Mo lights up the surrounding area with a twist of a dial. A jet of blue-hot flame issues from the end of her gauntlet. She slips her goggles down and begins welding at her workstation,
After a misadventure in time, you would think the party would want more muscle. After all, the enemy seems to be working in large packs of expendable flunkies, and it’s a fairly effective strategy.
Yes, we’re all still alive, but that fight against the gorilla-demon thing was a little close. Well, not close for me, of course—I’m a genius. But for a party whose main objective was keeping the maybe-pre-version of a presumed goddess alive, they were rather reckless with her life.
So you’d think they’d be a bit more open to the prospect of quick, self-regenerating muscle. I’m still several weeks’ worth of funds away from a functioning golem prototype, and until then, necromancy is really the cheapest and most readily available prospect.
The area glows green as a cascade of sparks fountains out from the worktable. Mo clicks her teeth at the project, cooling it with a prestidigitation spell.
It’s not as if we’ve been shy about leaving corpses in our wake. Whoever these “Red Mantis” jokers think they are, they are extremely fervent about this whole “fight to the death” nonsense. Between beating them to significant time junctures and hacking through the monkey fodder they throw in our way, we’re stacking up a pretty high kill count.
A loud, repetitive clicking noise comes from the workstation until Mo CLANGS a wrench down on it.
And you’d think being hip-deep in blood would give them all LITTLE perspective. But NOOOO, looks like everyone purchased some High Horses for mounts on their way to Saventh-Yhi.
So they’re free to hack and slash and disembowel, but as soon as little ol’ Mo summons a few undead to handle the heavy lifting, it’s “crimes against nature” this and “irreparable stain on your soul” that.
The workstation lets out an unearthly howling noise. Mo juts out her chin and reaches for her wrench.
The final strike silences the howling, reducing it to a grinding noise reminiscent of sobbing. Expressionless, Mo relights the blue flame on her gauntlet before turning back to her project.
" . . . About their stupid morality."