Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2026 12:44 AM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

"You're not the only Shiloh out there," A new flash of pain throbbed in her temples. "-Nor the only one who came from a world called Berezat." Another jolt this time much stronger arced from one side of her head to the other. As the conversation dragged on, the fingers of her left hand stiffly curled as nails silently scraped against the bar counter. When the pain subsided she was faced with the question on the door once more. If she could go back to that moment in time? As the proprietor's meticulous and consistent prodding dredged memories Shiloh had chosen to sink into the depths of her subconscious, so did she recall the conclusion she had made in what were her final moments. 

"What could I possibly change?" There was no way she could escape the inevitability of her execution. In the years following the annexation of Marsanes, rebellion had been brewing in the minds of the council of magisters as they chafed under imperial rule. They needed a reason to stir up patriotic nationalism to mobilize the masses, and their solution was to usher in an Age of Reason. There was no place for petty superstitions and old wives' tales in their envisioned future, and anything that hindered the fostering of their devoted zealotry was met by the sword. So began the systematic persecution of anything deemed too strange or peculiar that reason could not justify: the fair folk, the people of the land. In time the inquisitors would soon be encroaching into the woodland. They would kill her and they would kill her family too. 

Shiloh's left hand clenched tightly as she covered her face with her right. Her nihilistic response came from the impetus and eventual outcome of her fatal decision. The inquisitors were closing in and there wasn't enough time for everyone to leave without risk of capture. Faced with what felt like an impossible situation, she made a decision only she would choose. If a scapegoat was what those zealots wanted, then she would give them one. She would break away from the flock to make herself the biggest target so they wouldn't look anywhere else. It was a risky plan, one that had a good chance to turn all eyes off her adoptive family long enough for them to move or hide until the storm blew over. A plan that led to her being captured out of her family's reach and sentenced to a fate far worse than hanging. 

As she clawed at the coarse planks trapped in darkness and rapidly dwindling air, acceptance of that utter hopelessness was the only way she could make peace with death. Deluding herself that it would not be in vain was the only analgesic she had to soothe her imminent mortality and despair. 

In her silence, the flame-headed bartender slid a glass filled with warm, liquid glowing gold. The clear crystal cup held what looked like distilled sunlight taken just before the heat of noon. A sweet, mellow aroma wafted from it as the light radiating from the drink seemed to seep into her knuckles which had turned white from their grip. 

Author: CodeNat, Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2026 8:27 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

“Exactly what it sounds like,” I replied when my guest asked about the multiple Shiloh’s. “You are not the only Shiloh out there, nor the only one who came from a world called Berezat. I even grew up with a Shiloh as one of my mentors.”

The topic wasn’t one that I broached often unless I knew the conversation partner could handle the truth (or I was feeling particularly vindictive against those in earshot). But Shiloh was more than capable of handling the revelation. She was practically built for it in every universe; even if I still felt pity for the one in front of me.

“Surely you saw the question I posted by the door as you entered in a language only you can read,” I asked her? “So I ask again. If you could go back to that time when your coffin was tossed into the sea off the southern coast of Chalchanthon - before you were sent to Revaliir, before you had any of your adventures here or even became a god. If you could go back to that time and change the outcome, even if you weren’t the one who got to live the life that came after, would you?”

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2026 5:02 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

The sharply dressed tavern owner clarified the agreement they had with the Voice didn't include a clause for confidentiality, which explained their casual attitude. As they shed more light on their unique circumstances it became clear that they were more of a 'visitor' than an intentional resident, though a much less overtly intrusive one to the day to day happenings in the world. That thought was quickly proven incorrect in the next breath with the mention of destructive sleepwalking, which Shiloh was positive was a euphemism for what really happened. If inserting a house inside someone's residence (that already utilized spatial distortion) without any resistance was any proof, then she couldn't imagine what kind of damage had been done before this visitor was forcibly woken up.

Hearing that the unapproved architectural addition would be temporary eased her concerns, but that relief left as quickly as it came when she caught something unnerving in what her fashionable uninvited houseguest said. "What do you mean 'every version' of me?" As confusion crept back into her mind, a dull pulse of pain pounded in her temples the more she thought about it.

Author: CodeNat, Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2026 1:28 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

Shiloh’s lack of amusement with my antics was expected, especially when it came to the prospect that I had renovated her home without permission.

“Temporarily put a door in your temple,” I was quick to emphasize. “Once our business is concluded, it’ll be gone; unless, for some reason, you want to see me again. Which I doubt. Almost every version of you has been pretty solitary when left to their own devices.”

Then came the inevitable scrutiny of my cavalier attitude toward matters beyond the pale of mortal ken. T’was true that most would not dare or even know about The Voice, but mentioning Them was relevant to the story. Besides…  

“I agreed to clean up my mess. I did not agree to be quiet about it.” 

