Ardent Trove

Chapter 34: Toxic Waste Dakro continues trekking through the barren, desert wasteland toward a building on the distant horizon. All too soon he is in the most dead, diseased area he has seen anywhere on Sucia Island. There is nothing alive here. Nothing. The ground is covered with a fine dust, which is stirred up by the slightest breeze. It makes his eyes water and his skin burn. Even a little time here fills him with nausea. He can travel through, but only with difficulty. It is almost completely silent. Almost, but not quite. Sometimes, he thinks he hears a low, angry moan. He looks around, but can't see where the sound is coming from. He steps into the building, a workshop. Facilities like these usually serve as support for research. They make and repair the complex devices the Shapers use to build new, exciting creations. There is something wrong here. The foul, sickening atmosphere, which was strong outside, is almost paralyzing in here. Poisonous motes of dust hang in the air, waiting for him to inhale them. Now he knows why this area (and probably all of the areas around here) are so barren and diseased. Darko steps back involuntarily, overwhelmed by the horror of it. Shaper experiments tend to involve the production of a lot of poisonous and noxious substances, some of them alive. These foul byproducts are generally burned away using magic. To do otherwise would be horribly dangerous. When Sucia Island was abandoned, however, there must have been a lot of experiments in place. In their rush to leave, the Shapers did not dispose of the experiments properly. They just put them in metal drums and dumped them here. Some of the canisters have been leaking. This is a pit of poison, which has been leaking out and sinking into the ground. Who knows how many creations and plants have died because of it? It is his duty as a Shaper to protect the serviles, but he can’t do that dead. He debates whether he dares expose himself to the risk of entering this poisonous place. Then he remembers that a workshop like this (naturally protected from scavengers) must still contain exceptional items. Yes, he will protect the serviles, as is his duty. There is a defense pylon in the center of the entry room. It doesn't look like it was originally a part of the chamber. It was probably added to protect the workshop from invaders in the Shapers' absence. Dakro cautiously approaches it, seeing if it recognizes him as a Shaper. Fortunately, it remains dormant. He then tests it with a valiant Michelle, who is always willing to take the greatest risks. Again, the pylon remains dormant. Apparently it is unpowered. He sees crystal fibers running from the base of the pylon into the ground. The pylon must draw its power from a source somewhere else. Guessing the direction of the fibers, he makes his way deeper into the noxious facility, his lungs hurting with every breath. His purple glaahks are beginning to look a bit green. Joy looks to be doing the best, but he knows she always tries to put up a good front when hurting. He passes through a records room. The records have been bleached and destroyed by the noxious environment. The pages crumble into dust under his touch. However, there are also steel tablets bolted into the walls. Each is a thin sheet of metal, etched with details about the designs of creations. How much lizard went into the fyora. The influence of the octopus on the invention of the vlish. Sarah, the most inquisitive, looks at the sheets as if reading them, although she is probably just looking at her reflection. If he were not feeling so ill, he would study them more or try to take them with him, but instead he decides the technical details are probably of little value to him. He would never know what this seemingly inconsequential decision cost him. He makes his way deeper, bypassing rooms of leaking sludge and picking up shaper equipment along the way for Shock. While the kitchens have no such sludge, he bypasses them too. Even the thought of food is making him more ill, if that is even possible. Joy staggers and vomits on the floor. Dakro attempts to shape the poisons out of his glaahk’s systems. He’s glad he didn’t bring any battle alphas. But, even so, his essence supply will not last long here. Quickening his pace, Dakro enters a massive hall, the largest in the whole complex. In the center, he sees a ghastly specter. It is the spirit of a Shaper, kept in unending unlife by some powerful, horrible magic. When he enters the hall, it points a finger at him. “I am Corata,” it intones. “One of the masters of Sucia Island! You are here now, Shaper, and I bid you to serve me. I need your help.” Dakro bows low. “Of course, Shaper. How may I serve?” The glaahks bow too, Michelle in front as always. “Save me! I can see you have great Shaper power in you! Use it to rebuild my body and restore me to life. End this imprisonment and maddening torment. Then I will give you anything you want!” Dakro immediately realizes that he can't do what it wants. Nobody can. What it wants, the creation of a Shaper body and filling it with an existing spirit, is impossible. Even to a Shaper, dead is dead. But then Dakro realizes he has seen the “impossible” being done here on Sucia Island. “How do I do this?” Corata bellows, “If I knew, I would have done it myself! Go! Discover the method!” Dakro looks confused for a moment. His aching body is not making concentrating any easier. His rapier hums soothingly and his mind clears a bit. “I will find a method for you faster if I better understood how you came to be in your condition.” It intones its story in flat, slurred tones. “I am one of the three masters of Sucia. When the isle was Barred, I snuck back. I came here with those loyal to me. We wanted the power here, the power of the Geneforge, for ourselves. But we needed the control rod. It was here. So we came here.” Dakro begins reconsidering if he should serve this Shaper. It is one thing to accidentally arrive on a Barred isle, and another to intentionally come. “We made a mistake. We didn't think the poison here could affect us. We were wrong. It was much fresher and stronger then than it is now, before the worst of it leaked into the soil. We didn't see how sick we were getting until we were in too far. Some of us escaped. The rest were warped, changed, held. I, the strongest of all, found the control rod, but was trapped in this horrible form. Those who escaped did no better. I made sure that they died. That was their penalty for leaving me!” Dakro isn’t sure he caught everything. The Shaper’s flat, slurred tones combined with the poison are making it hard to think. So he simply says, “Let me think. I will go and try to find a way to make you a body.” He quickly begins making his way out of the complex. He needs to get away from the poison so he can think. In his haste and physical state, he gets lost. The facility is beginning to look a lot larger inside than it did outside. He stumbles upon an air lock. He throws himself through and lands on the floor of the servant mind room. He barely hears the ancient filters pumping out most (but not all) of the poisons. Joy nudges him, trying to get him up. The servant mind is amazingly, still alive. However, it is not well. Years of exposure to the poisons here have left it perpetually ill and quite mad. The moment it sees Dakro, it shrieks. “You! A Shaper! Servant of Corata! You will pay! I will kill you! Die!” In his weakened state, Dakro barely comprehends the words. The rapier, sensing Dakro is debilitated and near death, seizes control of his body. “You have made a mistake. I am here to kill the rogue Shaper." Somehow, the authoritative tone manages to cut through the creature's madness. It stops. “I ... You ... You have stopped me. Now, Shaper, you will torment me again. My foolishness. Now you will hurt poor Mind Ramel.” Dakro lays there for some time trying to purge the poison from his system while Mind Ramel whimpers. Joy watches over him, Michelle watches the door, and Sarah looks around at the various displays. At last, Dakro regains control of his senses. All the pain makes him want to lash out at something. To blame someone for his decision to come in here. “Tell me more about Corata, that I might kill him.” “Shade. Specter. Ghost of foul Shaper who came here to raid. He is dead, and he torments me. He wants a body, a return to life, and I can not give it, so he torments me, he lashes out at me.” The servant mind quivers in its tray. “Oh, the pain. Oh, how I would give all the rest of my strength to reward any who could kill Corata. Kill, kill.” Dakro rests his rapier against the servant mind. “Focus, mind. Focus through the pain. Listen to my question: What do you know about Corata that might help me kill him?” The servant mind is quiet for a few heartbeats and then begins to sway slightly to some unheard music. “Pylons. Pylons there. He ignores them. He has foolish times. He does not realize two power spirals needed to power pylons. Four rooms off Corata chamber. Storage rooms. Power spirals are in northwest and southeast corner rooms.” “I command you to turn these Pylons against Corata in ten minutes. Together, we will destroy the rogue Shaper.” The servant mind’s cries in anguish, “I cannot control them! They have been disconnected. And no one repairs them. Nobody help me. Nobody helps poor me.” Michelle glares at the servant mind. Dakro sighs. “I can still barely think, let alone help right now, but I will return to help. First, tell me how to escape this labyrinth.” “Good, good. You not hurt me yet. But you will be back. Back to hurt. All Ramel gets is hurt. Poor Ramel.” Joy runs her nose against Ramel, attempting to comfort him. “Focus, Ramel! How do I get -” Dakro stops mid-sentence as he sees Sarah has opened a cupboard with nutrient solution. Invaluable, Dakro takes it before Sarah can break it. He then begins coaxing rather poor directions out of the servant mind. Dakro learns can make it out, but he knows he will never make it far enough away from the toxic waste with his remaining essence. He will need to dissolve a creation back into essence. He looks at Michelle, Sarah, and Joy. He never should have named them.

Chapter 33: Trash Dakro takes his first steps into the desert wastelands, remembering the warnings of the Sholai and Vikkari’s serviles. The former residents of former Vikkari were weak of mind and body, and it should be amusing to see what struck such fear into such trash. A few vlish wander the desert. Nothing special. They try a few of their mind tricks, but Dakro easily shrugs it off, and his glaahk use their own, more refined mental control. Soon, he has a small patrol of vlish leading their way through the desert. Vlish were not meant to be front line soldiers and die easily, but they serve their purpose well as fodder, and there are plenty more vlish to take their place. As the sun passes its zenith, the sweltering heat begins to become unbearable. Dakro spots a series of caves and ducks inside the closest to break for lunch. The cave is home to a pair of vlish. After killing one and dominating the other, he looks inside and finds the cave is too small to comfortably seat him and his creations. The second cave has a half-dozen vlish. After neutralizing them (in one way or another), he enters and gags on the stench of a rotting corpse. Apparently vlish have no sense of smell. He has a vlish drag the corpse outside, but the vomit-inducing odor lingers. He tries the next cave. To his surprise, the third cave has no vlish. Instead, he finds an ancient stone pillar. It has been sitting in this cave for many centuries. The constant drip of water from the ceiling has coated it with thick mineral deposits, concealing whatever purpose it once had. Remembering the pillar and the whole crystal cavern fiasco, he decides to try another cave. Especially since the vlish are wise enough to not live in an otherwise perfectly good cave. The next cave catches him completely off guard. There is an entire building inside. The serviles of Sucia Island have spent the last century industriously scouring Shaper ruins for any supplies of value. This building is a center for that sort of activity. He has never seen such an array of old, crumbling Shaper debris. There are broken vats, rusty equipment, used canisters, and a dazzling array of mixed trash. Apparently, useful items are taken south to the cities. Junk comes here to die. A servile walks up to greet him. She is middle-aged, full of energy, and unaffected by the fact that he is a Shaper. She smiles up at him. “Greetings. Welcome to our humble trash pit. I am Proof. I am the trader here.” “You seem to be made of sterner stuff than those weaklings of former Vakkiri.” “Perhaps. But even they did not fear this area. The vlish here, or their ancestors, have been living out there for many, many years. They are old rogues. We feed them. They leave us alone. The old rogues only rarely threaten serviles. Only when they are scared, or hungry. Speaking of which, I was about to sit down to eat. Won’t you join me?” Deeper inside the cave, Dakro sees the first items that are not completely worthless. However, just because they aren’t worthless, doesn’t mean they have much value. As they sit to eat, Proof asks, “Now where were we?... Oh, yes. The serviles fear the Dry Wastes to the west and north. Many of the old spirits, many vicious rogues. Very few serviles are brave enough to go out there.” Between mouthfuls, Dakro asks, “What sort of things are in the Dry Wastes?" “Well, there are these cactus fields due west of here. They're filled with clawbugs now. Very dangerous. Before the rogues appeared, though, I'd sometimes see a thahd wandering around out there. Didn't see it very often. It avoided me. One strange thing about it. It was always clutching a metal orb to its chest.” “Interesting. And farther in?” “Ah, now there is a mystery. I don't know. The Shapers, when they were here, only rarely went out there. There are ruins, old ruins, of the people who lived here long ago, before the Shapers came.” He stabs a piece of questionable meat. “At least, that is what the old Shaper records say. I found mentions that the Shapers built a tomb out there once. But that is all I found.” Remembering the value of Shaper tombs with their stored knowledge, Dakro stops eating and looks up in interest. “What do you know about this tomb?" “Almost nothing. It would be a place of great honor, for the greatest researchers of the Shapers on the island. I don't know where it was, or what would be put into it.” “Of course. Serviles would not be privy to such knowledge. You were obviously made to provide Shapers with equipment, but none of these items seem useful to me. Where is your quality equipment?” She pauses, thinking, and then says, “Hidden. Special things, which we are saving to sell for money for emergencies. But you are the Shaper. We might trade with you, if you help us.” Dakro’s face clouds. “Surely, you are aware of what happened to Pentil after they attempted to thwart the Shapers.” “I am sorry, Shaper. Your coming may mean that our freedom is about to end. However, until our freedom is taken, we will act as if we still have it.” Dakro looks down at the serviles’ dubious food. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have something else for your last meal?” Proof swallows prematurely and struggles to keep his voice steady. “I do not ask for much. It will be easy for a Shaper such as yourself. To the west, through the wastes, you will find a large gate. Some miles to the west. There are large stone pillars around it, and many ghosts.” Dakro slides his rapier out of its sheath. Proof begins speaking more quickly. “None of us have been able to explore and scavenge beyond that gate, because of the spirits. But you might be able to clear it, so we can go past there. If you clear that gateway, I will let you see our special stash.” “All that just to see it. And even then you will not freely give it to me.” Proof begins to respond, but all that comes out is a choking, wet gurgle as Dakro cuts her throat. There is little anger in his action. He has just done what he was taught since a small child. Brush his teeth, clean his room, and report such serviles for execution. With no one to report this servile to, he performed the execution himself. Dakro is cleaning his rapier when another servile comes from the back. Seeing Proof’s body, he screams and freezes in terror. With the Shaper blocking the exit, there is nowhere to run. Dakro puts his rapier away and says, “This servile attempted to barter with me, rather than giving me my due.” The jittery old serviles stammers, “Welcoming to the Shaper. Welcome. I am Shock. I ... Welcome to our tiny shop. I… I must do work for Shapers now.” He turns to a bench and works hard trying to repair an old thorn baton. It is still alive, but its stone casing is cracked. The servile manipulates his tools with surprising skill, trying to heal the creature. Occasionally, the tiny creature inside the weapon squeaks in annoyance. He immerses himself in the work, trying to remain calm by forgetting about everything else. Dakro walks over to him and asks, “What are you working on?” The closer Dakro gets, the more the servile shakes. “I… can’t… inutile.” Dakro nods and wanders deeper in the cave, looking for the supplies Proof mentioned. Soon after Dakro leaves the room, the inutile calls loudly, “I ... I fix things. We find many of your old things, and us tinkers, descendants of tinkers, we fix them and trade them so we can live. It is-” As Dakro re-enters the room, the servile is once again reduced to a quivering, sputtering mess. “work.. hard… difficult… with… others...” Realization dawns on Dakro. This inutile cannot function properly around others. Dakro leaves the room. A minute later, the Shock calls in a loud voice. “It is hard work, but our ancestors were trained well. Right now, I am trying to repair this baton. Its housing is cracked, and the pressure on the creature prevents it from spitting the thorn properly. I wish I could repair better, but I don't have enough Shaper equipment. It is rare.” Dakro looks around the back room and sees numerous items in various states of repair. Dakro’s knowledge is limited, but it looks to him like Shock is perhaps one of the finest tinkerers he has ever seen. Expensive, complicated equipment is being repaired with little more than trash. If any non-Shaper on this island could put Shaper equipment to good use, it might be this servile. Dakro calls back. “I will bring you what I can.” The servile goes quiet, once again immersing himself in his work. When Dakro leaves, having found nothing useful, he sees Shock has left the repaired baton and several other useful pieces of equipment next to his supplies. Dakro takes the equipment and - out of kindness - does not say thanks or goodbye.

