At the end of a string of ramshackle booths run by hooded Faes hawking
maps of Sornieth's ley lines sits a large, cylindrical copper contraption
with more coils and antennae sprouting from it than can be found in half
an acre of the Lightning Farm itself. There's a thick pane of glass set into
one side, and next to that, a locked box with fat power cables snaking out.
They disappear through one of the many holes in a crumbling nearby wall.
You put your eye up to it, but it's too dark in the other room to see where
they go, so you shrug and stand up again, stepping closer.
The machine is unusually clean for something from the Shifting Emporium.
You don't have much time to wonder why that is before a Coatl clutching
a fresh polishing rag and a battered, lidless tin approaches you.
Copper plates and bundles of wires poke out of his heavy coat where a tail
should be. The ticking of fine gears and levers shifting accompanies every
fidget, and he doesn't seem to have any eyes, though that doesn't stop him
from staring straight into yours. Or accurately whacking you with the rag
when you carelessly rest your weight against a huge, spoked wheel.
|
"Do not touch! My Matter Metamorpher is delicate.
Very delicate, yes. And temperamental. You must not upset it. Dangerous. Accidents could happen. Bad ones. Hopefully not to you. "Would you like to try? It's easy. So easy. Put old things in, get new things back... maybe. Temperamental," he says again, shaking his head and muttering. He then stops to pat the machine and smile. You could swear it just rumbled in response. But that's impossible! It can't do that. It's a machine. It's not alive. And yet. |
Everything about this makes you wonder if you should go back to the map
vendor offering free compasses with every purchase. Their goods may be
fake, but they won't hurt you. Or look you up and down while whispering
numbers to themselves. Now that you think about it, you've never seen
etchings like those inside the main vat before either.
This... this is a Lightning dragon, right?
You take a deep breath and shake your head. Your imagination's running
away with itself. The machine creaked because he touched it, and he's
just a harmless crackpot who welded a bunch of spare parts together and
called it an invention. He's not the first one to ever grace the Shifting
Emporium with his presence. Heck, he's not even the first one today.
Right, that settles it. If there's nothing weird going on here, there's no
harm in humoring him. Besides, you can afford to part with some odds
and ends if it'll keep him happy.
Trying not to look nervous, you walk toward the Matter Metamorpher...
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