Pouring myself a drink from my own stock, I took a seat across from Shiloh and settled in for the longer conversation. 

“Lest you misunderstand, I am not THEIR ‘employee’ like you and your colleagues are. I am… a ‘tourist’; a diplomatic official who was inconvenienced by timedeath and only recently returned to her senses. Before your employer got ahold of me and shook me awake, I was sleepwalking through a nightmare, mucking up the world wherever I went. THEY asked me to quote, ‘Stop stepping all over their garden,’ enough times that I finally woke up.”

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2026 12:12 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

She should've known better. As soon as she tapped the bell everything shifted. The warm and lulling melody warped into repeating chords that brought back all the tension she had and much more. Shiloh's eyes darted back and forth in this new ghoulish atmosphere when a figure stiffly rose from behind the counter, like a house frame pulled up by invisible ropes. There was metal covering half their face and strange intrusive visual aberrations appeared above, along with red text floating midair. She hardly had time to understand what was going on when it suddenly all disappeared, everything reverting back to the original tavern ambiance. Shiloh was still reeling in a state of confusion and disorientation when the proprietor finally spoke up.

Cupping their masked face with a self-satisfied grin, the levitating menace responsible for this unregistered business inside her home looked over at her expression of disbelief. They already knew who she was, which wasn't much of a secret anymore. But the sheer audacity they had to admit this establishment was their temple and mention the one responsible for her godhood in the same breath told her this was no ordinary squatter. "So you put a door to your temple…in mine." Shiloh stated, clearly unamused.

Recalling the offhand comment about a deal made with the Voice, her questions moved elsewhere. "Should you really be talking about that?" Very few knew about the existence of the Voice in Revaliir, and the Voice rarely informed the deities about anything unless they had to do something about it. Even then, the oldest members of the Conclave were more likely to possess that knowledge, like the alchemy prodigy and former queen of Sularia's Red Court–Angela Rose. Being aware of the Voice meant this eccentric stranger was just as equally her senior as the rest of the other deities.

Author: CodeNat, Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2026 8:27 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

The tap of the bell brought forth an unsettling change in the atmosphere. As the chime resonated throughout the room with a warped distortion, the music suddenly transitioned to a campfire horror melody. With mysterious, discordant notes flowing forth, a figure levitated unnaturally from behind the counter. A metallic mask over her eyes, she was seemingly pulled from the ground into a standing upright position, completely unnatural in movement and without a single twitch. Then, as she fully appeared in front of Shiloh, several “bars” manifested in front of the caretaker’s eyes alongside a title in red text: “Patron of the Lost.”


And then everything went back to normal. With my fun had in pretending to be a “boss,” I bid the “graphics” depart before dusting myself off. The music went back to its previous track whilst David shook his… flames in disapproval. Then I turned to Shiloh with a gloved hand cupping my chin.
 
“Seems I was right,” I remarked after making sure I hadn’t gone too far in my theatrics.  “The face is different but the spirit is near identical. Hello, Shiloh; or at least this world’s Shiloh; and welcome to my… temple.” 

I poured my old acquaintance a glass of water as an apology for my antics, and then continued with a brief explanation.

“And before you ask, The Last Stop has no fixed destination. I simply chose to have my door appear here because I remembered something after your Voice shook me out of my sleepwalking stupor: a proposition and favor I was supposed to make good on. They sure are loud, which I guess is the point with a nickname like that.”

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2026 6:36 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

As a handful of her ferrets scuttled away with their prizes, she noted the workmanship of the small trinkets. A cinnamon colored hob was towing along one of the translucent orbs holding a small-scale depiction of Revaliir's most renowned red-head. Following with her eyes she noted the most energetic members of her staff were procuring their new shiny items from a small standing device filled with encapsulated figures. Operating it was simple, one inserted coins and turned a mechanism which took the payment and deposited a random miniature nestled inside a clear protective bauble. It was a novel way to sell merchandise without needing someone to handle transactions. 

A dullahan was a rare sight to see even in a fantastical world like Revaliir. With the tavern calming down once the ferrets left, she took in her surroundings. The faint aroma of food and drink with a well-organized floor plan for seating–no wonder this place had become so popular in a short amount of time. The light from the ceiling lamps was warmer than the illumination of Antikythera, creating an ambience that lulled patrons into taking a moment to breathe. A wisp floated towards her before drifting to an empty seat at the bar where a menu laid waiting. The fog lights of the swamps had a habit of guiding passersby in their own mysterious ways, though not as directly as this. The old letters appeared again, their presence just as abrupt as their first appearance on the outside. Sliding into the seat prepared for her, Shiloh mused on the tavern's name. 'The Last Stop. Sounds like a place on the edge of some boundary, or a place bridging two different realms.' Her questions would have to wait a little longer. Taking her time to read over the menu, she reached out and tapped the bell once she was done.