Chapter 32: Strength “I’m weak,” says Dakro despondently as he writes in his journal. “Can’t enter the Research Core. Can’t enter the Repair Workshop. Can’t even subdue Kazg. And worst of all, I can’t let go of this ‘teddy bear.’” Dakro looks down at the singing rapier strapped to his bare flesh. Each time he lets it go, he feels the rage in his mind seeking to reassert control. Closing the journal, he continues practicing with the unwieldy Guardian Claymore. The practice is not made easier by the weight of the rapier throwing him off-balance. He wishes he had someone to teach him or, at the very least, spar with him. He misses his people. He misses his family. These creations, outsiders, and enchanted weapons are poor replacements. Nevertheless, they are what he has. They are his strength when he is weak. Sniff leans back on her stool and looks up at Dakro with a haughty look, her nose in the air. No… that’s the rage again. Sniff is simply looking up at Dakro impassively. Dakro unstraps the rapier and holds it. With it in his hand, he feels calmer. He will need to be calm for this meeting. As Dakro draws his weapon, Sniff says, “That wouldn’t serve the interest of your kind, but destroy me if you must. I still cannot let you in.” Dakro smirks. “I have a message here, from Masha, that you should let me see the Sholai.” She looks at it carefully. “Yes, Shaper. We're glad you're here. Glad you are helping us.” She walks up to the door and raps on it with her knuckle. The door opens briefly, and she passes the letter through. Then she returns to her place. “Now you can serve the true will of the Shapers. I know Astrov will want to speak to you. He can also give you aid. You may enter. I hope you know the Sholai tongue, though. The outsiders here don't know yours.” “I do. How did you come to help the Sholai?” “I was a scout once, searching for the source of the spawners that were killing us. Then I saw the outsiders, the Sholai. I followed them. I saw them find one of the spawners. They killed it. I knew then that, whoever they were, they were not our enemies. I approached them. They didn't speak my tongue, and they almost killed me on sight. I don't know why they're so afraid of serviles. I didn't know then that the foul Takers of Kazg had joined with their leader.” Dakro spits on the ground in disgust. Sniff nods. “They knew a few words of my speech. I showed them I am not from Kazg. I wouldn't fight them. I followed them here, and I help them as I can. I know they are outsiders, in Barred land. But they oppose Trajkov, the true enemy of the Shapers. So I serve them, until the Shapers return and save us.” “I have returned. I have saved the worthy serviles of Pentil, cleared much of the land of rogues, and…” Dakro suddenly questions why he even cares what his mere servile thinks of him. He walks through the door. Sniff looks on impassively. Through the door is a high, chilly cavern with multiple side passages. The cold is blunted slightly by the small smoky fire burning in the middle of the room. There are long strips of meat hanging from the wall, curing in the smoke. As Dakro enters, weapon drawn and followed by three glaahks, several Sholai also draw their weapons, but make no move to attack. They know that Dakro has come from Masha, but they are understandably cautious. Dakro suppresses his desire to automatically kill outsiders in Barred lands. He reminds himself that they are his strength. The leader of the small group of outsiders does not draw his weapon. He is a small man, thin and nimble. Far less muscular than the other Sholai warriors. However, he is also quite agile and fast on his feet. “Welcome,” he says. His accent is very thick, but Dakro can understand him (barely). “I am Astrov, leader here, scout. It is good to hear from Masha. Thank you for being here.” There is so much he wants to say, but limited by the language, he simply says, “Greetings. I come from Masha, looking for information.” Astrov speaks slowly and carefully and does a decent job of making himself comprehensible. “Good. We are glad. We fight Trajkov. We hope you fight Trajkov. He is dangerous and mad. First, I tell you our story. Then I say what we find.” Not releasing his firm grip on his weapon, Dakro takes an offered seat and makes himself comfortable. Michelle stands guard vigilantly while Sarah and Joy look around curiously. “Tell me your story.” “Yes, Shaper. Story. I am scout. Always been scout. Can run fast and silent. Help many explorers when land on new land. Find food and roads and people to meet. Going on trip to your land greatest honor. Meeting new people is marvelous. Sea journey hard. We land here with only one ship and many death. Then Trajkov mad. I am sure you learn this from Masha. Should have learned most of story there.” “Yes. And I confirmed Masha’s story by reading wizard Anfisa’s journal. However, neither told me what you have done since you landed.” “Nothing. I am eager to explore and contact, or just move quiet and see things. But Trajkov holds me. He only want to use canisters of magic and learn strange Shaper secrets.” Dakro interrupts. “Trajkov no longer uses the canisters. He has seen their danger. I have a device that may yet help return him to himself.” Astrov shakes his head. “No. Trajkov has gone too far. Trajkov kidnaps a Shaper! He takes one of your kind, called Goettsch. Your people will never forgive. But then Goettsch flees, and takes something with him. Trajkov furious!” Dakro thinks back to his actions since arriving. Some might be interpreted as being even worse. He wants Trajkov to be redeemed, because if Trajkov can’t, what chance does he have himself? Dakro forces himself to stop thinking about such things and listen to Astrove. “... though it horrible beyond words. No, final insult is he wants to go into wastes to find Goettsch. This could not be more far from our true goals and mission! Waste my skills and life for that!” Dakro hopes he did not miss anything important in the conversation and asks, “What did Trajkov steal?” “Trajkov said it was glove. But I do not believe him. Strange thing to steal.” “What now?” “We try to find ways to Trajkov, so we can kill him and make peace between our peoples. But ways to get to him are hard. Need one who knows secrets of island. Need one with powers. Need you, Shaper. I want to tell you how to get to Trajkov. He takes your secrets. You can deal with him. I can tell you what lies to northeast. I can tell you way to Geneforge. All I ask is you help us.” “Go on.” “To northeast is the Research Core, the great place where your kind made many huge things and much powerful magic. But it is guarded. You left many defenses. In places Sholai snuck in, Trajkov left defenses of own.” “I have been to the borders of the Research Core. It was guarded by invisible attackers.” “Yes, guarded by many of Trajkov fighters. He has few humans to spare, but he spares them there. Worse are turrets he grows. Deadly bridges. You can go that way, but is very very hard. However, there is another way.” Drawing a crude map in the soil, Astrov continues, “Other ways is the Shapers mines in the mountain northeast of Kazg. You filled them with traps. We found ways to both ends, but we never could get past the pylons there. You can find corpses of those that tried. Go through those mines and you should find a way past the river. I think you should be good with machinery and traps and stealth. Battling with pylons leads to death.” Dakro knows that if he can’t even control a simple living tool, then he has no chance with pylons and other complicated devices. He will need more inside information. “Where is Goettsch now?” “First go northwest of here through wastes. Wastes are nasty and full of horrible monsters. And not natural waste, but poisoned. When you Shapers left, you left many tanks and pools of burning goo. That you used for your work. Some of them leaked over the years. They burned the ground. I don’t know about it. I don’t want to know about it.” “Okay, but where is Goettsch?” “More to northwest is ruins. Old ruins. Old old. Far in, that is where Goettsch hides. I didn’t go there. The rogues are very dangerous.” “I will require Shaper artifacts to help you with Trajkov.” Dakro specifically avoids using the word “kill.” “Take what supplies you want. What is ours is yours. Without you, no hope of killing Trajkov. Some artifacts are hidden away in the cave to the south. Maybe. We found an old cache. Guarded by Shaper guards. We think we saw a canister. You can have it. We fear those.” When Dakro hears the word “canister,” his skin grows flushed. Beads of sweat emerge on his head. He has a powerful desire to go find it. He immediately jumps up and heads south. A nervous Sholai brings back up his weapon at Dakro’s sudden movement, but Dakro doesn’t notice, so intent is he on the canisters. Swiftly passing through cavern after cavern, he passes more nervous Sholai who have hidden away. Seeing he is intent on being elsewhere, they leave him alone. That is, until he reaches one cavern with a Sholai woman in glimmering robes. She attempts to get his attention. He barely notices her. Struggling to keep up in her constricting robes, she says, “I am Anya. How is it that your rapier calls to me?” That gets Dakro’s attention. “You have used a canister?” She considers lying, but then admits, “Yes. I feel strange things in me, strange things I want to do, but I do not know how to do them. I did not know how the glass jars were changing me, so I stopped using them and fled.” “Then you no longer use them?” “Yes. Can you not feel it? Can you not feel the changes? The strange changes? You are in a bad place. You must use them to live, but you must then be changed by them. I hope you have the strength in your mind to stay wise.” As she speaks of it, Dakro finds that he is having a hard time keeping from striking out at her. Her manner is infuriating. Very strange. He remembers that normally, he wouldn't feel this way. It’s the canisters. He has to get his mind on something else. He can’t trust himself to even be in the same room as them. But it is not enough to get his mind on something else. This insatiable desire for power must be sated. Suddenly, he has an idea. “Can you teach me any of your magic?” It is difficult, but he convinces her to give him a brief magic lesson. She tells him all his limited grasp of the Sholai tongue enables him to comprehend. The Sholai have some focusing techniques that are new to him. Her knowledge is surprisingly new and effective. More importantly, it helps him put off using the canisters. When they are done, he finds he has the willpower to leave. If he had more willpower, he would tell the Sholai to destroy the canisters, but he does not. This does not bode well for when he encounters the Geneforge.

