Ardent Trove

Chapter 11: Taking from Takers The next day Dakro still could not understand the looks of horror on serviles faces when he saved them from the siege. He climbs to the rooftop and looks out at the serviles carrying away the detritus and bodily remains to the mass grave they had dug outside town. He had made them a nice crater for the dead, but the serviles said they would prefer not to walk on a mass grave. They must be superstitious about ghosts or something. Not wanting to waste more of his time thinking about serviles, he turns south. His stronghold will be secure after he clears the rogues from the south and east. Dakro heads south until he meets a servile warrior, alone in a vast and hostile wilderness. Though he is a Shaper, his approach justifiably worries her. Keeping her hand near her weapon, she says, “Welcome to my post, Shaper. I am Obeyer Demel. I wish you well, and I hope you extend the same to me. If you are a Taker, you should go home." Dakro boasts, “I am reclaiming the land around Pentil for the Obeyers. I cleared what was a two ten-day siege in a matter of minutes. Mickall Blade informs me that you have a betrayer problem nearby. Something that I will no doubt resolve faster than it took me to walk here. Where is it?" She is visibly relieved. “I am pleased to hear it, Shaper. This is a small post. Attacks are constant. It is good to meet you. Sad to say, Shaper, there are Takers in the woods to the west. They came to raid Pentil, and we were able to box them up in these woods. We cannot reach them, though, The woods are heavily trapped. These fyoras and I keep them here, so they can do no harm." Dakro looks to the stables where she points and sees four tame fyoras, waiting for a command from their master. “You have fyoras under your command? How is this possible?” "It is thanks to the wisdom of Learned Jaffee, in Pentil. He struggles to bring about the true will of the Shapers. He cannot make fyoras like you can, but he has been able to tame rogues. These fyoras were once rogues. Now they are tame, and they serve us and you." “Very well, you and they are ordered to stay here and ensure none escape my judgement.” Dakro strides forth and comes to a tripod supporting a translucent red ball. Guessing they are proximity-based, he slowly walks up to one. When he here a soft “tick,” he turns and runs behind the cover of a large tree. Two seconds after he takes cover, a wave of heat rushes by. The ground is scorched, but the red ball is now black. He continues through the forest, repeating the process where necessary using a variety of cover, mostly trees and rocks, with the occasional expendable fyora. The traps slow him a bit, but otherwise aren’t real hindrances. He can’t understand why the Takers of Free would waste resources making these. The only thing they are going to gain from the traps are more painful deaths for irritating him. Ahead, he sees a similar tripod trap, but this one is blue. Wary, he makes sure to have better cover by felling a tree upon another before triggering the trap. Instead of the customary “whooshing” sound and blast of heat, he hears an electrical zapping sound. A moment later, he hears the footsteps of a fyora. Before he can even extricate himself from cover, the rogue is dead, blasted apart by his cryoas. The self-shaping technology piques his curiosity and gets his mind thinking. He inspects it, looking for similarities to the spawner. It is quite beyond him, but the rogues who created it gave him something interesting. He may not torture them after all for wasting him time. Moving through the forest becomes faster. Rather than wasting time finding cover, he just stabs each fyora as the trap tries to shape it. Eventually, he realizes he has not seen a trap in a while. He must be heading the wrong way. "So kind of the rogues to help me find them." Mapping out the type and location of each mine, he quickly identifies the most likely location of the rogues. As he approaches the area, he hears angry servile voices. He stops and listens. Someone says, "We have to slip out. We have to get to Kazg!” Someone else says, “The guard lives. Demel lives. We can’t slip away when Demel lives.” Then the speakers walk away. Telling his creations to follow at a distance, he follows the sound of the speakers until they reach a cave. Suddenly, a lookup spots Dakro and sounds the alarm. The Takers of Free begins weaving runes in the air. It is not Shaper magic, but it could prove problematic. Their skin begins to turn darker. Unsure what the magic does, He takes cover and calls his creations to make the first charge. This gives each servile the time to cast one more spell before the two sides collide. The lookout’s movements become faster and more fluid. The first speaker has a shimmering, translucent wall in front of him. The second speaker’s spell is inordinately complex, so he doesn’t have time to complete it before a cryoa is sitting on his chest. Or, more accurately, digging into his chest. Dakro winces as another cryoa leaps to attack the servile behind the magic "wall." Interestingly, the cryoa passes right through it without any noticeable harm, and the wall appears unchanged. Knowing the servile are vastly inferior to his creations, let alone him, Dakro chooses not to engage in the battle, but to inspect the spell wall. He is vaguely aware of more serviles racing to defend the cave, particularly as one attempts to stab the distracted shaper. Dakro instinctively parries it and follows through by slashing the servile across the throat. All the while, never taking his eyes off the spell wall. The other serviles leave him alone after that. On a hunch, Dakro backs up and takes out his baton, firing a thorn at the spell wall. The thorn sails through the air and hits the wall, disintegrating both the thorn and wall. But that is not all. A magical phantom of the thorn is formed and launches itself at Dakro. He instinctively ducts out of the way, but leaves his arm in the thorn’s path at the last second. The magical bolt impales his arm and vanishes. He inspects his bleeding arm. The damage seems roughly equivalent to what he would expect from the original thorn. Interesting. With nothing left to analyze, he looks around the cave. Numerous servile bodies are on the ground, as are two of his cryoas. A pity, but they can be much more easily replaced than the knowledge he just gained. If he had taken part in the battle, the spell might have faded before he could learn from it. Investigating the cave, he finds a natural spring, partially-completed traps, cabinets, tables, chairs, … basically a fully-stocked outpost. It is too far from Pentil to be of use, but could be a forward outpost for an invasion. He begins looting and destroying everything. In the back he finds a jar full of old scraps of leather and grimy cloth. He kicks the jar, shattering it, and to his surprise a rusty iron key falls out. Using the key, he unlocks a nearby door and stares puzzled at a tripod with a white sphere. He “disarms” it using his tried-and-true method. He hopes for something interesting, but it turns out to just be a variant of the red ones. Behind the pitiful trap, he finds another canister. He eagerly reaches out for the power. The essence flows into him. He vaguely recalls resisting it in the past, but now he can’t remember why. His skin tingles and his muscles feel like he is receiving a massage. Feeling of confidence, if not outright grandiosity, fill him as he makes his way back to Demel. As Dakro returns, with half his creations, he sees Demel’s fyoras fighting over bones and scrapes of meat. “I have destroyed the rebels. Their cave is to the south. Go and loot all you can, bringing it to Pentil for the war effort.” Demel looks surprised and pleased, “I thank you, Shaper. After they finish eating, we will go. Soon, my fyoras and I can return to Pentil and continue our fight against the Taker scum. I shall spread word of your good deed.” Dakro begins marching his creations back to Pentil and into the barracks. Although Mickall is obviously a competent creation and skilled with a blade, Dakro’s mere presence reduces him to a quivering, obedient mass. “What else do you wish, Shaper?” “I have destroyed the rebels to the south. A pitifully easy job.” Mickall falls to his knees and presses his head against the floor. It is an archaic sign of respect and obedience, out of practice for many, many years. “Thank you, Shaper,” Mickall says, his voice muffled by the floor. “You have done much for us. We are unworthy of your kind, of our mighty and wise creators." He stands. “I will spread the word of your deed, so all can learn of your kindness. Also, we want to pay for your help.” At Mickall’s signal, a servile brings Dakro an old, polished steel sword and a pouch of coins. “As I said, it was a pitifully easy job, but I learned much about traps and spells, so your request pleases me. Do you have any further requests that would be worthy of my time?” "I should not ask, after you have been so kind to us. However, we have another problem. To the east is a river, and the river is spanned by two bridges. We haven't been able to cross those bridges lately. Thus, we've been unable to contact one of our outposts. It is along the south coast of the island, well-concealed among jagged peaks. The leader there is named Doge. Meet with him and make sure that things are alright.” “Why is this outpost of importance to me?” “The hills there have a good view of the waters to the south and the Taker lands to the northeast. They look for raiders and rogues. It aids us greatly in our war against the Takers, so that you will not have to waste as much time directly intervening.” “Very well. I am heading east anyways, to clear the last rogue holdout in the area.” At the east gate, Dakro meets a servile scout. She is small and sure on her feet, and several small knives hang from her belt. “I am Obeyer Pool, scout for East Pentil. Greetings." "What foes will I face to the east?" "Well, there are two bridges. Past that are Taker lands. They are mad. Then, farther east, is a colony of human invaders. I have actually laid eyes on them. Nobody else has." “I see, my nearest foes are… bridges. How am I supposed to return his isle to glory with serviles who are afraid of bridges?!" Pool clarifies that the northern bridge is covered with box mines and the southern bridge has hostile turrets. "I see. What can you tell me about the humans? And please stop leaving out important details.” “I've only spied on them a little. They speak a weird language. They look strange. Their clothes are different. There aren't many of them. In the southeast corner of the isle are more. I know that much. I only saw them once. When I spied on them, they were walking through the woods. They said Kazg a lot. I think there are more of them there. I tried to follow them more, but they went into unfamiliar lands." “Hmm. Interesting. Think carefully. Did you hear anything else?” She thinks for a while. “Hmm. I think ... now that I think about it, the time I saw them, I heard them refer to the leader of the group by name. It was Trajkov. This was months ago.” Dakro mulls over the name and tries it on his tongue, “Trajkov.” Definitely foreign. Definitely trouble.

