere, the Levinkan had been sending a slow, steady supply of smarter, cutting-edge units, providing an extra edge that was helping him begin to turn the tide of the war. Wilgrim gave the order to attack, horns sounded, and his troops began to charge into the wooded valley.
Scope's forces scrambled to meet the threat, and 22 dashed down the hill to try to find a safe way to circle back out of the valley to resume their mission. They knew how to fight, but this wasn't where they were meant to be today. 22 tried to find an expedient route out of the valley but somehow wound up in the midst of the melee, where their bad luck seemed to continue as a stray blow hit them from behind. It was the hammer-arm of an old model-2.0 autom that crushed one of the hind legs of their fox form. This injury forced the premature end of their magical transmutation and a reversion to their natural autom form: slower, more conspicuous, and a likely target for friendly fire. They dashed onward in an attempt to escape the fray.
Both 22 and Wilgrim continued to face the perils of the chaotic battle. Wilgrim's forces included an autom armed with poison gas to take advantage of the fact that his soldiers were primarily non-sentient synthetics, immune to the gas -- whereas those fighting on the side of Snow and People Are People were generally organic humanoids with no such protection (or warforged with only limited resistance to poisons). The autom began spraying the noxious gas across the battlefield, felling number of soldiers, and although both 22 and Wilgrim found themselves in the area of effect, neither of them succumbed to the gas. From the other side of the battlefield came a barrage of blasts from the force cannons of a few model-2.5 automs under control of Snow's forces. Again, a number of targets fell but neither Wilgrim nor 22 were among them.
Wilgrim called an artillery strike on the area where he guessed the enemy commanders would be stationed, but just as he was giving the signal, the sound of a firearm discharging nearby arrested his attention, interfering with his gesture and sending the barrage off target. He and 22 both found themselves suffering injury from the resulting shrapnel.
On the side of Snow and the forged, a small army of rust monsters swarmed forward toward the feast of synthetic beings on Wilgrim's side, causing sporadic collateral damage by dissolving some metallic gear and injuring the occasional warforged along the way. One on its way across the front lines damaged 22, almost bringing them down before they shook it off and dodged behind a dragonborn soldier for cover. Soon one reached Wilgrim as well, and, although the metal-eating monster posed no threat to his life, it ruined several pieces of his equipment before two of his nearby soldiers were able to slay it.
As the battle had worn on, many had fallen on both sides. This push had been successful for Wilgrim, although Snow's forces had fought back faster and harder than might have been expected, with the surprise release of the rust monsters helping to cover their eventual retreat. Finding themself on the wrong side of the opposing forces who were now cleaning up the battlefield, 22 climbed a ridge and snuck through a heavily wooded area behind enemy lines so they could hide, tend to the damage they had received during the fray, and begin the search for the laboratory that had been manufacturing the new bulwark automs. 22 expected that a short rest would allow them to recover their shapeshifting magic and resume a safer animal form, but they were distressed to discover that somehow the damage they had sustained was interfering with this ability. Weighing the danger of continuing to sit idle this close to the battlefield versus that of traveling on in autom form, they opted to use what magic they could muster to render themself less noticeable and to continue on in search of the laboratory.
A Reminder of the Past
Some two hours after fleeing from the battlefield, 22 came upon one of the classic model-2 automs missing its giant hammer. It came stumbling out from behind some wreckage toward them, moving in a direction away from where the battle had been. Hiding from it as it hobbled on, they noticed that in its intact hand, which was extended in front of it, it appeared to be holding its own bluestone.
"Who do you serve?" 22 challenged the machine.It turned slowly with a low whirring noise, staring in 22's direction and saying nothing. 22 approached cautiously at first, then stretched out their arm, palm up, and commanded "Soldier, your bluestone!" The automaton rotated its huge forearm to let the bluestone fall into 22's outstretched hand, then lowered its arm and stood silently. 22 hesitated, wanting to determine the autom's allegiance but not knowing how. "Tell me where you're headed," they pressed.
"I am in need of repairs. I need to return," it responded.
The thought finally dawned on 22 that it didn't matter who had ordered this machine into battle (assuming that was where it had just come from). A long time had passed since 22 had last interacted with another autom -- excepting their recent, harrowing experience on the battlefield -- and much longer still since they themself had been one of these mindless drones. When a model-2 autom had fulfilled all of its recent instructions and had no further explicit tasks to complete, it would fall back on the basic programming intended to keep it functioning. Run diagnostics and maintenance. Find power and repairs if necessary. Await instructions. Now, perhaps whoever had most recently been in control of this unit had been killed, and with no one else present to command it, it had taken its own bluestone before moving on in order to convey it to someone -- anyone -- who could restore its purpose: following orders.
An irrational sadness washed over 22 at the thought. Of course this vaguely humanoid machine was not suffering. It didn't have that capacity. When 22 had "lived" that way, there had been no sadness in it. But 22 felt sad for this thing anyway, because of what it didn't know it was missing, and because it could not feel sad for itself.
After a moment, 22's thoughts returned to their own orders: find, surveil, and report on the new laboratory. "Do you have any knowledge of a nearby laboratory where a new model of autom is being made?"
"Negative," it responded." My directives include no information about a laboratory."
"That is no surprise," 22 mused. "Okay, then follow me, stay quiet, and let me know if you see any people. Or automs. Or structures."
Wilgrim's Bad News
Wilgrim returned to his camp shaken and bruised but pleased on the whole with the outcome of today's battle. He had gained less ground than he might have, and there had been an unfortunate number of casualties, but the enemy had fared considerably worse, and he'd learned of their rust-monsters at a relatively low cost considering how devastating such an attack might have been under different circumstances.
As Wilgrim approached his commander's tent, one of his guards greeted him and informed him that he had a visitor waiting inside. This turned out to be a large human man dressed in the regalia of a paladin, too clean to have been part of today's combat. This was almost certainly one of the crusaders against dragonborn and the other draconic races. Many of draconic heritage had sided with Tiamat during the Holy War several centuries earlier, and they were consequently assumed again to be a threat now that several dragons had turned out to still be active in Quelmar and working to free their brethren from magical imprisonment on the island of Kiston.
Wilgrim didn't recognize the 6'4 man, but the reverse was clearly not the case. The paladin gave a jolly yet haunting laugh and stared down at the gnome standing at less than half his height. "The great commander -- oh, it is an honor to meet you, sir."
Wilgrim strode toward him and offered a hand, his arm nearly vertical as he reached up to greet the visitor. "It's an honor to meet you as well," he said, receiving a too-firm handshake from the paladin.
"I hear back from Zobeck that you're doing great work on this front. You know I sometimes think that you're seeing more action in battle than even I am, and my whole job is to go out and slay things."
"We definitely could have used you out there today. I think you would have had a jolly time."
"I was told. I seem to have just missed the action," the stranger lamented.
"It's a shame," Wilgrim agreed." The nice part about a respectable foe, though, is you'll get another chance."
"Sure, sure." The man paused and assumed a more formal tone. "I've been sent to see if your legions here have collected any prisoners of war of the dragon kind."
"Uh, not intact. I'm sure you can find some remnants out there though," replied the gnome, gesturing toward the battlefield.
"That's honestly the answer I prefer," the crusader admitted. "'Better dead than scaly red', I always say... But I also have a strange request, commander. For some reason they sent me to pick up any dragonborn prisoners but they also said that they needed me to gather not just some but all of your autom forces with the large hammers -- your older models is what I've been asked to collect."
"Did they tell you why they need to decapitate the backbone of my army?" inquired Wilgrim mixaphorically.
"I'm afraid that was classified, my good friend," he responded, giving Wilgrim a less-than-friendly look."
"Well, I will start prepping them for transport, and I will let you know when they're ready."
"Why, you are a generous commander," the paladin oozed. "Indeed, you're surely everything that they say you are. Thank you so much, Commander Wilgrim. If you don't mind," he continued," I'll just be staying about forty-five feet in that direction. I'm setting up a tent to stay in the encampment tonight while we gather things, and then I'll take them out come morning. And again, I am sure if you are half the commander that people say you are, you will do just fine without these forces." He was moving toward the door.
Wilgrim waited for him to be out of earshot before quietly mumbling about how dislikable the man was and how he would not be getting a damn thing from Wilgrim.
Soon afterward, a young gnome Wilgrim recognized as Captain Irena rushed into the tent somewhat presumptuously. "Commander, I saw that one of the crusaders just walked out. What was that all about? Are we getting reinforcements? Are they sending crusaders to help us?"
"No, they actually want to take most of our forces away."
"I'm -- they want to take most of our forces away?! To help them?"
"I don't know. And I don't trust him so I'd like if you could get a message back to Zobeck and find out--"
"Commander, commander!" Irena interrupted." We can't give away forces like that, even though we've just sent the enemy running. They know that we're ready to attack again, and they may strike first. We have only tonight to make as many repairs as we can of the units that are even going to make it back. If that asshole takes all of our forces, we'll be on our back foot when we are most likely to be struck."
"Which is why I want to corroborate this with command. If it's up to me then this guy gets nothing. But if it's not up to me, then we might have to trap the camp and leave it and burn everything to the ground. We can't hold this position without those forces."
"I wholeheartedly agree. Absolutely, sir. I'll see if I can send some sort of word. Unfortunately I believe um the last of our psions who knew Sending -- well, we haven't seen them since the push, but if I can find somebody who can get word out quickly, I -- I'll try to confirm his, his um... I'll -- I'll let you be sir. I'll let you be."
"Thank you," said Wilgrim, and he began tending to his wounds as the captain departed.
After a few minutes, suspicious of the crusader and his choice to set up a tent for just one night when there were many vacant tents already, Wilgrim assigned Eureka, his wolf-shaped steel defender, to stay nearby but to observe the man continuously and keep Wilgrim updated via their telepathic link.
Within an hour, Irena returned with bad news: an order had indeed been issued from Zobeck authorizing the crusader to walk away with any and all of Wilgrim's old model-2.0 soldiers, the most numerous type. "Thank you, Captain," he said.
"Sir--" started Irena.
"Thank you, Captain," repeated Wilgrim.
Irena shifted his gaze to the floor. "Yes, sir," he said with a nod, and showed himself out.
22 Drops In
A short while later, 22 and their newly acquired autom companion had made their way to a cliff top overlooking an encampment that they hoped might be the rumored laboratory. At the base of the cliff, almost directly below, one tent sat apart from the others, An artificer's dog-shaped construct lurked nearby, watching the tent -- not as a guard would but more in the manner of a spy. "A hopeful sign," they thought. "Maybe we already have a spy embedded here." But this didn't look like the site of a laboratory for the new bulwark units. There was no structure that looked like it could serve as a workshop, and the whole encampment was too open and visible to be used as such a valuable site (unless the enemy was trying a dangerous ruse).
They considered sending the autom down to do reconnaissance but decided it would make a poor undercover agent and chose instead to try to sneak down and communicate with the steel defender without attracting anyone else's attention. But this effort resulted in a spectacular failure as they slipped from the side of the cliff and landed flat on their back with a loud thud, not fifteen feet from the tent.
Olm Takes Umbrage
The Paladin, Olm, had been sleeping in the large tent and emerged half-dressed to investigate the noise. He discovered the wolf-shaped construct lurking nearby, its eyes now locked on an autom that had presumably been the source of the disturbance. At the same time, Wilgrim appeared from his tent holding a crossbow and hurrying to mount Eureka.
22 took in the tall blonde soldier and then focused on the gnome... Wilgrim?! Yes, this was indeed Wilgrim, the mastermind behind the ongoing wholesale slaughter of the warforged, standing not fifty feet away from them.
Wilgrim saw the autom but made the logical assumption that this was one of his soldiers returning to camp. Mounted on Eureka, he moved toward Olm saying, "Stand down, that's one of mine."
The paladin ignored the command, drawing a small dagger from his belt and taking a single step toward 22. "You're getting a little friendly there, aren't you, robot?" Then turning to the gnome, "Why do you have men stationed outside of my tent, Wilgrim?"
"By men, you mean my steed which was stationed by my tent?" countered Wilgrim.
"I mean your steed, and I mean this thing," he spat, gesturing to 22.
"It's returning from the battlefield," Wilgrim returned.
Pointing to the path that led up the hill and over the ridge, the paladin said, "The battlefield is in that direction. This thing clearly just fell from up there. Everyone followed his gaze to the cliff, where a damaged model-2 autom was visible in the moonlight, looking back down at them. "You've got them stationed all over me, don't you?"
"It's my camp, responded Wilgrim. "They're everywhere."
"I don't like feeling like I've got weapons pointed at me where I sleep, Commander." "You're a crusader. There's weapons pointed at you everywhere you sleep."
"I came here expecting to be welcomed. You've got men on cliffs above my tent, no doubt ready to drop down on me. What were you planning? What is the meaning of all of this?"
"The meaning of all this is there was a battle today and they're returning to camp for repairs. We'll get that one down and into where we can repair it. I'd like to perform the maintenance that these robots need, unless of course you'd like two fewer automs in the morning when you're expecting to take them with you."
"I don't think I'll be sticking around until morning, the crusader announced. How many do you have lined up right now? I'll just take them. I'm good at traveling by night."
"I don't have a head count," Wilgrim declared with a hint of disdain. "You'd have to talk to my captains for that."
"All right, I'll go find, uh, what was that little one's name? Irena. I'll go see what you've got, and I'll be out of your hair. You don't have to worry about me. And look out there's apparently robots falling from the sky -- watch your head." Olm marched off towards the center of the encampment where Irena had presumably already gathered some of the automs.
"I'll take that under advisement," said Wilgrim through his teeth."
"What Are You?"
As far as Wilgrim could tell, 22 was just another machine that needed maintenance after the recent fighting, so he moved next to the unit and began to use magical mending to repair surface-level damage before opening it up for more extensive work. 22 found themself in a very strange position: being tended to by Wilgrim himself, the villain known to be responsible for so much ongoing death and destruction. They had a unique opportunity to change the course of the war if they could defeat him quickly. They'd have only seconds to end his life -- and hopefully thereby to save hundreds or thousands of others -- before the forces there in the enemy encampment would intervene and terminate 22 in return. Their hope of success was modest at best, but a chance like this couldn't be dismissed. They would wait until Wilgrim had restored them to better working condition before attempting to assassinate him.
22 tried to behave like a mindless machine, silent and impossibly patient, awaiting commands. Wilgrim tightened bolts at the plate junctions near their waistline when 22 realized they had just unconsciously turned slightly to give the artificer a better angle. They froze, hoping he hadn't noticed the slip, and he continued working as if nothing was out of the ordinary. When he was finished, he walked back toward his mount, giving 22 the opening they'd been waiting for. They raised their arm to blast the gnome, but in the second it took for their force cannon to charge up, Wilgrim was already turning back with a crossbow raised. He had not been fooled.
Suspicious, accusing eyes met in the dark. Wilgrim asked evenly, "First of all, what are you?"
As much as 22 might enjoy speculating about their own origins with an expert on automs -- someone whose understanding of their inner workings rivaled that of Colin Pendergas himself -- they couldn't afford to squander this opportunity.
22 launched the force blast at Wilgrim.
