beren terino

I just stumbled across this bookmark again, and I feel like I owe you an explanation, and an apology. I was over-ambitious. I admit that frankly. This started out as a simple, limited story, well-grounded in the games, but it quickly became so much more. I was overwhelmed by your kind words, and still flush from the excitement of finishing National Novel Writing Month. I was replaying Geneforge 5, and my mind was full of Shapers and stories, epic war and battle. But, alas, I was struck with my two biggest writing nemesi- overambition and lack of time. Through a combination of exterior and interior reasons and excuses, I never, ever, spend as much time writing as I would like to- or should. Worse, I was overambitious. This fiction always was intended to portray the Shapers at war. However, as I struggled with the first battle scene, I discovered an unfortunate truth- big battles are HARD. It's easy to imagine tactics, and new war creations, but writing such a scene so it's actually exciting is very, very, hard. And, as time went on, I struggled to keep my inspiration. I finished Geneforge, and my mind also moved on, bombarding me with new inspirations. There was no real reward for finishing this story; no shining hope of being published. Real life ground on, and I honestly forgot I had started this fanfic. And so, I apologize. I'm sorry for setting up this epic story and leaving it half-finished; I'm sorry for leading you on for so long; and I'm sorry for for forgetting about it. I know you have no reason to forgive me, and I don't expect it. I'm not going to make promises. I've started college; I have schoolwork, clubs (including writing for a radio show), friends, and a thousand other writing projects I want to finish. But, I will say this: I will re-read what I have written. If it inspires me again, if my characters have enough life of their own, I may take pen to paper once again. If not...if I loose interest again...don't get your hopes up, is all I'm saying. But...there is a chance of revival. A slight one. Maybe. A little bit. Begging your most sincere apologies, Beren

Wait a minute, what's that I...is that...an update? HOLY CRAP!!! http://www.spiderwebforums.com/forum/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=207476#Post207476

Don't lose all faith...I haven't abandoned this project completely, but I do admit that it's slipped somewhat in my priorities...I promise that I will update it, however. Eventually. In the meantime, please accept this short story as a peace offering. It has no relationship to Geneforge, but it is an unashamed Conan tribute/rip off, so you might enjoy it. Click to reveal.. Greetings, reader. Know that you hold in your hands a full recounting of my life. The son of a human woman and a hill giant warrior, in my youth I have been a sellsword, a crusader, a legionnaire, and more. I have had more adventure, more sorrow, and more peril in my life than a hundred lesser men. For these are the tales of… Grod the Giant Part the Twelfth: The Wyrm of Kay’rath After an unfortunate misunderstanding with Lord Opanir, regarding the affections of his youngest daughter, I was forced to flee his city in a great hurry. I hopped aboard the first ship leaving port, only to discover that its captain intended to pass through the infamous Kay’rath isles, where thousands of narrow coves provide ample anchorage for any number of pirates. Therefore, it came as no surprise when our ship was attacked by a particularly vicious crew one stormy night. During the fighting, I was thrown overboard, and barely managed to stay afloat by catching hold of a piece of wooden wreckage. Sadly, permanent rescue was not so easily found… “Goddamn pirates,” I muttered to myself, shifting my grasp on the driftwood. “Sinking my goddamn ship. Two days of floating around this goddamn pond…” I tried to spit, but my mouth was dry. “I just wish something would goddamn happen.” Suddenly, something huge and scaly burst up from underwater. I fumbled, barely managing to grab onto a spike before I fell off. The beast I was clinging to continued to rise. Then, with a loud thump, it spread huge, bat-like wings and took to the air in true flight. ‘A dragon’, I though. ‘[censored]’. I reached down and touched the handle of my shortsword, reassuring himself that I had not lost it over the past few days, but the constant immersion in saltwater had surely rusted the blade, even with the special protective scabbard. ‘What the hell is a dragon doing in the middle of the Inner Sea?’ I was clinging to one of the many spikes that started at the tip of the dragon’s tail and continued all the way up its titanic body and neck. The tail was tipped with a diamond-shaped barb ominously close to his own feet. The dragon was fairly serpentine, but had six limbs, aside from its wings- four squat, powerful legs at the base of its body, and two slimmer arms in front of its wings. The wings themselves were absolutely enormous- each one much have stretched more than a hundred feet, and they were nearly fifty feet wide at the broadest point. Its head resembled that of a lizard, but it was capped with swept-back spines, and a vast alien intellect shone in its golden eyes. The entire creature was more than two hundred and fifty feet from tail to snout, and entirely clad in sapphire-blue scales, each one the size of a tower shield and hard as diamond. I twisted, planted my feet on the spike beneath me, and began to climb. As I did, I realized that I truly had no idea what I was doing. Dragons were incredibly powerful creatures, nearly impossible to kill. Even adamantine weapons had trouble penetrating their scaly armor, and their scales reflected magic as well as steel. No part of their body was unprotected- their eyes were covered by a transparent membrane that was almost as strong as their scales. Their ears were armored by their head-spines. The soft tissue in their mouths could be injured, but in the heat of battle their mouths were typically filled with fire, and any attack would have to make it past hundreds of man sized, razor-sharp teeth. Any attack on such a beast required careful preparation and extensive magical support- both of which I lacked. My only resources were a single short blade and my own strong right arm. Feeling my weight on its tail, the dragon twisted in midair, doing an aerial somersault of some sort before going into a vertical dive. I hung on with all of my considerable strength, but I still felt myself begin to slip. Suddenly, the dragon snapped its wings out in a huge down stroke. The shock of the