Author: CodeNat, Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2026 5:30 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

As Shiloh ventured beyond the mysterious door, the warm light of ceiling lamps overhead spilled out into the Marble Corridor. A group of ferrets came rushing through the aisles of booths, eager to abscond with the small orbs they had earned, each containing miniatures of Revaliir’s most famous residents. The dullahan, David, waved at them from behind the bar, quietly polishing his mugs as the wisps cleaned up after guests both mechanical and animal. On the countertop near the registrar sat a bowl of trinkets from those guests, “tips” from their meals in the form of knickknacks found throughout Antikythera.

The arrival of the caretaker served as a long awaited signal for the employees of The Last Stop, but their position demanded courtesy before business. A lone wisp approached Shiloh, beckoning her to take a seat at the bar with a menu for the establishment already waiting. There were no words spoken in that interaction, merely the communication of intent. Even so, more of that childhood script appeared to help ease the caretaker’s mind about the establishment she had so suddenly stumbled into.

‘Welcome to The Last Stop. Please have a seat. Ring the bell when you’re ready to meet the proprietor.’ Just like that, a bell appeared at the seat the wisp was directing toward, and the music switched to another song.

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2026 12:36 AM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

Shiloh had been in a slump that had lasted longer than usual. In the dimmed lighting in Serenitas, piles of scrapped revisions and half-written ideas for improvements on preexisting inventions littered her work desk and floor. Some might call this an exercise in perfectionism, however there was no such thing as a perfect design. No matter how well constructed and detailed a contraption was, there was no way to account for the unpredictability of individual user experience. Manuals had limits, shocking as that was. There were only so many possible problems one could uncover through standard troubleshooting. And once all possible avenues of improvement were exhausted, there was that restless silence that was accompanied by growing frustration. In those sleepless days and nights she sat staring at her desk or ceiling, there was a low hum of unfamiliar music that ambled through the normally silent halls of the Marble Corridor. Shiloh initially had paid it no mind–this wasn't the first time her mind had runaway daydreams. When the underlying aggravation at last became too stifling, she forced herself to step outside of Serenitas where she ran into one of her staff who had been prepared to knock.

"Oh, Lord Steward–I was just thinking of having a word with you." A smooth metallic voice spoke from a molded steel frame in the likeness of a suit of armor. It wasn't often that Diomedes came to speak with her in person. With the way the internal communications system of Antikythera was designed, staff could directly send a message to her if it was an emergency. "What's the matter? Has something happened in the workshops or the public exhibits?" Despite being both her home and her workplace, Antikythera was open to the public as per usual with the temples of gods in Revaliir.

"Nothing of the sort. In fact, others and I wished to ask you about the new wing recently added to the Machinarium. We were surprised by the construction of a tavern when the kitchen provided to staff rarely saw much use. The exterior design and structural aesthetic is quite different from previous wings, though the atmosphere curated by the proprietor is rather hospitable."

She stood slack-jawed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Either the haze of being shut in for weeks was still clouding her mind, or did she hear that correctly? "There's a what now?" To elaborate on how incredulous this statement was: the majority of those living and working within Antikythera's walls either did not or were incapable of consuming alcohol. A tavern would be one of the last things to be considered in a place like this. "A tavern, in here of all places? Where?!?" 

A brief description led her to the Marble Corridor where Diomedes and many other staff members had come across the mysterious new addition. At a glance it was clearly out of place: there was no metal placard with the name of the area, meaning it was not in the Machinarium's directory. And true to Diomedes' word, the style and design of the door did not match the stark white stone halls. But the most jarring detail wasn't it had no signs of her handiwork, it was the words engraved into it. What everyone saw as decorative embellishment was the shape of a script that she hadn't seen in years, written symbols she had almost completely forgotten. Shiloh had never been much of a scholar then, but she remembered enough to read the message that seemed solely for her. There was only one way to get answers, and it meant facing whoever was responsible for this anomalous space. Pushing open the strange door, she was greeted by the same meandering tune that had diffused itself into the Marble Corridor.

Author: CodeNat, Posted: Tue Jun 9, 2026 10:55 PM, Post Subject: Rise of the Patron

One morning in the depths of Antikythera, a lone door appeared with nary a whisper. It seemingly blinked into existence among the many passageways of the Marble Corridor with a construction quite unlike the rest of the hallway’s brutalist architecture.  Where the other archways were possessed of harsh placards overhead, the walnut colored entrance held no such title. Its unassuming facade stood alone in that place with the sound of calming jazz bleeding out from behind its protection.

The Last Stop had found its way to Shiloh’s temple for the first time, casting a warm, inviting glow into that otherwise bleak decor. Magical script decorated its entrance this time: a language unknown to all but the Caretaker herself.

‘If you could fix the mistakes of the past, even if you would no longer benefit from those changes, would you?’ The message displayed in the lexicon of her childhood, waiting for her just as David prepared for his new ferret and automaton customers.