The silos of Salmonid Smokeyard stood open, belching thick, black smoke that reached to the skies, shrouding it in darkness, masking the smell of saltwater into an irksome smog. Below, Snatchers in light armour scurried around like ants, hauling wheelbarrows piled high with scrap metal. They hurried down a shadowy tunnel, cackling excitedly as speed picks up, echoing against the wall as they descended into the depths.
As they screeched to a halt at the bottom of the slope, the gloomy darkness gave way to a vast cavern bathed in the fiery glow of molten forges. The Snatchers ran across the bridge before heaving their wheelbarrows up to dump their loads onto a growing mountain of metal before retreating back to the surface to repeat the cycle.
From the bridge, they peered down, watching as rows of heavily armoured salmonids performed line drills in perfect unison, their movements synchronised with the steady rhythm of hammer strikes ringing out from the forges below.
These were the Citrine Pioneers, a school of salmonids devoted to craftsmanship and militarism. They have an unwavering loyalty to their chieftain was evident in their disciplined drills and tireless forging. Every movement they made, every weapon they crafted, was in honor of their leader.
High above the forges, at the largest anvil, stood the only Goldie present. Their jewelled hammer rose and fell with precision, each strike resounding like thunder. They lifted the newly formed metal, inspecting their work with a critical eye, before nodding in satisfaction and handing it to a Snatcher by their side.
?: Here you are, Fetch. Take this to the armoury.
The Snatcher, Fetch gave a quick nod and scurried off, passing rows of inactive machines- unpiloted Slammin' Lids, dormant Grillers, and larger machinations waiting to be awakened. Meanwhile a Chum approached the Goldie, offering a fresh hunk of metal for them to forge into armour. It was accepted without a word, and the forging had begun once more.
This Goldie was Forganis, the Iron Architect, or known by her followers as The Great Forger. The Citrine Pioneers halted in their drills, waiting expectantly as the sound of Forganis' hammer filled the chamber once more. Fetch returned moments later beside her with a crumpled note stuck to his face. Forganis spared him a glance to acknowledge his presence before pausing her work to see the paper on his face.
Forganis: Hold on, let's see that...
She reached over and plucked the paper free, straightening it to read the message addressed to her, muttering the contents under her breath. As she went on, her frown deepened before folding the paper and tucking it away in her forge apron.
Forganis: So, Cadavere is finally calling a meeting himself. I swear... I'll cave his skull in if he damages my Grillmeister again... Fetch, assemble my pilots, I'll finish here.
Forganis watched Fetch dart off once more before resuming her work, carefully shaping the metal into a chest plate for a Cohock. Every strike of her hammer was deliberate and calculated, her attention to detail unmatched. This was her craft, her pride, and she would settle for nothing less than perfection.
When her work was finished, she stepped to the edge of her platform, her voice booming over the forge's din.
Forganis: Pioneers! Your attention!
The chamber fell silent as hundreds of heads turned up toward her, waiting.
Forganis: I will be departing for a time to convene with the other rulers! While I'm away, clear the way for my Grillmeister and continue your drills and forging. No slacking!
A resounding, synchronised response echoed back, the sound vibrating through the cavern. Lines of salmonids marched away to clear a path, their movements like clockwork. Forganis gave a nod of approval before turning away to access the chamber that housed her most prized creation: the pinnacle of salmonid ingenuity, theGrillmeister,a marvel of steel that towered above the rest.