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You will visit the Chroniclers to start with. If you're going to purchase anything while you're here, you'll need Drafts and those technophiles are surely the best source of them, if the Scrappers are to be believed.
Mulhouse is an eclectic place. Any building that still stood after the Eshaton was looted long ago and left as a hollow concrete shell, yet they have all been reclaimed, reinforced and re-inhabited since then. The rubble of fallen structures has been swept away and replaced with all sorts of new housing, from primitive huts to robust tents to travel trailers, all standing shoulder to shoulder. As for the people, they are all hard at work performing their professions, from labourers hauling goods down the street to all manner of craftsmen. There's a surprising amount of exterminators around too, wielding foul-smelling buckets and bundles of flypaper.
Whenever a Spitalian or Hellvetic patrol pass by, the common people shrink away. They eagerly answer any questions that they are asked, but the men and women of Mulhouse seem to fear their protectors far more than they revere them.
Occasionally you're forced to ask for directions, but you soon find your way to the Alcove – or the larger structure that the Alcove is a part of. Perhaps it was a church, museum or school before the Eshaton. Since then, the building has been haphazardly reinforced with corrugated metal and solar panels. A handful of chimneys belch black smoke up into the sky, while dozens of cables connect the architecture to a network of metal posts, that likely provide power to several parts of the city. You're half-tempted to have a peek inside of this bizarre power plant, but every entrance seems to be guarded by a couple of Hellvetics.
The same is true for the Alcove, once you find it. A rifle-totting soldier clad in shining white armour stands to either side of a flat black wall that is featureless except for three gleaming words: <span class="mu-s">Arsenic Node Alcove</span>. You feel like an idiot as you approach it, but neither of the Hellvetics stop you and these are the instructions that Karlee gave you. The letters fade when you come to a stop and suddenly the wall – the screen – shows a new image. The black silhouette of a robed figure stands against a backdrop of golden light, with luminous eyes that glow just as fiercely. Your tribal companions gasp in awe and stagger away from the sight.
“Is that a god?” Of course that is Jurvaz's first reaction. All you have to do is give the man a brief glare before he wilts. “Right, o' course not. Sorry.”
“<span class="mu-s">INPUT MATERIALS.</span>” The voice of the Chronicler sounds like metal grinding against metal. As soon as it says those words, a part of the screen that is level with your waist slides open. From that opening, a deep metal tray slowly emerges, driven by some sort of electric motor.