maneuver threw me off the wyrm and into the air- hundreds of feet above the ocean. “[censored],” I swore as the dragon twisted and swooped towards me. Its right foreclaw closed around me like a vise, crushing my ribs and squeezing the breath from my lungs. I struggled frantically to draw my sword, but the dragon held me too tightly. Its widely opened mouth loomed before me, and a plan formed in my mind. It was desperate, reckless, and almost certain to fail. In other words, right up my alley. The dragon took a moment to roar in triumph, nearly defining me, before tossing me into its mouth. I nearly gagged at the smell, but managed to land on my feet. The dragon’s mouth was easily large enough for me upright- I’ve seen smaller houses. The tongue quaked beneath my feet, and I jumped to the side just in time to avoid being swallowed, drawing my sword as I did so. Taking a two-handed grip, I sank the rusty blade up to the hilt in the base of the dragon’ tongue. There was no immediate reaction, but I set my feet carefully and wrenched it sideways, tearing a wide gash in the tender flesh. Hot, sticky blood fountained out, and a ruptured saliva gland added its caustic liquid to the flood, searing my unprotected, sunburned flesh. The dragon bellowed in pain. Ancient instincts kicked into action, and its nostrils flared as it inhaled deeply. I heard the rushing air, and turned to run, blood-soaked sword in hand. I leaped between the dragon’s razor-sharp teeth, tearing open my thigh on an incisor, and plummeted from its open mouth an instant before I would have been incinerated. A massive plume of fire scorched my back as I fell. The plume of white-hot flame, hot enough to vaporize steel, blasted out across the sky, a mile long and a hundred feet wide at the tip. The dragon spotted my falling body, and it snarled murderously. Hurt, it thought, the single sensation echoing through its simple mind. Kill. I heard the scream of rage, felt the wind of the dragon’s dive even above the sensation of falling. Well, I thought bitterly, I tried. The claw grabbed me again, this time from behind. my sword arm was free this time, and I flailed away at what flesh I could reach, but my sword simply bounced off the dragon’s scales. From the corner of my eye, y saw the ocean fast approaching. The force of the impact smashed me flat. A normal man would have been killed instantly; as it was, I ‘merely’ broke another few ribs, my nose, and nearly dislocated both arms. I struggled to free myself, but the dragon did not comply. it whipped its sinuous body around with effortless grace, bearing me father down into the lightless depths. The claw holding me thrashed about, beating me broken body against the water. Once I passed close enough to its head to see the madness in its eye, but then I was borne away. Chest bursting, pulse pounding in my head, I knew I had to get free soon. I stopped slashing wildly and took careful aim at a point between two of the wide scales. Setting both hands on the hilt, I thrust with all of my strength, and the blade dug into the seam. The dragon’s massive hand convulsed, and I slipped out of the dragon’s grasp and made a break for the surface. The dragon caught me first, shooting up from the depths like a bolt from a crossbow. The initial wild rush bore me up and out of the water in an explosion of spray, but then I was falling backwards, and the dragon’s vast mouth was rising to meet me… Long fangs snapped shut beneath me, and the world went black. The dragon rose into the air again, its huge wings beating strongly. It had already killed one of the tiny monkeys, but that was nowhere near enough to sate its bloodlust. It extended its head, sniffing at the air, and caught the faint scent of a whole ship full of the monkeys, rich with the smells of blood and death. Its wings beat powerfully, driving its massive body forwards. it would eat well tonight… As it flew, it became aware of a strange pain in its throat. It coughed a few times, but that merely made the pain worse. It spat out a quick fireball, but the pain must have been coming from a point below where the flame ignited, for it persisted. It wasn’t too bad, the dragon finally decided. Just a bit of metal from the latest monkey, stuck in its esophagus. It would go away soon. The dragon flew on in silence, trailing a menacing stream of smoke. The pain was getting really bad now- it felt like something was pushing against the inside of its skin- The tip of a sword, scarred and pitted from the dragon’s acidic blood, poked through the flesh of its neck, and screaming a wordless scream, I burst through after it. My skin was badly burned and I was covered head to toe with blood, much of it my own, but I was still very much alive. Not for long, though, because I was still hundreds of feet in the air. I managed to catch hold of one of the dragon’s claws, and the force of the impact wrenched my already abused shoulders. I pulled myself up, every inch of my body protesting behind a fog of adrenalin. The dragon was getting frantic now, grasping at its wounded throat with both forepaws. ‘No good, you bastard,’ I thought triumphantly. ‘That’s a mortal wound if I ever saw one.’ And indeed, the dragon’s wing strokes were already faltering. As its blood poured out, and its breaths rasped and whistled through the massive wound, it drifted lower and lower, until finally, its eyes shut and it simply plummeted from the sky. Of course, that meant that I was also falling. I swung my feet around under me and kicked off as hard as I could. The dragon hit the water with enough force to fling hundreds of gallons upwards. Its corpse broke the surface for me, so that I dropped into the sea with barely any pain, but that still left tons of water hanging overhead, about to come back down in a big hurry. I sucked in a deep breath and dove as fast as I could, trying to get under the dragon’s body before the waves came smashing back… The pirates- ironically, the same ones who had sunk my first ship- found my body the next day, washed up on the shore of one of the innumerable Kay’rath islands. I had nothing of value, and they initially planned to leave me there, but then they saw one of the dragon’s wings, snapped off by the force of the impact, a few hundred yards down the beach from me, and decided that maybe they would wake me up and ask me a few questions. Eventually, I managed to make them believe my story, and in admiration, they offered me a place on their crew. I accepted, at least as long as it took until we got back to a reputable port. But that is a story for another day.

