The moment you entered Thalmont, you could tell it was a city in the midst of celebration. Coloured flags and streamers hung from every window, forming a cavalcade of colour over the heads of every passerby that was so bright that it could very well blind you whenever you looked up. The streets were also flush with activity, with pedestrians crammed shoulder-to-shoulder as they made their way up and down cobblestone routes made narrower by the market stalls that hugged every inch of free space at the side of the roads, selling felts, fruits, belts, boots and a thousand other goods. The smells of frying sausages, candied apples, and all the other weird Milisevran cuisine like frogs' legs and stuffed snails hung in the air, entwining with the tunes of a thousand different busking bards playing outside taverns or on street corners, sometimes in bands and sometimes alone, their jovial and upbeat songs

It was a most impressive sight – even though Stalk had seen it before leaving the city on his scouting mission, the buoyant atmosphere struck him hard as they passed on horseback under the fortified gatehouse along with a thousand other people flocking in to attend the tournament.

Hells, even the raised iron portcullis had flags hanging from it – a sight that made him chuckle. But his laughter soon vanished as the rest of the party eased their steeds to a halt, and yet Chestnut kept going! In alarm, Stalk yanked on the reins, but instead of stopping, the damn horse just wheeled to the left and almost blundered right into a market stall that was selling flags for viewers of the tourney to wave.

As the vendor cussed at him, Stalk twisted and squawked back to the others. "Romain! How do you stop this damn thing?!"

His cry for help was met with an utter deluge of laughter from Finnan and their two paladins, with all of them almost doubling over as they guffawed and chortled at the sight of his misery. Even Ren unable to stop himself from chuckling, though the sight did not amuse either Technus or Arabella.

At least he wasn't a complete laughingstock, he supposed...

Stalk'd never been good with horses, in truth – kenkus were made for flying, not riding. But until his kind found a cure, this was the best he could hope for outside of walking.

Thankfully, a fair damsel came to save him from distress; Arabella made her way up to where he sat like a lemon in Chestnut's saddle, a small giggle escaping her lips before she said "Allow me, Stalk."

A sigh of relief escaped his beak. "Thanks, Treacle," he replied.

He hoped Arabella would just take his damnable horse's reins and pull it back towards the others, but he wasn't so lucky. Instead, after tracing the air with her elegant fingers and whispering 'Speak with Animals', whereupon there was a bright pulse of green light around her, she turned to Chestnut and extended a hand... only to dash Stalk's hopes when she just stroked his mane instead of taking the reins.

"Excuse me, Chestnut, would you mind coming this way please?" she asked in a sing-song voice. "We've got a nice warm stable for you to stay with the other horses..."

Stalk didn't know what frustrated him more – Arabella being so genteel when she was talking to a bloody animal... or the fact that it worked. With a gentle wicker, Chestnut turned her way, and as Arabella smiled and walked to rejoin the others, Chestnut obediently followed her while he sat in the saddle and waited.

"Oh, so I'm not good enough for you, am I?" Stalk vented his anger with a sarcastic quip as Chestnut finally went the way he was supposed to go. Then, as they drew close to the party and the local stablehand took Chestnut in hand, Arabella gently patted the horse's snout and said "Good boy."

Watching, Stalk rolled his eyes before managing to unhook his talons from the stirrups and clamber down from the saddle. Lifting his gaze to see Romain and Logan looking down at him with playful smiles, he retorted with:

"Never. Again. You hear me?! Never!"

He glimpsed a spark of amusement in Logan's golden eyes as he said that, and while the paladin said nothing, Stalk could tell he was biting back a comment. However, Romain simply said "No worries, Stalk," before placing a bag of coin in the hand of the stablemaster, a bald man with a round red face, and addressing the whole party while their horses were taken away.

"Well, now that that's over with, does anyone have any questions?" the Milisevran asked.

Stalk was the first to put his hand up. "Yeah. When am I gonna get knighted?" he asked.

The look in Logan's eyes switched from a glow of amusement to a simmer of anger as he said that, but Stalk told himself to pay the Cormyrean's prickly temper no mind. Instead, he focused on Romain, who filled in the blanks.

"Well, Stalk, we need to sign everyone up for the tournament first..." he said. "I'll take you, Sir Logan and Finnan to speak to the master of the games – he'll be the one in charge of putting us in the lists, I've no doubt."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Is that legal, Romain? Putting Stalk and Finnan down for the lists when they haven't been knighted?" There was no malice or pomposity in Logan's voice when he said that, more just genuine concern whether such an action would be against the rules and would result in them being barred from entry.

