I dream of machines forsaken, machines razed and destroyed, and those machines which have not yet occurred..I write, but I can only write of days past, ramblings of the old , memories of my past self, days I was warm, loved, and well-fed. I draw, but I can only draw machines. They configure themselves in arcane, abrupt ways. It has been so since I was young: transfixing mechanisms unthought and unrecovered, piece by piece betraying themselves to me. They are as mythical as the creatures in old bestiaries of the West, elusive in their truths. They loom in the forests of my mind. Had they existed before, I shall make them exist again. I think of the unthinkable, machines which can handle so great an act even we beasts cannot accomplish; machines that become a new kild in themselves. I go to sleep fearing they will never exist. If I embark on another craft, I may not live to see it through. And yet I was bored here, strutting about day after day, candle wax pudging my feathers.

Biu-Haran hails from the Teikke, a well-to-do Clan specialized in machining. By trade, she was a clockmaker, but has always dreamed of something more. In her youth, she was an accomplished relic-thief, aided by her sister, Biu-Biu. But in her old age, with her sister departed to the West and her life partner gone, she has devoted herself to her work, to reinventing the machines of the past which ushered in a hidden age of glory. However, the city of Tyr Sangta reviles the past in all forms, and repudiates her work. What impression shall she leave behind in her twilight years?