Chapter 10: Roamers Dakro awakes late to the sound of snoring. It would seem the inutile is nocturnal. Dakro considers cutting the inutile’s throat, but puts it off for today. He might yet be useful. He reviews his list. Without direct Shaper support, the next best thing are the Servant Minds, and then the serviles themselves. He packs supplies, strapping them securely to his cryoas, and begins his trek northwest to the spiraling tunnels, home of Control Four. At last, Dakro finds his goal: Another Shaper ruin, mostly torn down and buried in the dirt. Rogue roamers here have burrowed deep channels through these rocky hills, perhaps at random, perhaps guided by some other intelligence. There are lots of roamers living in these gullies. It's not hard to tell. It is a common creation design, and he immediately recognizes the tracks and smells. Roamers are not intelligent, but they can be fierce and cunning in battle. The interiors are not lit by the red crystals that Shapers tend to use. Red is preferred because it does not harm night vision. Instead, these caverns are lit by green crystals. Green is used in places with creations that become aggressive in red light, such as roamers. Shapers usually use roamers as guard dogs. These creations are taught a single route, which they patrol faithfully. Keeping his in mind, Dakro listens and scouts, evading all the roamers as he makes his way deeper into the warren. After a while, he starts to feel uncomfortable. Nervous. As if he is being watched, sensed, probed. He shuffles from foot to foot, nervously, trying to resist the urge to flee. Then he shakes his head and concentrates a moment. His mind clears. Shapers are immune to such tricks. He can sense an intelligence nearby. Twisted, probing, attempting to influence him. He recognizes the feeling. Creations sometimes emanate such vibrations. It is a sure sign of a dangerous rogue. Deep in the warren, constructed stone walls replace the dirt tunnels. Inside, an old, withered vlish turns its eyestalks toward Dakro. It has been living in these ruins for many years, growing stronger. And more mad. Vlish have alien thought structures beyond Shaper comprehension, and have gifted them with limited capability to affect the minds of other creations. They are used as shepherds and enforcers, keeping the servants of the Shapers under control. When it turns its eyestalks toward Dakro, he develops a light headache. Could this creature be so rogue that it would dare try to control a Shaper? Dakro easily shakes off this pathetic creation's efforts. His will isn't strong enough to command it, but he uses a brute force mental assault to disrupt its chaotic thoughts. It starts to move erratically. It unsteadily floats toward him, hungry for battle. Three of Dakro’s cryoas leap to pin the vlish, but the fourth is frozen in place. A mental battle wages in its mind as Dakro and the vlish vie for its allegiance. The vlish pours more of its concentration, sensing this creation is the weak link. Dakro takes a more direct approach, striding toward the vlish and cutting off its one of its tentacles. The vlish loses concentration. The crazed vlish starts to flail its remaining tentacles around. It lets out a loud screech. It is broadcasting a message. The cryoas all fall to the ground, clutching their heads. Dakro gets a mild headache. Dakro attempts to impale the vlish with his sword, but the vlish parries with an armored tentacle. Each attempt is parried, almost as if the vlish is reading his mind. Realization dawning, he puts up a mental barrier and finally makes it through the vlish’s defenses. A cloud of helium erupts into the air and the creation falls to the ground. Just in time for six thahds to come bursting into the room, answering the vlish’s call. Dakro quickly and deftly shapes ice storm abilities into each cryoa. Within the confines of the warren, the storms rage even more fiercely, tearing into the very walls themselves. The thahds don’t stand a chance. The battle over, Dakro looks down at the vlish. He can’t be angry at it. Vlish naturally decay when left on their own, without the gentle, guiding influence of the Shapers. The fault for this lies with whoever abandoned this old, withered creature. Using some of the knowledge he gleaned from the tombs, he begins skinning the vlish. Their hides can make exceptional jerkins for serviles. It should fetch a good price. The work is long and bloody, nothing he could have done before being shaped by the drugs in the canisters. Finally finished, Dakro goes into the next room and finds Control Four. He approaches the servant mind. It is still alive and functioning, though it is clearly weak from lack of nutrients. It looks up at him. "Welcome, Shaper. I am Control Four. I am pleased to be in contact with you. It has been a long silence.” Its eyes are dull and confused. "There are many rogues in the lands around here. Why have you not dealt with them?" "There are? I have been too weak to have an influence in affairs here for some time. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for your inconvenience. I tried to control creations and use them keep the serviles nearby in line. I was too weak to keep them from going rogue as well. Your destroying the rogues relieves me. I am sorry you had to perform my duties for me." “Perhaps you cannot control distant ones, but what about the crazed vlish right outside your door?!” "What? Warp was rogue? I am so sorry. So much has escaped my notice." “Seeing how you are completely incompetant with regards to rogues, what use are you? What is your given purpose?” "I am one of Sucia Island's control minds. We watch the creations here for signs of going rogue and deal with problems when they occur. When the Shapers left, we were to watch over the creations left behind." “Great.” “I have not had nutrient solution for many, many years. I am very feeble. There was solution here, but a rogue servile raider managed to destroy it before I was able to absorb it. Please feed me, Shaper. If you do, I can continue to serve you well.” “Where can I find this solution?” “I do not know.” “I will find some feeding solution.” “Thank you, Shaper. Now I must rest. I am weak.” In the final room, Dakro finds another canister. He turns away, but then looks at the almost worthless Mind. The drugs affect a terrible toll on his mind, but they may be the only support the Shapers give him. He reluctantly turns back and places his hand on it. As he essence fills him, all his self-doubt disappears. Sure, it might influence him a little, but surely his genius-level mind can resist the effects now that he knows about them. He should find more so that he might carve a bloody path through the Awakened and Takers of Free. He will build a monument to himself from their bones so that all might know his glory! But first… he sifts through the knowledge flooding into his mind. It teaches him how to shape roamers. They seem a weak compared to his cryoas, but then he considers. “Their weakness can be my strength.” On the way out of the warrens, he does not bother with scouting and stealth. Any roamers he crosses will feel his fury. All who oppose him will know his wrath! The red clay of the tunnels gains an even darker hue. All the way back to Pentil, he thinks about how to exploit this roamer weakness. Building geneprints in his mind. At last, he arrives back in Pentil. “Hear me, serviles! This city is to be my stronghold. From here, we will wage war across the island, and beyond! Our first order of business is reclaiming our farms. Bring buckets of essence from the Shaper Hall to me at the west gate. Now!” At the gate, Dakro sees that the west approach to Pentil has been blockaded. There is a mob of thahds and siege artilas. They sit there, patiently waiting. Serviles have tried to break through the crowd before. Scorched earth and bones show how that story ended. Dakro begins shaping a roamer, but this one is the standard yellow-and-black variety. This is a sickly green version. Serviles watch with a mixture of awe, fear, and excitement. Dakro sees them gawking and bellows, “Keep bringing me more essence!” He continues to shape more of them. Lacking essence and feeling himself losing control, he dissolves his cryoas and keeps making more sickly green roamers. Happy with his number at last, he sends one out toward the blockade as a test. As it nears, it is hit by half a dozen globules of acid. It explodes in a massive fireball and leaves behind a crater in the road used to bring food from the farms. Dakro, lost in thought, begins reshaping his green roamers, increasing thee muscle mass in their legs. Then he divides them in half and sends them out on each side of the road. Just before they reach the artila’s range, he orders them to leap the final distance. They soar high above the acid globules and land within the blockade. A thahd immediately attacks one and it detonates. It triggers a chain detonation obliterating the front lines of the blockade. A few of the creations farther back survive, just in time to see why Dakro was having the serviles bring him essence. The second wave of roamers attacks, completely wiping out the blockade, as well as the road, banners, and a sizable portion of the nearby cliffside.

