As the world outside the Cockatrice Inn began to grow brighter and brighter from the rising of the sun, Logan planted his feet at the top of the ladder and lifted the end of another plank into position at one end of the hole that had been blown in the doorway. On the other side, one of the other patrons – a wood elf carpenter – held the opposing end of the long slab of wood from his own ladder, and then, as Stalk passed each of them some nails, they began to hammer their handiwork into position with mallets they had found in storage, just as they'd found the ladders.

The chill of the early dawn clung to Logan's face like dew as he worked, while behind him he could feel the heat from the inn's kitchens battling to keep the cold from sweeping into the building and causing everyone to shiver and huddle down in their clothes. The smell of fresh-baked bread and the sound of sizzling meats also wafted from the far side of the room, with Logan's stomach audibly gurgling in response.

Elsa had been forced to leave the fire burning overnight to keep some warmth in her establishment, and even then, with one wall almost completely destroyed, come the morn the entire building was cold as an ice-giant's heart. So before breakfast, Logan and Stalk, along with a few others, were doing what they could to repair the entrance – the hole was now half-covered, with Stalk helping a few others prepare a frame for the door and get it into position

As he finished smashing the nails into place, Logan climbed two rungs down the ladder and peered outdoors, watching for any more gnolls and for the men who were bringing the spare wooden boards up from storage down by the docks, his calloused fingers tightening in anticipation around both the ladder and the large wooden mallet in his right hand.

Outdoors, beneath a dark orange sky, he saw the trees swaying lazily, the collapsed remnants of the great pyre and the graves laid silently in their rows, undisturbed and undefiled by ghouls or somesuch. Beyond that, nothing moved save for the occasional swift shooting by, fast as an arrow in flight.

"See anything, Sir Logan?" he heard Stalk's voice ask from below him.

"Aside from a few birds, nothing." Logan replied.

As he heard that, Stalk's beak clacked and his throat let loose a mocking snicker. "Guess we really showed them who's boss, huh?"

"I suppose so..." Logan said warily, still refusing to take his eyes from his brief watch over the landscape. Paladins were meant to fear nothing, but he still couldn't shake the nerves that if he looked away for even a few seconds, more gnolls would show up and spring another ambush like the one they did yesterday...

However, as he heard a heavy, metallic thudding behind him and the whirring of ocular lenses refocusing, he exhaled through his nose and had no choice but to spare a small bit of his attention as a robotic voice made itself heard:

"What are you doing?"

"Repairing the doorway." Logan snapped back.

There was a brief silence before Technus replied. "You all dishonour this creation of Erathis with these crude modifications."

Anger flared inside Logan then, and he fixed him with a firm, unyielding stare – he was stressed enough without having to deal with this on top of everything. "If you think you could do it better, Tech-Cleric, you're more than welcome to come and join us," he said as his golden eyes glinted like the sharpened blades of two daggers.

Technus returned his gaze, telescopic eye clicking like an irritating beetle as he did so. "There is no 'think' about it, paladin. I am a priest of She who gave us the means to craft, to build and to thrive." As he droned in his monotone, crackling manner of speech, he lifted his gaze and examined their work closely. Even though the planks of wood were laid out in neat horizontal rows and fixed securely in place, there was a burst of static as Technus seemed to snort. "I could perform better than you and these other organics with ease."

In that moment, Logan had to fight the urge to smash Technus' face in with his mallet. He wasn't proud to admit it, but this guy was really starting to get under his skin. His words had also demoralized the other workers – glancing to the side, Logan could see them setting down their tools as they eyes grew heavy and sullen. Looks of defeat if he'd ever seen them.

Nostrils flaring silently, Logan climbed down from the ladder and managed to put his tools aside without giving the Tech-Cleric a thick ear. "Well, Technus, like I said, you're more than welcome to put your shoulders to the wheel while the rest of us eat," he said stiffly. "Shall we set some aside for you, or no?"