'Better not,' Stalk thought. 'Else my plan falls at the first hurdle...'

Romain also took on board Logan's question and said "I don't believe so. And I think we should do that first because the gamesmaster will be expected to witness the dubbing, so he won't be able to dispute it."

"Dubbing?" Finnan asked, cocking his head as he listened with a boggle-eyed look of wonder.

Romain smiled down at him. "The ceremony by which someone becomes a knight, Finnan..." he explained.

Finnan blinked absent-mindedly, but gave no response.

"The one where you're touched on each shoulder with a sword," Logan added.

Still no response.

Stalk snickered under his breath. 'Little fella still has a lot to learn...' he thought to himself.

"Anyways..." Romain continued, "... after that's been sorted, we'll head to the Temple District, and to the Cathedral of Bahamut for the knighting ceremony," he said with a smile.

"Where is this Temple District?" Technus then asked, speaking for the first time since their encounter with Milton. And after Romain turned to him and started to give him some directions, one of which was 'look for the statue of Sir Loras de Tyrell', Technus began to march off before Romain had even finished or had a chance to bid him farewell.

"Technus?" Arabella called after him. "Where are you going?"

Just like Finnan earlier, Technus didn't reply. But his silence seemed borne from contempt instead of confusion. He didn't even look the party's way before departing, with the people of Thalmont gasping at his appearance as he passed them by or, just as likely, recoiling in terror to form a path through the crowds.

Both of these the Tech-Cleric didn't seemed to bat an eye at, and Stalk couldn't say he was surprised. After all, he was a zealous follower of his god, and like all zealots, nothing mattered to him except obeying whatever holy bastard or bitch held his leash.