Originally Posted By: Shaper Tristan Ugh, it's like trying to read a book one chapter per week, this is definitly my favorite fanfic...... Though this chapter was far too short. It's not the whole chapter- I'm trying to post scenes as I finish them, rather than wait until I have the whole ~10 page chapter, hopefully eliminating some of the frustration. Thanks for the compliment, though- I'm glad people are enjoying it.

Many apologies for the long delays last chapter- besides real life intruding, it turns out that army scenes are rather hard to write. The saga continues... Chapter Four- Hraki Castle “You WHAT?” “Ah…suffered three hundred and seventy-two casualties, including a hundred and four serviles and two mages, my Lady,” Beren said sheepishly, remaining on his knees. “You,” Lady Nariah growled, powerful hands flexing at her sides. “I trusted you, gave you resources and authority Shapers would KILL for, and asked you to do one. Simple. Task.” A pause. “Investigate and fortify one stinking, crumbling, ruin. It should,” she glared, “Have been easy. And yet, somehow, you manage to kill half your command doing it!” “My lady…let me explain,” Beren pleaded. “There was-” “Damnit, I don’t want to hear you grovel!” Nariah threw herself down on her throne in disgust. “I had confidence in you, Beren, and you failed me.” “I-” “FAILED ME!” She screamed, her words echoing back and forth across the chamber as she glared at the disgraced Shaper before her. “Please, my lady,” Beren tried again. “If you’ll just talk to-” “I don’t want to talk to your damn Dn’arre wizard,” she growled. “I don’t want to talk to Matys, or Linari, or Garod., and I don’t want to talk to you. Get out.” “…Lady?” “GET OUT!” Again, the angry echo boomed out. “Get out of my castle! Hell, get out of my province!” “I’m sorry, but-” “OUT!” Nariah’s hand darted to her belt, and Beren ducked as a throwing axe whizzed past his head. It clattered off the wall on the opposite side of the chamber, and he scampered for the door before she could find another weapon. Master Kyager was waiting for him just outside. The old Shaper had a prominent nose, bushy white mustache, dark green eyes, and a shock of curly white hair underneath the hood of his traditional robe. “Sounds like the good Lady just tore you a new one,” he chuckled. “That she did,” Beren agreed ruefully. “I’m lucky there’s enough of me left for her to do that much.” “I read your report,” Kyager nodded, taking out his pipe from underneath his robe. “You got clobbered out there, and rightfully so, but from the look of things there wasn’t much you could have done.” “No,” Beren grimaced. “I’d never heard of these death pact magics before the battle. But…I should have been able to do something,” he muttered, shaking his head angrily. The old Shaper patted him gently on the arm. “And that’s why you’ll be a better Shaper Lord than Nariah one day. But until then…what are you to do now?” “What was…I don’t know,” Beren said, confused by Kyager’s last statement. “Go back to the Council, apply for another position, I guess.” “But that’s not what you’d like to do, is it?” Kyager’s eyes glimmered as he lit his pipe. “I’d like to get my hands on whoever ordered these attacks,” Beren admitted, anger flashing in his eyes. “But that’s hardly an option now.” “Not necessarily,” Kyager blew a smoke ring. “Nariah never gave any official instructions as to what to do with you. As the official representative of the Council, I could, perhaps, be persuaded to write you some agent papers…” “What do you want from me?” Beren asked, suddenly guarded. Agent papers would identify him as an official agent of the Council, giving him permission to travel and oblige local commanders to give him what aid they could. They were like a license to wander around and stick his nose in things that were none of his business. It would give him the perfect opportunity to hunt for those behind the attack, but…no-one would just hand over such valuable documents without first extracting a major price. “I believe you were on the Project Starfire team a few years back? Under- oh, who was it now…ah yes, Shaper Dakar, before his…unfortunate demise?” “Yes…” “Excellent,” Kyager grinned. “Show me how to Shape those kinetic energy glands and we’ll call it even.” “Certainly,” Beren said, pleasantly surprised. “I’d be happy to.” ---------------------------------- That afternoon… Tuck, roll, twist…Beren finished wrapping the last crystal vial in insulating silk. He handed it to a servile, who carefully tucked it away in a well-padded pack. “I think that’s it,” he said, half-to himself, as he stood up and stretched. He didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions to pack, but securing a full set of Shaping tools and compounds took far more time than he would have liked, particularly after spending so long teaching old Kyager. Still, the time hadn’t been totally wasted- he had Shaped two kinetic roamers- both full, companion creations, and that should be enough of an escort for the moment. With agent papers, it wouldn’t be too hard to persuade the creation keeper to let him sign out a packbeast to carry his bags. There were a few hours of sunlight left, more than enough for him to reach the nearest fort. He laced up his essence-infused light armor, made from small plates of glaahk chitin attached to a leather vest, and slipped on the matching boots and bracers. A short sword and wand case went on his left hip, a pouch of explosive crystals and healing spores on his right. He donned a selection of enchanted jewelry, and shrugged on his Shaper robe. He was ready to leave. “Beren?” Make that almost ready, he corrected himself, as he turned to face the newcomer. “Hello, Linari,” he said coolly. “I heard about what happened to you,” she said, her soft green eyes filled with sympathy. “It’s…it’s terrible.” “[censored] happens,” he shrugged philosophically. “What are you going to do now?” She took a step forwards, pulling back her hood. Her long red hair spilled down over her shoulders, glistening softly in the light. “What Nariah should be doing,” he said grimly. “Screw defense. I’m going to find out who’s behind these attacks and force-feed them their own liver.” “But…without Lady Nariah’s resources, how will you…” “I have agent papers,” he explained. “The local authorities won’t know what’s happened; they’ll help if I need it. Besides…you saw what happened when we tried force. They wiped out our division like it didn’t exist! There are times when one man in the wrong place at the right time can make all the difference in the world.” “I…I could go with you,” she said, drawing closer to him. “Help you.” “I’ll be fine on my own,” he said, taking a step back. “You’ll be more useful here, protecting civilians.” “But…” she pouted. “I want to be…with you…” “Linari,” he said softly, “You’re a Shaper. Our feelings aren’t important. Harden your heart and do what needs to be done.” He stepped briskly towards the door, taking his pack from the servile holding it. “Farewell.” Linari dropped to the bed in disgust and waited until his footsteps died away. “Well, [censored],” she muttered. ------------------------------------------- Sharatir was waiting for him outside the castle gates. The tattooed wizard had his pistol tucked into his belt, and was holding the reins of a small packbeast. “What are you doing here?” Beren asked suspiciously. “I hope you aren’t going to turn down my help.” “Only because I suspect you know much more than you’re letting on,” Beren muttered. “Perhaps,” the wizard smiled enigmatically. “I believe you were hoping to reach Fort Kirgsaat before sunset?” The two men walked in silence for a time. The only noises were the squelch of their footsteps, and the occasionally whinny from the packbeast. Finally, Beren could stand it no longer, and turned to face his companion. “Why are you really here? No-one in their right mind would travel so far north just to look at some old ruins in a swamp. How did you even know they existed? And how the hell did you get your hands on a packbeast?” “The creation keeper had heard all about the battle, and he, at least, decided that I had been helpful. And I have a small amount of gold for…travel expenses,” Sharatir explained. “That,” Beren said icily, “Was not the pertinent question.” He cracked his knuckles. “Did you know that one of my favorite teachers studied magic in Ts’rrede? He used to go on and on about all of your fascinating traditions…like identifying tattoos.” He smiled. “I had a junior Shaper look up the order of the Quiet Circle. Turns out that your markings don’t quite fit the bill.” “Is that so?” Sharatir’s smile remained unshaken. “In fact,” Beren’s eyes twinkle dangerously, “They don’t match any Dn’arre school of wizardry that we know of.” “Perhaps your intelligence is lacking?” “Perhaps,” Beren nodded. “But then again, while your tattoos don’t match any known school, Shapers have seen them before. Wizards of this…unknown school, shall we say…they’ve been seen all over the continent, on seemingly innocuous errands. But, somehow, wherever your kind is spotted, trouble of an…unusual nature seems to follow. Rebellions. Rogue creations. Renegade mages.” Sharatir remained silent, although some of the serene good humor faded from his eyes. “Now, some accounts blame the wizards,” Beren continued. “But me? I find myself more in agreement with those who noted that the wizards often aided locals against the threats. It seems that they believe that your order are more like our agents- dispatched by some central authority to enforce your own laws.” “You’re not far off, friend Shaper,” Sharatir inclined his head. “I underestimated your order’s perception. There’s only a single facet of my school’s mission which you overlooked.” “Care to share what it is?” “I might as well, as it appears we have the same goal.” The wizard fingered the hilt of his gun. “The Order of the Invisible Star consists of many types of adventurers, not just wizards, but we share a common purpose- opposition to the Crj’arre warchief known as Crj’hyrn, or the Fist of Crajire.” “Hold on a moment,” Beren raised a hand. “We have records of your order stretching back for centuries. Not even Shaping can prolong a man’s life that long.” “I am not well versed in your arts, but there has been a Crj’hyrn for two hundred and sixty-three years,” Sharatir admitted. “We suspect that there have been many men who assumed his mantle, but their goals have been clear from the start.” He looked Beren straight in the eye, voice deadly serious. “They desire nothing less than the total eradication of your people.” “The Shapers?” “Not just the Shapers. I said your people. Soldiers, farmers, merchants, craftsmen…they want to reclaim the land you stole from them. They will stop at nothing until every man, woman, and child from the land you call Old Terrestria is dead, your towns razed, and your names forgotten.”