During play today, my charmed creations attacked enemies, rather than the party (unless no enemies were visible, then they would attack party members). Do we know what causes this behavior? I would test it further myself, but I won't have time to play until Monday and am curious. Basic known info: * I did not see this behavior before the patch. * Each time I saw the behavior, my control was like average/normal/adequate or something instead of the usual weak/poor (I forget the names). * Occurred multiple times (~5?), so it is not a one-off bug. * Charmed creations would go to enemies that were farther away than party creations, so it is not an "attack closest" script. * I've only seen it with Battle Creations (I was using creations from all three spheres), but that might have been a coincidence.

Chapter 9: Reflections Dakro walks toward the Pentil Woods. As always, solitude and exercise do much to assuage his mind. At home, he loved hiking. He and his friends would hike to abandoned gold mines, slide down natural water slides, and skirt the boundaries of distant Shaper research facilities. Although he would never admit it, they even crossed the boundaries a few times. Depending on what the researchers were doing, he might have even been risking his life, but it probably saved his life. Without the knowledge he gained back then, his first fyora probably have blown up in his face, killing him. When he came to this island, he was just trying to survive. Then, under the influence of the drugs (a better word than the innocuous “canisters”), he wanted to conquer it. And now? He sits down and starts writing: [ ] Escape Sucia Island (Self) [ ] Find nutrients to feed Control Four (Rydell, Pentil) [ ] Investigate boat to south (whats-her-name, Pentil) [ ] Slaughter betrayers in Thorny Wood (Mickall Blade, Pentil) [ ] Slaughter rogues west of Pentil (Some farmer, Pentil) [ ] Investigate the “dark power” to the east Dakro sighs. “It’s too much. Technically, I’m not even an apprentice yet. As much as I want to stay, I have to go. I have to get proper Shapers.” He changes direction to the south. To the boat. He once again sneaks through Pentil Woods, avoiding the vlish, and eventually enters narrow valleys near the coast. A river carved these gullies out long ago. The land is dead, and there is a bitter stink in the air. There is a weather-worn obelisk by the road. Two symbols have been etched into it. The upper one means “Dead Land”. A failed experiment must have rendered this area inhospitable to life quite some time ago. The second symbol means “Tombs”. Not ones to waste good land, the Shapers must have used this area to inter their more valued dead. Dakro reflects that if he could enter some of the tombs, you might gain valuable information. Shapers inter their dead with knowledge, not loot. However, he resists. The Shapers will reward him with knowledge when he has earned it. Soon, he sees the valley ahead is blocked by rogues. They are skulking around an old, worn altar. He has no idea what purpose it was put here to serve. It does, however, have a strange fascination for the vicious creatures. They don’t approach him. Seeing a small animal trail, Dakro and his cryoas climb up the valley wall, looking for a way around them. At the top, he gets a good view of the sea south of Sucia Island. Far to the south, he can see the mainland, close enough to be visible but far too far to swim, even if he knew how. To the southwest, he thinks he can see the mast of a ship. However, his view is blocked by a wall. Unfortunately, there is no trail down to the ship. He will need to pass by the roamers. Fortunately, looking around, he finds quite a few large boulders. He orders his cryoas to take them to the edge of the cliff, and then to start an avalanche in unison. Most of the roamers, entranced by the altar, don’t run in time and are crushed. Those that survive roar in anger as they inspect the smashed, half-buried altar, then begin running up the animal trail toward Dakro. With the high ground and plenty of boulders, Dakro doesn’t let the roamers make it even half-way up. Back down on the valley floor, Dakro inspects the altar. The roamers have spent years bringing it offerings: Bones, skulls, dried flowers, a net, a teapot, and various other tools they scavenged. As he gets closer, he feels a chill. There is a hostile power here. He can't see anything odd, but he can sense the essence in the air. He quickly backs away from the altar and makes his way to the ship. Turning a corner, he sees the ship to the south. It is the same foreign ship he saw a few days ago, just before it slew his craft and left him stranded on this horrible island. It will never threaten him again. The fire from his drayk destroyed its sails, and it ran aground on a reef. As he watches, it sinks slowly below the water. Soon, it will be gone. Dakro feels relief. He probably shouldn’t, but he does. He wants an excuse to explore the mysteries of this island, and now he has it. He makes his way back to the closest tomb door. Unsurprisingly, it does not open. He makes his way north to a cliffside that has been carved into a series of massive shaper heads. They must have been important. At the base, he finds a lever, opening a massive double set of doors. Behind it, he sees bolts of lightning arcing out into his cryoas and his body, causing muscle spasms. He goes cross-eyed and by the time he recovers he can see his cryoas battling something resembling a human-shaped electrical storm. A ghost, perhaps? He has no idea how to even start fighting such a thing, but at least he can reshape his cryoas to have electrical resistance. Worst case, it will buy him time to flee. As he does so, he cryoas somehow start gaining the upper hand, ripping balls of lighting off the figure and swallowing them. More ghosts float through the walls into the room, but they bear the same fate. Soon, the only sign of them is the static electricity in the air that is making his hair stand on end. Looking around, he sees thats this is where dead Shapers were brought to be embalmed. He can still smell the stink of chemicals in the air. Dead Shapers are generally embalmed with a combination of wax, formaldehyde, and the excretions of specially shaped fungi. It is strange that defenders were left here. The Shapers may have wanted to leave their dead protected. He opens a book, shocking himself with static electricity. The book lists all of the Shaper dead embalmed in this hall. The most valued Shapers were given private tombs in this valley. Others were taken elsewhere. None of the names are familiar. There is a note near the end: “Corata has instructed for defenses to be placed in the tombs. Interlopers who try to study at the crypts without permission must be stopped." Not wanting to be shocked again, he has a cryoa open the cabinets. They contain various embalming materials and garments that crumble to the touch. However, in one cabinet he finds a small, iron amulet. It has several symbols on it, but he only recognizes one. It means “Caretaker”. With the Caretaker Amulet around his neck, he heads to the closest tomb, which dutifully opens at his approach. Less advanced races place valuable physical objects with the bodies of their dead. Not the Shapers. The memorials to great Shapers don't contain crude items like gold. Instead, inside the sarcophagus of any great Shaper, you will find a book containing the knowledge accumulated by the Shaper throughout his or her life. When a Shaper is wrestling with a tough problem, it is customary to come to tombs to learn, study, and meditate. Inside, he finds a box mine. He suddenly understands the debris he saw inside the embalming room. This must summon those electrical “ghosts.” Someone skilled in engineering could probably disarm the thing, but he will just have to use his skill in shaping. Taking his time, he reforms his cryoas for even better electrical resistance. When he is done, the triggered “ghost” doesn’t even get to fully form before the cryoas have torn it apart. The trap “disarmed,” he inspects the book. Strangely, the learnings there aren't familiar or out of date. It contains techniques researched on Sucia Island. Some of it is actually quite interesting. Nothing useful, but interesting. He continues the process, tomb after tomb. When finally finishes late into the night, he has learned quite a bit about magic, shaping, and outdoor cooking, amongst other things. It is past time to make camp, so he heads to the graveyard’s storeroom. As he opens the door, he sees the room is filled with ghosts. Real ghosts, not electrical constructions. They ignore him. The thin sound of flute playing draws him to the back corner of this abandoned storeroom. There is an old servile sitting back here. He is pale and wrinkled. His hood is down, and he wears a hat of an old, outdated style. It is full of holes. He must have scavenged it. He sits slumped against the wall, playing the flute. He doesn't seem to notice either Dakro or the flitting ghosts. Dakro stares as he listens to the melodious, melancholy music. It reminds him of loss. Loss of home. Loss of direction. Loss of self. Eventually, the music trails off. The servile sighs deeply, looks up, and sees Dakro. He isn't surprised by his presence. “A Shaper. We knew you would return someday. Wish you'd done it when I still had hope. I am Hiley. Once of Pentil. Now alone." "What are you doing here?" "I am alone. A hermit. Just me and the ghosts now, until I finally die. But I miss talking, sometimes. I will tell my story. You Shapers should learn what happened to those you left behind. You won't want to, but you should." "A graveyard is a good place for an old fashioned ghosts-of-the-past