Lightning roared across the skies. Unrelenting downpour slaked the road and made an already hard journey that much harder. Tha land is ravaged and battered by the fury of the heavens themselves, protecting the great Citadel of Lady Luck herself and dettering those who would wish to intrude upon her domain. Most do not even attempt the journey, others quickly change their minds when faced with hardships of the road, but not he. He was comitted to see this path through no matter how hard the rain pounded his hunched over, cloaked form, no matter how many times lightining struck too close for comfort, no matter how he felt his body failing him, weakening and straining to keep up with his demands and the mysterious force of this world which sought it's destruction.

He would succed for if not, death would surely claim him. As he dragged himself forwards, leaning heavily on his halberd, a symbol of his status that mattered little in this foreign and hostile land, the path becomes easier to navigate. Steel pylons divert most if not all the lightinign away from the pathway and even though downpour never ends, the stones of the road seem bit more stable and less slippery, Even his body felts more and more at ease with each he takes, stranges ambience which sought to tear him down through the entire time he dwelled in this realm, settling down….just a tiny bit. Though it was great relief, he still had a considerable road ahead of himself and could not rest. While the overpowering feeling of his body failing and dragging him down seemed to ease a little and the painful howls of the spirits he served died down, they were not gone entirely. They were still there, in the back of his mind, seeping deeper with every single momment he did not move and remained still.

After many hours he finnaly approached the white jade that made up the massive doors to the Citadel. Lack of hinges and other such and the ornate nature of gates reminded him of home, although those seemed much more………raw and unpolished when compared to the sight before him. He quickly pushed those thoughts aside, for they were blasphemy against his order, and while he was unorthodox in his thinking and approach to things, he still dearly held unto many teachings and beliefs he was thaught and would not dare to defile them with such thoughts.

He approached the doors slowly, extending his arm from underneath crimson cloak covering his visage. He put his hand on the slab of whie jade and moced gently across it. Feeling up all the intricate carvings untill it found it's way to the plaque. Soon after that he knocked on the doors and leaned back upon his weapon he used as a walking staff and waited for an answer.

The door parted, breaking apart and pulling away to reveal the way in. Once the strange being was inside, it closed and sealed itself back as it once was. It was blindingly bright in the Entry Hall in stark contrast to the dreary, grey weather outside. There was little decoration save for what appeared to be windows, alcoves with stone benches built in, and a few statues that looked a little too lifelike. Through the 'windows' there was clear skies and mild weather. It was possible that these windows weren't actually windows at all, let alone connected to the outside. It was silent in the empty hall, save for the simple pedestal with a large button bearing Antikythera's mark. And most curious of all was the fact that although the area was well-illuminated, there were no sources of light present.

In Serenitas, Shiloh felt someone enter the Machinarium. Narrowing her eyes, she crawled out from her quilt pile that was now a makeshift ferret den to see who was here. She didn't get many visitors, so it was easy to keep track of who went in and out of Antikythera. It also made remembering visitors easier too. Scanning through the sections of the place, she found where the new presence was. It was some hooded figure, not the classic devout yet misguided zealot who thought deities enjoyed hearing their own praises and empty platitudes. The aura signature was…odd to say the least. She wasn't sure what it was, but there wasn't any inherent hostility. There was no point in stalling any longer; better figure out what they wanted so they could sooner be on their merry way and out of her workplace. 

Taking the long walk down the Marble Corridor, she contemplated how to handle this situation. She could pretend to be a staff member and say that the Steward was busy, or she could put on her disguise and speak with them 'in person'. Ultimately she chose the latter, transmuting herself into the form of a myrmidon automaton. With a helmed mask to cover her face, she entered the Entry Hall. The visitor was even more bizarre up close, and she wasn't sure what exactly it was. They were dripping wet however, and she figured they had taken the full walk down Via Fulminis. One towel wasn't going to be enough.

As Ferrus stood in the hallway, he carefuly observed his surroundings. Taking in every single minute detail he could observe and noting it in the back of his mind. It was all to fascinating for him. Windows through which clear skies could be seen, reminded him of various cogitator screens used back home. Mayhaps this realm was not yet lost it terms of such progress as he judged it as such before. Maybe there is still hope? He also did took notice of the statues. The arcane and "Magic" seemed to be rather commonplace in this world so it wouldn't be suprising if those statues realy were, at one point, living beings. Or mayhaps they are some sort of defence automata waiting to be activated? So many things to think about and ponder.

However his conteplation were interrupted by an appearence of an metalic being, an Automata. Oh so tales were indeed true. The godess of this Citadel dealt with mysteries of machines. A kindred spirit perhpas. A hope, which he held unto dearly, was now blossoming at the sight he witnessed. His slavation was now at hand! He felt inside all the circuits, all the cables and all the neurological connection nodes which dotted his mechanical body. The Machine God answered his prayers and delivered him to the place of healing. All he had to do now was to present himself properly and garner positive attnetion for lady of this place.

- Ah good tidings - he begun. His voice filled with subdued joy rang across the hallway. The emotion carried across felt and sounded genuine however the voice, the sound of that voice, did not. It was not natural. It was not produced by vocal cords nor by magic. It was an imitation of an natural voice, one that was very close…….but not enough to fool anyone. - May I assume that you are an Automata that serves the Lady dwelling within this Citadel? Has she sent you here to see me in? Or mayhaps to show me out?…..No matter, I wanted to ask a favour of her. A plea for help realy……..it's not for any illicit purpose nor is for any trivial matter I assure you. It's actualy very pertinent to my survival, a true case of life and death. I just beg of you please deliver such tidings to thy mistress. - Tone of voice remained somewhat jovial, however it was now very much so tinted with desperation. An almost begging tone that would have sounded truly genuine if not for the voice itself.