'Good riddance,' Stalk thought in the back of his mind, turning up his beak.

~~~

As the rest of the party watched Technus depart, it was Ren who, appropriately enough for a wizard, spoke up as he tried to dispel the awkward quiet that surrounded the party like a bubble of silence, ringed on all sides by the continuing clamour of the tourney celebrations.

Arabella was simply blown away by it all the moment her eyes fell upon it. The colours, the music, the smell of the food and drink... it was all simply spectacular.

"What are Arabella and I supposed to do, Romain?" the wood elf asked, his voice barely audible over the ambience of Thalmont's public as, after Technus vanished into the crowd, they returned to their festivities as though pretending he had never been there...

Meanwhile, Romain answered Ren's question dutifully, saying "Well, you're more than free to enjoy the sights of the city, Ren. Or, if you like, you could come with us while we see the master of the games..."

Upon hearing that second option, Ren recoiled a little, his feet taking a few steps back. "I... I'm not sure," he said softly and shyly. "I just don't want to run into Milton and his followers again."

Upon the mention of his name, Arabella shivered under the warm afternoon sun. She'd already been having a rather rough few hours by the time the Comte of Vertlac appeared, and his discourteous arrogant manner would have angered Arabella if she weren't so terrified of one of his followers.

The way that the brutish giant Fulber stared at her made her feel unclean, and the chill of dread she felt while under his piggy eyes still lingered even now...

After hearing Ren's response, Logan spoke up. "I know how you feel, Ren..." he said in a sympathetic manner, "But we can't hide from them. They're a problem that needs to be solved, and we'll solve it by taking them down in the tournament."

"You'll do that, I have no doubt..." Ren replied. "But I'm no knight, and I'm not taking part," he said, his tone rather sullen. "Besides, I've found that running and hiding from problems works just fine for me..."

As he said that, Arabella saw something in Ren's expression – the way his laugh lines twitched, the shade of his skin seeming to lighten as blood fled his face, and how he wouldn't look Logan or anyone else in the eye as she spoke.

Almost like he didn't believe in his own statement.

Arabella considered what to do for a moment. What Ren said back at Chateau Toussaint had hurt her, even if it might not have meant to. But she was trying to forgive him for that, and ever since he woke up in a cold sweat back at the Cockatrice and been evasive about telling her anything about how he was feeling, her desire to learn about him had only grown and grown...

Not for its own sake, mind. But because she wanted to help him. To see what it was that made him so reclusive and jumpy and help him to heal it.

A passage from her goddess' scriptures echoed in her head; 'The heart drives the body, and so a broken heart can be seen in the actions of the one who bears it. Though they may strive to appear whole, they are shattered within, and only love, compassion and guidance can bring them back together.'

However, while Ren stood frozen, Arabella heard the rest of their companions talking, and as she looked their way, she saw Romain pointing in the direction that Technus had gone in and talking about the Temple District, and how they'd head there after speaking with the master of the games.

The party was going to split up!

When Arabella realized that, a pang of dizziness swept through her, her mind turning in different directions as her gaze flicked back and forth. It was only for a second she felt it at first, but then something happened that made it grow worse.

"Lady Arabella?" Romain asked as he looked at her. "Are you coming with us to the tourney grounds, or do you want to stay here?"

The princess of Evermeet felt her mouth go dry then, and not from thirst. Despite the heat of the day still scorching the cityscape, she shivered a little as she kept looking back and forth between Ren, who stood clutching his arm as he met her gaze for a moment.

Both of them seemed expecting of her company, and she wanted to be with both of them, all of them. Indecision slid around her like the chilling coils of a snake, twisting and constricting before seeming to yank her and both directions. Her heart began to pulse so loud she could hear it, the sound mixing with the continued ambience of the city.

"Ren?" she asked, her voice briefly tinged with desperation before she got control of her tone. "Why don't you come with us? We'll get to see Stalk and Finnan be knighted, and wouldn't that be something?"

That was what pulled her to Romain and the others – she wanted to be by Finnan's side when he was knighted, both to look on with pride and to help in case he behaved in an... unexpected manner. Sometimes, the halfling could be a handful, but he had always been the little brother she never had, and she wanted to be there to see his and Stalk's achievement.

She always found it hard to say 'no' to Finnan about anything. I mean, with his adorable squishy little face and big eyes, how could you not?

But she also wanted to be there for Ren – her curiosity regarding him remained unsated, and despite what he had said back at the Chateau, she still felt that he needed her. Needed someone...

"Arabella? Are you okay?" she heard Logan's voice ask, though his face remained a shifting shadow as the world blurred before her as though her mind was bracing for the disappointment she would see on her companions' faces.

"Hurry up, Treacle!" Stalk's voice quickly followed. "We've got work to do!"

Heard shuddering and straining against the weight of the dilemma, Arabella finally made her choice. Taking two paces towards Ren, she said as the world came back into focus, "I'm fine, Logan. And I think I'll stay with Ren for the time being. We're in a new place, and I'd rather not have him be alone..."

Much to her relief, Finnan didn't look sad or disappointed by her decision, and neither did any of the others. However, as she turned to Ren, she saw that he was looking the other way, gazing downwards at the floor with his face hidden by the dangling locks of white hair that hung down from his bun.

Panic flooded through her then, burning her from the inside out. Had she made the wrong decision? Should she have gone with the others?

But by then, it was too late. Romain called "Pas probleme! We'll see you around!" before he and the others turned and headed out, presumably for one of the other city gates closer to the tourney grounds. The only other thing she got in parting was a look from Logan's golden eyes, followed by a smile and him calling out "Take care of yourselves, okay? And each other."

Arabella smiled and dipped down, playfully curtseying to him. And as she lifted her gaze, in the tail of her eye, she saw the corners of Ren's mouth break from their usual gloomy frown, creasing upwards as he managed a smile.

Then as Logan turned and faded into the crowd, Arabella looked at Ren and asked in a shy, but hopeful tone "So, Ren... shall we do as Logan asked? If it please you, I mean?"

Ren's sour expression and reply hurt her a little. "If we must."

~~~

The Temple District of Thalmont was exactly as the Cyberseers described. After passing through an internal wall, one of many that divided up the parts of the city, Technus was greeted by an open plaza in the shape of a rectangle studded all over with buildings, with one at the centre and the others laid out in rows on either side of the cobblestone yard.

Said central building that dominated the district was an enormous cathedral made of blue and grey rock that reared up at the centre, its four steepled towers looming over everything and everyone in sight. Its spires and buttresses were lined with twisting veins of metal, the gold, silver, bronze, copper and brass polished and kept in impeccable condition by people who abseiled down from the rooftop and scrubbed any trace of rust with oil cloths.

'Such an archaic method,' Technus thought before his eyes trailed to the rest of iconography, whereupon it became clear who this cathedral was built for. Murals depicting knights kneeling in prayer lined the exterior walls, dragon heads lined the rooftops to drain water from the gutters through their open mouths, and over the massive golden door and between the two front towers, a massive circular window of cobalt glass surrounded a depiction of the head of Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon, proud in profile and carved from sheets of the metal that was the god's namesake, catching the sun and shining like a beacon.

Only a fool would not be able to tell which god such a cathedral was dedicated to.