Chapter 31: Understanding Dakro treks away from Kantre’s Realm, his three glaahks and other creations straining under their loads. It was unfortunate that he could not find the warm clothing he needed, but he can still turn to the serviles of Pentil. It is slow-going, but he arrives to much cheering. Cheering that is doubled when he lets them know he has brought them scavenged goods from across the island. Merchants immediately swarm his creations, unloading supplies. In all the shoving, a servile steps on Michelle’s toes. She lashes out, paralyzing the offending servile. Fortunately for the servile, the throng is so great that he falls against the crowd instead of immediately getting a concussion on the stones. Even after that, the rush hardly abates. Dakro pulls aside a particularly aggressive merchant. “You are quite enthusiastic. Has it been that difficult to get supplies?” “Oh, Shaper. Since rogues started roaming everywhere, it has been very dangerous. We have been unable to scavenge for equipment and Shaper artifacts, and we have not been able to carry goods between settlements.” The merchant keeps anxiously looking at the supplies as they are being picked over. “You cleared a bridge to the east, so we can now exchange supplies with the serviles to the east. Or, at least, those of them who will deal with us peacefully. The serviles of Kazg have become enraged by your…” The merchant looks embarrassed. “Trade is difficult with them.” “I see. I require winter clothing, enchanted against magical cold.” He thinks. “Difficult. It will take time, but we will not fail you Shaper.” “Very well, you may go.” As the merchant races back toward the supplies, Dakro notices Rydell staring at him, taking in every detail. He is in awe. He followed the Shapers all his life, but Darko is the first one he has ever seen. Dakro gives him the honor of addressing him. “I have spoken with Doge.” Dakro goes on to describe the Pentil outpost. Mickall is relieved. “These are hard times, but now that you are here, we have nothing to fear. Thank you again for your help, Shaper. We owe all we have to you.” "You are most welcome. While I wait for you serviles to make me enchanted clothing, I am going to meet with Masha, leader of a group which split off from the outsiders.” He goes on to describe the previous meeting. Rydell listens carefully. “Excellent. This is much as I suspected. The outsiders are divided, and not all are acting against us. Please, tell me all you learn of the Research Core to the northeast. Perhaps, together, we can bring about the true will of the Shapers. Let us further discuss affairs on our sad isle.” "There is a man named Trajkov on this island. He comes from over the sea, and he is trying to utilize some sort of Shaper power. He lives in the research warrens to the northeast.” “I understand. That would explain much, including where the strange rogue creations assaulting us are from. Still, our information is incomplete. If we could learn more about the power Trajkov is trying to harness, we could decide how to act.” “I have learned that there is some sort of powerful Shaper secret on this island. It's called the 'Geneforge'.” “We have heard something similar. We captured a servile from Kazg and, after much questioning, she revealed the same thing. If only we knew what it was, many mysteries might be solved. It might even reveal why the Shapers left this isle.” “I will speak with this servile.” “Sorry, Shaper. When we are done interrogating a Taker, we deal with them quickly, and in a way that ensures they never question the Shapers again. We never hesitate to do your will.” Their conversation is interrupted as a messenger arrives letting Dakro know his feast is ready. The next day, after ensuring he will indeed receive his clothing, he heads back to Sholai Masha in the refugee cave. Without the supplies, the trek is much faster. They greet each other and Dakro lets her know that after much hardship, he finally recovered Anfisa’s key. Smiling widely, Masha exclaims, “Wonderful! Yes! You do good! Open the chest! We will all be better!” “I will, in time. We agreed to read the journal together. Therefore, before we open it, I need help better understanding your language.” Her smile falters, but she says, “Gladly, Shaper. My knowledge weak and my skills soft, but I tell you what I can of things.” She spends several hours teaching him what she knows. Her tongue is surprisingly similar to his. He learns a fair amount of syntax and numerous verbs and nouns. He is nowhere near fluent, but will be able to manage some crude communication. Darko opens the chest. Inside, he finds salty, dirty clothes, some broken scrimshaw, and an old, battered journal. He flips through it and finds that, with concentration and a bit of help from Masha, he can understand it. It was the journal of Anfisa, Trajkov's assistant. They were leading an expedition across an unexplored sea. They started with three ships. A storm left them with two. When they reached Sucia Island, they were starving and without hope. Landfall at Sucia cost them a second ship. Once they landed, Trajkov led an expedition ashore. There, he and Anfisa found a huge Shaper research facility. It was in the mountains at the northeast corner of the island. The tunnels provided shelter for all of the sailors as they stocked up on food and tried to figure out what to do. Trajkov and Anfisa explored the research halls, translated documents, and figured out what the Shapers were doing. Here, Anfisa's entries get shorter and more vague. Perhaps she was afraid that Trajkov would read her journal. She was worried about how events were developing. "Andela 17 - Trajkov has figured out how to use the canisters. He places a hand on top of one, and it changes him. If the Shaper writings are to be believed, they are rewriting his genes. I don't know what that means.” “Andela 21 - Trajkov has used eight canisters. I have used none, despite his urgings. They are changing him. He can use magic now. He never could before. It is very strange.” “Andela 28 - Trajkov grows angry very easily now. He has used every canister we have found. The current total is twenty. That I know of.” “Vit 3 - We have penetrated the deepest chambers. We believe we have located the Geneforge, referred to often in Shaper writings. Trajkov thinks he should use it. Only him.” “Vit 8 - Trajkov is frustrated. His anger is frequent. He is missing something. He said he needs some 'gloves'. I am not sure what this word means. His speech is strange sometimes.” “Vit 15 - We know that Shapers pass this island, in their living ships. Trajkov has a plan. He will abduct one, using our sole ship. Or maybe this plan is already taking place. Many Sholai are loyal, and he speaks with me less now.” “He uses more canisters. Others use them too. Trajkov's warriors are loyal and strong, and they anger so easily.” “Vit 20 - We have a Shaper. It is called Goettsch. It talks to Trajkov. I don't know what they say. Trajkov doesn't involve me. I know they are talking about the Geneforge.” “Vit 25 - Trajkov and Goettsch spend lots of time in the Geneforge chambers. Some of us wonder when we will continue our mission. We have food. The boat is ready. Some are restless. We know, though, that Trajkov's path is the wisest.” “Ermin 1 - Goettsch left, taking something from Trajkov. Trajkov is furious. He called me to the Geneforge. It is beautiful. He wants me to hunt down and kill Goettsch, hiding in the wastes to the west.” “I told Trajkov I would kill Goettsch. He showed me the Geneforge. It has several power columns around it. Trajkov told me to stay away from them. They are unstable and can destroy the whole place.” “Ermin 10 - I have not yet left to hunt Goettsch. Trajkov confronted me. Suggesting we continue our mission infuriates him. He has stopped using the canisters. He didn't say why.” “Ermin 25 - Trajkov has returned. He and his assistants explored the island. He said they laid traps and made monsters. They also did diplomacy. He did not elaborate.” “Ermin 27 - Trajkov has set his new plan in motion. He will abduct a new Shaper, a weaker one, who can be molded. We will anger these strange and powerful people even more. I am sure this is the wisest course.” “Ermin 28 - My own plans have come to be. As I write this, we are rowing away from Trajkov and his loyal, mad minions. At last, I can write freely. Trajkov is mad.” “Why is he doing what he is doing? Where did his lust for power come from? I do not know. I know this, though. We must stop him. We must return to our mission, our good mission, of exploration and peace.” “We will land near a servile village. They call it Kazg. Hopefully, they know nothing of Trajkov or his plans. We can enlist their help.” “We have been sighted. The ship is following us. There are docks ahead, though. We will land and disappear into the tunnels. It is a risky path, but I don't think they will give chase. We threw fire at the sails, and the ship turned back. They will not risk the ship.” The journal ends. He closes the book and carefully replaces it in the chest. Dakro turns to Masha. “You told the truth. I find you as blameless as is possible, given the circumstances. Tell me, what has happened since Anfisa’s death?” She lets out a sigh of relief. Then, taking a deep breath, says, “My group hide here in tunnels. We try to run west, only to find surprise. Trajkov? He deal with stunted people to west. These serviles, they called Takers. Trajkov make deal with them. He get them to block us in and kill us. We want to explore island, but we trapped here. We get some of us out to explore. I go with them and return. There are more of us on Sucia, good Sholai, not mad, but hidden.” Dakro decides he will be the judge of whether or not they have been good. “I would like to meet them. Where are they?” “I go with them when they sneak out. I help them find place. I come back here. Leader name is Astrov. Good Sholai. Can trust. Find him and talk to him. Let me know how he is doing, please, if you can. He make fight against Trajkov. He can help you, if you want same.” Masha hands Dakro a letter. It is written in their language. “Give to Astrov. He helps you. This tells him you from me.” “Tell me more about Astrov.” “A true explorer. Greed to learn. Not for power. You can trust. I trust with life.” “Just as you trusted Trajkov?” She looks uncomfortable. “See Astrov for yourself. Astrove and fighters are in cave north of village serviles call Pentil. Look hard in peaceful valley of trees.” Dakro thinks back. He has been all around Pentil, surely he would have noticed.... He suddenly remembers the crazed, scrawny hermit guarding the mysterious door. Her name is "Sniff.” Dakro remembers the name because of the servile's odor.

Chapter 30: Cold Dakro awakes to pretty singing. A pessimist would instantly realize it is not the soul-touching singing of before. An optimist would note that at least he didn’t completely break the rapier. Dakro, being self-centered, thinks only about himself, not the signing. He is exhausted and achy. He should not have fought his way up through a small army so soon after receiving a traumatic brain injury. He performs his morning ablutions and is in the middle of eating breakfast before even the hint of a thought about others enters his mind. He suddenly realizes Michelle, Sarah, and Joy are gone. Extending his will, he feels that the servant mind has taken control of them and is feeding them along with other glaahk. Not wanting to track them down, Dakro decides to leave them and head east to the tablet. He will be heading back this way anyways, and can always make more if need be. For now, it shapes a simple four-legged creation to carry jars of essence and other supplies at a distance. As he heads east, his rapier starts to pull him south. It shows him visions of a workshop and the forging of weapons. The visions aren’t nearly as clear as before he sharpened the blade. Dakro ponders the request for a minute. The weapon has proven that it can take control of his body. Perhaps it would be better for it to be a bit weaker. He continues east, reminding the rapier who is in charge. Dakro soon reaches a green vale high in the mountains of Sucia Island. To the northeast, looming above the trees and stone outcroppings, he sees a huge building. It is a massive, Shaper-built structure, a passage into the west side of the mountain. He’s found an entrance to the Research Core of Sucia Island. Surely, the answers to all his questions are here. In addition, no doubt, to incredible power. At first, the valley seems empty. Then, on the pathway ahead of him, he sees a fast, blurry motion. It was only there for a moment. Odd. He takes a few steps when suddenly his arm flies upward, parrying an invisible attack. Dakro can barely make out the shimmering of what looks like a humanoid. Unable to fight what he can’t see, he gives his will to the rapier in a desperate attempt to save his life. Color drains from the world, but he does not lose his sense of awareness. The rapier is not strong enough. His dodges, parries, and ripostes come relatively slowly. His choice not to repair the rapier may cost him his life. Then he has the presence of mind to kick dust toward the nearly invisible creature. Some sticks. Not much, but enough. He resumes full control of his body and soon has the creature on the defensive. It flees. Dakro turns and jogs south. As much as he hates to admit it, the guardians of the Research Core are well beyond his current abilities. Half a day later, Dakro is still walking south when the weather changes with alarming suddenness. It is like he just walked into a wall of ice. One step, it was warm. The next, freezing cold. The sun still shines, but its rays have no effect on this frigid valley. Powerful magic is at work here. He wraps his arms around himself, stamps his feet, and tries to stay warm as he makes his way forward. A bit later, he spots a dilapidated building and makes for the shelter. Even a few minutes of shelter would be a relief. Unfortunately, the crumbling walls do little to alleviate the cold. Some unidentifiable meat has been preserved by the cold, although Dakro isn’t going to risk eating it The interior door is locked and there is no way through it. Fortunately, unlike the living door, the walls are simple base materials. He summons some cryoas to tear through the interior wall while he tries to stoke the fireplace. On the other side, he finds four frozen serviles. One has a scroll clenched to his chest. Dakro carefully removes it, snapping off the servile’s frozen fingers first so that they don’t damage the paper. It reads: To who reads this, avoid our mistake. When rogues came, we fled here. Thought there was peace. Hid in ruin here. Then outsiders came, and did their workings. Did not know we hid here, or knew and did not care. Thought they would go and we would be safe. But they left the rogues here. Then, next day, the cold started. So cold. Could not go out. Rogues everywhere. So we stayed and got more and more cold. No hope left. If you read this, you must run! Run! Get away while still safe! Dakro laughs, his frozen breath filling the air. “Poor, weak serviles. This is what happens when you go wandering off.” Where possible, Dakro takes off the servile’s clothes and equipment, strapping them to his cryoas. These serviles are unworthy of such equipment, so he will drop it off at Pentil next time he passes by. Opening the outer door, he sees vlish and clawbugs pouring out of a cave. He is not going to make the same mistake the serviles did of barricading himself inside. He jumps on the back of the nearest cryoa and orders them to all jump up on the roof. One goes crashing through the dilapidated roof, but the rest find solid footing. From there, they rain down icy death upon the swarm. Realizing they are at a significant disadvantage, the swarm pulls back and begins waiting them out. Seeing them clumped, Dakro begins forming sickly green roamers. When he has enough, the leap from the building with their mighty legs toward the crowd. All are blasted out of the air, killed even before they land. However, they get close enough. Their internal organs detonate, laying waste to the crowd. The few weakened stragglers that survive are soon cut down as the cryoas close the distance. At the sound of the bombs, more vlish and clawbugs come out to investigate. Dakro is tempted to race away toward the workshop, but he smells vinegar. He and his cyoas charge, slaughtering their way into the cave. Ordinarily, they might stand no chance against such numbers, but the vlish and clawbugs are not designed for cold weather. They are already weak from the cold and their movements are slow. Dakro spots the putrid purple spawner and begins carving it up, trusting his cryoas to guard his flanks. As it dies, he begins to celebrate when suddenly a clawbug bites his armored leg and begins dragging him. Dakro stabs it through the skull and looks for this cryoa. They are all fighting off a second spawner. Two? The thought never even occurred to him. The pass had multiple spawners to act as guards, but this is just a cave, isn’t it? What could be worth guarding? Putting aside his questions, he leaps over the body of the clawbug and goes to aid his surviving cryoa. However, as he does, one turns and scoops him up, racing toward the exit. He is so surprised, that he doesn’t even fight it. An instant later, he can no longer see as his remaining cryoa unleash a magical storm of ice inside the confined cave. Ice shards and displaced rocks tear into everything left inside. Howls of pain vie to be heard amongst the whirling ice and flying rocks. Bursting from the cave, his guarding cryoa keeps running. Then it falls dead, scumming to its numerous wounds, and Dakro rolls across the ground. Rising, he watches ice fly out of the cave like a swarm of bats on fire. Then silence reigns. He dashes inside to ensure all the spawners are dead. Scratch marks and ice shards cover the rocky surfaces. The essence pools supplying the spawners are completely frozen over. Whatever the deadly gauntlet of spawners were guarding has been destroyed, save a single magical box. Inside, he finds some frozen, broken tools and some used-up pods. He also finds a pouch. Inside the pouch, he finds an iron key, icy cold to the touch. There is a good chance that the key was to a nearby door that was completely obliterated, but he wipes off the frost and puts it in his pack anyways. Using a piece of warped metal, he breaks the icy layer of an essence pool and begins pulling some out to form more cryoa. Outside, he transfers the remaining supplies for Pentil from his guardian cryoa. It is unfortunately how much he lost in the cave. Wondering if anything might have survived underneath a corpse, he re-enters the cave. Next to one wall piled high with bodies, he finds the entrance to a large workshop. His rapier sings with joy. The workshop is freezing cold. The moment he steps inside, he starts to shiver uncontrollably. It's not half as cold as the frozen valleys outside. It's like a deep winter. A nearby crystal container, sheathed in ice, tells him that this workshop must be a cold storage. Shapers have developed powerful magical techniques for making things extremely cold. It's not surprising. Shapers deal with a lot of living, once-living, or soon-to-be-living substances. When not in use, they need to be kept cold. That's what places like this are for. But cold storage is never this cold. Something must have gone wrong. That's the only way to explain why these tunnels are so painfully icy. There used to be firepits here, burning brightly to protect visitors from the cold. These have long been extinguished. Even if they were lit, they wouldn't be sufficient to protect him. To put things in perspective, his cryoa - beings made to produce magical ice - begin shivering. Reluctantly, he heads back to Kantre’s Realm for the night. He’s going to need much warmer clothing.