Technus gave another look of contempt and shook his head. "I have no need for that sort of sustenance," he replied.

"More for us, then!" a voice then cut in; Stalk's voice. The kenku was also setting aside his work, the nails he was passing Logan going back into a bowl before he turned to look at Technus, one of his dark orange eyes narrowing as he did so. "But I got a question for you, Technus - if you've got so much contempt for us 'organics', why are you goin' with us to Milisevre?"

Technus's head slowly rotated, then tilted down to meet Stalk's gaze. "As I said yesterday, kenku, I have my own business within Milisevre's borders... and I am also no fool, despite what I can assume you think of me," he said as his living eye blinked. "To wander the wilds is a dangerous endeavour, and so if I can increase my percentile chance of reaching my goal unscathed, then I shall do so for the sake of Lady Erathis..."

As he heard that, the corners of Stalk's beak curved upwards. "So you do like us!" he quipped.

Technus' laugh lines twitched in response. "I tolerate you for now, Kenku. Make that comment again, and I will rectify that decision."

"Aww!" Stalk replied. "You say the sweetest things!" That made Logan chuckle, and he swore in that moment that if steam could have come out of Technus' ears, it would have done.

'Maybe he doesn't have that function...' the paladin joked to himself.

Normally, it would have been easy for him to sympathize with someone fighting for the cause of their god; he was a paladin, after all. But Logan struggled to feel anything other than contempt for the condescending cyborg himself. He felt that he'd tried as best as he could to be diplomatic, but the Tech-Cleric's rude and haughty attitude alone was making him hard to like.

Something Logan also couldn't help but wonder was whether Technus' utter scorn for life came from himself or from his god – he still knew little of Erathis' creed, save for what Technus espoused openly yesterday. And if this deity was anything like him... he couldn't see himself having any love for her.

Gods had been on Logan's mind even while he worked on the doorway. He was already feeling stressed besides – this was the start of a new adventure bigger than any he'd ever been on, with new companions, people's lives potentially on the line, and venturing into a kingdom he knew nothing about.

On top of all this, as ever, Logan could feel the weight of his ancient legacy and the eye of Bahamut upon him. But he didn't know whether he found these things comforting or terrifying. Sacrifice still hung upon his hip, and even as he climbed down from the ladder and set his mallet aside, his left hand instinctively brushed over the griffin-head pommel, the cool metal soothing against his palm while his thumb felt the ridged feathers that cascaded down the beast's moulded neck.

The young knight took a deep breath as the sensation ran across his skin, remembering what he'd learned.

'No matter what a knight feels, he owes it to himself and those under his charge to pursue his mission and honour his oaths. He is to remain stoic in the face of adversity and hold steadfast to his pledge – where the weak have need, he has a duty, and that is his mission to the last.'

The quote rang in his head, but not in his voice. Instead, it was the voice of a better knight than him – one he hoped to make proud.

His attention was then abruptly pulled elsewhere when the kitchen door behind the counter swung open and Elsa came out, balancing two plates on each arm that were piled high with bacon, eggs, sausages, spiced potatoes, tomatoes and mushrooms. Steam rose from the culinary contents and wafted through the common room, carrying a scent that made Logan's stomach go from merely rumbling to growling and snarling like a caged lion.

And he clearly wasn't the only one to be affected – not long after Elsa called out "Breakfast is served, dearies!", Ren emerged from the corridor that led to the other rooms, fully-dressed and carrying his wooden staff while his shoulder-bag was visibly full of his belongings, including his spellbook.

Smiling, Logan made his way over to the elf and spoke to him. "Morning, Ren. How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?"

Ren met his gaze. "Yeah, I guess..." the wizard replied. There was no bleary fatigue in his expression, though the bags that still hung under his eyes made Logan wonder just how true that statement was. "So, uh... do we have a plan for setting off?"

