Odrun Fell

The Clattercell is somewhat of a makeshift laboratory and micro-factory that exists off the grid of the Ashcoats' sanctioned forges and outside the Promissory's tax ledgers. It used to be a cold storage vault for silk larvae, but the space was repurposed by Frindle Brasswitch into a hybrid workshop and black-market archive. Down here, ideas that are deemed too unstable, too dangerous or too clever for the Council of Odrun's comfort are born and refined. Findle has created many different annoying and illegal contraptions, from spy-bugs and lockpicking millipedes to translation-scarabs that mimic voices. The equipment and magical gear that is created here is made for and sold discreetly to smugglers, mercenaries, revolutionaries, and pretty much anyone else with coin and questions that they don't want answered.

Hidden behind a sliding panel of chitin scales in Waspjaw Way—a crooked artery deep in the Spindle’s underlayers—the Clattercell hums with a pulsing, insectile rhythm. The walls crawl with softly ticking clock-roaches the size of fists, their gears exposed and twitching under bioluminescent shell-housings. Tangled wire-vines hang from the ceiling like jungle roots, connecting control panels etched into cracked bone, while a broad circular worktable sits under a cone of filtered green light, cluttered with dissected crawlers, whisper-crystals, and half-living prototypes. A single beetle, encased in a glass dome, blinks with eerie intelligence in the far corner—its eye the same amber shade as Frindle’s own.