Chapter Text
We all watched the back and forth.
The Machinist, looking at the Palace of the Dead, chewing on a piece of wheat as they talked to the Gridanian Conjurer.
"Hm. So, y'say no-one can take magical weapons inside, or spell foci, or even armor - gotta forge it yourself out of aether from that place or it just don't work right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Well, that's alright then. I already make th' drills out of aether, they're too heavy to just carry enough drills around. And y'say the rooms can't be mapped because they move around, but the start point and the end point are always in more or less the same direction and it's just the path to get there might change?"
"That's a little less right, but... kind of?"
"Well, that's alright too. I got drills."
The Machinist points their launcher at a wall, and a drill forms out of condensing aether.
"Now, stand back a bit for this..."