If this had been anyone else from the Conclave, the figure might have been met with amusement or surprise. But Shiloh had experience with creating voice boxes, and it had taken her countless tries to master the control of volume and pitch. One look at her staff and this would become evident–they were living proof of her progress. Whoever had adjusted the sound modulation for this person's mechanical voice had done a good job by her standards. Tone inflection wasn't easy to coordinate. But beyond the limitations of the visitor's machinery, she could sense his desperation all the same. His posture, the speed of his speech, even the subtle movements of body language that were done subconsciously. It wasn't just an ordinary request of supplication. Underneath the rehearsed patterns of social etiquette and courtesy was a deep-seated panic that finally started to bleed out near the end.

Mentally Shiloh was holding her breath. In the past she had met people who came asking for favors, for help, or for her to grant them her 'divine gratitude' in exchange for their so-called piety. However, this was the first time she had someone come in who was figuratively throwing themselves at her feet. He was gripped by a familiar sense of impending doom, a feeling she understood and knew well. But first, she had to figure out the root of the problem. Crossing her arms, she answered his questions in order. "I am a representative of Antikythera, the Machinarium. I was notified of your presence upon your arrival, and according to the policies of the Steward, visitors will not be shown out without proper justification. Anything you wish to say to the Steward you may say to me. Speak clearly and elaborate, then we can see what can be done for you." She carefully worded her reply in such a way that she did not overtly confirm nor deny her identity to the stranger. Perhaps the disguise she chose had been a suitable one after all. 

- Ah I see, very well then I am sorry for my lack of manners and knowledge of the procedures ruling this Citadel - Ferrus replied with bit of downtrodden tone - My name is Ferrus Faustinus, I am not native to this world nor was my arrival here an intentional one. However that is not the problem, as I have been in such situations before. What is however a problem is what started happening to my body soon after I arrived. Namely it started to fail and malfunction, causing me no end of suffering and hardship in the process. Worst of all, the failure rate was increasing steadily…….or should I say it is increasing steadily. My estimates as to when I would have gathered enough resources and capital to start up project that would allow me to leave this realm is around 10 years. My estimates as to when my body would…..succumb to whatever is casuing those malfunctions is…..or was 3 years. Now it's barely 1 year and a half.

Ferrus let down his head and looked on upon the floor, seemingly in shame.

- I had run diagnostic programs more times in but 24 hours in this world than in the entirety of my life. And. I. Could. Not. Find. Anything. Not a single physical defect, nor a software run amuck. Machine Spirits are in pain and I can do nothing to ease their suffering. Their agonized binary screams fill my audio receptors ever since I put down my first step in this world. I lack the knowledge, the tools and the expertise to find the cause of this and it brings me no-end of shame. I……beg of you……please inform your lady of this. She is the only one that can save me. I am willing to pay any price……within reason……for this. I truly am.

The fear of death is universal to all beings, no matter if they are borne of flesh and blood. Even machines corrode and parts degrade. Systems malfunction, and information relay gradually slows to a halt. It is the same process for the living, unliving, and those who cannot be categorized as either. If there was one thing that I could say about all of my visitors who came on account of my position as deity–it would be that they in one way or another, were desperate. Here was a man who was afraid of death and was now facing his own mortality. I couldn't promise that I would be able to save him. I have no power over souls, life, or death. But when someone begs for your help so earnestly–can you turn them down? I couldn't remove my facade; that would destroy any possible trust that had been built up. I would continue along this charade, but only to ensure that I wouldn't raise his hopes beyond what was possible. 

Shiloh listened in silence as the man told her the reason why he was here. It was a hard request, something more difficult than a vague request for luck. Ferrus Faustinus was asking for a miracle in clear and certain terms, and she had decided she would oblige. "I understand your situation. Allow me to inform the Steward, and inquire for her response." There was a long silence before the man who was more machine than flesh heard a different voice in his mind. 'Visitor to Antikythera, the terms and conditions of your request has been made clear to me. But first, I must congratulate you for piquing my interest. Since you have already consented to pay, let us negotiate. Proceed to sign a contract with my representative and then I will see what I can do.'

Through the mouth of the automaton 'representative', the same voice began to project from it. 'My terms for our contract are simple: I will attempt to uncover the root cause of your rapid deterioration in exchange for information and permission to analyze the inner workings of your construction. The former will consist of all of your current knowledge and personal history, particularly details related to your place of origin. The latter is required for me to deliver my end of the bargain. Should I fail to ascertain the cause of your rapid decline, I will grant you a referral and letter of recommendation to other individuals who are more capable in granting what you seek. Do you have any objections or other questions?'

From a portal, she produced a small table and a set of chairs before laying down a piece of enchanted parchment before him. With a quill, she began to write the specific terms and conditions of their contract, with blank spaces for him to sign his name. As she doubted Ferrus had any blood, she positioned the inkwell beside the legal document for him to dip his finger and place his mark beside his signature. 'If you find all of these conditions to be satisfactory, please sign your name on the blank lines and dip your finger into the ink, then press it against the paper beside your signature.'