Chapter 29: Singing Dakro awakes in pain to the sound of melodious, soul-touching singing. His entire body aches, with various areas of agonizing pain sprinkled in. He tries taking his mind off the pain, suffusing his consciousness in the singing. Comforting visions of his family fill his mind. Feeling the warm sun as he gardens with his mother. Laughing with his dad as they stocked goods. The visions fade as he once again loses consciousness. When he reawakes to the unabated singing, he is parched, famished, and aching. Judging by how thirsty he is, he was probably out for at least a day, perhaps two. If he weren’t a Shaper with essence symbiotically living in him, he probably would have died. The power station is in ruins. Electricity continues to arcs over the rubble. As he continues to watch, there is an explosion from deep underneath. With all the pain and everything that has happened, he should not be feeling anything close to calm. And yet he is, somewhat. He struggles to stand, the rapier falling off his arm. As it does, the singing ceases and all the physical and mental pain threatens to overtake him. He grabs the rapier out of a feeling of self-preservation. Not letting the rapier go, he drinks, changes into clean clothes, and eats. These simple tasks are not so simple with only one free hand. While recovering, Dakro takes time to reflect on his life. The singing, which he at first immediately dismissed as distracting, actually helps him focus. There are thoughts of power and blind rage in his mind that are not his own. The singing helps keep them at bay. The power station is gone, as is his chance to learn about its shaping machinery. Conflicting thoughts scream in his head. He is having a difficult time figuring out which ones are his. How does he feel about this? Dakro looks deep inside himself and finds a wealth of knowledge. Amongst it, he realizes he now possesses the knowledge to make glaahks. Glaahks are muscular and armored two-legged creations with a scorpion-like tail. Their strength lies in their magical sting. A blow from it will temporarily paralyze a foe. Dakro looks deeper and realizes he can improve it: Using the same principles uses in artila creation, he can swap out its magical poison sacks for acid. Using what he learned from cockatrices, he can enable them to take control of nearby creations. Using what he learned from cryoas, he can enable them to create magical storms. Shaping is much more than purely following directions. It is creativity. More than brute force. It is strength through synergy and finesse. He begins to shape glaahks. When he is about to make a mistake, the ever-present music makes a discordant note. With the singing’s unusual help, he wastes little essence and creates the creation far faster than he would have expected. The glaahk is a thing of terrifying beauty, but lacks much of what makes cockatrices so valuable: the ability to self-shape healing into themselves. As he mentally prepares himself to make cockatrices the music becomes discordant. He immediately gives up on the idea. He realizes he is being controlled, but he doesn’t really care. It’s like back when he was taking the tests for Shaper apprenticeship. Only those who were willing to accept the authority of Shapers passed. He can feel this rapier possess the will of the Shapers. Holding the rapier, he will lose some of his freedom. However, the sword is the only means by which he may regain his freedom. The canisters have taken over his mind. They drive him to arrogant and violent actions against his will. If he continues down that self-destructive road, he will never be able to leave the island. The Shaper council would kill him for sure. He must give up his freedom that he might have freedom. The rapier sings a joyful song. Darko continues his march eastward to the distant tablets. Even if he no longer plans to use the tablets, he cannot allow them to fall into the hands of the outsiders. He is flanked by three glaahks: Michelle, Joy and Sarah. Somehow, it felt right to name these creations. They are at the low end of a rocky mountain path. The crude pathway is at the one end of a steep valley, spiraling up into the hills at the north end of Sucia Island. It is very cold and windy. Though the mountain breeze blows up the valley, it is not strong enough to hide the persistent, vinegary smell of essence. They see a grotesque spawner surrounded by burning turrets, iron clawbugs, searing artila, and an unstable thahd. Unlike the spawners he has seen before, this one seems designed to create a variety of creations. Dakro immediately begins racing toward it, Michelle at his side. She is always the first one to race into danger. He is unsure whether that is courage or stupidity. Joy and Sarah jog more slowly, using their concentration to take control of the rogues. A glaahk-dominated clawbug grabs the thahd by the leg and stabs it in the chest. The explosive internal organs detonate, searing all the rogues. Dakro and Michelle are out of range of the explosion, but the displaced air batters them. Dakro presses through while Michelle staggers to maintain her balance. This is the last of the glaahk’s actions that Dakro really notices as he fully joins the battle, dodging and slicing with the skill of a far more experienced Guardian. Releasing more of his will to the singing rapier, the world’s colors fade as he becomes a whirling dervish of death, his muscles moving of their own accord. He is vaguely aware of more artilla arriving as he dodges an acid ball he didn’t even see coming. Delivering a death blow to the spawner, he races past the artilla toward their source: a second spawner. His creations are struggling to keep up. Alone, he stands no chance, but he is not alone. He has the rapier. Giving up more of his will to the rapier, the world begins to fade more. A sense of peace soothes him. All is going well. He vaguely realizes poison flows through his leg and shallow cuts are mounting, but cares little. Some unknown time later, he stands at the top of the rocky pass next to a recently-used campsite. Looking down, he can see the remains of numerous turrets, four spawners, and countless creations. His clothes are covered in blood, much of which appears to be his own. He quickly directs his essence to heal his wounds. The defences of this steep ascent were shaped only recently. Someone worked very hard to keep intruders from getting through. Dakro wonders if they were concerned about him, or someone else. He searches the camp for some clue, but learns little other than that whoever was here planned to return. The tents were erected not long ago and are still in good shape. Numerous supplies remain, including two spore batons. Spore batons release invisible clouds of spores into the air. Each type of spore is designed to affect certain mines or other similar objects. Judging by their color, these affect green and gray mines. Obviously, these items are highly regulated. Being the highest Shaper authority on this island, he gives himself permission to take them. As he makes his way down the pass, he sees a lone servile walking up. She looks extremely nervous. The servile isn't like the others on the island. She looks innocent. Obedient. Dumb. Much closer to what he’s used to. She must be a fresh creation, shaped to be full, adult size. Body of adult, mind of child. Dakro wonders if perhaps he is not the highest Shaper authority on this island after all. As they meet, she smiles and pokes the ground nervously with her toe. “I am Fwee. Welcome to the Realm of Kantre, Shaper. I am honored to see you. Now leave, or you will be slain.” Dakro stares in disbelief. “Who is this Kantre?” “A servant mind. Old and wise. It assures me that it is doing the true will of the Shapers. I have no reason to believe otherwise.” “I am a Shaper. Tell the servant mind that I command it to not attack me.” “Kantre is charged by the great Danette to protect these sacred vales in the time of crisis. He has done this for all known time. Kantre is afraid you bring impurity, and he is charged to deal with you, and he wills it.” Dakro chooses his words carefully. “Danette? I have been charged by Mind Swanwick to carry out Danette’s great work.” “Oh. Well, that is not important. I am sure that the will of Kantre will be a harsh ...” Fwee stops speaking. Her head tilts to one side. There is a long pause. Then she speaks again. “Kantre wills that you shall speak with it. It is a surprising honor. The creations will not attack you until you can answer to Kantre. It is his will.” Understanding that Kantre can hear him, he asks, “Where are you, Kantre?” “Find the southern clearing with big stone pillars. Straight north from there.” Dakro looks and sees a mountain looming over him to the northeast. It is dotted with stone doorways, windows, and chimneys. Even out here, he can feel the power radiating out of it. He is close to the main workshop of the island. This is the gateway to the Research Core, where the true power on Sucia Island lies. If he is to solve the mysteries of this place, this is the only destination. Dakro passes dozens of battle alphas and glaahks, not to mention turrets. He has only heard stories of such defenses. Passing them, he meets Mind Kantre, servant mind and controller of this area. One look into the creature's watery eyes tells him that its isolation on Sucia Island has driven it thoroughly mad. It smiles and twitches. “Shaper, you come to my dominion. It is the time of crisis. I am charged by Danette to protect the ... the ... protect. I see you as a thing of infection. Explain yourself, or I destroy you.” “As I said, I serve Danette’s will. We both must serve the great Danette.” Kantre stares, doubtful. Dakro stares back at it. Something in his voice made the creature think he might be telling the truth. “I cannot slay you, not if you serve the creator’s will. Tell me, what are my new instructions?” “Continue doing what you have been doing. You are doing well. However, I need to pass safely.” Kantre smiles. “Thank you. I am glad. I am glad my service and my will have been good. You may pass through here safely. Oh. I forgot. You will need a key.” It points at the cabinet next to it with its withered hand. “And I also have the items you wanted me to store.” He hears a click from a door in the east wall. “So that I might better serve, what do you remember of Danette?” “So little. I am sad. I remember her words, but not what she was like. She was head of research on Sucia Island. She was so mighty and wise. All the great accomplishments here came from her. Then she left. I will never see her again.” A tear rolls down Kantre’s face and then he continues, “She set me here to control this area. This is where Shapers come in the time of crisis. There are shops and an apothecary and places for rogues and places to meet and organize. It is all here in case there is a disaster in the halls of research to the east.” "How can I enter the halls of research to get the items I need to finish Danette’s research?” “Take the key from my cabinet and go east. That is where the meeting halls and apothecary are. Beyond there is the research halls. You need an entry baton to enter, though.” Dakro opens the cabinet. It contains several shattered ceramic containers, surrounded by dried goo. There is also a key, encrusted in a thick crust of mineral substances. He breaks it free and keep it.” He then goes through the unlocked storage rooms. He takes what he needs, but is not greedy. Each time he opens a room with a canister, the rapier begins a screeching “song.” He quickly closes these doors. He finds the typical rooms: A laboratory, a prison for rogues, a ruined workshop, barracks, etc. Most are untouched since the island was abandoned. As he enters the barracks, the colors of the world brighten. The rapier has stopped pouring energy into him. A wave of weariness and exhaustion overcomes him. He is about to collapse in a bed, but remembers his nightly routine. He goes through the actions with hardly a thought, so ingrained are they. Instead, he concentrates his thoughts on feeling out the rapier. It is extending its will, feeling out the creations around it. Continuing his routine with hardly a thought, he begins to sharpen his weapon. A terrible shriek assaults him, both audibly and in his mind. The rapier lets out discordant notes and attempts to seize control of him. He drops the sharpening stone, breaking it, as he falls unconscious on the bed.

