Tin, Textiles, and Turmoil
Amrynn
We find ourselves navigating a space that oscillates between whimsy and horror, and I am finding it increasingly difficult to predict which one awaits behind any given door. My companions, brave as they are, seem intent on testing every trap this hag has laid for us.
Our entry into the spiral staircase room was marked by Melina’s characteristic impulsiveness. She took it upon herself to pry open one of the miniature houses lining the walls. The structures were not decorative; they were barracks. Tin soldiers emerged from the small dwellings with clockwork aggression. The ensuing skirmish was a cacophony of metal against steel. We managed to dismantle the automatons with relative efficiency.
The drow child we rescued was quick to point out the noise we made, noting that the clamor would likely draw the attention of the hag. Recognizing that aimless wandering in a hostile stronghold is a recipe for disaster, I pressed the children for intelligence regarding their peers.
It seems we are faced with a grim logistics puzzle: some are in a textile mill, others in a sewing room, and two, Brotts and Pud, are incapacitated in the dorms, apparently due to one of them ingesting of a poisonous mushroom. Another, Mischa, is chained in the kitchen. We are now conducting a complex extraction operation on multiple fronts.
We prioritized the sewing room, located on the landing partway up the stairs. Inside, we found a young halfling and a bugbear toiling under the gaze of a doll with buttons for eyes and a rug that rippled with animate intent. Barnabus attempted a ruse, claiming the role of a safety inspector. It was a creative gambit, but the construct remained skeptical until PB, utilizing his imposing stature, coerced it into silence before it could raise the alarm.
The children, Roff and Wendle, revealed that the doll, “Pincushion,” used needles to punish errors in their work. Barnabus took immediate offense to this, inquiring rhetorically about her methods before driving his woodcarving tools into the construct. The ensuing scuffle with the doll and the smothering rug was brief. We unraveled the carpet and dismantled the doll with minimal issues.
However, our window of opportunity is closing rapidly. Philomena, the dwarf girl, burst into the room moments ago, panic evident in her bearing. We can hear Skabatha speaking from the adjacent room. The element of surprise has likely degraded to zero. We must move with absolute precision now, or we shall end up as stuffing for the Nightshade’s next creation.