OK! I (finally) finished Chapter 3! Only another five hundred words or so, but that was a mean cliffhanger I left you off on. I apologize again for how long you were left hanging- I hope to have the next section up sooner. A link for ease of access: http://www.spiderwebforums.com/forum/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=204985#Post204985

Originally Posted By: Geneforgeisformeyukkyu I wonder what Beren Terino has been doing? Long term project. Raymond E. Feist novels. Finals. Girlfriend. Red Dead Redemption. Registering for classes. Editing my novel. Guitar. Sins of a Solar Empire. Looking for a summer job. Working on other stories. Jumping around like an attention-deficit rabbit hopped up on amphetamines. You know...the usual. Thanks for reminding me about this, though. A month without updates? I'll certainly try to rectify that before too long.

Modern 'bulletproof' vests are made from extremely advanced materials and polymers, but they are not bulletproof. Completely bulletproof armor would weigh hundreds of pounds and make movement impossible. While Dn'arre firearms aren't nearly as powerful as modern ones, Shaper material science is far less advanced than ours. Shaped armor is very strong, yes, and would *probably* be proof against most firearms. I'd certainly expect plenty of bullets to bounce off. But that's not a guarantee, and if, say, a high-power musket is fired at close range, it might penetrate. I don't really know- I have no idea what kind of relative strength Shaped metal has compared to normal kinds. Anyway, this is a story I'm writing, not a game- narrative imperative trumps all.

Artilas shoot acid. I don't know what kind of penetration they had in the games, but they ought to melt right through iron and steel. But yes, I suspect a shaped breastplate would hold up against small arms, at least at decent ranges, given that it's stronger than steel- even in Napoleonic times, only muskets could penetrate a good steel breastplate. Also, while Dn'arre wizards are strong, they aren't that strong. They can do a lot of damage to an opposing army, but so can a Shaper, or a Crj'arre shaman. Certainly not enough more that they don't need armies.

I'm trying to make all of the factions different, but balanced, to borrow a term from gaming. Dn'arre wizards have more powerful battle magic than Shapers, but they don't have the same kind of...environmental impact? Shapers do a lot more than just cast spells- think of all of the organic technology, from batons to mines to automatic doors (and, least we forget, plagues, which were hinted at from time to time in the games). To be on the same level of civilization, the Dn'arre needed something to make up for the lack of Shaping- technology. I want the factions to do different things. Shapers, as seen in the games, have simple, elemental magic, creations, magical machinery, and enchantments. The Dn'arre, to balance things, get *crude* guns- late seventeenth/early eighteenth century style, muzzle-loading, smoothbore flintlocks (with a range of less than a hundred meters, according to wikipedia, a fair deal less than a well-made bow). They're not a whole lot more powerful than well-made batons, and they're not as reliable. The reason Shapers don't like guns is that they can't detect them as easily as batons (which are, after all, alive). A man with a pistol is on about equal footing to a man with a baton, while an artila might be considered equal to a light cannon. Both Shapers and Dn'arre consider their own weapons to be superior, after all factors are considered. I'm reasonably confident in my ability to keep things straight.

I'm not dead! I'm not dead, and neither is this fanfiction! New scenes are up, as is a revised section on the setting (see the first page of the thread). Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I need to sleep and mull on how to continue. I wouldn't normally have posted it, but I wanted to reassure everyone that I'm still here, and still working on things. School, video games, and other writing projects continue to take up my time, but I want to say, again, that this story is NOT dead. I'm working on it on-and-off, when the inspiration hits, and it will keep updating, if slowly. Sorry for the long delays.