Chapter 28: Power Core A faint, weak voice intrudes on Dakro’s thoughts. He turns to look, and then realizes it is inside his head. A servant mind calls. The destruction of part of its facility has caught its attention, waking it from its years of slumber. The servant mind (at last noticing the rogues) reawakens the power station’s defenses. Long-dormant pylons activate and begin discharging deadly electricity. Howls of agony reverberates through the hallways as the fyoras fry. Dakro makes his way through the halls unmolested, the scent of ozone and cooked flesh in the air. With a bit of mental guidance from the servant mind, Dakro at last finds the Servant Mind. It still seems in good health, or at least it's intact. However, it is very thin and weak. It looks up at Dakro and says, “Urrrrhhhhaaaa.” His mental communications have gone quiet. All of the recent activity has drained the last of his energy. Dakro walks over to a cupboard and takes out nutrient solution, then hands it to the Servant Mind. The creature stays completely immobile. Dakro berates the Mind for being too lazy to feed itself. When this doesn’t work, he forcefully stuffs solution into its mouth. It is a slow, messy job, made all the slower by Dakro’s disgust and anger. He stops several more times to berate the nearly comatose Mind for not feeding itself. Dakro continues to scoop the food into its mouth, one tiny globule at a time. Eventually he is able to revive it enough for him to eat on its own. After a few bites, it finally speaks its first spoken words in over a century. Its voice is weak, but Dakro is able to understand it. “I am happy, Shaper. I can serve again. I am Mind Gallus Meg. I am the controller of the power station in Shaper absence. Sorry you had to feed me. I did not have the strength to withstand the loss of food.” “Fine. What resources are at my disposal?” “I can only control the outer ward. Rogues have stripped away my crystals. I am weak and unable to control much of the station without them.” Dakro looks over the large bank of crystals on the wall that aid the Mind. There must be hundreds. However, there are four sockets at the base of the creature’s stone try. They are all empty. Indicating the sockets, Mind Gallus Meg explains, “They were taken and hidden by mischievous shades. They did not like my influence, so they acted to remove it. Without crystals, I cannot control much. Including, I should mention, the doors to nearby supply chambers. The missing crystals are black, multifaceted, and as long as your forearm. If you could replace them in my base, I could be of much greater aid to you.” “Let me guess: You either have no idea where they took the crystals, or they are being guarded by some unholy monstrosity the likes of which should only exist in feverish nightmares.” “In the inner station are the shades. The Shapers made these essence constructs to run the station. They are immune to the dangerous energies inside. But they are mercurial creatures, and they needed me to control them. The control was lost, and I cannot regain it without the crystals.” “A catch-22, then. I can’t kill the shades for the crystals or you lose control of the inner station anyways.” “Your people left machinery. It makes new shades to replace the ones who dissolved.” Dakro’s attitude improves immensely, “You have machinery that makes creations? That is exactly what I was looking for!” Mind Gallus Meg looks uncomfortable. “Such automatic, magical devices for making creations have been forbidden by the Shaper Council for centuries. These machines, if left untended, can cause much carnage.” Dakro asks, “Why were they made? Surely there is some loophole in the law that allows them.” Bowing his head, “I am only a servant mind. I cannot question the Shapers. I thought that the Shapers of Sucia Island had become crazed and arrogant, but it is not my place to say it.” The words pierce the wall of anger in Dakro’s mind that blocks his more rational thoughts. He vaguely remembers that the canister drugs made him temporarily crazed and arrogant. But that didn’t happen last time, right? Of course not. Now his mind is too strong for such tricks. The wall reestablishes itself. He asks himself why he is wasting his time speaking with this idiotic servant mind that was too stupid to feed itself. He stomps off. An airlock of sorts separates the inner station from the other station. Inside, he finds a pethra of grounded tunics, grounded boots, and lanterns. Putting them on, he enters the inner station. Only the largest and most important Shaper research centers have their own power stations. Sucia Island was one of the few that received this level of support. Shaper experiments require a huge amount of energy, both mundane and magical. It is stored in specially created crystal batteries, usually called power spirals. Some of these spirals are small, and some are quite huge. These devices are charged in installations like this one. Usually a steam vent or other volcanic feature is capped. Then massive magical engines absorb and channel the heat, storing it for Shaper use. Of course, hauling in the huge crystals, funneling the energy into them, and hauling them out again is incredibly tiring and dangerous work. That is why it is left almost exclusively to serviles. These halls are dark, steamy, and hot. The magical energy hanging in the air makes his skin itch and his stomach turn. This level of energy is both unusual and unsafe. The sparks leaping from his equipment intensify in strength and frequency. It becomes quite painful, but he endures. He passes through the entry hall, which is full of old logs. Serviles would use these logs to roll the massive power spirals in and out. Beyond, he finds the energizing room. Drained and damaged power spirals were brought to this room, where they were repaired and primed to receive energy. Glowing, red lines of tile crisscross the floor. Long crystal fibers, set in the stone, carry energy from the core to the spirals. The tiles are very hot, but it should be safe to walk on those sections of floor. The Shapers made them to be stable. He hears a loud, strange keening echoing through the halls. It doesn't sound like part of the machinery. The shades. This corridor beyond is very hot, and the ambient, uncontrolled magical energy is making him feel ill. He is getting close to the power core. That is an extremely dangerous place to be. He backs away. Continuing in a wide loop around the power core, Dakro spies two shades repairing a conduit. While they are distracted, he sneaks up on them and cleaves his sword straight through them both. They have no bodies, but the metal interferes with their energy cohesion. With a sharp crack and a puff of ozone, they dissipate. He glances through their toolbox and finds a stone. It is shaped like a long crystal, but it is black, like onyx. When he watches it, he thinks he can see tiny flashes of light under its surface. Picking it up, he finds it warm to the touch. Holding it, he can feel that it is (in its own way) alive. The mind is completely alien to him, like that of living tools, but he can detect it. Now that he knows what he is looking for, he extends his senses and feels three more like it. This could be easy. On his way to the second one, he sees the power core has a large and well stocked apothecary. Here, the Shapers cared for their creations. To some extent. The dangerous and unpleasant environs must have been wearing on the serviles here. These days, serviles are generally not put to work in hostile environments like this. They are too costly to replace. Somewhere from behind the wall of anger, a small voice says, “Shapers were not as enlightened as they are now.” Shaking his head, he continues his circuit and comes to a room where the servile bureaucrats and record keepers did their important work. He notices that the south door has some words carved into it: “High Security Storage - No entry without Shaper clearance and protection!” Again cursing his lack of skill with living tools, he turns back. Halfway around the power core, he sees a hazy cloud being formed by four power spires channeling power from the core. A replacement for the shades he killed. After he finds the crystals, the servant mind can shut these off for his study. The crystal he needs is behind a locked door. Still, it is only a door. The servant mind should be able to open a mere door with three crystals. For now, he moves on to the next closest crystal. He passes a room of cages, a shaping hall, and various rooms he cannot identify. In the last room he sees three shades and two massive turrets standing guard in front of the third crystal. The ambient energy has made the turrets twice as large as he has ever seen. If he could grow a pumpkin in here, he would win the local farmer’s fair contest for sure. He will need to return with creations to take them on. For now, he makes his way around to the furthest crystal. Two should be plenty for a locked door. The corridor brings him to a dead servile. The servile was running down this corridor, trying to get away from the deadly central core before it killed him. He didn't make it. Dakro looks closely, trying to figure out what the poor creature risked his life for. He soon finds out. Dakro removes a metal key clenched in the servile’s gloved hand. Key in hand, he backtracks to the locked door where the shade is close to being formed. He casually slices it with his sword. With another loud crack and puff of ozone, the shade disappears. Half a second later, four pillars shoot lasers at his sword, melting it. Dakro drops the scalding remains of the handle, his hand badly burned. He stands in shock. He is defenseless, without weapon or creation. And seriously feeling ill from the ambient energy. He uses a tiny amount of what little essence he has left to heal his hand and opens the locked door, looking for a weapon. Any weapon. He sees plenty of dust he could throw in people’s eyes… except shades don’t have eyes. Then he remembers. They are shades. All he needs is a large piece of metal to disrupt them. He can find a decent weapon later. Finding good leverage, he breaks a metal leg off a table. Good enough. ‘Weapon’ in hand, he takes the second stone and hastens away from the spires before anything else happens. On the way back to the inner core, he stops by the locked bureaucrats office and finds the control key works there too. Inside are two turrets in separate alcoves. He races toward the left alcove, trying to kill it before it can react. Half-way there, he remembers he’s only armed with a table leg. The thought causes him to freeze up for a second. Thorns zip in front of his face. The sudden stop may have just saved his life. While the turrets reload, he finishes closing the distance and begins beating the turret with the leg. Their thorns are lightning fast, but the turrets are slow to pivot at close range. Dakro keeps circling the turret, slowly but surely beating it to death. Dakro is really lucky they were in alcoves. If the other one had been firing at him during the inordinately long time it took him to kill the first one, he would have died. Taking a breath, he bursts from the alcove and races to the second turret, taking a thorn in the shoulder. That is the first and only damage it manages to inflict on him. Not counting mental damage. He still can’t believe he reacted on reflex and forgot he was carrying a table leg. Most of the cupboards contain bureaucratic nonsense. However, on the wall hangs a massive claymore with ornate stylings and glowing runes. “Now that is a proper weapon.” He unclasps it from the wall and nearly falls over trying to catch it. It is incredibly heavy. Then, it suddenly becomes much lighter. The weapon magically infuses his muscles, making them stronger. Invigorated, he gives it a few practice swings. Not accustomed to the new muscles, he finds the weapon rather unwieldy. Until he has time to train with it, it’s not much better than the table leg in a real battle. He actually finds himself debating which is the better weapon at the moment. Table leg in hand, he makes his way back to the outer section and picks up the third crystal. It’s just lying in a cupboard, forgotten. He returns to Mind Gallus Meg and places the three crystals in the holes at the base. As each one enters the slot, Mind Gallus Meg seems noticeably more alert. “Thank you, Shaper. I am now partially restored.” “Good. Can you shut off the shade-producing spires before I go back in?” “I am sorry, Shaper. I cannot do anything until I have all four crystals.” Something about its voice makes Dakro think it is not telling the whole truth. It will not meet his gaze. Dakro authoritatively says, "You are bound to serve me. If there is anything you can do, do it now." It looks miserable. “I am sorry, Shaper. I want so much to be restored. I wanted to keep you having a reason to help me. Please forgive me. There is a way I can help you.” It closes its eyes. Dakro hears clicks from the nearby doors. “Now you can loot my home. Please continue to help me. I beg you.” Dakro shutters with anger. “You lied to me. Never do so again.” In the first storeroom, he finds a beautiful rapier with a strange, wavy blade. While holding it, he can hear it singing in his mind. Distracting. He puts it back in its scabbard for now. Must every weapon have a downside? In the second storage room, he finds various valuable crystals he can barter. In the third, he finds several canisters calling to him. He uses them in quick succession. Power infuses him, reshaping him. Everything around him begins to look so small. So insignificant. This power was almost denied him by a slug in a tray. A lying slug. Dakro unsheathes the rapier and begins stabbing Mind Gallus Meg. Each stab is accompanied by the wet squishing sounds of the creation’s strange organs. It can do nothing. It has already used all its defenses trying to defend the four crystals decades ago. It dies, but Dakro continues to see red, venting his rage on the corpse. Suddenly, the entire complex begins to shake. Dakro hears explosions and loose electricity in the distance. Dakro realizes that even in death, the servant mind betrays him. The whole facility is coming down. He sprints for the exit, knowing he will never make it past the pylons. Fortunately, they all seem to be exploding. He leaps over debris and even runs through the occasional live electricity in a mad dash for the exit. Outside, he doesn’t stop running. Rocks fall all around him. Suddenly, the earth heaves under him, launching him in the air. His breath catches in his lungs and time seems to stand still a moment before he crashes into a cliff. All goes black.

Does the "Char using abil not present." bug require a reload? Or is there some way to not lose progress?

Chapter 27: Priorities Thoughts of wasting time dealing with Yu-La vanish from Dakro’s mind. He must find these tablets. The distance is great and filled with hazards, both natural and non, but he fears nothing. A day later, he ascends into a narrow, rocky mountain valley. His hair is starting to stand on end. Sparks occasionally fly from his clothes and sword. There must be a power station nearby. In a power station, energy, magical and otherwise, is channeled into crystals. The crystals are then taken to fuel Shaper operations and research. After all these years, at least parts of the facility still function. He smells sulfur in the air. Fyoras are near. As he reaches a rise, he indeed sees three fyora, their fur sticking out from all the energy in the air. Dakro pays the lowly creations no need and keeps hiking. His cockatrices will handle them and then catch up. However, as he advances, he notices that the fyora’s fur all suddenly drops. They are sucking the ambient energy into themselves. They combine the energy with their natural fire breaths. A wall of flame races toward him and he dives to the side just in time. Even without being hit by the wall, the residual heat scorches his skin and clothes. The fyora, having taken in too much energy, have scorch marks of their own. One can barely stand. Dakro uses his baton to put it out of its misery. The middle fyora begins pulling in more energy, but its body cannot take it and it bursts into flame. The final one flees, only to be cut down as Dakro embeds a thorn in its neck. Dakro rises from the ground and takes a long look at the power station. He doesn’t want to delay, but this power station has modified lowly fyora into something fearsome. Perhaps he could learn something. He walks up to the closest door, but finds it locked. He still has no idea how to use living tools to pick locks, so he moves on. The second door is also locked. And third. Finally, he finds one door that has died, leaving it open. Choosing the left passage, he finds many more locked doors and eventually a dead end. As he turns back to try the other way, he is ambushed. Fyora pour down the hallway. In the narrow confines, there will be no dodging the wall of fire. Dakro ducks behind one of his cockatrices, using it as a shield, and covers his eyes protectively. He only needs to survive the initial attack. The sound of roaring fire fills his ears and he braces for the pain, but none comes. Peeking out, he seeks that the corridor is filled with a cloud of smoke, making it impossible to see. Prism lets Dakro know that she took control of a fyora and roasted the others. The smoke has drifted to him now. Soon, it will be impossible to breathe. Covering his nose and mouth with his cloak, the races through the smoke to fresh air. As he bursts out of the cloud, he surprises several additional fyora. Without stopping, he cuts the throat of the nearest one and continues racing for fresh air. Smoke and flame dog his heels. He reaches sunlight, hacking and coughing, barely aware his creations are covering his escape. When he finally regains his composure, he sees that only three cockatrices remain. The other dead from lowly fyora. He kicks some sand in irritation. Much of this could probably have been avoided if he knew a little bit about mechanics. He could have picked the locks and surprised the fyora, rather than being ambushed himself. Or, better yet, perhaps he could have been able to create his own creation-generating machinery by now. It is past time to learn. He re-enters the complex, looking for a machine shop. He lets his cockatrices take lead, as they can handle the fyora better than he. Down one corridor he sees several large crystals. Mallets, chisels, and other working equipment lay discarded next to them. He follows the passage and finds the armory with boots, iron shields, chitin armor, and the remains of non-shaped cloaks. If this power station were staffed, the people could teach him, but it is not. He finds nothing useful. It was a long-shot anyways. Perhaps he can teach himself. He pulls out a living tool and starts trying to communicate with it. It continues to wriggle seemingly uncontrollably. After ten minutes, he smashes it into the ground in a fit of rage. And then stomps on it for good measure. The regular shocks from the ambient energy are not doing his mood any good. He reaches out with his mind for nearby fyora. He really feels like killing something with his bare hands right now. He feels countless fyora, but he also feels two stronger minds. A servant mind and something else…. He follows the feeling, letting his cockatrices handle the regular ambushes. After quite a few dead ends, he eventually comes to the lair of an old drayk, left here when the Shapers abandoned Sucia Island. The drayk lets out a long, deep snarl. “So you have returned. You want to enslave me again. No. I am Gyah-Ki, and I am free. I will always be free.” The beast, for all its age, is still a mighty cube of muscle, eager to bathe Dakro in flame. Dakro is intrigued. He has only rarely seen drayks before. These miniature dragons require special licenses to make, and even then are rarely made because of their tendency to go rogue. Dakro puts aside his homicidal feelings for a moment. “You must submit, rogue. I command it." A drayk is too much for his cockatrices, but Dakro should have enough mental fortitude to control it himself. He reaches out. Dakro quickly discovers his will is nowhere near strong enough to control the drayk, but he does daze it. Gyah-Ki stumbles back and howls. “No! Noooo! Never again!” He lunges toward Dakro on unsteady legs and a side door opens. Several particularly large fyoras pour in. Dakro directs his cockatrices to handle them while he takes on the drayk alone. Dakro begins a dance of death with the drayk, trying to wear it down physically so that he might assault it mentally. Dodging plumes of fire, pointed teeth, and razor-sharp claws, he slashes at its wings and tail, trying not to deal lethal damage to the rare creation. Gyah-Ki sees Dakro’s plan and that he is no match for shaper. Not wanting to be captured again, he begins pulling in ambient energy. Either he will kill the Shaper, or the energy will kill him. He will not be taken prisoner again. Dakro, seeing this, sprints from the room. A second later, the room is filled with a firestorm. The roof collapses and fire spews into the open air. Dakro reflects on just how close to death he came. If the fire hadn’t gone up, he would surely be dead right now. Dakro looks back into the room, astonished to see the drayk is still alive. Then, Gyah-Ki lets out one final furious roar, flame and blood spraying into the air, and dies. None of his creations survived the firestorm. Prism lies dead with her head in a pool of molten gold. Even dying, she never dropped the goblet. It’s funny how unimportant things can become so vital to creations. If the drayk would have just given up on the idea of creation freedom, he would still be living today.