story." There is no delay. He launches into it. He must have said it to himself in this dark hall a thousand times. "I was once in Pentil. A farmer. A musician. I took part in the life of the Obeyers. I was honored by them for my loyalty and work. I had a mate, sweet Sperl. And a child, little Maudrey. Then I had my first tragedy.” "The first tragedy?" "Sperl died. She got sick and died. That was ten years ago. It happens. Life is hard on the island. A lot of us get sick. Some of us die. She was one. You Shapers take good care of your possessions. If you'd been here, you could have saved her. But I recovered. I went on. Then three years ago, the second tragedy." "What happened?" "At that time, there weren't rogues everywhere. When the first roamers started to hunt us, it was a surprise. Maudrey's death. That was the surprise. She was one of the first we lost. The Obeyers were determined to serve the Shapers even better. I thought I was going mad. Only I saw that the Shapers were responsible. I was so alone, surrounded by the mad. My grief, and my new solitude. They ate away at me. So I acted." "So you failed our test and were not rewarded like the others have been. What did you do instead?" "I packed up my things, and I ran. I came to these valleys, thinking the roamers would kill me. But they didn't. They let me by. They ... saw something in me. It was a mystery, but I accepted it. I found this ruin to use as my little camp. Then I had to pay the price for the roamers sparing me. I was ... bothered.” "Who bothered you, I mean besides your own conscious for failing the Shapers?" He points at the ghosts. “Them. They came to me. Protected me. Kept me safe. The spirits. I had a power here. Sometimes, I can be peaceful." "What sort of spirits?" "I don't know. Humans. Shapers. Serviles. Ancient inhabitants of Sucia. I sense them. The things they think. The memories. A jumble of thoughts. Some confusing. Some lies." "How did you gain this power?" He suddenly shouts, “I don't know! I didn't ask for it! I don't want it! Maybe it comes from my grief! I got this power by giving everything!" He grabs his flute and plays it for a minute to calm down. Calmed, he continues, "I like the dead. They don't scare me. Being around them makes me feel peace. I don't care if they kill me, and they don't care about me. This is where I can spend my time, until the Shapers return to torment us anew. I just wish ... The dark spirits. They have been angrier lately. They still hide, but I can feel their unrest." "I felt their presence at an altar I destroyed." "They get angrier every day. Sucia Island is out of balance. Powerful magic is being worked here. They are angry. Mad anger. They may need to be removed. Ghosts are very single-minded. Sometimes it is necessary." “Who are these dark spirits? Why are they angry?” "I think ... I think they are the ghosts of Shapers long dead. They know their island has been invaded. The essence in their bodies has come out, ready to hunt. They can do nothing to help their cause. They are trapped here. However, they might murder somebody. Shades are simple things." “Perhaps we can purge them.” "No. I am no warrior. I can't talk to them either. Even ghost Shapers have contempt for my kind.” He looks Dakro over. “You are not strong enough either. These shades are full of essence and power. Even I can sense it. I think they would destroy you. I am tired now. I want to be alone.” Dakro looks around. He now understands why the boat was here, at a graveyard. This was a dock. This warehouse housed supplies brought through here. Then something happened that corrupted the land. The dock was closed, the dead were buried here. He finds a plethora of useful camping supplies and makes camp in an adjoining room away from the ghosts and the despondent servile. He takes one last look at his list and falls asleep.

Chapter 8: Pentil Dakro meanders about the city of Pentil past farmers sweeping cobblestone streets, serviles cleaning a row of empty mansions, and what looks like the early stages of siege weapons. His increasing confusion battles with his desire to maintain his all-knowing Shaper mystique by not asking questions. Finally, he can take it no longer. He goes up to one of the serviles garbed in traditional farmer attire. Her hard work has given her rough hands and strong muscles. As he approaches, she bows, “I am pleased by your attention, Shaper. I hope I can help you.” “Why are you here sweeping instead of tending your farm?” “The farmland is out the west gate, but the gate is blocked by a massive crowd of rogues. Until they can be destroyed, there is little I can do.” She looks at Dakro hopefully. “You’re a farmer? Can I have some food?” “Um, I’m sorry, Shaper. I know I make food, but I don’t carry it all around with me. There are merchants by the east gate.” So much for Shaper mystique. He quickly changes the subject. “Why are all those mansions unfurnished?” “They have been reserved for the Shapers since before I was born. Now that you are here, they are yours, humble as they are.” Dakro stares for a moment, then asks, “Where might I learn more?” “Rydell is our leader and the one with the most knowledge. He is the leader of the Obeyers. I know that he would be honored by a visit. His hall is at the west side of the central building. Over there is our library. And Natley leads the farmers. Here she comes now.” Natley is young, but moves as if she bears a heavy burden. When she sees Dakro, she kneels. A single tear runs down her cheek. “I heard, but I did not dare believe. It is true. After all our waiting, you have returned to us. Welcome, Shaper. I am Natley, head of the farmers. I have trained the serviles as you would wish." She is exhausted, and her eyes are red. Still, she manages to talk. “We serviles always grew food for the Shapers of Sucia Isle. When you left, we knew you would return. We are able to resume service to our creators. For generations, we have trained our children to grow food for you.” “What did you do with the food, since we weren’t here? “Of course, eating the food ourselves helped us survive to serve you better.” Having excused himself from the conversation, Dakro makes his way to the library. The library is both impressive and pitiful. It is a monument to Obeyer worship of the Shapers. The shelves are piled with scrolls. He picks up one and inspects it, and then another. They are records, bureaucratic notes of the colony here before it was abandoned. Inventories. Notes. Bureaucratic mundanity. They aren't the originals, though. They are copies, painstakingly made and kept legible by servile scribes in case the Shapers ever returned. The records are worthless, though. Whatever information they contained has been rendered obsolete and useless by years of abandonment. So much time was wasted here, just because the serviles thought your people might appreciate it. Dakro makes his way to the central building, a massive hall arranged with rows of crude benches. An old Shaper throne, salvaged by the Obeyers, is at the far end. It is too large for the serviles, but they use it anyway. This is the meeting hall of Pentil and the heart of the Obeyer sect. From here, the plans of the serviles are set into motion, all with the sole intention of pleasing the Shapers. Parchment with elegant, intricate bordering and beautiful, flowing script is prominently displayed on a pedestal at the entrance. It reads: OBEYER’S REMINDER Every moment of happiness you ever have is because of the Shapers. (And sadness too.) All satisfaction at work properly performed is because of a Shaper. (And is owed.) The joys of food, of children, and song, all comes from the Shapers. (And can be taken, if one is wise.) All wisdom and guidance comes from the Shapers. (Shaper errors only lead to purer truth.) All protection comes from the Shapers. (The Shapers are the greatest of powers.) We must be thankful, and we must obey. (All comes from the Shapers.) Dakro struts down the hall until he comes face-to-face with the leader of Pentil, an old servile sitting on his throne. Dakro is trained to look at creations and evaluate their mental state. He has never met a creation so conflicted. Finally, the servile says, “Shaper, I have heard of your arrival. I ... I am awed and grateful that you have returned to us at last. I am Rydell. I am the leader of the Obeyers, the only sect that has stayed steadfast and true to you. We know that you are alone here. Rogues hunt you, as they do us all. We hope that you have come to assist us. And to reward us for our obedience.” He watches Dakro expectantly.; Dakro introduces himself. It is the first time he has given his name on the isle. The nuance is not lost on the servile. Then Dakro says, “Your obedience pleases me. I will look after you.” This servile has spent many years in command, plotting and scheming. He has now come face to face with what he has worshipped for many years. Awe and cunning fight within him, as he tries to decide how to deal with Dakro. "Then ... We have done well? We have been frightened. We never knew if we were doing the right thing. Sometimes, we had to ... guess. Now we know. I will spread the good news. What do you want here, Shaper? We Obeyers can provide shelter and information. We only need to hear what you want." “First, I want to know what you have been doing, to ensure everything is in line with the Shapers’ commands.” “I am glad you asked, Shaper. We have attempted to maintain your structures. We kept ourselves trained in the skills you require. In addition, we have interfered as much as we can with the rogue servile sects around us.” “Interfered? How?” “However we could. If the Awakened or the Takers gain strength, their ideas might