Logan replied. "Well, after we've all had breakfast, and Elsa's wall gets fixed, I imagine we'll set off once everyone is ready."

"Good to know." Ren said, the fingers of his free hand twitching in a way that Logan interpreted as excitement. Smiling, he asked:

"Excited to get going?"

He meant it to be encouraging, especially in his tone, but Ren shifted on his feet and replied quietly, as if ashamed of himself.

"Eager to be away from here..." was all he said before he trudged over to a table and sat down. Logan watched him go, feeling the glow of his anticipation for setting off dim inside his chest.

'I suppose I'm not the only one who's stressed...' he thought to himself.

Elsa's breakfast was as excellent as anyone could ask for – the bacon crispy, the potatoes expertly spiced, the eggs poached to perfection... Logan could sing its praises for hours. The barkeep brought fresh, chilled cows' milk and fruit juice in pitchers, along with long loaves of white bread that were piping hot from the oven. The food was so good that Finnan came hurrying out from the room he and Arabella shared, and without so much as a greeting or fetching a plate, began piling the food into his mouth.

Having never been a stickler for manners, Logan merely laughed and remarked "Someone's hungry, I think!"

Finnan looked up at him as he said that, grinned with teeth coated in yellow egg yolk, then returned to eating, noisily slapping his mouth all the while. It was even louder than the clacking of Stalk's beak when he chewed, that noise becoming apparent as the kenku tossed a sausage into his mouth before adding "Trust the pint-sized druid to eat like a pack of wolves..."

It wasn't even a statement that Logan could disagree with, in truth. The 'quick folk', as halflings called themselves, were well-known for their appetites - Logan had seen their kind put away entire pantry's worth of food in one sitting with his own two eyes during his travels.

However, one person did seem to take umbrage with Finnan's behaviour – of all people, Arabella then exited the kitchen through the doorway, unfastening a plain white apron she wore over a new gown – this one green as summer and trimmed with golden lace that matched her hair. As she saw Finnan's behaviour, she took a pace forward and set a hand on his shoulder.

"How many times have I told you not to eat like that, Finnan?" she asked.

Finnan turned his head to her, only for his leafy clothing to rustle as he shrugged. "I'm hungry," he replied. "And besides, sleeping upside down makes you super-starving in the mornings!"

Logan felt his features coil in confusion. "You... sleep upside down, Finnan?"

"Yeah!" the halfling said, nodding madly. "Every night!"

This conversation was what finally roused Ren from his own stupor – he'd been sat in a sullen silence for a long time, the only sound he made the occasional scrape of his utensils against his plate as he played with his food.

"Like a bat, Finnan?" the wizard asked. "Or as a bat?"

Finnan shrugged again. "Depends. Sometimes I go to sleep as one and wake up as the other, though." He spoke as if turning into animals and sleeping as they did was the most normal thing in the world, and as though the annoyance of changing forms accidentally was a common annoyance that everyone dealt with, like leaving your keys in your other set of trousers or something.

This seemed to excite Ren, however, and he and Finnan immediately hurtled into a long conversation, the wizard fumbling for his spellbook and hurriedly making notes on druidic magic all the while as they both chattered with childlike enthusiasm. For a moment, Stalk seemed to listen, but then his attention drifted away.

Meanwhile, Arabella unfastened the apron she was wearing, though she kept her eye on the conversation the whole time. Whenever it seemed like there was a lapse in the topic, her lips parted as though to speak, only for them to fall shut again as Ren or Finnan launched back into talking, completely unaware of her wanting to intercede and leaving her to wait with a spark of frustration occasionally flaring in her turquoise eyes.

It seemed like Arabella couldn't not be polite, even at the best of times.

Something then clicked in Logan's mind as he saw the high elf removing her apron and folding it neatly to place on a nearby table. "Did you make this, Arabella?" he asked as he gestured to the remaining food on his plate with his fork.