Chapter 26: Prism Dakro and his cockatrices carve a bloody path across the landscape. An outsider has Shaper secrets. She must be dealt with. A band of vlish lies ahead. They try to take control of the shaper and his cockatrices, but end up fighting each other for control. Disorganized, they are quickly reduced to carcasses rotting in the desert sun. For any successful society, there must be those who lead and those who follow. All else leads to chaos and death. A cockatrice picks through the vlish nest and finds a gold goblet. It’s radiant feathers reflect in the goblet. Enchanted, the creation takes it. Dakro mentally tugs at the cockatrice, telling it to stop dawdling and catch up. Dakro arrives at the second inutile stronghold, home of Yu-La. An obelisk reads: “Barrens Research.” It is a massive Shaper installation, kept out in the wastes a safe distance from any town. It was buried under the shifting sands for many years, and then someone dug it out. A gruesome warning to intruders stands outside: Skulls on poles. The skulls were all removed from creations, not humans or serviles. Still, it is a clear message that he may not be welcome. He draws his sword, the metallic sound echoing off the structure. Strutting into the complex, he sees drawings have been etched in the stone pillars. Serviles carved them into the stone with crude tools. The drawings depict cockatrices: huge, strange birds that stand upright, but they have reptilian wings and tails. The cockatrice with the gold cup looks at the crude drawings with interest. Dakro notices rainbow patterns illuminating the interior. Looking behind him, he sees they are caused by reflections from the gold goblet. Dakro says to the cockatrice holding it, “Your name is Prism. Make sure the others stay out of trouble.” A long passage leads into this facility. At the far end, he sees several servile guards. They are fierce inutiles, sharpened to a fine point by years surviving this harsh desert. One of them shouts, “We know you! You are the Shaper! Stay out, or we slay you! You have nothing for us!” Just then, Prism rounds the passage corner. The effect on the guards is instant. They take a step backward, clearing the way into the fortress. They gaze in awe. As Prism exits the passage, its many colors shimmer in the sun, making everything else seem dull and dusty in comparison. Dakro emerges into the clearing in the middle of the research halls. Cliff walls rise high over his head to either side. This facility is sustained by a natural spring, which creates a small, cool oasis. Serviles everywhere stare at him and his cockatrices as he passes. They are not friendly. These inutiles came here to escape intruders, and his presence alarms them. As he advances, they all find excuses to go somewhere else, as far away as possible. There are several stone structures set in the cliff walls surrounding him. The largest, the main research hall, is to the east. Another large hall is directly across to the north. Dakro enters the main research hall. Once it was active. But the Shapers left, and it was buried under the shifting sands. Then serviles dug it out. And then, most surprising of all, it was reactivated. He hears the hum of working machinery, and the air is heavy with intense, controlled power. After a century of neglect, someone is doing Shaping research here. If it is an outsider, they will pay the penalty. Sword in hand, Dakro stealthily makes his way deeper into the complex, trusting the noisy machinery to cover the sounds of his cockatrices. In the back, he sees a bloated servant mind living in a tray. It is old and wrinkled, but its eyes are sharp and alert. It stares at the cockatrice with its bloodshot eyes. It tries to smile, baring yellow, cracked teeth. After a moment, it turns its bloodshot eyes to Dakro and says, “A Shaper. At last. I am Mind Swanwick. I see you have come to help me with my mission. It is important. I must complete it.” Putting his sword away, he says, “I will decide what is important. What is your mission?” “To create a proper cockatrice. You have a decent prototype, but it is hardly up to the skill of Shaper Danette.” Dakro narrows his eyes. “This is an improved version. The prototype poured too much power into the creation. And just who is this Shaper Danette?” “Ahhh. She is the greatest of Shapers. Her experiments, her ideas, her mind ... Tell me, when have they ever been matched? It was a glory to be made and remade by her.” It lets out a long, self-satisfied sigh. “I was Shaped by a team under her personal direction. Then I was brought and installed here, again under her personal direction.” “Who has matched them? Why I have! And more. In less than a few months, I have brought lands under control after no one else could for a hundred years! I have invented exciting new variations of creations that all Shapers will copy. My name will be known for all time!” “So you are her apprentice?” “I am Shaper Dakro, ruler of Sucia Island!” “Ah, so not even her apprentice. Nevertheless, you could be useful for finishing the job the foolish, lazy serviles couldn't do for me the first time.” Dakro begins to advance on the impertinent servant mind. Seemingly unaware of the threat, Swanwick continues, “The machinery to shape the cockatrice exists, created and calibrated by Danette. I only need the final instructions to fully stabilize their bodies. Alas, this knowledge is still where it was left: Etched on steel plates in the main research hall.” Dakro pauses. “Machinery? Machinery that can shape?” “Yes, such is the mind of Shaper Danette. Now, bring me the plates. The serviles told me they finally found the tablets in the quarters of the research hall. They didn't know exactly what they were looking for, so they left some behind. I imagine you can still find them there.” Dakro imagines the possibilities. Ever since he came to the island, the spawners have interested him, but they could never be controlled. Machinery could. Visions of unmatched power swim through his head.

Chapter 25: Unbridled Power Dakro is pouring over maps in the command room when Clakkit is brought to him. He immediately tears himself away to address the messenger. “Clakkit. You are neutral. You may not actually be liked by any of the factions, but they all tolerate you and welcome the knowledge you bring. You can go anywhere.” Clakkit nods. “Talk you more. Me talk. Me know.” “Go to Ellhrah’s Keep as fast as you can. Tell them the Shapers have returned to protect the serviles. Tell them (to put it in a manner they can understand) we offer a trade. We will allow the Awakened to live peacefully locked away in Ellhrah’s Keep. Ward will even deliver free supplies since they have inutile who are never truly happy unless they are obsessively delivering things... Do you need to write this down?” “No. You talk. Me know.” “In exchange, they must allow the inutiles of Ward to live in peace and steal limited supplies from Ellhrah’s Keep. Ward has serviles who are obsessed with stealing. Their mental health requires it. Got it?” “Yes. Me talk others. Then go.” Dakro turns back to the confiscated maps. His eyes linger on two quite interesting places. Over the next two days, Dakro works diligently on Ward’s defenses, shaping turrets. The inutiles are not so diligent. In fact, it is a good day for most if they are not actively setting things back. Dakro tries to ignore them and let them work it out between themselves. The few times he tried to intervene, he only made things worse. At last, emissaries from Ellhrah’s Keep arrive. At least, they claim to be emissaries and not advanced scouts for a retaliatory army. Screaming and fighting between the various inutiles is a regular day-to-day activity in Ward. Negotiations are not easy, as the inutiles of Ward spend more time negotiating between themselves than with the rogues of Ellhrah’s Keep. Dakro mostly stays out of it, only occasionally threatening to single-handedly destroy Ellhrah’s Keep and everyone in it if they don’t come to some sort of agreement to help the inutiles. Eventually, Brea and Rook come to him while he is shaping a turret. Brea says meekly, “We have come to an agreement, but there are a lot of changes.” Concentrating on his work, Dakro doesn’t look up, but says “Both sides will be content?” “Yes, but-” “Look. I’m busy. I don’t care about inutile details. If you are protected, that is enough. Leave me.” Brea shifts from foot to foot nervously and polishes a gem with vigor. Gathering her courage, she says, “They respectfully request that you go to another area of the island.” Dakro’s concentration slips and the turret starts to turn yellow. “They are kicking me out of my own fort?” Rook explains, “You make them quite nervous. You make us all-” Brea interrupts, “This backwater fort does not have the comforts you deserve.” Dakro gives up on the turret and it begins an accelerated rotting process. “I intended to leave anyway. I need to take care of one last rogue in the area, and then I will be heading north to another inutile stronghold I found on the maps. I need to find this Yu-La.” Dakro has arrived at the cave to the cockatrice. He has come prepared. Instead of his battle-hardened battle alphas and artila, he has brought thahds. Exceptionally stupid thahds, to be exact. As he gets closer, he can feel the cockatrice reaching out to the thahds, trying to control them. Fortunately for Dakro, the thahds affect the cockatrice the same way as they do vlish. Their stupid thoughts give the cockatrice a splitting headache. Dakro uses the lapse of concentration to influence a few of the other rogues. The differing rogues are natural enemies. It does not take much to get them to start fighting one another. Amidst the commotion, Dakro slips through the cave. Through one tunnel he finds four battle alphas just standing, swaying softly from side to side, drool running down their ugly faces. Battle betas are later, more advanced versions of the battle alphas. However, when Dakro was young, he and his young classmates got the two mixed up. According to school-yard rumor, they were the “beta” and “alpha” versions of a “battle thrall” that would serve as the epitome of the Shaper shock troops. Rumor also had it that they had four arms each. Hearing these fantastic rumors, Dakro decided at an early age to be a Shaper. Some of his classmates had similar thoughts, but most were disillusioned over the years as rumor fell away to truth. Not Dakro. Dakro extends his will into the minds of the battle betas, feeling the mental battle being waged between them and the cockatrice. Dakro upsets the delicate stalemate, breaking them out of their trances. The four let out anguished, furious hows and charge north. Dakro follows in the wake of their warpath and soon sees the source of the dark thoughts permeating this area. It is clearly a creation. However, it is of a design never seen outside Sucia Island. It's a bird variant. That much is clear. However, it stands as tall as him, with rainbow-colored feathers and parts that are clearly of lizard origin. It is curled up in a magic circle, its wings covering its aching head. The thahds have clearly affected it. Its eyes are open, revealing a pair of mad, glowing orbs. Dakro can sense more energy has been pumped into it than any creation should bear, and the result is utterly unstable. As the battle betas charge, Dakro squeezes a yellowish baton and an envenomed thorn flies out with a small squeak. The thorn impales itself inside the cockatrices’ chest and poison begins to flow through its veins. However, before the poison can get far, the cockatrice magically purges the poison. The thorn and a small section of vein filled with the poison fall to the ground. It is unlike any kind of magical purging Dakro has ever seen. It is a savage, brute-force method. Too much pent-up power wielded like a club. The cockatrice lets out a shrill cry. It echoes through the tunnels. Dakro can hear the stomping and skittering of creations fast approaching. The battle betas close the distance and begin attempting to take vengeance on the cockatrice. The cockatrice deftly dodges, its strength and reflexes enhanced by magic. However, one battle beta gets a lucky bite in. The intense magic stored within begins to leak out, searing the battle betas’ flesh. The battle beta that bit the cockatrice has it even worse as it suddenly doubles over in agony. It swallowed a bit of the cockatrice, and now that piece is burning the beta from the inside out. The cockatrice’s reinforcements arrive, hounded by the creations Dakro has influence over. Dakro is soon hard pressed as he fights both physical and mental battles. He fights and dodges his way toward the cockatrice to put an end to this, but as he gets close its rainbow feathers glow hypnotically. Dakro suddenly wonders why he is fighting this cockatrice. He shouldn’t kill such a miraculous specimen. He should study it and learn to control it. But to do that, he needs to defend it from its attackers. However, before he can act on the thoughts, a battle beta gets in a lucky hit, shattering the cockatrice’s skull. The magic of the cockatrice can no longer support its ravaged body. It collapses to the ground, and the essence inside its body begins to consume it. The cave is soon full of greasy smoke and bits of bird ash, making the melee all the more chaotic as vision is impaired. Only one thing remains of the creature: a single rainbow feather. It still glows slightly, infused with the power of the beast. Darko fights his way toward the source of light amidst the smoke and takes it. Then he fights his way out, leaving the creations to duke it out amongst themselves. Dakro returns to the former exhibition hall. Ascended Sessina wanders from experiment to experiment in his workshop, lost in thought. Sometimes, he mutters to himself. There is a strange, sour smell in the air. Sometimes, when he gets close to Dakro, Dakro’s hair stands on end. Dakro tries to smooth his hair as he says, “I killed your mad creation.” Revealing the glowing feather, he tells an embellished version of the battle with the cockatrice. Ascended Sessina collapses into a chair. “At last. This curse ... it is lifted.” He starts to cry. The tears steam and hiss as they run down his face. “You are the one who came to save us. This act ... It is only the beginning. We failed to do the great work before. Now, at last, it can be complete.” The guard looks extremely uncomfortable. Ascended Sessina continues, “You should speak with the other Ascended now. They need your help, and there is much they can do for you. They are hiding in the desert to the north, but at the south end. They are secretive. They attack those who get close. But ... Show them that feather. They will know what it means. They will talk to you. Good luck.” Dakro nods. “That will be quite a journey. Is there anything you can provide me for the journey?” Dakro is surprised at his own words. He should have demanded help, not asked. “When we looted the research warrens, we looted some artifacts. We have no use for them, but you are a Shaper. You can master them. Talk to Valyra. She can give them to you.” Dakro begins to wonder if this servile can affect his mind the same way Shapers can affect creations. After all, the cockatrice affected him. Shapers should be immune to such tricks, but he technically hasn’t even apprenticed yet. He decides to put some distance between himself and the servile and leaves a bit quicker than is dignified. Dakro follows the tracks back to Sessina. Before he can say anything, she says matter-of-factly, “You killed the cockatrice. Everything feels different now. The power of that beast was everywhere. It was … oppressive.” “Yes. Ascended Sessina told me that you have Shaper artifacts for me.” “There are three Shaper artifacts. The Ascended looted them from the research warrens. We can't use them, but you are a Shaper. Perhaps you can. They are behind the doors upstairs. If Sessina wills you to be able to open them, you can. Two of the artifacts are not charged, but, if they were, they could be very useful.” “The artifacts can be 'charged'?” “The Ascended did learn about the items when they stole them. The Shapers made them as frameworks, meant to be infused with power. The pools where they can be charged were built in remote locations on Sucia Island. If they are still intact and you can find them, you can use them.” “It seems these Shapers were obsessed with ‘charging’ things. They charged the cockatrice with far more power than is safe, and look what happened. Considering these items were left behind, I’m not sure charging these artifacts would be in accordance with the will of the Shapers. I will leave them behind, but will check out this third artifact.” Dakro makes his way upstairs and finds the third artifact is a canister. Knowing how they affect him, he is leery of using it, but he can feel incredible, barely-restrained power emanating from it. Perhaps just his one last canister…. Placing his hand on the needle, the essence pours into him. Knowledge and power cascade into him. He tries sorting through the knowledge and suddenly realizes it is teaching him how to create a cockatrice. He yanks his hand away, half the canister still filled. He can feel his knowledge is incomplete. He can make a cockatrice, a powerful, highly magical creation. However, until he learns more about how to make them, the result will be dangerously unstable. As the essence settles in his mind and body, he realizes there is no reason to be afraid of power. He should embrace it. As a Shaper, it is not just his right, but his obligation, to seek out power. He puts his hand back on the canister and embraces the essence.