escape Sucia Isle and infect others. So we have maintained the servant minds, harassed rogue villages, kept them from needed supplies, and so on. For example, we kept the servant mind Control Four, to the west, alive and well. This has helped keep Vakkiri small and weak, and thus unable to spread their anti-Shaper views." “You have served us well, and this isle must be more obedient to the Shapers. You will now be rewarded. First, transfer the library records to my mansion; I will ensure the important information is kept, while letting the outdated rot. Second, it is decreed that those mansions no longer stand empty waiting for Shapers. This island is declared Barred; no more are coming. Do not squander resources you have; you will need them for the coming war. Third, I will support you directly. You know this island better than I. What assistance do you request?” For a moment, Rydell's awe is eclipsed by his cunning. He thinks about how well Dakro could aid the Obeyer cause and whether he is a true representative of the Shapers. Finally, he speaks. “I am gratified that you would join us. Your words have marked you as a true Shaper. You may be worthy of our obedience. However, we require an act of you, to show that you are not trying to mislead us and act against the true Shapers." Dakro raises an eye. "You would dare to refuse me to obey me?"; "Shaper, we can't take the risk of rebelling against one of our true masters. The stakes are too high. This island is home to a dark power born of the highest crimes against your kind. We must be absolutely sure you won’t claim the power for your own. And ... This island is Barred to your kind, is it not? Haven't you broken the law by coming here? That makes a test necessary." “Yes, I was marooned and should be leaving. Very well. Where can I find a boat?” Leader Rydell looks startled. After centuries of waiting for Shapers to return, it did not occur to him that, upon your return, you would immediately want to leave. Still, he is obedient. I do not generally think of such things, but I heard Pixley speak of a boat recently. She is in town somewhere." “I will speak with her. In the meantime, it is my responsibility to safeguard the lives of serviles and it is prudent that you are cautious. How do you want me to prove myself?” Leader Rydell breathes a sigh of relief. "There is a place to the west called Crag Valley. There is a warren of spiraling tunnels within. It contains a servant mind called Control Four. For years, this true servant of the Shapers has bottled up the rogue serviles of Vakkiri. Recently, though, it has grown weak. It requires nutrient solution, and we have none. We don't know where any might be found. Worse, rogue creations have kept us from reaching poor Control Four to assist it. Feed Control Four to show you are a true Shaper. Then we can be allied with you." “Allied? You are serviles. Know your place, just as I know mine. As I Shaper I am required to protect you, and so I will feed Control Four. But know this: I am a Shaper and you are serviles. We will never be allies.” Leader Rydell nods. “Apologies for the poor choice of words. Thank you for your protection. I think you would best learn of the threats which face us from those who must deal with them directly, every day. Find Mickall in the barracks. He can tell you much. In the barracks, Dakro doubts that he will ever get used to seeing serviles like this: tall, armored, and trained with weapons. Fortunately, Dakro has little to fear from this one. It's all the servile can do to keep from throwing himself to the floor at the Shaper’s feet. “Welcome, great Shaper. I am Mickall Blade, commander of the armed serviles here. We have waited so long for the return of your kind. There are so many foes facing us and so little we can do to oppose them. Without help." Dakro says, “Rydell says you know the threats to the Shapers.” “We are surrounded by rogues. Rogue monsters, rogue serviles. Insolent Awakened to the west. Mad Takers to the east. Even rumors of evil humans on our isle. All humans are Barred from Sucia, and yet they come. We tried to teach them the error of their ways. Then we had to fight them. We have been fighting for many years." “Tell me more about the humans.” “I’ve never seen on. I’ve only heard rumors. They look different. They speak a strange tongue. They came here on ships from far away. Each one has the strength of ten thahds, and they can shoot beams of flame from their eyes. This is all rumor, though. Some of it might not be reliable.” “And the dark power rising on Sucia Island?” “I… Leader Rydell would be the one to ask. I concentrate now on the Thorny Wood, where we must block in a band of dangerous, rogue serviles. They are inutile. Castoffs from Kazg, we think. They won’t work with us or follow your will. They squat on our lands and steal food from us. This task wastes valuable forces. If you could slay them, it would be most helpful to your loyal serviles here.” “You have served well. I will go to Thorny Wood to protect you.” “Thank you, Shaper. You can reach the Thorny Wood by leaving the city gates to the east and traveling down the road to the south…. The endless war has cost us so much. I am glad it was the right thing to do.” As Dakro heads toward the east gate, he passes by a Shaper laboratory, once used for shaping new creations. It has been scrupulously maintained by the serviles. Though the serviles of Pentil claim total obedience to the Shapers, it is very strange what he sees. It also looks like, despite the absence of Shapers for many years, this lab has been in use. The serviles here seem to have been trying to use Shaper powers on their own. Very strange. And forbidden. Dakro looks inside and sees an old servile alchemist. That is what he must be, as strange as it is. Serviles can be used as laboratory assistants, but this one clearly aspires to be something more. Dakro smells the sulfur stink of living fyoras nearby. "Welcome, Shaper,” the old servile says. “I am Learned Jaffee, of the Obeyers. I have been here long and learned much. I am sure there is much you want to know about this isle. I can help you." Dakro, sword drawn, demands, “Just what do you think you are doing here?” "Do not fear, Shaper. I am not following the arts forbidden to us serviles. I would never attempt to try to make my own creation. I have been trying to tame existing creations. I would control rogues and have them fight for us instead of against us. I expose them to training, to beating, and to essence, and appeal to their natural obedience to true Shaper thoughts." Dakro relaxes from his aggressive stance and sheaths his sword, then asks, “Does it work?” “It does. Sometimes. Sort of. Most of the rogues we capture do not survive the taming. A few have, all fyoras.They fight for us now, in some places. We need all the defenders we can get to survive." “Tell me some of what you have learned.” Learned Jaffee bows his head. “I am ashamed, Shaper. I cannot bear to expose my ignorance to you. It would be too humiliating.” Dakro tries to convince him to help, but his shame is too great. When Jaffee looks to be on the verge of tears, Dakro relents and leaves. Suddenly, he remembers he must at least keep up the pretense of wanting to leave the island. He seeks out Pixley. Dakro meets a happy servile, good natured despite the horrors that surround her. His approach elevates her from happiness to ecstasy. “The Shaper! Visiting me! I am honored. I am Pixley, the leader of the travelers. The ones who move things about, who roam the whole isle. Sometimes to aid the Shapers, sometimes for ourselves. It is the greatest honor to meet a Shaper at last." "I wish to find a boat. In your travels, have you ever seen one?" "I wish I could meet your every need, Shaper, but I have never seen a boat. But ..._ She thinks. One of my scouts told me that she saw a ship. Recently, near the shore south of here.” She tells him how many days ago. Coincidentally, it was the same day he was attacked and swam to this island. "She was traveling through the Tombs. To get there, go south through the Pentil Woods, and then east. If you explore the shore, you might find something."

I just ran across enemies with two turns per round for the first time today and originally thought it was something that should be implemented for all enemies, halving damage and whatnot for balance. However, now I'm not so sure after reading your post, WingboltsSuck. In the encounters today, my character's party was attempting to inflict damage 10-11 times before the enemies got their second turn for the round. The only reason the enemies had any chance was because they were level 7 versus my level 5 character (so my party misses a lot), the extra turns, and I am playing on Torment. Without the extra turn giving them the ability to act early in the round, many would not have even been able to attack. Those that survived for their back-to-back second and third turns provided that good challenge that is needed periodically to keep a game fun. It was good after the previous cakewalk enemies. If the previous enemies had this, at least they would have inflicted half-damage that would mean burning more resources. However, seeing as how you WingboltsSuck feel extra turns are "cheap," I have to re-evaluate how players would feel about system a system. Are you bothered by the entire concept or are you bothered because enemies are suddenly "cheating" the system? If it were an accepted part of the system from the beginning, would it still bother you? How do you feel about the system after reflecting on the fact that players can essentially do the same thing, getting extra free turns by creating creations and using crowd control better?

