AN: Sorry for the wait, I was doing other stuff.
The trinity soon found themselves moving through the air, flight seemed inaccurate though. The idea that they were flying implied they had to deal with air resistance, drag, and a number of other such unavoidable obstacles when flying or even gliding. No, the deity was more accurately moving while dragging the flying cloth robes. The difference was an important distinction.
The Machine God was directed towards a city. Apparently, the closest metalsmith resided in the city which was the capital that ruled over this island. This city was called Creteonus. It was situated on a hill, which levelled its structures on height. The city had semi-low and thick stone walls, well maintained at about three meters tall.
The city exported many of the tools the island needed such as metal tools and fine pottery. The resources available to the trade hub, being craftsmen was more rewarding than if you had been in a village.
The village they had found initially was called Dimitis, though very few of the villagers had reason to use the name. It was named by Creteonian officials, the tithe was minor in terms of coin, but a large portion of Dimitis's crop was sent to the city at near cost value to compensate.
This tithe was in exchange for the village to remain independent of the city's administrators' influence. As well as to have regular patrols by the city's guard in the area to keep it free of bandits and the like.
The family had been most helpful, they had told the father as much. The deity's plan was already being formed within their mind. All they needed was to see it put into action. The city neared and they lowered to the level where they could gaze upon the buildings. It was now night, the end of the day had come not long after they had left the family.
'The lack of surnames seems to be a continuous theme. Something to rectify in future once population increases.' since it was now dark out the cloak did not have to be hidden from the street's view. There were only a few streets that were wide enough to squeeze more than a few people through at a time. And the whole of the city seemed to follow no pattern or organization.
The poor area clearly, the streets were also filled with dirt and refuse. Likely feces in many places. 'Sanitation is greatly suboptimal, the possibility of infections and disease through the top of the chart.' If they could frown they would be.
The buildings were all in a similar style. Most were tightly packed together, although this seemed to only be true for the majority of the city. Larger more spread-out houses were still present, just higher up. These houses seemed to belong to the upper class.
There also was a very large building that consisted of pillars supporting a triangular roof. There were frescos and engravings along the building's edge. 'A temple perhaps, we are becoming side-tracked. We have a goal we should see done first before we seek further scouting of the city.'
There appeared to be several workshops near the edges of the city limits. One or two minor potteries, the kilns differentiated the buildings as such. Other houses that contained craftsmen were less obvious, a tanning rack on a small balcony meant it was likely a tanner and leatherworker. They spotted a market and many other features of the city but quickly resumed the search.
Until they found it, there was a primitive forge. The fires cold and smith fast asleep now that the light to work under was gone. The cloak found its way into the shape of a body once more as the deity entered the forge. It was only a few feet away from the house. And by the looks of it, this was a rich smith. Enough to hire workers, there were several separate anvils.
The anvils were placed close enough to the forge that moving to and from took little time. 'A mass production then, likely the supplier for much of the city's equipment.' the anvils were black wrought iron. Only a few seemed to look closer to cast iron, 'likely just absorbed carbon from the forge debris in its crafting.'
Each was well worn, their shapes that may once have been sharp edges. Were now nothing but corners that were dulled and rounded. Nothing bad, but a sign that the work hours were long. Surveying the workshop further revealed the tools nearby, many were in a state of worn use. Ready to fall apart the moment it became too much for the material to handle.
Others had clear signs of rust on the iron that made them up. The few tools that weren't simple wrought iron were in similar situations. A lack of intensive care and cleaning to stave off time. This was either a sign that they were too busy to care for their tools, or didn't bother to.
Whether that be because they just made replacements or laziness. Either way, this was already a mark against whoever ran this forge in the non-physical eyes of the Machine God. Hard to get someone busy to work for you, and harder to want to if they are sloppy in their work cycle.
But then their sight found another issue, on the wall above a small table was a chiselled plaque with a hammer and anvil on a fire backdrop. On the table was a small assortment of offerings. The issue is that the craftsmen here held devotion no matter how small to the god 'Hephaestus.'
'Stealing worshippers is bound to draw attention, and I am still unsure of these 'gods' abilities.' the Machine God didn't fear the Olympians, but myth and unconfirmed stories were hardly beacons of truth. 'Better to find others better suited to be servants and apprentices.'
It would take much longer to not only train someone in smithing themselves instead of just teaching new knowledge and technique. But the lord of all machines would have to also create a forge for that apprentice to learn in and work at.
Metal was important to any hope of future success, improving metal craft and using it for their worshippers in the near future. But in order to do that, establishing a cult and gaining followers who could craft and create was essential to the manufacturing of machines in future.
The lord of knowledge left the forge and began to search the city once more, this time with a different goal in mind. They needed a scribe if they could not acquire the scribe or scholar themselves. Then at least find a way to convince that person to work for them, in order for their followers to learn how to read and write. So as to record any knowledge they may find through their experiments.