Hey, guys. It's been awhile- I've been distracted by schoolwork and other projects (which might actually get published someday). But I'm back, and things are going to start to get intense here in New Terrestria. In G4 and G5 we saw the Shapers involved in a guerrilla war, but...things are going to be a bit more blatant here. I'm posting scenes as I churn them out- they'll probably be more in a day or two. Chapter Three- The Infested Swamp “…And he said that he would attempt to visit within a week or so,” Beren concluded his report. Lady Nariah nodded, absently tapping her thigh. She wore plain, though finely made, robes, not armor, but she slouched on her throne like a surly teenager, not the Shaper lady she truly was. “I like this not,” she frowned. “Master Jarlyn merely confirms my suspicions that these blood creations were the work of skillful Shapers, not primitive amateurs like some in my court would suggest,” she finished, glaring at the now-empty Council representative’s seat. Beren nodded silently, for Shaper Master Kyager had been particularly outspoken in his scorn for the blood creations. He wondered darkly how the older Shaper would have fared in battle against them, but he knew he was being unfair. Kyager was an arrogant old man, but if he distrusted new ideas, that was his prerogative as an agent of the Shaper Council (1), and he was also fair enough to accept them once their virtues were proven, and he was not above lending a helping hand where it was needed. “His explanation for their power is certainly better than anything I can think of,” Nariah continued, “But somehow, it doesn’t feel right. I’ve had regular reports from the caravan transporting the captured creations, and they’re not getting any weaker. Worse, the dhaerman in particular have been getting stronger- one managed to break free of all the restraints and spells placed on it, and had to be destroyed. And word has come in of more attacks- strange creations have been harrying the towns of Traav and Reflakir.” “More blood creations?” Beren asked. “Aye,” Nariah nodded, “Yet another variety,” she said with a sigh. “Thankfully, they’re not as powerful as the dhaerman, but they’re fast and seem to be using hit-and-run tactics. “I dispatched most of the Shapers here to the targeted region,” she continued. “But every bone in my body cries out for action.” “With all respect, ma’am, what can we do?” Beren wondered. “Come with me,” she commanded, rising and walking to the center of her throne room, where a low wooden table was covered with maps of Ironwater Province. “Jharilar, Traav, and Reflakir are all located in this quadrant, close to the western border,” she said, pointing at a map. “The border forts send out regular patrols- which I ordered stepped up after your first report- so it’s unlikely that the attacks came from there. Any large concentrations of foreigners would be noticed. But if you look at the area between the affected towns…” Beren bent over the map. The terrain in the area was fairly unremarkable- swamp, swamp, and more swamp. There was only one unusual feature. “The Dn’arre Depths?” Nariah nodded in approval. “It makes perfect sense, if you assume that our foes are Shapers. It’s close to the border, but deep enough in the territory to avoid the border forts. The swamp there is much deeper than the surrounding area, so there’s little traffic, but, if you know the area- or have good maps…” She tapped the paper- “There are lots of old ruins in the area that our enemy Shapers could use, and a highway of sorts- a crumbled stone bridge back to the general swamp area.” “Sounds like the perfect base of an insurgency, all right,” Beren agreed. “Damn right it is,” she snorted. “That’s why I want you to check it out.” “Me?” Beren looked shocked. “You,” Nariah agreed. “Don’t look so surprised. I had to send most of my really senior Shapers off to wealthy towns to protect them,” she grimaced, muttering a curse against politics, “Or else they already had too many responsibilities. You’ve already proven yourself against the creatures- hell, you’re the closest thing to an expert on them I’ve got- and I’ve never made it a secret that I’ve got a soft spot for troublemakers like you.” “My lady, I-” Beren stammered, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Relax, I didn’t mean anything improper. But we all play the patronage game, for one reason or another, and I just happen to think that you’re one of the most talented young Shapers I’ve ever commanded. You’ll go far- unless you piss off someone with more influence than good sense,” she grinned. “You’re now in command of Shaper Division Four,” she continued. “I want you to build up an assault force and take it to the Depths. If the raiders are there, capture as many as you can, and kill the rest. But whether or not anyone’s there, pick the largest ruin and start building a permanent base there. Make full companion creations, but do so as fast as you can.” “Yes, my lady,” Beren bowed formally. “I’ll do my best.” “You’d better,” she scowled. “But get some sleep first- you look like hell,” she added, more kindly. “Oh, and when you start Shaping your force…proceed under war rules,” she added. Beren left the chamber in a stunned daze of surprise and worry. ‘War rules’ were almost never instituted. Normally intelligent creations- things like vlish, cadaroth, and firewings(2)- were strictly limited, only allowed to be Shaped as battle creations. But under war rules, he could Shape anything not explicitly Barred. It was a chilling responsibility. Under peace conditions, he could perhaps raise of force of drayaks and raid a village. But now, he could- in fact, was encouraged to- replace them with firewings and reduce the village to a smoldering crater. And it was not just he who had that authorization- an entire division- six low-level Shapers, a dozen mages, and a elite hundred soldiers- was under his command. It was more than he had ever commanded before. A Shaper Division wielded more firepower than many Anarchist kingdoms’ could assemble. He returned to his chambers, but for a long while, his mind was too busy for sleep to arrive. --------------------------------- The next morning… “I hear we have a new commander,” Matys, a fourth level Shaper, commented to his companions as he arrived in their shared laboratory. He was around twenty-five years old, and tall and muscular, with dark skin and hair. “Do you know who?” Linari asked. Another fourth level Shaper, she was a short, slender redhead, barely twenty-two years old. “I heard it’s Beren,” Garod grumbled. The oldest of the three Shapers of Division Four, he was a third level Shaper and had expected to be given command after the promotion of their last commander. He was tall and balding, with a short grey beard and dark brown eyes. “Nariah’s little pet…” “Actually, I hear he’s quite good,” Matys commented. “He was at Jharilar, and that accident at the Starfire Warrens a few years ago.” “Luck,” Garod scoffed. “Mark my words, children, he only got the position ‘cause he’s sleeping with Nariah.” Linari laughed. “Old fool,” she said affectionately. “I’ve only been here three months, and even I know that our lady looks to the Moon(3).” “Humph,” the older Shaper crossed his arms. “I still say there’s something wrong here.” “Like what?” Beren asked, suddenly looming up behind him. “Beren!” Garod jumped to his feet and bowed hastily. “Sir, I was just-” “Can it,” Beren said, waving him back down. “I don’t know you,” he said, looking over his new command, “And you don’t know me, so let’s not judge each other from gossip, however juicy,” he added, looking sternly at Garod. “We damn well better get along fine. If you have a problem with anyone on the team, tell me. If you have a problem with me, tell me. If you have a suggestion, tell me. That goes for the mages and soldiers as well. “Now,” he continued, dropping into a chair, “Our mission. We’re to Shape ourselves a nice little army,” he smiled, “Head down to the Dn’arre