He recognized the symbols of the other gods from their iconography; the silver building covered in crescents, with the crest depicting the eyes and seven stars, was a temple of Selune, the Moonmaiden. The grim necropolis marked with the skeletal hand holding the scales of justice could only be for Kelemvor, the Lord of the Dead who judged those who passed from this world. The female statue with the flowing red hair outside what looked like an opulent bathhouse was likely Sune, the Lady of Love – similar to Arabella's goddess, he had no doubt.

All of them a collection of edifices built in the name of lesser faiths and obsolete gods. And not what he had come here to seek.

Instead, what he came to locate was the building squeezed into the farthest corner of the district, forced to be built in the shadow of the Cathedral and in the only spare space that had been available.

Though one day, that would change. When their actions brought about the Age of Iron, only one faith would remain. Here, and across all of Toril.

Technus started forward through the gateway into the Temple District, paying no mind to those he noticed on the edge of his vision who recoiled at his appearance. However, he surprised even himself when he stopped again for just a moment.

Standing beside the open gateway that he had just passed through was a statue – it was only about his height, yet it commanded his attention more than all the temples. Not least because the craftmanship was excellent. Cast in solid stone, its face chipped and cracked in places from the ravages of time, it depicted a tall knight in magnificent plate armour standing atop a rugged crag of rock and driving a lance through the chest of a wizened, corpselike monster who lay slumped on the floor, its skeletal mouth open in a silent scream of anguish and defeat.

Beside the knight's feet were two items of note – the first, standing upright and fused into the base of the statue, was an iron facsimile of a shield, its decorative rim carved in floral patterns and the face painted with a golden rose blooming on a field of green. And the second was a bronze plaque, rusting green at the corners, upon which was inscribed three names.

'Sir Loras de Tyrell. Sir Loras the Pious. Sir Loras the Lichslayer.'

Who this man was, Technus didn't know. And he soon corrected his curiosity and marched forward again, passing the statue by as he put it from his mind.

He had no time for distractions now. Not when he was so close.

Milisevre's chapel of the Turning Cog was a meagre structure indeed, much to his disappointment; it was no higher than two storeys, and looked more like a large house than a holy building of any great standing. Three sides of the building were made from blocks of bronze-coloured stone, perfectly chiselled into cuboids and sealed not by cement or mortar, but by iron rivets that let off a dull gleam in what little sunlight graced the building. However, the east side was made of a different material – pale grey stone that was sealed with mortar, the wall crumbling and decrepit-looking.

It looked as though the chapel had been constructed upon the remains of some older building, the materials cannibalized instead of being cleared away – a disgrace that made Technus' dissatisfaction turn to chagrin.

'A temple to the Matron of Civilization should not be built on the ruins of something lesser, something worthless...' he thought, wondering what temple had stood here before now.

Thankfully, as he raised his head, the rest of the iconography was befitting of the goddess; arches in the shape of cogs crested the doorway and adorned the domed roof, about which eight cylindrical chimneys churned and blasted smoke into the sky. The roar of the furnaces and forges within could also be faintly heard behind the stone and metal, making a sense of comfort burn within Technus' chest, for the sound was just the same as back in the Castellum Machina, where he had been raised.

The thrum and hum of the machines there had been so endemic to his upbringing that, when he first left on this quest, the lack of it to be found in nature had disturbed him deeply.

All too often, something is easier to notice only when it's not there...

Shaking such memories from his mind, Technus realigned his thoughts. 'The machine thinks only of its purpose, and does not stray from it...' was what went through him mind – a quote from the annals of Brother Korish. And his metal feet then began to pound upon the cobblestone as he approached the chapel entrance.

As he neared, with a tooth-grinding shriek of metal against metal, the twin panels rolled apart and vanished into the walls as they seemed to sense his presence, opening to reveal a single chamber with vaulted ceilings, who were lit along with the uppers walls by the turquoise glow of artificial lights, while the lower walls and floor were bathed in red by the glow of furnaces that lined the east and west ends of the room. These caverns of flame, each large as a horse, were tended by segmented arms that moved of their own will, tending to the flames and shaping parts of machinery with unerring precision that no organic fleshling could hope to imitate. These, and the powerful stench of smoke mixed with holy incense that burned within those sacred kilns of steel, made this place seem both closer to home and to the divine in Technus' eyes.

And then, as he gazed up, he saw Her; resplendent in all her glory, tall and slim in her steel-clad appearance, where not a wire nor a gear was visible, holding aloft balanced scales in her left hand and the sigil of the half-moon cog in her right while her steely expression and eyes like silver stars gazed down upon all that lay before her.

Order. Innovation. Dominion.

Erathis.