And the same was required to learn from text, not that the trinity wouldn't teach low gothic to their initiates. Perhaps even high gothic to long-term cult members. But the local language should be learned in order to at the very least gather what knowledge was written out there. Copies made of such texts should be made and gathered, and of course, made available to non-cult members.
After all, a good way to get a good impression from the general populace was a distribution of non-secretive information. The lord of knowledge would hardly give the secret and valuable knowledge of the Mechanicum away to non-cult members. But if they copied and allowed others to view what they gathered from the world then it would grant a great perception of the cult and its organizations.
But of course, the most valuable and critical information would be stored in Lingua-Technis binary. Completely indecipherable to the people of this time. It was already difficult for outsiders to attempt to parse how Techna-Lingua worked in the future if what the deity remembered was correct. None could understand it, and not just cause it was rapid binary.
Of course, even those who the lord of knowledge deemed worthy of learning to read Ligua-Technis would still be incapable of speaking it for quite some time. 'Too long. It shall be a glorious day when our sacred tongue can finally be spoken. The tongue of flesh bestowed to mortals is beyond inadequate.'
Though it shall have to do, for the time being, there was little choice for their future flock. As the night wore on the houses were searched, it seemed there were only a few people amongst the poor who could fit the role. It was not that the poor were preferred. But those with little had a better chance of being convinced to leave here to come in work service to them.
Dawn was not far off now. The search had lasted all night, and though several scribes and scholars were found, no such luck was found with a smith. Although not fruitful, the night was well spent for the base future plans. As they moved out of the city to return to the village when a light caught their attention.
One of the houses had a light, more specifically it had what appeared to have an open-walled structure near it. The faint sound of hammer on metal rang, a memory came to mind. The rhythmic pounding of factory machines, a hum from the energy they required, the quiet humming from the workers. It was an ancient and favoured hymn. Not only did it appease the spirits the workers used in tandem with their labour.
But it helped keep the labourer's own spirits sated, it was a mix of voices, young and old. Male and female worked and hummed in rhythm, the words were on the tips of each of their lips. "Callused hands are worn like badges of honour. Scars become signs of time and labour."
The verses continued, "Working to keep decay from claiming our lives. Serve, for even against all the odds the machine spirit thrives. Oh, machine spirit we beseech you! We call for your aid! We're unworthy, we know this is true. We have to meet our quota so our debt can be paid. Omnissiah have mercy, let us not fade!" the deity came back from the memory and focused upon the moment.
They moved down to the structure and found another forge, smaller even than the previous, a single anvil and person present. A young man sat at his forge, working on metal. The cloak was still "draped" over the trinity as it were. Their approach is completely silent to the smith not wishing to disturb their work.
The crafter toiled over their work the only light from the forge fire. Dawn had only started to dim the stars as the divine entity gazed upon this smith's workshop. Tools lay on tables, the signs of care clear as the oncoming day. Each piece of equipment from the tongs and hammer in the man's hand to the chisels nearby.
There was also a lack of a shrine to Hephaestus or any god for that matter. 'There could be many reasons for such, but we shall know for ourselves soon enough.' the deity had made up their mind. This man was an excellent candidate, the only one found so far.
The hammering stopped, the lord of all machines looked over at the man as he quenched the metal in the water. 'Hmm, another improvement for later, we will need to quench our forge metal in special oils. So as to cool the metal slower leading to less possible damage to the metal from abrupt temperature change.' their internal ramblings stopped when the smith turned.
The man doubletake as he saw the robed figure looking at him, he hadn't heard the stranger at all. Not wanting to scare off a potential customer the man gathered his senses, "Hello. I hadn't heard you come in, what can I do for you?" a moment of silence before the response came from out of the robes.
"Do you do commissions?" the voice and tone were rather neutral, it gave no indication as to who was asking, nor how they felt. A bit of a put-off, it was hard to grasp how to respond to complete neutrality.
"Ah," the awkward pause leads to an honest answer, "Well, it really depends on what you want. I'm not a jeweller, nor am I capable enough to forge just anything you want. But if I had a better idea of what you want." the tone was almost like a question, leading on to requesting a response.
"We wish to make use of your forge, as well as your future services. We doubt you have the skill for what we require at the moment. Instead, your permission to use your forge and tools in exchange for materials would be beneficial to both parties no?" the man didn't know if he was insulted or not, on one hand, he had just been told he wasn't skilled enough. On the other hand, a possible way to earn, or rather save money without work just presented itself.
"Well, I could do with some spare iron, but how do I know you won't wreck my tools whether intentionally or not?" the suspicion was not insulting, for the request was odd.
The robe's arm extended and the man raised an eyebrow in response, it was then he heard the clang of metal. The man turned his head to look at where the clang came from, what he saw was his hammer floating in the air on its way to strike the anvil again. The sound of metal on metal clashed like the thoughts in his head. "Wuh?"
The only sound that escaped his mouth then. An answer came to him, though it didn't assure him of his worries. "We have more fine control than any, we shall not break any of your tools. Now, how much iron do you wish for?"
