User:Lhynard/Projects/In Absentia Lucis/Recaps/Chapter 3

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They found themselves standing on soft grass. It was still night, but the sky was entirely devoid of stars or moon. Only Walker's torch provided light. There was a crackle of electricity, and they both spun around to see two trees, with a branch from each stretching out to form a sort of archway. Through this archway they saw the ghostly image of the tiny city square where they had just been standing, before it flickered away. Now, more grass was all that lay through the branch archway. One would never have guessed that there was a portal there.

Walker pointed with his staff to a walled village a short distance off. "Automata. Mind that you act as orderly as possible. As it is night, their laws require that you check in with the town guards, and you will only be permitted escort to the inn. dO not go anywhere else. In the morning, you can seek a means to find your way home. I bid you farewell." He spoke a command word and vanished before they could ask him any further questions.

"This must be the Concordant Domain of the Outlands," said Throthar, "a plane of overlap and neutrality among the Outer Planes."

With Walker and his torch gone, it was much darker. Now, the only light was a few dim flickers from the direction of the village.

"Do you need a light?" asked Khamael. "Or can your elven eyes see well enough in this darkness?"

"I can see well enough," said Throthar.

"I suggest that we do exactly as Walker said."

"I agree."

The town was surrounded by a perfectly straight, rectangular wall of dark stone. From their angle of approach, they could see that it had two gates on a long side and one gate at the center of a short side. They assumed that it would have matching gates on the other sides. At night, all of the gates were shut except for one, and toward this gate they walked over the flat ground.

The gate was guarded by a humanoid wearing golden banded armor—which reflected the torchlight from the sconces nailed into the red-gray stone on each side of the gate—and a flowing golden robe. It stood entirely motionless, holding a longsword upright in front of it with both hands in a position that most would find uncomfortable to maintain for any extended length of time. Only when they drew closer did they observe that the creature's face and hands were black and red and made from mechanical parts, reminding them of one of the creatures that they had seen at the tavern in Sigil. Its eyes glowed a pale green. They could see gears moving through an opening in its forehead.

There were audible clicking and whirring sounds as it turned to look at them. "Well met, travelers," it said in Common, with an echoey but clear voice with no trace of any accent. "Please state your purpose here at Automata."

"We wish to spend the night at the inn," replied Throthar.

"Affirmative," said the guard in its crisp but tinny voice. "I must inform you of applicable laws at this hour. A guard will escort you to an inn with vacancies. No guests are permitted to leave the inn premises until morning."

"Understood," said Khamael.

"In the morning, proceed to the Office of Tourism, the Office of Immigration, or the Office of Commerce to fill out the appropriate forms.

"If you only desire to use the gate, you still must visit the Office of Tourism to obtain a guests' pass. Then you must visit the Gatekeeper's Office to obtain a gate permit. Will you comply."

"We will," they answered.

The mechanical guard whistled, and shortly, another guard came through the gateway to meet them. This was a human man wearing a red-gray, ankle-length robe with a white sash. He had a short sword sheathed at his side and carried a torch.

The newcomer looked at them, nodded, and spoke a single word. "Follow." He turned and walked back through the gate. Khamael and Throthar followed closely behind him.

Passing through the gate, they entered a very wide avenue, the width of a street block. Looking up, they saw a street sign marked, "Modron Way". Four blocks ahead, there appeared to be a slightly raised platform with steps leading up to it. Guards dressed in the same uniform as their current escort could be seen by the torchlight.

The interior of the town looked large enough to contain perhaps 10,000 souls. It was arranged in a grid, and every building looked to have been constructed by the same team. Each was a rowhouse, sharing at least one wall with its neighbor. Their only variation was in the number of stories—from one to four—but each story was precisely twelve feet tall. All were made of the same red-gray stone as the walls. The doors and windows of each building were arranged in the same pattern and built to the same dimensions, except for obvious special cases, such as a stable having larger doors for mounts.

