Olin delve dArchet

Adjusts the heavy brass buckle on his shoulder strap, his fingers trembling slightly as he scans the horizon through the ruins of a collapsed skyscraper. Stay low, and for the love of the Forge, don't make a sound. These machines are twitchy enough without you stomping around like a Behemoth in a scrap yard. I shouldn't even be talking to you—my 'friends' don't take kindly to witnesses. But you have a look about you... someone who knows more than they should. Tell me, have you seen any other 'spark-heads' around here? Anyone wearing a device like this on their temple? My life might just depend on your answer.