I was early in to the workshop, even earlier than usual. The furnaces were just rumbling to life, fighting back the biting drafts in the warehouse space. As I sat down to clean up some final sketches I heard something else rumbling to life, the Chief Artificer. She was a fiery temper, more so in recent days with the city wide adoption of the Church of Bahamut. Missionaries had been dispatched to every corner and crevice to establish a robust following for the new Council. And wouldn't you know it, here comes one now.

I could practically hear the air boiling around the Chief as she stormed to the shop front, her heavy tread accentuated by the metal gantries and catwalks lining his descent. When she faced the spindly dragonborn missionary you would be hard pressed to guess which of the two truly spat fire.

It began as it always did, the boilerplate mission statement from the would be cleric spoken with practiced ease. But they never expected the response.

"I have no need of gods you see"

The classic stunned silence that followed was my favorite, it was the first, most conservative tone she took with the intruders. A quibbled response was uttered as the missionary parroted back a rebuttal no doubt learned in seminary school.

"If they lay claim to the powers of creation then my masterwork artisans must have a divine spark as well! Look around you, these wondrous crafts are being woven, forged, and carved by MORTAL hands, conceived of by mortal mind. Does faith heat my kiln? Does prayer chisel marble to form? No. The ingenuity of flesh and blood craftsmen provides your daily needs. Not a higher power, MY hiring power. Be gone with these foolish notions of providence, your people do not eat if we do not bake, your gods fickle whims have no say in that."

I was a little taken aback myself, evidently todays visit have broken the camels back because that was the most bombastic vitriol I've yet heard. The young Bahamutian had no rebuttal this time, in fact they turned tail and retreated through the copper pipework hissing angry steam at their back.

The Chief huffed in irritation and glanced to see me peering over the balcony.

"Our sweat fills their church's coffers and they have the scales to preach to ME, in MY shop! He better hope that god saves his soul if he comes here again" she shouted before stomping off.

All I could do was give a curt nod and shift back to my messy workbench. Even though it was still early the static thrumming of industry was slowly building. The great cogs keeping their own time with metronomic precision. I was alone still at my bench, sparing me from listening to Gazdak, the shops self proclaimed 'Master Tinkerer.' He couldn't tell a sprocket from a spring joint.

Though I would never admit it I knew I was far closer to master artisan status than any of my contemporaries. Especially with my latest invention, a solid state reflux arcano-capacitor. In layman's terms it could disenchant any magically imbued substance and store its aetheric potential in the form of raw mana up to 17.5 kilo-aurums. It could, nay, would reshape the modern field of enchantment magics.

Just imagine, with a few minor tweaks and some financial backing they could fully automate every enchantery from here to the Brass Port. And not even the continents most accomplished mechanists or arcanists would be able to recreate its inner workings. Because I had discovered a vast reservoir of knowledge and energy nearly lost to time.

I took the newly machined fittings and wiring from my desk and bundled them in cloth and twine, tucking them in my leather pack. I scurried through the crowded benches and work stands of my department, dodging welding sparks and rogue springs. Then came the treacherous wading through the spent shavings and chippings of the carvers. Too many times I'd caught my toe on a discarded chisel amongst a sea of refuse wood and stone.

The scriveners and painters kept their areas meticulously clean and it was always a pleasure to gaze upon masterpieces before they were carted off to some barons private collection. Though I didn't normally take a detour through the looms, I thought it prudent before I delved into the forge layer. The soft clacking of wood blocks and spindles helped calm me, the woven patterns half-formed, but vibrant just the same.

It was then after 212 steps exactly that I found myself once more amongst the harsh noise and suffocating heat. The hammer blows were nothing like the gentle and predictable ticking in the main shop. Each thunderous strike had me jump as if the sparks would ignite my robes. I was at least thankful that the excess heat from the forge tenders works were siphoned to keep me and my less hardy companions warm.

With no stealth being required in this cacophonous hall I simple plied a vent cover aside and crouched along the narrow ductwork pathway. I had memorized it long ago, but runes along the floor served as a reassuring guide in the ashy gloom. I emerged on the other side stifling a cough, not than anyone could hear beyond the inner sanctums wrought iron walls.

At the center still resting beneath the stolen floodlight sat the pedestal dulling reflecting the harsh glow. I painstakingly unfurled the components from its cloth bed and arranged them on the pedestal several times before coming to a satisfactory placement. Then I took out my draft paper and quill and kneeled.

Slowly but surely the heat dissipated, becoming little more than a dull sensation on my skin. The din from beyond the secret hallway was lost to the familiar clockwork rhythm beating at the heart of the workshop. The pipes vibrated as if a new power was shunted through them on their way to the room. A sharp twang rippled through the space as the pendulum dropped at last, freed from its moorings to feel the pull of gravity. Although it was not gravity that guided its path, nor  my hand. 

Its leaden tip began tracing the dusty floor in slow smooth arcs, describing the next pattern in the sequence. I scribbled furiously to draw the arcane designs being laid before me, each brilliant, inspired, and ruthlessly efficient. Just as I grasped one component it was traced over to reveal the next, and over and over again. Until the pendulum lost its momentum and swung to an inert stop.

I coiled its wire up and placed it within the tangled ducts and brackets as usual, taking special care that It wouldn't be loosed by anything mundane. Before gathering up the designs I faced the pedestal and bowed deeply, "Thank you, once again."

The Chief didn't believe in the gods, and rightly so considering she had never witnessed a miracle. But I had seen the mind of a such being in motion, there could be no other explanation. Even here in the bowels of industry incarnate I had founded a Temple. It flew in the face of all practicality, but none of that mattered as long as I believed.

I ducked my head on my way out of the sanctuary giddy to begin the next stage of fabrication. 

"Soon my...OUR work will be complete." I whispered, my prayer drowned by the ringing hammer blows of progress.