They passed one such stable on the left as they entered, McGuvol's Stabling Establishment it was called. Two identical-looking stables were built next to it. In fact, it seemed like each block shared the same type of establishment. Directly across the wide street was a row of identical-looking inns: The Divine Machine, Sleep Like a Construct, and As the Gear Turns, according to their carefully engraved signs. "Inn." Their escort pointed at The Divine Machine. He continued to stand there and point until one of them responded.

The companions followed his bidding and entered the inn.

The clerk at the very short front desk, clearly not built for someone of human height, was essentially a box with arms and legs. A strange mixture of mechanical and biological, the thing had two fleshy eyeballs, a nose, and a mouth on the front face of its metallic cube, but it also had an eye on three other faces. It had four spindly, piston-lined arms, each coming from the four vertical edges of the cube. Two similar legs sprouted from the base of the cube. Like the creature at the gate, this thing whirred, and gears ground together as it moved.

"Welcome. To. The. Divine. Machine," it said in a monotone drone with a clicking sound between each word. "We. Are. Happy. To. See. You."

"Do you have two rooms?" asked Khamael.

"Affirmative. Two. Gold. Pieces. Please."

They handed over the coins. The box creature clicked and mechanically inserted the coins through a slot in the counter. With a dinging sound, a drawer slid open, and the creature removed two room keys and passed one to each guest simultaneously with an arm each.

"Clockwise. Guest. You. Have. Room. Number. Four. Counterclockwise. Guest. You. Have. Room. Number. 6." It then simply stared at them with three of its giant eyeballs.

"Do you know what time that we must report to the office of tourism?"

"Input. Error. We. Do. Not. Comprehend."

Figuring that they would not get any further useful information from this simple creature, they proceeded to find their rooms upstairs. Each was meticulously clean and organized with no sign of dust or crumb. They were arranged in an orderly fashion, with a bed, chair, chest, desk, and washtub all arranged just so. Everything was a bit small for creatures of Khamael or Throthar's height, as if the owners had tried to make the rooms human- or elf-sized but did not quite get it right.

The beds were comfortable nonetheless, and the two newcomers to the Outer Planes found themselves sleeping or trancing restfully after a stressful and confusing day.

~

They woke to the sound of commotion outside. Looking out the window, they looked down upon a parade of sorts, but the marchers were of the most bizarre variety, living machines looking something like the inn's desk clerk from the night before.

After refreshing themselves and dressing, the two met and proceeded downstairs. They found the cubic clerk absent, and in its place sat a halfling man instead. As they approached the counter, they saw him carefully everything on the counter.

"Good morn to ya, outsiders. I am Tourlac the Halfling and this be my kip in this 'ere anthill."

"Well met," said Khalael.

"Ya look a canny spellslinger," said Tourlac to Throthar. "Where be ya headin' in yar travels?"

"We are not certain yet where we are heading," replied the elven scholar. "We are just passing through."

"Not today, ya ain't. Ya picked the wrong day to visit Automata. It's the Modron Procession. Only Primus knows why, but an 'orde o' those buggers be comin' out of the gate, and they be comin' for a lon' while. Ya'll 'ave as much luck findin' the center of the multiverse as get those addle-coved walkin' clocks to move. Nothin' but gears in their brain-boxes. O' course that makes 'em great employees. Ya must 'ave met good ol' Number Sixty-Two Thousand, Five 'Undred Nineteen last night?"

"I assume that that was the clerk who assigned us our rooms?" said Khamael.

The halfling nodded, while readjusting one of the items that he had already "fixed". "That be the one.… Or the Sixty-Two Thousand, Five 'Undred Nineteenth. Heh heh heh."

"We were told that we must report to the…."

"…Office of Tourism," Throthar finished.

"Can you direct us to its location?" asked Khamael.

Tourlac game them precise and clear directions, an exact number of blocks and doors. "Ya may 'ave to walk around the Procession, since it be on the other side o' the gate, but at least ya'll know where to 'ead." He leaned forward as if you share secret information with them. "I ain't envy ya. Fillin' that parchmentwork be a soddin' lon' process."