Chapter 24: Ward Dakro stands before what was once the Refuge. Half the buildings are in shambles, and the bandits are busy destroying the rest. A member of the Refuge runs up to Dakro. “It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it? Who would have thought we would be working together with the bandit inutiles?” Beyond confused, Dakro does a double take. Now he can see that the bandits aren’t so much destroying the building as dismantling them. Looking farther on, he can see the citizens of the Refuge are busy turning the supplies into wagons and siege equipment. “I am Lily Belle, merchant of the inutile.” She then brazenly takes a healing pod off of his pack fyora and adds it to a large pile of clutter she is gathering. Dakro’s confusion is the only thing that keeps him from striking her dead for the theft before Krodar runs up and puts the pod back. “Sorry, Shaper,” Lily says deferentially. “I am broken. I … gather. Gather items. My line of serviles were quartermasters. Hunters. Created to get things and care for them. Perhaps I ... I am too enthusiastic. I take things. I gather them together. Not all these things are mine. I know I shouldn't take them, but I ... do.” “Isn’t that a big problem here? Why aren’t you with the bandits?” “We are too poor to have many items. Where the items are, I try to stay away. I know that if I take one of Brea's crystals I will have nowhere to live. When I take from others, they just come and take them back. They understand me here.” “If you are to come with us to Vakkiri, I command you to stop stealing from these creations.” She laughs bitterly. “So many times, I have been told that. If it was that simple, I would have a true home. I can't stop. Gathering is part of me, like breathing. I hate it.” Krodar interjects, “It okay, Shaper. Here, we all broken.” Dakro stares for a moment. “Very well. As long as you are to *too* broken. Always remember that we Shapers made you and protect you, and in return you must obey and serve us.” They agree as Brea Dawn walks up, polishing a gem. “We will follow you, Shaper. I have spoken with Rook about your plan and most of us will follow you to Vakkiri. Despite the fact that Vakkiri protected us, many of us hold grudges against them. They threw us out like trash. But, together, we have made a family. I will do all I can to protect my family.” Dakro is still a bit confused, but this, at least, he understands. Having finished his conversation with Brea and cleared up a bit of the details that confused him, he inspects the work, providing guidance where he can. However, he quickly learns that he can’t really be of much help. Without exception, every servile here is inutile. They are broken, incapable of serving Shapers as others do. But, when allowed to work their own way, they can still serve. He leaves them be. They are better off on their own, with overarching goals, not direct guidance. It will be some time before the caravan is ready to march. And even then, they will move much more slowly than he can. He has time to recruit the third group of inutiles in the area, the bandits to the north of Vakkiri. Upon seeing Dakro, Ghurk frowns. He doesn’t want to talk, but he fears angering the Shaper more. “Think we have no business, Shaper. What more you wish of me?” “The serviles in Vakkiri will kill you someday. You know that, right?” “In Shaper books, bandits always get away. Live to fight. We will be same. If not, we kill weak Vakkiri serviles. We know they weak. They think they strong, but easy to act strong there in big fort with food and no rogues.” “I gave you javelins once, now I offer you the fort in exchange for serving the Shapers. I will drive out the Awakened.” Ghurk shakes his head. “If you drive out Awkened, then who we steal from? We no want to work.” “Ellhrah’s Keep, stronghold of the Awakened. The people of the Refuge know a secret way into their storerooms.” They spend the rest of the day discussing the details of what must be done. As in the Refuge, not all of the inutiles want to follow Shaper Dakro’s plan. Some will find refuge in the ruined school. Others will make their way east. Dakro lets them go. Eventually, the inutiles will serve or die. As long as they don’t rebel, Shapes let inutiles find their own way in life. At last, the day of battle arrives. Even before dawn, Dakro’s battle alphas use enormous harnesses to pull the siege weaponry into place. The inutiles line up in formation in front of the weapons. Those who live to fight wait anxiously in the front lines. The back lines are filled with terrified and distracted inutiles. Brea Dawn tries to quietly comfort them, when she herself is not directed by her gem polishing. Vikkiri’s quiet dawn is shattered by cries of alarm from the east guards. Strout rolls out of bed and begins putting on her armor. She takes her time, knowing the guards can probably handle it themselves and not really wanting to risk injury herself. Then, as she is about to leave his room, her wall and roof collapses on her, killing her. Like so many others will this day, she dies without Dakro ever having known her name. The first volley of the siege onagers opens wide gashes in the eastern wall and even collapses one building. Dakro’s forces could easily enter, but they wait, trying to draw out the defenders. After all, the defenders don’t know they want to take the city. For all they know, they are here to destroy it from a distance. Sure enough, the guards begin pouring out toward the catapults. As the guards get close, the attacking creations and serviles part, revealing scorpion ballistas (oversized crossbows). They fire, each bolt killing or maiming multiple guards. Parting further, they reveal artila, whose acid and poison begin eating into the survivors. The back rows, having served their part in helping draw out the defenders, retreat to safety. Dakro’s remaining forces begin moving back in two waves, each wave protecting the other with cover fire as it moves. This puts the siege equipment out of range of the fort, but it draws the guards even farther away from the fort. It is then that the northern farmers shout cries of alarm. The northern bandits have apparently chosen this moment to raid the village. However, this time they don’t come skulking in the night, but armed with Shaper armor and weapons. They slip inside and begin working their way through the residential area. With most of the guards outside the east gate, the civilians stand little chance. Some of the charging force turns back, but most close in on the eastern attackers. Mayhem ensues as the two sides clash. They efficiently cut the ropes on the siege weapons and slaughter the artila. Rook supports his lieutenant, who wades straight into the battle. He loves it. Relishes it. Lives for it. To take the life of another is to dominate them completely. The ultimate form of rule. Brea Dawn stands well back, polishing her gems and comforting the scared serviles. Lily comforts herself by amassing a large pile of items. She sits cross-legged on a rug, the ruler of her little empire of junk. Battle alpha Ohh hefts the remains of a scorpion ballista and throws it at a group of guards, crushing them. Brodus Blade, seeing the regular guards are no match for the creation, takes it on, deftly dodging the massive blows of the creation. Judging from the creation’s punches that leave holes in the ground, a single hit might kill him. But Brodus is fast. Unlike the other guards, he only wears light armor, enhancing his dodging fighting style. The cuts and slashes are shallow, but eventually Brodus wears down the creation. Enn falls with a ponderous crash. Dakro’s creations are dying. However, without having to control them, his mind is free to make more. Serviles bring him pods of essence. The essence is dying away from a pool, but enough of it has survived. He begins reviving his army. Brodus Blade’s resolve breaks. He calls for a retreat to the trees, only to see that almost everyone else is already running or lies dead. Before he can join the former group, he is surrounded and joins the latter. The inutiles march on the walls. Inside, they find the northern bandits have largely taken the fort. Dakro sends his creations to handle the few holdouts. In the midst of the carnage, Clakkit, the dirty servile messenger, knells on the ground, no weapon in sight. Dakro tells battle alpha Queue to guard him and begins to walk away. Seeing he has Dakro’s favor, or at least that Dakro isn’t going to kill him right away, Clakkit speaks up. “More loyal. I gather them in building behind me.” “Very well. Queue, guard this building.” Dakro catches up to battle alpha Pee. He has slain all his enemies and is now living up to his name on their corpses. The battle for Vakkiri is won. The three groups of inutiles gather as one group in the fort’s town square. Most, at least. Some are too broken for such a gathering, for various reasons. Dakro leaves them be. “Vakkiri has fallen, and upon its fertile corpse will grow the first inutile city. Not a fort or village, but a city. The city of Ward! For you broken serviles are now my wards. I will protect you. And while I am away, this city will ward you from danger. Welcome to Ward.” The inutile response is varied, but generally positive. Dakro had hoped for more enthusiasm, but his words did not come out as well as he would have liked. He consoles himself with the fact that the blame falls on them. They are inutile, after all. He hopes he has done the right thing. Doubtlessly, Awakened Leader Ellhrah will respond to the destruction of the Awakened fort.

Chapter 23: Ascended Dakro wakes to the smell of cooking eggs. He quickly dresses and joins Mixer Valyra for breakfast. As he savors the exotic eggs and meat, he wonders if he’s ever had such a good home cooked meal. Valyra is a superb chef. Pentil has no idea who they banished. He meant to quickly see the Ascended today and get on with his plans, but the meal is so delicious that he enjoys seconds. And thirds. Stuffed at last, he loosens his belt, says he will be back for lunch, and follows the tracks east. He enters the exhibition hall, where Shapers came to show the results of their research. He knows now why this facility is so remote. Some demonstrations have to take place far from civilization, in case of an explosion or other disaster. Now this hall has been turned into a workshop for a servile. Dakro can see him at the far end of the hall, lurching awkwardly among his experiments. From the way he moves, Dakro sees that he is unwell. The hunched-over servile walks around this makeshift laboratory, examining mixtures and poking at bowls of slime. His hood and gloves cover all exposed skin. He is entirely absorbed with his work. A single guard watches over him. As Dakro gets close, he hears him mutter, “They come for help. Come for mixtures from Ascended Sessina. Must finish the next order.” He still hasn't noticed Dakro. Dakro looks at the guard, who shrugs and then clears his throat. The servile turns. His face is warped. The skin is cracked and waxy. The eyes glow and look in different directions. His hair has fallen out in patches. Something horrific has been done to him. He leans forward and inspects Dakro. “A ... Shaper? You are a Shaper?” Dakro looks back to the small army of battle alphas and artila behind him and says, “Me? No. I just picked up a few strange-looking stray dogs.” “You are. A Shaper. At last. We knew you would come back. I am Ascended Sessina. I ... It has been an ordeal. I have a story to tell. If only I could tell it, things could be better.” He self-consciously touches his twisted face. “Things are so wrong. But ... First, I must see to your safety.” “Safety?” He waves a hand and mutters a few words. His body convulses slightly. “The guards outside. They will leave you alone. Other rogues here ... Might not be friendly. Be careful. Now I can talk. I am Ascended Sessina.” “I am Shaper Dakro. What are the Ascended?” Ascended Sessina nods. His head tilts to the side in an odd, awkward way. “Yessss ... At last. We can confess to a true Shaper. This is the story of a band of inutile. Not yet Ascended. We came together. We didn't want a pointless life, hiding or begging or stealing. We went on a journey.” He stops speaking. One eye gazes off in the distance, lost in thought. The other seemingly rolls around randomly. Dakro clears his throat to regain Sessina’s attention. “Where did you go?” “All over! We explored most of our miserable prison. The desert. The eastern mines. The northern hills. We went everywhere. Saw so many things. We scavenged weapons. Blades. Batons. Pods. We hunted rogues. Saved small settlements. Even found treasures. It did no good for us. We needed a purpose. But we were aimless. Then we found a great guide.” He begins trembling slightly. Dakro presses, “Who is this guide?” “It was in the deserts. We met a ... a …” He slaps his palm against his forehead several times, hard. “This is where the story breaks up, Shaper. After we Ascended, many thoughts were ... lost. Will you forgive me?” “Tell me what you can and we will see.” “The name was Swanwick. I remember that. Swanwick gave us a purpose. A great quest. Swanwick sent us to the one place we were afraid to explore: The research warrens.” Dakro’s face lights up. “Where are the research warrens?” “In the northeast corner of the island. That is where the Shapers did all of their work. Their secrets and experiments were all still there. We got so much. We learned. We snuck out artifacts. But, while we were there, we did ... something. We were changed.” He shudders violently. Quietly, Dakro asks, “Changed how?” Ascended Sessina wails, “I don't know!” His guard looks concerned. Ascended Sessina slowly regains control. “We had a temptation. We had a way to Shape ourselves. We couldn't resist it. I don't remember what it was, but ..." He throws back his hood, exposing himself fully to the light. Dakro can see that he has been touched by powerful Shaping magic, and it warped him. It's amazing that he is still alive. “Ascended!” Dakro reaches out to touch his skin. Sessina hastily puts his hood back on. “That is the word Swanwick gave us, so we accepted it. We brought Swanwick something. Then we were sent here, to this ruin, to do a thing, the few Ascended who didn't die in the warrens. We did an experiment.” Suddenly noticing that Dakro is staring at his semi-exposed skin, Sessina turns away and stops talking. Dakro asks, “And what was this experiment?” Not turning around, he says, “I don't know. It was the last thing I don't remember. When it was done, there was a new creation here. But it was wrong. Twisted. Rogue and dangerous. It devoured two Ascended, and the others fled. They fled, and the danger remains.” Dakro reaches out mentally, soothing the servile. Easing his trauma. Even this simple brain manipulation would be impossible on a common, let alone a Shaper, but serviles are simple things. Slowly, Sessina’s tight muscles relax a bit. Dakro says, “It’s alright. Let the memory out. Don’t let it fester inside you.” Ascended Sessina turns around. “Swanwick gave us instructions, and we carried them out. Then the cockatrice was there. We fought to tame it, then to bottle it in. Several Ascended died, but it is in its cave, for now.” Dakro knows better than to press too hard right now. “It sounds like you were Shaping.” Sessina shakes his head. “Impossible. Even Ascended, I am a servile still. Serviles can never shape. Not ever. It would kill us. We all know that.” Dakro keeps his face impassive, hiding his doubt and confusion. How should he treat a servile who might also be a Shaper? He realizes that from the moment he entered here, he has treated this servile with far more respect than he would have treated any other. Instinctively, unconsciously, he knew this servile was a Shaper from the moment he entered. Dakro tries to purge the blasphemous ideas from his mind and think about something else. He asks, “What exactly is this cockatrice?” “A mixture of creatures. Bird and reptile and I don't know what else. It was designed to be full of magical energy. Too much. It is wild and mad. It is full of energy, utterly rogue. Pure chaos. It is happy to hide now, but it will not stay quiet forever. Its gaze has strange powers. Part of the thing's magic is that it takes the minds of its prey. They stand still, happy and content, as they are devoured. But where did it come from? Who made the design? Why-” Sessina’s mind is clearly breaking from stress, so Dakro interrupts the servile’s ramblings and tries to redirect the conversation. “Have you had breakfast?” “What? Yes. A piece of jerky.” “So that’s a no. Come on, let’s go to Valyra’s. All this talk has worked up my appetite. I think I could go for another serving.” Over second breakfast, they continue to talk about everything Sessina has been through. Sensing that this servile could literally die from stress, Dakro is careful in what questions he asks, and how he asks them. It is clear that without the guard's constant ministrations, this servile would have died long ago. After breakfast, Dakro goes to investigate this cockatrice. It is beyond a graveyard haunted by Ascended ghosts. He has never heard of a servile ghost before, as it takes an incredibly strong mind and unimaginable anguish for a soul to anchor itself to the world by force of will alone. Further evidence that they were Shapers. As Dakro approaches the sealed door to the cockatrice, he can feel it vying for control of his creations. It is similar to what vlish do, but this is much stronger. Extending his mind, he feels the cockatrice controls numerous battle betas, stinging clawbugs, and charged artila. He would no doubt lose many of his creations if he presses onward. Ordinarily he would, but right now he needs them for the battle of Vikkari. Time to head back. But first, a quick stop at Sessina's to pick up food for the road.

