(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Dak'kon lowered his hand, still smoking with the final wisps that remained
from his missiles of fury.
"Well that was easy," I grunted, "Let's hope we find more of a challenge."
We didn't.
It only took a few rooms to realize that it wasn't going to get any harder, and
while it was a cakewalk it wasn't exactly worth it wasting precious spells and
sweat on the smattering of flimsy constructs in each chamber of this maze.
Especially not with the useless crap that they carried - on the remains of one
of the constructs I found nothing but a cryptic parchment which read “You
now have a better idea of what is going on…”. What in the hells was this for?
"This maze echoes with the chaos of Limbo..." Dak'kon murmured, "Like
clockwork gone mad."
"For a modron construct?" I looked around. Sure the twanging and the
clanking seemed a little discordant the deeper we went, but as far as I could
tell it was just a few sputters here and there.
"I sense it," Dak'kon replied, "The inchoate substance of formless potential
trickles beneath this structure... an undercurrent of chaos beneath a sea of
crystalline order."
Hrmn.
We backtracked to the entrance, and the modron standing guard stared
blankly at our return.
"That was stupid."
It shrugged in reply.
This first room must have been the engineering room of Rubikon. It was
quieter, with the noisome stench of oil almost a memory. The heavy gears
that lined the walls had been replaced with an abundance of levers, dials,
and meters by which the entirety of the complex was controlled. One of the
modrons appeared to be in charge, processing as many orders as he could
serially. He would listen quickly to one underling, cite the appropriate
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