For now, if you find the the current lock system frustrating, you can almost completely remove it by setting your mechanics to 100. To do this, open "Geneforge 1 - Mutagen\Geneforge Mutagen Files\Scripts\GFitemschars" and set "cr_statistic 22 = 100;" (Note there are three of these, one for shaper, one for agent, and one for guardian). Games are meant to be fun. With regards to your alternative system: If you heavily invest in mechanics (even without cheating), you never need to play the guessing game. You can open basically everything. One person who heavily invested in mechanics reported having 50 tools left over at the end of the game. If you prefer the randomness of chance you described to the current best guess method, then you can use a random number generator to pick which doors to open. A free one is available at https://www.random.org/integers/. With your method, people could just keep saving/loading for that small chance of unlocking, which would nullify the living tools / lockpicks, locks, and much of the usefulness of mechanics (not just the guessing part of the system like the current saving/loading). To me, the suggested uncontrollable random system would be frustrating compared to the current system driven by player-made decisions. I like it when my character's choices affect things, for good or ill. It's a role-playing game. Imperfections make characters fun.

Chapter 7: Thorns Dakro finishes searching the watchpost and finds a canister that will soon fundamentally change the way he shapes forever. Having pierced his hand on the canister, Dakro falls to his knees, overwhelmed by the flood of knowledge. As he falls, the needle tears a long gash in his hand, but he barely notices. He immediately knows he can now shape thahds, but he intuitively senses this means so much more. He takes the time to sort through the minutiae of what he just learned. Several hours later, Dakro is still pondering the empty cavity within the thahd. It looks like the cavities shaped into all who take the tests to be Shapers, cavities that allow essence to be stored. But no creation can shape, and even if one could, it would not be the dim-witted thahd. The obvious answer is that it allows a Shaper to carry more essence with them. This is certainly part of the answer, as essence vessels go from the cavity to the exterior, but there are also vessels that go into the body. Frustrated, Dakro has been talking to himself for some time. “And these go to the -” He stops short, having an epiphany. “They allow for shaping mid-battle.” The implications stagger him. Shaping normally takes hours, if not days. Even the best shapers take several minutes. Sure, he can’t fully shape a new creation, but he could shape in new abilities mid-battle. He immediately goes about re-designing his cryoa template late into the night. Two days later, Dakro passes through the logging forest and enters a fen. His feet sink into the moist soil. He notices that numerous shrubs have bunches of long, wicked thorns growing out of them. They are thorns for the thorn baton. The thorn baton is a favored weapon of the Shaper. The batons themselves are living things, extremely long-lived animals nestled in a metal frame. The thorns they fire are grown on bushes much like this one. These plants are very hardy, they grow thorns at a good rate, and they are, in general, an excellent example of Shaper biological engineering. As he makes his way through the fens, he picks ripe thorns. In the distance he spots packs of roamers, like the one he saw when he was first marooned. Occasionally one wanders close, but like the first one, it sniffs the air and runs away when Dakro gets too close. Dakro soon pays them little mind and collects more torns. Suddenly, a large specimen, perhaps the pack leader arrives and howls. All the roamers growl and race menacingly at Dakro and the cryoa. As they get close, their skin begins releasing an acidic cloud. The roamers are apparently immune, but it begins to eat away both Dakro and the cryoa’s skin. Vastly out-numbered, Dakro makes a run for it, ordering his cryoa to draw their attention. He’s been meaning to make a new model, anyways. This one has already been serving him since he was first marooned, saving him from the fyoras and thalds of the plains, school, and forest. Not all of its wounds have healed properly, and it is unfitting for a Shaper to be traveling with such a scarred creation. Dakro looks over his shoulder and sees the cryoa’s left leg dissolve, causing the creation to fall into a swamp. The cryoa’s head falls underwater and the water freezes around it. Since it was ordered to be a distraction, it continues to launch ice shards blindly, rather than free itself from drowning. Dakro turns back and keeps running, giving it little thought as he thinks about the future. The next day, Dakro returns. However, this time he is flanked not by a single strong, heroic cryoa, but by three three “base template” cryoas. They have no wings to help them leap and pin enemies. They have no “leaking” ice shards to harm nearby enemies or condense into ice storms. And they have less muscle mass and intelligence. However, they are versatile. He can instantly shape them for fighting either large numbers or a single strong foe. Dakro carefully avoids the packs of roamers and makes his way toward the only building still standing on the fen. All the other structures must have collapsed over the years, but this one was built to last. It is filthy now, but in its time it was probably quite beautiful. Nothing of value remains on the first floor, having been torn apart long ago by the roamers, but Dakro decides to investigate the second floor. As he enters the master bedroom, he is shocked to find two roamers and three thahds lounging within. Fortunately, the occupants are shocked too, giving Dakro the time he needs to call upon the essence built into each cryoa. All three instantly form overlapping ice storms, tearing into the crowd of rogue creations. With his new instant-shaping ability, a previously impossible fight became relatively trivial. When the ice clears, everything in the once-stately room has been destroyed, save a large, ornate chest. Inside, he finds jewelry, makeup, a hand mirror, a comb, and a healing pod. Long ago, the healing pod would have been used with the other items to maintain a youthful, healthy appearance. It was a luxury item for gallant parties and elegant dances. Now, it is an item destined for war parties and the bloody dance of battle. On the wall is a large painting of a forest road. Fog covers the end of the road, obscuring the path, or is it the destination? Dakro looks outside the east window to see if he can see a good destination from this height and thinks he sees a village to the northeast. Dakro exits the building and continues northeast, picking thorns and keeping clear of roamers. Suddenly, he hears a shriek of alarm, coming from the northeast. He looks and sees a servile, backed against a tree by a roamer. It lunges at her. Running, he re-shapes one of his cryoa, giving it wings with which to leap and pin the roamer. The servile takes the opportunity to run away while Dakro and the cryoas claw and stomp the roamer into the mud. The one-sided beating over, the servile stumbles over to Dakro. She’s wounded, but not badly. A small bundle of wood and thorns is lung over her shoulder. She is eager to flee, but she insists on thanking Dakro before she goes. “A Shaper! I dreamed of meeting a Shaper one day! And you saved my lowly life! I am so grateful. I am Sleet, of Pentil. Oh, my people will be so happy you are here!” Dakro smiles, and then quickly drops the smile as the servile calls her fellow creations “people.” "I see. Why are you out here instead of with your fellow creations?" He stresses the last word. "I am a scout and a scavenger. I hunt the wastes because I have a knack for evading the rogues. Well, I usually do. Sometimes I am trapped and must fight. It's a risk I must take to keep Pentil informed." "I have heard good things about Pentil. Take me there.” "I go north to the Hills of Jars and then east. However, be warned. Those old Shaper tunnels are full of traps. There are mines that ignore creations, but detonate in the presence of a Shaper. If you cannot disarm them, you should go east to the Pentil Woods and then north. Be careful. You will need to fight your way in. Lots of rogues that would surely kill me if I accompanied you." "What awaits me in the Pentil Woods?"; "Vlish. Many of them. And they have the cunning and darkness of their kind. Be warned. If you attack one, kill it quickly. Otherwise, it will call its fellows to aid it.” “How can I avoid them?” “Can’t you just will them dead?” Dakro hesitates than boasts, “Of course, but I would rather keep them alive for now so that I might study this variant later.” “Hmmm. You might have your best luck evading them if you stay near the edges of the woods, especially to the south and east." “Very well. You may go.” “Thank you, Shaper. I will return quickly to Pentil. They must know what I have learned.” She runs north. Dakro makes his way from the fen to Pentil Woods. The serviles have been very busy in this forest over the last century or so, cutting down the thick stands of trees for their fires and their homes. The woods are quiet now. There are no serviles to be seen. It is very quiet. In fact, all sounds are muted. The noises of the birds and insects are strangely distant. There is something in the air, an indefinable presence, constantly itching at the back of Dakro’s mind. Unwelcome and disturbing thoughts constantly intrude upon him. It is not an unfamiliar feeling. He has experienced this before. He is in the presence of vlish, quite a few of them. Vlish were created by the Shapers to shepherd simpler creations and send messages to distant areas. They are frail, highly magical, and their minds are linked. Keeping to the suggested path, he is able to avoid the Vlish. Part-way through he comes upon a glade full of gnawed ornk bones. Dakro can smell sulfur, and the nest has been recently occupied. Though the owner is absent, he feels like he is being watched. He would rather avoid it, but can feel Vlish blocking the other paths. He quickly attempts to pass through, holding his breath and straining his ears. To his mild surprise, nothing comes to eat him. After a few more close calls, he finally enters the village of Pentil. Once, this was a large Shaper fort, probably the administrative center. Now serviles are nestled in the ruins. As he enters, the effect on the serviles is dramatic. They stare at him in awe. Considering how independent the serviles in Vakkiri were, the change is remarkable. Some of the serviles fall to their knees. One of their guards walks up to him, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet. “Shaper, welcome to Pentil. In the name of the Obeyers, we welcome you. We are grateful that you have returned to rule and guide us at last." He shuffles back to his post, not daring to look directly at the Shaper. When Dakro meets the gaze of these meek creatures, they look away. For once, the serviles are acting like he expects, rather than thorns in his side.