Depths, and pay a visit to anyone who might be hiding there. So, since I haven’t had a chance to request your files yet, why don’t you take turns telling me your specialty, how many creations you can control, and what you have now. “I’ll start,” he smiled again. “I’ll be honest and say that I’m better at magic than Shaping, although I’m certainly no slouch at it. I have the most practice making melee creations, but I’m competent in all schools. I can control a dozen battle creations, and up to fifty well-disciplined companions. I’m afraid I don’t have any with me at the moment, though- my glaahks died at Jharilar, and I haven’t had time to replace them.” The junior Shapers exchanged glances, then Linari stood up. “My name is Linari,” she introduced herself. “I specialize in artillery creations, with a special study in fire types. I can control eight battle creations, or around thirty companions. Currently, I have a pair of drayaks.” “Matys,” the next man said, bowing his head respectfully. “I’m a Guardian, a swordsman by training. I’ve no preference in creation types. Right now, my team consists of two swamp artila and a glaahk. If pressed, I can command maybe give battle creations. I don’t know about companions, but the most I ever handled at once was a dozen. I might be able to take more.” “Garot,” the last man grumbled. “I’m a melee creation specialist. I have four clawbugs right now, and could handle eight times that many if need be- or a half dozen battle creations,” he added bitterly. Beren nodded. “If we follow standard procedure for division of control, that gives us…oh, a hundred and fifty companion creations, give or take. I’d like to reach the Deeps within a week, so…” He rubbed his chin. “I figure four full days march, so call it three day to make fill out those numbers.” “What?” Garot blurted out. “We only have nine right now! We’d each need to Shape ten a day!” “More,” Beren said cheerfully. “Nariah told me that as of now, we’re operating under war rules, and I only want the strongest we can manage. Dhaerman in particular are tough bastards. “I’m thinking…” He crossed to a chalkboard and began writing down numbers. “Twenty firewings- modified for ice blasts- for an aerial force. Thirty swamp artila and twenty tralls to round out the artillery section. For the melee force…I like glaahk for their resistance to magic, but they’re not so hot against fire- no pun intended- and they’re also not the best front line fighters…” “How about battle betas?” Matys suggested. “I remember reading about this one variant with drayak hide.” “I like it,” Beren nodded. “If you can find the text again, let’s take sixty of them. That leaves twenty slots for reserve and auxiliary creations.” “Like what?” Linari asked respectfully. “Eight trailbeasts(4), for a start,” Garot said. “Two for each of us, for added redundancy. Maybe two more with magic glop instead of essence.” “I think we may as well keep the rest open,” Matys mused. “We’ll have enough on our hands as it is.” “Agreed,” Beren nodded. “Now, as to who’s Shaping what…” ------------------------------------- One week later… Beren opened his eyes as the squishing sounds of almost a thousand men and creations slogging through the swamp muck died away. He stood up and jumped down from the wagon where he had been meditating and surveyed the army. His army. His command. His Shapers, his soldiers, and his creations. Hell, he had Shaped a third of them himself, over the past few days- half of the frostwings and tralls, and forty battle betas. It was an impressive force, but, hopefully, on that wouldn’t be needed. “Sir?” A captain saluted. “You said you didn’t want to be disturbed…” “It’s alright, captain,” Beren nodded. “Report.” “We’ve arrived at the first rally point, sir,” the soldier began. “Major Dagin ordered the First and Third Companies to dig in at the base of the highway, and Second and Fourth to set up a perimeter guard while the serviles set up camp. Fifth is scouting. The creations-” “I can feel them,” Beren cut him off. “Thank you. Carry on.” The area was a flurry of activity. Serviles and soldiers were everywhere, unloading supplies and tending to tired creations. The ground was too watery for proper fortifications, but soldiers were cutting down trees and shrubs for temporary breastwork. In the center of the camp, a team of serviles was carefully assembling a steel Shaping platform. Beren strode towards them, calling out orders. It was time to get to work. ---------------------------------------------------- “Sir!” Beren looked over from where he was sitting at the base of the Shaping platform, studying a spellbook. A squad of muddy soldiers was approaching from the left, followed by a pair of battle betas. The fifteen foot tall creations- larger and more powerful versions of battle alphas- towered over mere humans, sunlight flickering over sharp bony ridges and dark blue scales. But Beren tuned them out to focus on the prisoner calmly marching between two of the human soldiers. He was obviously a Dn’arre, with their characteristic reddish-brown skin and clean-shaven head. Silver and green tattoos swirled across his body, covering his head and arms before vanishing into his loose green tunic and leggings. He wore sturdy shackles, but seemed utterly unconcerned by their presence. As well he should be, Beren thought sourly, for the tattoos clearly identified him as a mage- a wizard, to use the native terminology. “Greetings, Shaper,” the man smiled, and Beren noticed that his eyes were pure silver, without any trace of a pupil. “May I assume that you’re in command here?” “Perhaps,” Beren said guardedly, crossing his arms. “You certainly can assume that I can have you killed with a single word. What’s a Dn’arre wizard doing in my province?” “Just a little research,” the man shrugged. “I can’t imagine why your men took offense to that.” “Do you have a permit? Papers of passage from a border fort?” Beren grinned mirthlessly when the man shook his head. “That could be it. Or it could be that little device you were carrying,” he added, nodding at the pistol a third guard was gingerly holding, pointed away from himself. The device looked innocent enough, a small metal barrel with a wooden grip and a small hammer tipped with a chip of flint, but it could fire a metal ball a hundred yards and penetrate all but the strongest armor. “Three Shapers have been killed in the past decade by rebels sneaking those things into sealed meetings.” “I can hardly be blamed for that, can I?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow. “These are dangerous times, friend Shaper, and it’s not always feasible to defend oneself with magic.” “Regardless, what are you doing in my province?” “My name,” the man said, with a quiet dignity utterly at odds with his current imprisonment, “Is Sharatir K’traje, Wizard of the Quiet Circle. My order are scholars above all, and my specialty is history. I traveled here to investigate stories of ancient ruins in the swamp.” He lifted his chin to gesture at the Dn’arre Depths, where the shape of the main ruin could be seen looming above the scraggly trees. “And did you discover anything interesting?” Beren’s face was unreadable. “Sadly, I could not,” Sharatir admitted. “It seems the ruins are inhabited by a rather hostile band of Crj’arre tribesmen. They…ah…took exception to my presence.” Beren nodded silently. “Hm.” “If I may be so bold?” The Dn’arre raised an eyebrow. “I get the feeling that the same Crj’arre are the reason that you are here, are they not?” “If they’re the ones who’ve been raiding our villages, they damn well are,” Beren nodded. “In that case, my I offer my services in driving them off? Your people, while courageous, have never experienced the fury of a cornered Crj’arre. And there is something-” “I don’t think we’ll need your help,” Beren cut him off. “Your Crj’arre, while courageous, have never experienced the fury of an irritated Shaper. But you can watch,” he allowed, nodding at the guards to release