"It is my understanding that this is a gate-town," said Khamael. "Do you know to what realms one can travel from here?"

"Ya truly be a rube, ain't ya? This 'ere town leads to Mechanus, and only Mechanus, home of those modron buggers. Nearest other gate-town's about a fortnight away. Fortitude's clockwise. Rigus is anticlockwise. The modrons won't take that long to come through. Be no more than three days, I reckon.

"Fortitude is the gateway to Arcadia. That be a nice place, I 'ear. Rigus is the border to Acheron. Bashers love it 'oo are actual bashers, if you know what I mean."

They had no idea what he meant, but they kept this to themselves.

"Could you direct us to the gate of Fortitude?"

"I just told ya that it be clockwise. Clockwise 'round the Spire, o' course. Maybe ya ought to go outside and take a glance around. Ya'll know what I mean."

"Are there any laws against flying in the town?" asked Khamael.

"Ah, ya be a winged cutter. Indeed, there be. Ya must have a flight permit. Ya need a permit for runnin', for flyin', for swimmin', for climbin', for diggin'—all from separate offices, 'o course."

"Thank you for the information and the pleasant stay," said Khamael.

The two visitors stepped aside from the front desk.

"Three days is better than fourteen days," said Throthar. "We may as well try to fill out this paperwork.

"We cannot leave, anyhow, it seems."

"Why can't we leave?"

"Isn't the only gate blocked by this parade?"

"Doesn't this town have eight gates out of its walls? I believe that the primary 'gate' that they are blocking is the portal to Mechanus."

"In that case, I think that we would rather go to one of the good planes. What do you know about Arcadia?"

"Its powers and petitioners believe that law is goodness, unlike Mechanus, where good and evil are not even considered. Those concepts are nonsensical to them."

"I assume that we want to get back to Toril?"

"Yes, of course."

"Will either of our options get us closer than the other?"

"No. We are in the Outer Planes. All of the Outer Planes are said to connect to Toril, to the Material Plane, through the Astral Plane. The Outlands are the center of the Outer Planes, but the Material Plane is in another category altogether."

"Do the Outer Planes connect to each other?"

"Yes. Proponents of the Great Wheel Cosmology hold that one could travel directly from Mechanus to Arcadia, then from Arcadia to Celestia and so on from there, though I know not the truth of such beliefs. All of this was nothing more than book knowledge until yesterday."

"In that case, I would rather get out of a place where everything requires a permit," said Khamael.

Khamael returned to the halfling proprietor, interrupting him from his incessant straightening. "Excuse me again, saer. Could you tell me a bit more about this town of Fortitude?"

Tourlac answered that the people of the town tried to make it feel as much like Arcadia as possible. Things were very orderly and beautiful and—in their minds at least—full of goodness. "I've ne'er been myself, but bashers 'ere find the place a bit 'olier-than-thou, if ya know what I mean."

Khamael nodded. "Thank you."

Upon stepping outside, they saw the Modron Procession up close. They were pouring out the town gate through which they had entered. Crossing the wide avenue was impossible, but there was space to walk parallel to them. They turned toward the center of the town and began walking alongside the parade, going against the flow. After several blocks, they reached the center of the town and the purpose of its existence, the gate to the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus. The "gate" seemed to be a large gear lying on its side atop a large platform nearly a city block in width.

The line of modrons was originating here, each one popping into existence atop the gear one after the other. Most of the beings were small balls with a single large eyeball and four spider-like limbs. They walked on two of them as they marched. After every twelve of these tiny creatures, a somewhat blocky modron appeared. These ones had tiny wings that could hardly be very functional. Unlike the round modrons, these creatures had mouths. Both types of modrons carried short spears. There were hundreds of these little automatons, and every once in a while, a larger one shaped something like a trigonal pyramid would appear. They ignored everything and simply marched in single file down Modron Way to exit the town.

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