Thank you! So far I see: Fledgling Fyora Tenderfoot Thahd Curious Artila Articulate Vlish Seasoned Roamer Chittering Clawbug Burgeoning Battle Gamma Garrulous Glaahk Kyshakk Koan Rotghroth Rhapsody Ineffable Wingbolt Unflappable Drayk Well-Actually War Trall Easygoing Eyebeast Understated Ur-Drakon Magnificent Ornk

Unless the Let's Play video I looked at online was modded, previous games did have time-based autosaves. The posters above who said otherwise were probably referring to the Geneforge series only, or at least the Spiderweb Software games with zones, as opposed to the open-world games.

If I understand correctly: 16 Points in Melee Weapons gives a 1-((1-0.03)^16) = 38.6% chance (not 48%, as would be easily assumed). 12 Points in Quick Action gives a 1-((1-0.04)^12) = 38.7% chance. 16 Points in Melee Weapons and 12 Points in Quick Action gives a 1-((1-0.03)^16 * (1-0.04)^12) = 62.4% chance. I did a small test of 133 attacks, with 16 Missile Weapons and 12 Quick Action, which resulted in haste 62.4% of the time, supporting the above.

Chapter 6: Poison Dakro finishes searching the school and finds the school’s life-sustaining reservoir, as well as a second life-enhancing canister. Shapers always keep supplies of food and water in reserve. If there is an accident or something truly virulent or dangerous is created, Shaper labs are designed to be completely closed off and quarantined in an instant. This water was placed here to sustain the people inside while they destroyed all of the rogue creations. Or died trying. Either way, the people outside are safe. This reservoir is fed by a small, natural spring. The water in the basin is murky and covered with thick deposits of algae. Fortunately, his water-purifying plant is up to the task. With plenty of purifiable water and twice-stolen food (thanks to the bandits), he spends the next few days analyzing the canisters and the mutagen inside. It seems that one will teach him how to magically poison enemies from a distance. The other will teach him the basics of creating an artila (a poison-spitting worm-like creation), but not enough to actually form one. Teaching students about poison makes sense. At its core, it is basically just the destruction of the body. Destruction is easier than construction, so students are taught the latter after they have learned the basics of the former. As the days pass, Dakro can feel the initial effects of the canisters wearing off. He realizes they have a side-effect of causing feelings of anger and grandiosity. His feelings remained poisoned, even after all these days. Without even apprentice-level training, he cannot learn much more about the mutagen. However, with the toxicity in his body diminishing, he is thinking more clearly, and decides Vakkiri might not be a complete write-off after all. Strapping the canisters to the fyora, he treks back to Learned Pinner. Learned Pinner watches Dakro intently, eager to assist. Sometimes, she glances around the ruins about her, embarrassed by their crumbling condition. Dakro explains that he spoke with a servant mind in the school and asks that Pinner store the canisters for him.. Learned Pinner leans against a table as she considers his tale. Finally, she says, “This is very strange. Usually, islands are Barred because of a rogue or dangerous creation. We serviles know that much. We have lived in fear for years of what might be lurking here. But Sucia was abandoned because something was discovered. There is something powerful here, so scary that your kind abandoned us. Whatever it is, it must be farther to the east. There is nothing so important around here. The old servile is growing tired. “Thank you for your help, Shaper. What you have learned will give us peace. If you want to know more about why this isle was Barred, the answers are not here.” Dakro mulls this over and asks if there is anyone worthwhile to speak with in the village before he heads east. Learned Pinner takes the compliment that a Shaper would consider the possibility of a servile being worthy of speaking with. Then describes Clakkit, a stealthy, disheveled servile who travels between villages, delivering messages and spreading news. In the town square, a young, dirty servile walks right up to Dakro and looks him in the eye. “I Clakkit. Glad see. Me know thing. Secrets.” Clakkit’s attitude is not what Dakro is used to, but the servile uses the sort of speech common to serviles. “Why don’t the other serviles speak like you? Clakkit says defensively, “I smart like them. I no dumb. I no talk Shaper. Not like you. I servile talk. Choice!” Clakkit pounds his chest with his fist. “I prove smart! I travel. Listen. Talk. Learn lots. Want help you. Know what servile think of you. Know you crime if you crime. Know secrets.” “Secrets?” “Yes! Clakkit walks. Town to town. Through wilds. Seville hate other servile, but all servile like Clakkit. Share secret to all. Send news. Useful! Get food for it.” “Yes, yes, but what secrets do you know?” “There invaders on this isle. That what I know. Know no more than that. Secrets answered to east.” Dakon enters the woods east of Vakkiri. They used to be more heavily settled by Shapers, and then serviles. Then the land was gradually abandoned and overgrown. Rogues have moved into the abandoned lands, inching closer and closer to Vakkiri. There is a road going through these woods. At least one servile settlement must have survived out here. A sign reads, “Ellhrah’s Keep - East” Dakon takes his whittling knife and scratches out “East.” He then draws a crude picture of flaming excrement where the word used to be. His work complete, he heads northeast toward what appears to be an old Shaper watchpost. At the entrance, he sees the word “Watchhill” was carved into these old timbers a long time ago, but is barely legible now. Watchhill is a burrow under a large hill. From the top, Guardians and Agents kept watch over the surrounding lands, looking for rogues and other sources of trouble. The guards lived in the warrens under the hill. It is a common arrangement. However, these caverns have been taken over by savage rouges. Their growls and grunts echo through the tunnels. It sounds dangerous, but the watchpost’s shaping chamber is a likely source of shaping knowledge, so Dakro decides it is worth the risk. As they are about to enter, crimson crystals near the entrance turn vibrant red. With the warning, Dakro sidles along the wall and makes a two-handed overhead attack on the approaching thahd as it rounds the corner. The creation dodges, catching the blade in the shoulder instead of the skull, and retaliates with a swift knee to Dakro’s stomach. Dakro crumples and the cryoa body slams the thahd, tearing into its flesh. By the time Dakro has recovered, the brief skirmish is over. The duo continues to make their way through the watchpost. They throw debris to distract and separate the tiny-brained thahds, so they can take them on one or two at a time. It is slow work, but they eventually make it to the creation chamber. The Shaping hall of this outpost is not abandoned. It is infested. In the far end, there are swirling pools of essence, but they have been corrupted. Dark and viscous, and reeking of vinegar. In front of the pool, a bizarre creation grows, rooted to the floor. It’s a horrible, slimy beast. Roots extend from its base to the pools. Quivering tubes stick out of the top. As he watches, it starts to squeeze a small fyora out of one of them. If this horrible thing is a Shaper creation, he’s never seen its like. It’s a mindless machine for making rogues. Dakro quickly recovers from his surprise and runs from the cheap wood flooring of the rest of the complex to the smooth, hard flooring of the shaping area. Without slowing, he squeezes his thorn baton, which lets out a small squeak. The high-velocity thorn pieces the slimy beast’s tube and impales a fyora about to emerge. The fyora thrashes, causing the thorn to tear into the monstrosity. Simultaneously, the cryoa unleashes an ice storm centered on the writhing mass. In response, the monstrosity expels a shockwave, driving back the storm and knocking Dakro and the cryoa to the ground. While they recover, yet another fyora emerges. Gouts of fire from the fyora meet the retreating ice storm, filling the room with steam. Automatic vents in the shaping room activate, but it will take time. In the blind confusion, rogue fyora and thahds turn on one another, giving Dakro and the cryoa the time they need to recover. Dakro drinks healing spores and shapes the cryoa’s wounds closed. The messy, blind battle continues. Finally, the air clears enough just in time for Dakro to see the misbegotten creation collapse on its side, its rogue spawns all dead. Its flesh immediately starts to bubble and decay. It was not a stable creation, made using proper Shaper practices. It is better dead, despite the fact that the “awakened” village of Vakkiri will be safer. The gore begins to slide down the hard floor to the nearby drains. As it does, Dakon notices it is leaving behind blue crystals. He quickly scavenges a few for later analysis and sifts through the gore, trying to learn all he can before too much is lost. Sadly, he learns little. He does, however, discern that it was not a natural mutation. Someone intentionally shaped this creation to poison the surrounding lands with rogues.