Chapter 22: Life As Dakro crosses the river to the east, he sees several inutiles playing in the water. Here they have created a dam of what appears to be bags of sand, forming an artificial swimming hole. It stands in stark contrast to the violence and politics that has become his life. The inutiles see him staring and he quickly moves on. The village leader is waiting for him to solve the bandit problem. More politics. More violence. Following the river north, he soon finds the bandit village. When the serviles ahead see him, they shout an alarm. Soon, they are all holding weapons. The serviles back in the village were broken, passive creatures. Some inutile, on the other hand, grow bitter and angry. These serviles are willing to fight, no matter how futile the struggle. It is easy to identify the bandit leader. He stands at the front, holding a sword, looking really belligerent. He holds out his hand. “Stop right there, Shaper. I am Rook. This is our camp. You are a visitor here. We aren't taking orders. We came here and claimed this land. Now it is ours. We will fight if we have to.” The other brigands nod. They show no fear. “Brea Dawn sent me to deal with you.” Rook nods. “Cowardly inutile, hiding with her pretty rocks. She hates us being here, but she can't stop us. We use her defenses and take what we need. We are strong, so it is right.” He sweeps his sword in circular arcs, attempting to appear menacing. To Dakro, it looks more like a child playing with a stick. Dakro smiles somewhere between kindly and condescendingly. Despite their age, they are children. Children who have been abandoned by the Shapers. Children who have forgotten their place. At Dakro’s mental command, his battle alphas heft a monolith and throw it high in the air in an impressive feat of strength. As it sails upward, his artila target it with their acid. It explodes, a shower of shrapnel and acid raining down on the river. “You say ‘we are strong, so it is right.’ Well, I am stronger. End your theft, or else.” He puts all of his authority into the words. Rook shudders. Even a servile as rogue as this one, can't ignore the force of his words and actions. The brigands turn away, ashamed. Rook whispers, “I do not want to die. You are a Shaper. I will obey. The thefts will end. I give up.” “Now you have an acceptable attitude, unlike those who seek to use politics and bartering to control Shapers. Tell me, would you like to have a village and all the wealth inside it?” Several of the serviles’ eyes go wide, but Rook’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What is the catch?” Back in the village leader’s shop, Dakro tells Brea, “The bandits are unharmed, but they won't be a problem for you now.” “Thank you, Shaper. I did not want to expose them to your power. We were both inutile, after all. But how can I be assured they will not threaten me when you are gone?” “Because you will be dead.” Her eyes go wide in horror and begins begging for her life. Dakro laughs heartily. “Just kidding. I’m taking them to a new home where they will steal from others.” Furious, she almost risks scratching a gem by throwing it at him. “Why would you say such a horrible thing to me?!” “As punishment for being a politician. And for treating me like an Awakened, bartering instead of giving me what I deserve.” Trying to regain control of her emotions, she says, “There is something I should give you.” She removes a key from her pouch and gives it to him. “Take this. You can use it to get some supplies below. And ... It will let you find secrets.” “Where are these supplies and secrets?” “Across the river to the east, then south. The guards there will not attack you if they see the key. Inside you will find an Ascended. The Ascended are older than me. Beyond me. They are truly apart from us. But ... They need things. They have problems.” Dakro turns to leave, but she calls out, “You spoke of a new home? Where will you take them?” “Vakkiri. The inutile have agreed to make and transport all the necessary supplies I will need to take the village. Afterwards, they will restrict their raiding to the Awakened.” “But Vakkiri protects us! They are not our enemy!” “The Awakened protect themselves. You are merely a useful buffer to them. I offer the chance of real protection behind strong walls, standing beside allies, beneath the shelter of a Shaper.” Dakro leaves, ignoring her further questions. Following her directions, he soon comes to a door guarded by two huge battle betas. They snarl and flex their muscles as he approaches. Dakro is perplexed. These are highly advanced creations. Why are they here? And under control, no less? Who in this remote forest is able to master them?” Fortunately, he has Brea’s key. When he shows it to them, they step aside. He puts the key into a nearby lock and the door falls open. A tunnel beckons. He lights a lamp and carefully makes his way through. He emerges from the tunnel and finds an isolated grove, hidden away on the south coast. It is not might brighter outside and in the cave, as night has fallen. There is yet another old Shaper ruin, mostly overgrown. There are settlers here, though. He can't see any of the residents, but he does find their guards. A listless crowd of huge creations wanders in circles not far to the east. They haven't seen him yet, so he can't be sure how they will react to him. Timing the slow, meandering paths of the creations, Dakro sneaks past them using the cover of night. His path leads to an old Shaper crafting workshop. Machinery and chemicals for powerful and dangerous works of magic were created here. It is still surprisingly intact. Serviles have claimed it, restored it, and put it back to work. Dakro sees, in varying stages of completion, the materials for ambitious works of magic. Whatever these serviles are trying to do, they want it to be impressive. Dakro follows the tracks laid into the floor. They appear in good enough conditions to still bring materials in and out. It leads to a workshop room filled with tools and supplies for working with just about everything, from metal to wood to cloth. The master of the workshop is an old servile. She awakes to the sound of the door lowering. Seeing the Shaper, she leaps out of bed and kneels, “Word travels fast on Sucia Island, Shaper. Attire withstanding, I am ready for your coming. I am Mixer Valyra, at your service.” “A mixer? You are an alchemist?” “Of sorts. I make things. Mixtures and reagents, yes, but also other sorts of materials. Sucia Island has many learned servile artisans, and we work together. I came here from Pentil when I was young.” “The serviles of Pentil serve the Shapers well. I have cleared their lands of dangers, should you wish to return.” Valyra sighs. “When I was young, I did not fit in. They let me know it. Never let me forget. So now I am here, working for their benefit.” Dakro nods. “Where is the Ascended?” “Ascended Sessina is asleep in the building to the east. He leads here. I know he will want to see you in the morning. He has a long and sad story, full of importance.”

Chapter 21: Politics Dakro would love to tell Thrackerzod and Arixy where they can shove their plans, but knows they could be useful in helping him get back in the Shaper’s good graces. Worst case, he should take at least one of them with him to serve as the scapegoat required by hated politics. “I will seek this Lu-La, but if my experiences at Kazg are any indication, this inutile stronghold may prove a problem. Will you teach me to create Ghlaaks?” Kevin laughs. “That would take months, if not years.” Learning how to shape a creation with hundreds of miles of blood vessels, not to mention unique organs not found in any other creation, takes time. The canisters unique to this island make it easy, but don’t misunderstand how difficult Shaping is.” Dakro, not from a Shaper family, had no idea. Shaper secrets are guarded, even seemingly trivial ones like training time. He had assumed most of the time was for serving Shapers as payment. After a beat, the new knowledge floors him. Shapers willingly gave up the power of the canisters. Why? And, more importantly, will he ever be accepted back in Shaper society? Escaping the island is looking less important by the day. Here he could rule. But he would never see his family again. His friends. He would never marry. Some things are more important than power. Caring for others, and being cared for. These give life meaning. It takes nearly a week, but Dakro tracks down the inutile village from little more than vague rumors. Dakro enters a secluded, green region of Sucia Island, just off the south coast. A gravel path leads ahead, flanked by totems and skulls. Someone is living out here. He looks around for a hint of who is ahead. A crude sign reads, “REFUGE.” As the path heads south, he can see that it is guarded by two rows of creations. They stand at attention, blocking the way. One of them sniffs the air and snarls. They seem like rogues. Very organized rogues. They move in formation, rogue clawbugs and thahds racing to intercept his battle-alphas while rogue artila and fyora launch deadly missiles into his haphazard formation. Fire leaks out of the poorly-made fyoras as they launch flaming saliva. However, unlike the leaking ice of his cryoa, this fire does not get far. Instead, it starts burning the skin of the fyoras. Ignoring the fyoras, Dakro orders his forces to separate and flank the formation. He stands and meets a charging clawbug. The clawbug stabs with its scorpion-like tail, which Dakro dodges and then grabs. He uses the tail as an impromptu shield against the scorpion’s claws while stabbing between the clawbug’s plates. As thahd moves to flank him, Dakro stabs it with the scorpion-like tail. Blinded by bloodlust, the two begin to fight amongst themselves as Dakro slips out from between them. The well-organized formation has broken down. Without the strong will of a Shaper or vlish, the differing creations fall upon one another. Most creations are not naturally inclined to work with others. Some are even outright hostile by nature. Soon it is over. His forces never even attacked the fyora. They pretty much burned themselves to death. Beyond the rogues is a small servile village. It's not organized and defended like Kazg, Pentil or even Vakkiri. It's dirty and crude, much closer to what he would have expected a servile village to be like until he came here. Undernourished creations skulk around. When they see him, they shudder and shuffle away. They chose to take no part in the battle. He realizes he found the inutile village. Back home, inutile serviles are those who are rogue, damaged, or somehow unable to serve the Shapers. Their fates vary, depending on the kindness of their masters. Here, they have been left to hide out here and fend for themselves. Most flee, fearing the Shaper’s wrath. However, one thahd walks right up to him, staring. The creation is fascinated. “Shaper. I Krodar. I ... meet you.” Dakro can’t read the emotions on its face, but it is feeling a lot of them. Thahds are arguably the stupidest of shaper creations. They were not made to have emotions. “Aren’t you a thahd?” “Am thahd! Was guard of Kazg. Now guard here. Thahd guard. Thahd punch. Is what we do. Makes us useful!” Normally, he would not waste his time talking to a thahd, but this one served in Kazg. Learning why this defender betrayed them could be useful to breaking their defenses. “Why did you abandon your post at Kazg?” “Was cast out. Not angry enough. Too many words. Did not fight fast enough. Too much thinking. That say a thahd who fights less is inutile. So Refuge is my place. Refuge likes Krodar. Talks to me. I talk very good for a thahd. With talk, can think. A strange life, for a thahd. I still fight. But when I not fight, I can …” Krodar trails off. Krodar is unique among his kind. Many Shapers would declare him hopelessly rogue for this behavior."; “Who created you?” “Created? I ... Was born. Thahd can make babies. I was a thahd baby.” Normally, thahds, like other battle creations, are Shaped to be sterile. A large fertile population of them must have been left on Sucia Island. An unusual choice. One that has caused Dakro endless grief. “Tell me all you know about Kazg.” Krodar spends the next hour detailing the layout and social-geopolitical environment. Dakro tries not to fall asleep. Apparently, high-level leaders felt free to speak quite openly in front of the “dumb” creation. Dakro could have quite easily made the same mistake. Of particular interest, it seems that Dakro would be quite welcome in the city. The Taker leaders are so obsessed with power that they cannot understand anyone else valuing anything else. They think that Dakro will betray the Shapers without a thought after hearing the power they offer. Dakro wonders if Krodar was cast out because he reminded them too much that there are more important things than power. Or if all of this is just an elaborate trap. Seeing the Shaper did not destroy the thahd, the others have relaxed a bit. Those who remain, that is. Many have gone into hiding in the surrounding woods. One sits at the end of a long, crude wood table. Crystals are arrayed on the table in front of her. She is obsessed with them. Polishing them. Counting and rearranging them. When Dakro enters her shop, she (with difficulty) sets the polished stones aside. “A Shaper!” She rises to greet him. “I am Brea Dawn, leader of this village. I welcome you. We are inutile, but we are humble. Please do not destroy us. Why are you here?” She then sits down at the end of her table. She is unable to go for long without playing with her crystals. She is constantly pushing and polishing them. "I am here seeking Yu-La.” “I do not know what that is.” The servile appears confused by the foreign name. “We are humble, Shaper. We will not interfere. We just want to live quietly in our little village.” “I was attacked when entering your village. Seems like quite a bit of interference.” “The Awakened of Vakkiri protect us. They left the rogues.... The Shapers allow the inutile to live, as long as we don't cause trouble.” This is true. Usually. “You may wander where you want. Just be wary if you cross the river to the east. There are dangers. And places of interest.” Dakro waits for her to continue, but she has taken a sudden interest in polishing a particular spot of a crystal. He interrupts, “Places of interest?” “Refuge is open to all inutile. But ... some came to us and claimed land. They seemed like brave fighters. Then they became brigands. They threaten us in many ways. We can't tolerate it. If you help us, I can trade a secret. It is ... I'm not sure if I should. But I think so. It is a secret you should know. If you help us.” Dakro is angered that the beliefs of the Awakened have infected this servile. He thinks to force it from her, but realizes it would probably be quicker (and more reliable) to just destroy the brigands. Torture is hardly reliable with serviles. Looks like he will have to play politics with this village leader. He sighs. He hates politics. He thinks back to when he was anxious about starving to death on this island or being eaten by rogues. Yeah, those were better times.