His question immediately made the princess brighten up, and she beamed at him. "Yes, I did!" She then quickly added "Did you enjoy it?"

Logan also couldn't help but perk up as he saw her smile. "Absolutely!" he replied. He might have said more, but Stalk beat him to the punch in terms of his next question:

"Gotta say, Arabella, I didn't expect a posh lady to be cookin' for others..." he remarked. "Where did you learn?"

"The Grand Cleric of my temple taught me," Arabella replied in a demure manner. "Well, in truth, she taught me some basics, but I really got into the culinary arts and continued to learn them. I'm still hoping to learn more if I can."

Logan listened. "What made you decide to do that?" he asked. He knew little and less of Hanali Celanil's worship, and not all clerics were the ascetic 'bread and water' types, but a cleric of a love goddess deciding to focus on learning to cook was interesting...

Arabella met Logan's gaze. "I like to make people happy." Her reply was simple as it was straightforward. "And I once heard a human saying that I completely agree with – the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Something electric went off inside Logan just then. Arabella made no signs of flirting with him – instead just taking a seat on another table and beginning a friendly chat with Elsa. But the way she had said that made his imagination run wild.

Gorgeous, graceful, kind-hearted, a member of royalty and an excellent cook? Arabella was turning out to be quite a catch.

At least that was what Logan thought before he felt his shoulders seize up, alarm at his own fancies coursing through him, and he turned back to his breakfast. 'Keep your eyes where they belong, Galehaut...' he told himself. 'You're not worthy of her. Not until you prove yourself.'

Even then, he didn't know if he'd be worthy...

But Logan pushed those thoughts even further from his mind in that moment; he knew they were distracting him when he should be focused on his task alone.

Turning back towards the hole in the wall, his eyes fell upon the rows of earthen mounds, the graves that he and Stalk had dug. As he surveyed them, Logan's face went pale and he felt the weight of responsibility fall heavier upon him, reminded by the dead whose faces he had gazed upon and whose bodies he had laid to rest of what might happen again if they failed.

But they would not fail – he would make sure of that.

As he looked in that direction, though, he got a sudden surprise - Technus had been true to his word. While the rest of the party broke their fasts, he had set to work with both magic and some tools he kept upon his person, and within seconds of Logan looking at the corpses, his vision was obscured as Technus not only sealed the hole, but created a thick wooden wall reinforced with timbers so it couldn't be easily knocked down, the new door he'd crafted and fitted armoured with iron studs made from the melted down nails Technus didn't need to use.

He didn't even need the tools the rest of them had to salvage earlier; his bare hands and a compartment within his chest were everything he needed. Opening up as the scales of his armour unfurled, seemingly of his own volition, Technus revealed a hollow cuboid from which he pulled wrenches, saw blades and drills he held like his pistol and spun on their own volition as he pulled the trigger, making a whirring noise as they did so. Whenever he needed to hammer a nail in, he merely pushed it with contemptuous ease through the wood with his metal fingers, and he even had moulds which, after he used his clerical magic to heat the nails until they melted into a flow and incandescent liquid, he used to shape into the studs for the door.

Logan had to admit he was impressed, and was also unable to keep himself from feeling a small flicker of approval over Technus seeming willing to fix his mistake from yesterday. He also couldn't help but admire his focus, his dedication to his work - the tech-cleric's organic eye didn't even blink, nor look away for a nanosecond.

Still, he couldn't help but see the cyborg in a dim light. As the door blotted out the sun, it cast Technus in shadow, as though even the gods were aware there was a cruel darkness in him.

But after breakfast, there was nothing left to do. Nothing left to delay them. Each person gathered their things and moved to take their leave. Elsa and the other tenants waved them off , and many of the party waved back as they departed the Cockatrice and started northwards through the pass that led into Milisevre, with even Technus and Finnan giving the graves a wide berth as they passed.

None wanted to invite the wrath of the gods or curse their own fortunes now. They might very well need all the luck they could get.