Chapter 5: Schooling This hall was built centuries ago and has been crumbling ever since. The traditional statues at the entrance, arms held out in welcome, tell Dakro what this building is. These are the ruins of a Shaper training hall. Here, initiates were both taught and modified, undergoing the grueling tests and schooling necessary to master both magic and the creation of life. Although the school has been long abandoned, it is not unoccupied. He can hear the snarls and growls of rogue creations. Their trash and waste litter the floor. He wonders what Shaper artifacts they might be guarding. The large red light-emitting crystal near the entrance has died, but the one in a discarded lamp is still alive. Dakro rouses it from its hibernation, bathing the area in white-yellow light. They make their way into the ruins, finding more red crystals, most of which are alive, but enough have died to make the lamp worthwhile. This ruined lecture hall smells of dust, mildew, and something else. The odor is slightly off, but Dakro can't mistake the smell of fresh essence. The basins around him were once filled with various chemicals and solutions, created, used, and destroyed by the students here. They are cracked and empty now. The two vats to the west, however, are intact and tell-tale steam rises from them. If someone placed essence in the vats, it must have been done recently. Otherwise, it would have rotted away by now. Even from here, he can hear its bubbling and fizzing, ready for shaping. Dakro approaches the left vat and is reminded that “recently” is a relative term. The large quantity of essence is not fresh. It must be several weeks old, as the proteins and other organic substances are starting to decay without sunlight. Essence doesn’t just happen. It must be mixed up by a skilled Shaper following a complicated and secret recipe and then carefully guarded. It shouldn’t be here. Dakro grabs a nearby metal ladle to remove it. However, the moment he pokes the liquid with a ladle, a horribly twisted fyora rises from beneath the surface. It’s as if someone tried to shape it, but lacked the proper materials and knowledge. The rogue horror immediately attacks. She bites not just Dakro’s hand, but his entire arm and ladle. Dakro falls back, released as the rogue begins choking on the ladle. He turns his fall into a roll underneath a nearby table, shielding himself while he re-shapes his mutilated arm. The larger cryoa begins clawing at the fyora, keeping out of range of her shorter arms and repeatedly batting her head to the side so she cannot breath fire. The fyora puts a leg up on the edge of the vat to get out and the entire vat tips over, spilling the foul essence across the floor and the fyora on top of the cryoa. The two begin wrestling, tearing into each other with abandon and singular focus. So it is that the fyora does not notice when Dakor sneaks up behind and stabs his sword through the thing’s spine with a loud crack. Dakro immediately turns to the other vat, sword raised. After a moment, he lowers it. If there was anything alive in there, surely it would have stirred after all this commotion. He pushes over the right vat so the rancid essence will go down the drain. Shaking his head, he mumbles, “I should have done this in the first place, rather than messing around with one ladle scoop at a time.” As the essence spills out onto the floor, a cloud of vile gas rises. Dakro immediately begins choking, which soon gives way to vomiting. After a bit, he regains his composure, although tears still stream down his face. He instructs his cryoa to tip over the first vat and then run. “No, that’s what I should have done in the first place.” With the cryoa leading the way, Dakro continues searching the ruins. They glance through classroom after classroom, each specially suited to a different kind of shaping. Most have nothing of use after all this time, but the armor classroom proves useful. Inside are five sets of living shaper armor that have gone into hibernation and are still alive. He should be able to fetch a decent price for the self-repairing armor, at least on this backwater island. Dakro begins to shape a fyora to serve as a pack mule for the armor. He begins as normal, but skips the fire-breathing glands, not wanting to risk an explosion underground. It will be all but useless in combat, but he has his sword and cryoa for that. As he looks at his sword, he sees it has dulled a bit, especially after slicing through bone in the last conflict. He finds a sharpener and re-sharpens it. He also picks up a spare batton and a small armory worth of thorns. Dakro chokes on the stench of decay as a large storeroom door opens for him. Inside are the remains of a human and rancid essence. She wears unusual garb and, from the odor, clearly has not been dead a century. Whoever she is, she died long after the Shaper fled. Dakro is about to leave when he spots a book on an ornate pedestal, clearly out of place in the storage room. Time and decay have heavily damaged this journal, written by a teacher when this school was still functioning. Only a few pages at the end are legible: "It has come to this. It is the end. Despite all our learning, our achievements, we are all being called away. There is some grumbling. Some students even whisper of rebellion. It will not come to that. We will be loyal." "Supposedly, they will let us continue our work on the mainland. We have our suspicions, though. They would not end all of this and then let our teachings escape." "All of our work is to be destroyed. Of course, there will be leaks, planned and unplanned. This journal, for example, will remain behind. Hopefully, all of the masterful techniques within will survive to...” Nothing else in the tome survived. Whoever wrote it, their final wishes did not come to be. Dakro comes to a guard room, quarantine doors, and narrow passages. He can guess where this hall leads: The Creation Hall. In the hall ahead, young Shapers first set their hand to molding life. This is, of course, insanely dangerous. Creation halls are always set up so that their keepers can seal them off in a moment. Unfortunately, the doors are stuck open, and the walls have been crumbling for years. Not a good sign. Dakro enters the Creation Hall and finds it occupied. There are several creations at the far end. They look at him with the insolent, mad eyes of rogues. One of them is an enormous thahd. He has a strange, unexpected level of intelligence. Thahds are stupid creatures, made for physical labor and melee combat. They have crude speech, but they never challenge their masters. Normally. This one shouts a challenge. “You! Invader! I Rawbone! This my home! You kill my pets! I Rawbone! We no follow you! We slay you now!” Dakro has had enough, "How dare you challenge me? I am a Shaper!" Rawbone laughs. “Pfaugh! Shaper! Shaper no exist! Just scary story." "I will destroy you, rogue." "Rogue! Me not rogue. Me Rawbone! Strong! Rrrragh! Eat you!” The huge thahd lumbers forward. Dakro wades into the battle, hamstringing Rawbone. The cryoa takes advantage of the off-balance creation and pins it to the ground. However, another thahd and two fyoras have closed in. As the fyoras release a firestorm, the Dakro and the cryoa race out of the way, freeing Rawbone. The thahd dogs Dakro, who slices across the thahd’s chest. Natural armor fragments break free, pelting Dakro and drawing several lines of blood down his chest and face. Dakro parries the thahd’s armored fist while urging the essence in him to seal his wounds. Dakro fights defensively, looking for an opening that will not result in further shards slicing his skin. Just as he thinks he is gaining the upper hand, Rawbone joins the melee, forcing Dakro into full defense. Then Dakro is blinded by a wall of ice in front of him. When it clears, but thahds are dead, the breakaway shards frozen to their corpses. Looking to the source of the ice wall, he sees the remaining fyoras is about to attack the unguarded back of his cryoa. Dakro draws and aims his thorn baton, catching the fyora higher than he intended, right through the eye and into the brain. It dies instantly. Looking around, they see two other fyoras in back cages. Fortunately, the fyoras seem unconcerned by the recent battle. Keeping the cages closed, Dakro attempts to sift through Rawbone’s frozen corpse, but merely ends up breaking off a limb. He abandons the attempt and looks through the nearby boxes. They are mostly filled with trash, torn garments, and broken weapons, likely stolen from Vakkiri. However, in one box he finds an iron key on a leather thong. It is old and rusty, but Dakro takes it anyway. