Workers

A rhythmic clanking echoed through the chamber, steady and deliberate, like the heartbeat of a machine. From the dimly lit corridor, a figure emerged—an odd construct metal.

His core was a rounded stone. Four mechanical arms extended from its surface, each moving. His lower body was a wheeled mechanism, forged from dark iron, its edges worn smooth by time.

"This is Kjartan, our craftsman. He used to be a dwarf."

Without a word, Kjartan rolled forward, his mechanical fingers extending toward Allen's injured arm. His touch was cold, but also pierced.

"Ouch." Allen flinched as the metal digits prodded at the raw stump. The golem-like craftsman paid no mind, his glowing runes flickering in thought. Then, as suddenly as he arrived, Kjartan turned and wheeled away, vanishing into his workshop without explanation.

Ballard chuckled. "That's a good sign. Looks like he's excited. Maybe this will be his greatest creation yet."