The Vault of Endless Craft
Upon requesting crafting quarters, one of the Spared leads Cobus through a corridor adjacent to Mezmina's Chambers. Mere meters down this hallway, and a farmiliar feeling of passing through an illusory curtain clouds Cobus' vision for an instant - but reveals a massive, sunken, stepped courtyard on the other side of the threshold.
Tucked beneath the terraces of Xin-Shalast, hidden behind illusion-shrouded stone doors and runic locks, lies a sprawling subterranean complex once known as the Vault of Endless Craft. The Spared, faithful remnants of a long-dead civilization, continue to tend to this place, their understanding ritualistic rather than inventive. Though no living artisan has walked its forges in millennia, the Vault endures—its arcane mechanisms pulsing softly, awaiting the return of a master who will never come. The Spared usher, dressed in a blacksmith's apron and glinting eyes, beckons Cobus onward and descends towards the first tier. A 40' wide terrace that runs the perimeter of the inner tiers completely. Great anvils hover above recessed forges, suspended by humming magnetic fields generated by forgotten engines deep below. Spider-limbed crafting arms hang dormant from the ceiling, capable of acting in unison with a single craftsman's gestures. The middle tier is more of a large landing with a monumental, spindle-like device of glowing crystalline rods and platinum-thread lattice—a prototype of magical weaving engines. The shulk explains that when activated, it can spin thread from raw ley energy into arcane tapestries and spell-lattices, but only under the hands of one bearing a Thassilonian Runelord’s mark or Sihedron Medallion. A farmiliar symbol in-relief can be seen at its base, the seven points prominently highlighted by filigree. Descending further still, one would be met with the entrance to an enclosed, cubic structure.The Vault is built in the perfect ratios of Thassilonian sacred geometry. Brass pipes and golden filigree wind along the ceilings and walls, channeling energy between workstations powered by ancient geomantic ley relays. Everything is etched in runes: diagnostic glyphs, mechanical commands, and prayers to Lissala now half-obscured by time and smoke. Despite the dust and silence, the Vault is far from abandoned. Spared workers with luminous eyes and ancient instruction tablets scrub conduits, polish sigils, and replace long-dead spell foci with recovered shards. They chant in Old Thassilonian as they go—a litany of maintenance tasks encoded with embedded safeguards and praise for their long-departed masters. Some Spared still "prepare" materials as if expecting their overseer to arrive any moment—carefully cutting star-metal ingots, assembling enchanted components, and polishing artifacts of no known purpose. They seem unaware, or perhaps unbothered, by the passage of time. Occasionally, the machinery activates of its own accord—sparked by magical reverberations from Xin-Shalast’s shifting energies. These ghost-craftings produce twisted or incomplete wonders: knives that hum with latent purpose, helms that whisper secrets, or rods that weep starlight.
The Vault of Endless Craft
An Ancient Thassilonian Artificer Complex Maintained by the SparedTucked beneath the terraces of Xin-Shalast, hidden behind illusion-shrouded stone doors and runic locks, lies a sprawling subterranean complex once known as the Vault of Endless Craft. The Spared, faithful remnants of a long-dead civilization, continue to tend to this place, their understanding ritualistic rather than inventive. Though no living artisan has walked its forges in millennia, the Vault endures—its arcane mechanisms pulsing softly, awaiting the return of a master who will never come. The Spared usher, dressed in a blacksmith's apron and glinting eyes, beckons Cobus onward and descends towards the first tier. A 40' wide terrace that runs the perimeter of the inner tiers completely. Great anvils hover above recessed forges, suspended by humming magnetic fields generated by forgotten engines deep below. Spider-limbed crafting arms hang dormant from the ceiling, capable of acting in unison with a single craftsman's gestures. The middle tier is more of a large landing with a monumental, spindle-like device of glowing crystalline rods and platinum-thread lattice—a prototype of magical weaving engines. The shulk explains that when activated, it can spin thread from raw ley energy into arcane tapestries and spell-lattices, but only under the hands of one bearing a Thassilonian Runelord’s mark or Sihedron Medallion. A farmiliar symbol in-relief can be seen at its base, the seven points prominently highlighted by filigree. Descending further still, one would be met with the entrance to an enclosed, cubic structure.The Vault is built in the perfect ratios of Thassilonian sacred geometry. Brass pipes and golden filigree wind along the ceilings and walls, channeling energy between workstations powered by ancient geomantic ley relays. Everything is etched in runes: diagnostic glyphs, mechanical commands, and prayers to Lissala now half-obscured by time and smoke. Despite the dust and silence, the Vault is far from abandoned. Spared workers with luminous eyes and ancient instruction tablets scrub conduits, polish sigils, and replace long-dead spell foci with recovered shards. They chant in Old Thassilonian as they go—a litany of maintenance tasks encoded with embedded safeguards and praise for their long-departed masters. Some Spared still "prepare" materials as if expecting their overseer to arrive any moment—carefully cutting star-metal ingots, assembling enchanted components, and polishing artifacts of no known purpose. They seem unaware, or perhaps unbothered, by the passage of time. Occasionally, the machinery activates of its own accord—sparked by magical reverberations from Xin-Shalast’s shifting energies. These ghost-craftings produce twisted or incomplete wonders: knives that hum with latent purpose, helms that whisper secrets, or rods that weep starlight.
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