the prisoner. “My thanks, Shaper,” Sharatir said, bowing. “Save it,” Beren waved a hand. “We don’t have anything that can dampen your magic short of killing you, and I’d prefer to avoid that for now. Get in the way, however…” “I understand,” the wizard bowed, as a guard unlocked the shackles. “Major,” Beren said, turning away from him to address a soldier. “Are all the men in place?” “Yes, Lord Shaper,” Major Dagin saluted. “The attack can begin as soon as you give the word.” “Consider it given,” Beren nodded sharply. “Matys?” “Yes?” The Guardian stepped forward from where he had been sharpening a longsword. “You’ll lead the first wave. I know we didn’t have much time to plan tactics, but I’m thinking…” Sharatir stood nearby, his face composed in an expression of helpful benevolence while he listened to the Shaper’s plans. Despite his travels, he wasn’t familiar with Shaper magic. He could feel their power- different from his own, but no less impressive, and if their creations had the kind of power their leader seemed to assume… But he could also feel the power emanating from the ruin, and its strength worried him. There was something strange about it, as well…a throbbing aura of some sort, dangerous, and somehow familiar… Beren vaulted up onto the platform, a clever set of interlocking steel plates and poles that gave the Shapers a secure, elevated position from which to direct the attack. A milky-white focus crystal had been placed in the center, in a shallow pool filled with essence. Linari and Garod were already there, waiting for him. “You heard what I said to Matys?” He asked. “Aye,” Linari nodded. “I did,” Garod admitted. “It’s a sound enough plan, but I’m not entirely confident in it. Someone in that fort has serious power, and he’s been throwing it around all day.” “I think he’s making blood creations,” Beren said. “If that’s all he’s doing, it shouldn’t change anything. If not…” He shrugged. “We improvise. Matys will lead, you two push. I’ll steer.” The three Shapers took positions around the crystal. Beren rapped the side with his hand, and a light flickered deep inside. Slowly the stone faded into transparency. Imaged moved, and Sharatir raised an eyebrow as he realized that the crystal was a scrying device of some sort. The Shapers’ eyes glazed over as they focused on their creations, and their arms fell limply to their sides. Sharatir stood awkwardly at the base of the platform, glancing at his guards. “Gentlemen?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you mind if I sat down?” The two burly men exchanged glances. One shrugged, and the wizard smiled his thanks before carefully seating himself on the edge of the Shaping platform. He mouthed a minor charm, and felt a wrenching sensation as his awareness left his body. In astral form, he drifted towards the upcoming battlefield. The giant worms- artila, he had heard a soldier call them- peeled off from the main force of men and creations, forming two groups that moved into the swamp on either side of the ‘highway.’ The massive, scaly-skinned humanoids- battle betas?- marched in even ranks towards the ruin, moving with a discipline that would have done any Dn’arre legion credit. Behind them, tralls and human soldiers mixed together, and frostwings circled above the whole force. He could feel the presence of the Shapers, flirting to and fro, gently guiding their creations. As they neared the ruin, arrows began to fly. The first few shots went wild, but then came the deadly volleys that Dn’arre legions had learned to fear. Hundreds of shafts filled the air, hissing across the swamp with deadly accuracy to strike the leading creations. The leading ranks of battle betas wavered. A few toppled, dozens of arrows riddling their bodies, but as the Shapers steadied their minds, most simply roared and continued forwards, ignoring the tiny shafts that skittered off their scales or pricked their thick hides. Above them, the frostwings screeched and fired back, and huge patches of ice blossomed along the ruin’s walls. A few men screamed in pain as their limbs froze and cracked, but most had been able to duck back under cover. Still, their thick sheets of ice prevented them from shooting back, and the main force of creations continued to advance. Suddenly, the doors to the ruin burst open, and a dozen dhaerman loomed out of the mists, wrapped in magical energies. Behind them, a pack of xenefron bobbed and weaved, snake tongues darting out of their mouths to hiss at the advancing creations. The dhaerman roared, their inhuman voices clearly audible back at the camp. They raised their hands, and massive waves of fire lashed the Shaper lines. Despite their extra resistance, battle betas died. Almost a score of the huge creations tumbled to the ground or fell into the murky water, white-hot flames clinging to flesh. Sharatir saw the Guardian- Matys, he thought was his name- dive underwater to avoid the blast, wincing in pain even so. But sheer numbers absorbed the attack, and at some inaudible signal, every surviving battle beta followed the Shaper in diving to the ground. “NOW!” Beren cried triumphantly. The frostwings opened their mouths, and a flurry of blue-white energy struck the swamp water where the blood creations stood, freezing it solid. And at the back of the force, the tralls raised their arms and returned fire. Sharatir was shocked to see the squat, ape-like creatures spew bone needles the size of crossbow bolts from their arms, but even more shocked at the result of their fire. Thousands of razor-sharp needles filled the air, hammering the trapped dhaerman. Five died in the first volley, impaled by hundreds of projectiles. From the flanks, the swamp artila added to the carnage, killing another two of the huge creatures and splattering acid everywhere. Then the frostwings pivoted in midair and made a second attack run. This time they didn’t aim at the ground, and their powerful ice bolts flew with deadly accuracy. Two dhaerman were frozen solid, encased from head to toe in thick sheets of ice, while another actually shattered. The last twisted, its left arm handing limply from its side, and wracked the frostwings with another huge fire blast. Two of the winged creations tumbled into the water, but a dozen tralls and five artila returned fire, and it, too, died. Then they, and the other artillery creations, turned their attention back to the trapped xenefron. Back on the Shaping platform, Beren placed both hands on the scrying crystal and bowed his head. He gritted his teeth with effort, sweat beading his brow and the veins standing out in his neck. Sharatir swallowed. He felt the power of Beren’s spell- or Shaping, whichever it was, but there was something else. The Crj’arre shaman in the ruins was also doing something, and it felt like…suddenly the last piece clicked into place, and he gasped in horror. On the battlefield, clouds of essence gathered above the patch of ice, and a massive bolt of rippling distortion blasted downwards. The ice shattered, and Matys leapt to his feet, waving his sword. “The path is clear! Charge!” The battle betas followed him, roaring primal battle cries, with the tralls trailing behind and three companies of human soldiers hot on their tails. Beren stepped back from the crystal and mopped his brow. “And that, Mage K’traje, is how the Shapers handle their foes. Well done, everyone. If you’d be so kind as to handle the perimeter guard, Linari, while Garod tends to the wounded, I’ll join our forces for the mopping up.” “Wait!” Sharatir cried, waving his arms desperately. “The shaman! The Crj’arre shaman! I can feel him! He’s-” “What did I say about interrupting?” Beren snapped. “Do I have to…to…” His face went pale. “You feel it too?” “What is he…” Suddenly, there was a hideous shriek from the ruin. The old stone building exploded, sending huge chunks of rock, ice, and flesh spiraling through the air. Crj’arre and Shaper forces alike- anyone in the ruin- were killed instantly, and the tidal