Monarch-12 moved as well as they could through the crowd, stopping periodically as they did to politely allow others by.  They were dressed as if for travel, armor layered with a tabard-like robe.  Over their shoulder was a sturdy, but much patched satchel, and on their hip was a sword.  Though they left their mechanical head uncovered, they knew people only looked with passing interest.  Some suspected they were an automaton, some just assumed they wore a mask or helmet.  Most didn’t seem to care either way, and their sword deterred the ones who did.  Most of the time.  

Patience was the mark of this Glaive, but eventually even a saint would choose the path of least resistance.  When Mon had given way for the three hundred and twenty second person since arriving at this festival, they decided the nearest shop would do.  An Aeon Priest(claiming to be the only one in town) was crying her wares.  Monarch approached and addressed her, making no mention of her own physical oddities.  

“Good morning,” the voice came out clear, the automaton’s vestigial mouth moving to mimic a human, which took away any doubts about the nature of this creature.  “I do have some unknown numenera, as well as some for sale, if you buy or trade.”