Reaching to his side, Technus pulled his cog-toothed battleaxe from the magnet upon his hip, then dropped to one knee and laid it upon the floor, blade flat upon the floor of solid steel. As the light of the furnaces danced off his weapon, he intoned the prayer he needed:

"Hail to the Matron of Civilization, the Bronze Lady, the Machine Goddess! May your force drive away our flaws, replacing the weakness and chaos of flesh with the certainty and order of steel! May your will be done through our actions, the savage and the weak alike undone until only the civilized remain! And may your light guide our way to unlock the future, to bring forth the Age of Iron!"

As he intoned his prayer, a droning noise seemed to sound above him, and a flicker of hope sparked within Technus' metal carapace... until he realized it wasn't coming from the statue. Instead, as he lifted his head, the plates in his neck creaking as he craned it backwards, he saw something move amidst the domed roof of the chapel far above.

Several things, actually – small hovering shapes, their forms indistinct from this distance and amidst the tangle of spidery limbs that each one possessed. They were inspecting and keeping the steel rafters and other workings of the chapel free of dirt, dust and insects, either picking them free down to the microscopic level or burning them away with controlled bursts of flame. After he intoned his prayer and looked up, he saw one start to get larger, the droning of its energy supply growing louder as it drew closer.

When it reached a level with him, it revealed itself as a homunculus drone, a common sight within temples of the Turning Cog or even amongst normal artificers. Then, as it twisted around, it came to 'face' him, revealing its visage as being that of a human skull; the eyes filled with two piercing red lights, the bone latticed with wires and iron workings, and the forehead carved with the half-moon cog of their order.

It was the skull of a former Tech-Cleric, chosen to serve Erathis even in death.

Technus moved to speak, but his crackling voice had barely sounded before the homunculus suddenly barked "Silence!" in a sharp, automated drone. Then, its red eyes burned brighter, projecting a wide, flat beam up and down his body, from head to foot and then back up to head again.

The drone then spoke to him, seeming to completely change its tone even though its voice was the same. "Identity confirmed. Model: AM 2187. Designation: 'Brother Technus'. Rank: Tech-Cleric. Pending arrival. Confirm?"

"Confirm," Technus replied cooly, used to dealing with these machines and how you were supposed to address them. "Report information to Brother Ruberix. Audience requested."

The homunculus' eyes flickered, a symbol of a white rotating ring cycling inside its sockets for a few seconds before he received a reply.

"Request: denied. Brother Ruberix is presently occupied. Report back at another time to have mandate confirmed."

Confusion suddenly speared through Technus' body as he heard that, but as soon as he felt it, he recalled his training and smothered the feeling the moment of its conception. He would not desecrate this sacred place with such profane things as 'emotion'.

"Inform Brother Ruberix: mission to locate sacred star is in progress and of utmost importance. Delay unacceptable – strategic value: Absolute," he told the drone, keeping his voice flat and his tone level.

The drone replied just as levelly. "Brother Ruberix presently triangulating the location of the sacred star. Once information obtained, audience request will become available," it said. "Approximated time – T minus 16 hours, 47 minutes and 21 seconds."

Another flicker appeared in the drone's eyes as it suddenly, to his surprise, asked a question. "Brother Technus intending to interrupt work of superior clergyman?"

Inside his carapace, Technus' confusion had turned to frustration. And what terrified him was that no matter how hard he fought it, the sensation continued to fester within his being.

He had crossed over a thousand miles of land to reach this place; after being chosen for this mission, he would not wish any delays in doing the bidding of Erathis, given to him personally by the highest and holiest of the Turning Cog. And yet now, he was being forced to wait until tomorrow morning before he could continue his task.

But he had no choice – both to follow the doctrines of his superiors and keep the sensation buried until it burned out like a furnace with no fuel, as he knew it would do eventually. It would hurt, but law was Erathis' domain. And to obey the law meant to follow the orders of one's superiors. Without question, without delay and without remorse.

"Negative," was what Technus told the hovering drone. "Merely requesting clarification." He then focused his thoughts and set a timer inside his cranium to record the time that the homunculus had estimated, assuming it to be accurate.

Assuming, and hoping.

When the white-on-red numbers appeared in the corner of his artificial eye, he said with a measure of resignation, "Timer activated. Will confirm return upon completion."

"Affirmative," the homunculus replied, and they parted ways, with Technus still simmering as he bowed before the statue of Erathis, and turned away, feeling shame for both the delay in his mission and the emotions that blighted both his body and this holy temple.

They were one and the same, after all. Made of metal and inorganic material. Material that should not feel, should not break, and should not fail...