wave of displaced water swept more into the depths of the swamp, to drown under the weight of their armor. Dozens of things emerged from the smoldering rubble. Wispy, insubstantial wraiths filled their air- hundreds of them, glowing red, green, white, and blue. They darted to and fro above the shocked remains of the Shaper army, keening hideously. Spotting a clump of three soldiers dragging a comrade from the muck, a red-colored wraith dove towards it. A pair of hastily-fired thorns tore through it to no effect, and it crashed into the soldiers. All five vanished in a massive fireball. A dozen wraiths raced after the frostwings. The startled creations responded with bolts of ice, shooting down several of the glowing creatures, but they didn’t stop all of them, and the sky was filled with explosions of fire and lightning, while rocks and water rained down on the swamp below. Beren grabbed Sharatir’s shoulders. “What the hell is going on?” “I…I don’t…” The wizard looked as shocked as Beren felt. “The shaman enacted some kind of suicide pact! His death opened the path for these things to reach our world!” “What. Are. They?” Beren demanded, shaking him forcefully. “How do we kill them?” “They’re elemental spirits,” Sharatir said, pushing the Shaper’s hands away. “Vessels of pure energy, animated by the summoner’s will. These…they have no sense of self-preservation, only the faintest flicker of consciousness. They’re driven by the shaman’s anger and hate,” he said rapidly, eyelids flickering in panic. “I don’t know how to stop them! I’m a scholar, for Dranir’s sake! I’m not a battle mage!” “Ok,” Beren muttered, stepping back. “Elemental spirits. Ok.” He took a deep breath, concentration on his emotions. Ignore the fear, ignore the panic. Put them in a box and make the box go away. “We can do this.” “Elemental counterspells?” Linari dropped down beside him. “If they’re just collections of energy, an oppositely-charged strike should dispel them.” “Too inefficient,” Garod grunted. “There are hundreds of them. We’d run dry before we got through half of them, even if they didn’t kill us by then.” “Xerel’s Elemental Bombardiers,” Beren said, snapping his fingers. “Remember? Elementally charged spyfly variants?” “That might work,” Linari said slowly, “We certainly have enough essence. But the magical energy involved…too many of the herdbeasts are dead. We’ll never-” “I can help,” Sharatir jumped in. Everyone turned to stare at him, shocked at the sheer audacity of interrupting a Shaper, but he continued on regardless. “I’m no battle mage, but I can channel energy to the rest of you. As spirits are destroyed, I can absorb their power and redirect-” “I don’t much care how you do it, as long as it works,” Beren snapped, cutting off an angry remark from Garod. “Everyone, join hands. Three…two…one…” There was a moment of shock as the Shapers and wizard pooled their powers. Everyone felt an angry buzz in their minds, as alien energies sought to merge, but then everything snapped into place with an exhilarating rush of power. A huge plume of essence rose from the pool on the Shaping platform and gathered into a blob above the ring of Shapers. It bubbled, strange currents whipping through the liquid, and then a bolt of pure energy shot from Sharatir to the mass, and crackling streams of multicolored lightning arced over its surface. A rush of power rose from the Shapers, and the blob seemed to turn inside out before dozens of spyflies began to peel off from the mass. Each one had a swollen abdomen blazing with colored light. Barely sentient, Xerel’s Elemental Bombardiers had only one purpose- to find an oppositely charged spirit and detonate. The swamp filled with explosions as spyflies and spirits annihilated each other in massive bursts of magical energy. Within minutes, the last of the spirits was destroyed, and the Shapers (and wizard) gratefully sank to the ground. “[censored]…” Beren groaned, head pounding with the effort of continually Shaping. “Is that all of them?” “I…I think so,” Sharatir answered wearily. Energy still crackled from his bare skin, and his tattoos glimmered dully. “Tjk nakd trvvi’ran…I feel awful.” “We’re not much better off,” Garod mumbled. “Just be glad we’re still alive.” “Easy for you to say,” Beren groaned again. “I’m going to have to tell Lady Nariah that one of her Shaper divisions just got the [censored] kicked out of it…and maybe worse. Is Matys…” “I’m ok!” The guardian was slogging towards them, waving. His armor was shattered, and he was leaning heavily on his sword for support, blood oozing from massive burns on his back and sides, but he was alive. About a hundred soldiers and creations followed him, all that remained of Shaper Division Four. “Drained, but alive. What the hell were those things?” “Elemental spirits, according to the wizard here,” Beren said, jerking a thumb at Sharatir. “No kidding?” Matys raised an eyebrow. “How’d they summon so many?” “A death-spell,” Sharatir explained wearily. “No-one knows exactly how the process works, but when a wizard- or Crj’arre shaman- dies, they momentarily have access to incredibly powerful magics…a dying wizard can cast spells and curses ten times stronger than if he were alive and well.” “Great,” Beren muttered. “Homicidal, powerful, and suicidal. Lady Nariah is going to love this…” --------------------------------------- (1)The Shaper Council was an independent entity that governed all Shapers in New Terrestria. They were forbidden to interfere in political matters, but had ultimate responsibility for training new Shapers, approving creation types, and making sure Shapers obeyed their rules. (2)Firewings are flying creations that resemble bats, though they stand three feet tall and have fifteen foot wingspans. They are physically frail, despite impressive speed and maneuverability in flight, but their flame glands are more powerful than even a drayak’s. A firewing is among the most powerful missile creations a Shaper can create. Basically a Wingbolt replacement. (3)A man who ‘looks to the sun,’ or a woman who ‘looks to the moon’ is a homosexual. Shapers attach no stigma to sexual orientation, although the more religious Dn’arre do. (4)Trailbeasts are modified ornks (high-yield cattle). They are strong enough to pull heavy carts of equipment, but their real value isn’t in their physical attributes. Each trailbeast is a walking essence vat, capable of producing dozens of gallons of essence a day in a modified udder.

Originally Posted By: Unbound Draykon because when a shaper makes a creation it takes some of their essence. as described as special fluid that only ones that can shape have. so when a shaper uses some of this 'essence' it is gone until they absorb the creation. but only gives part of their orignal essence back. to restore essence shapers have to stand close to an essence pool to restore it. then the process is complete. No, that I get. What doesn't make sense (without metagaming) is why when a Shaper makes a creation, then visits an essence pool, it doesn't restore all their essence.

Thanks I do admit to making up battle creations, mostly to make sense of a disconnect I felt in the games. Some NPC creations (named ones) were smarter- talking thads and battle alphas, Greenfang from G4, and so on. At the same time, others (especially the ones you make) are virtually mindless. Some of the lore indicates that Shaping is a long, involved process, while in-game Shapers create creations in a single round of combat. It also, to me, explains why NPC Shapers could always make more creations then you, even when you're higher leveled- your creations are all battle creations, drawing a lot of strength from you, while their creations are mostly companions, and relatively independent. Because really...why is it impossible to replenish your essence after making a creation? If anyone knows the 'official' in-game explanation for this kind of thing, I'd love to hear it.

Only insofar as we all know that a roc is a giant bird.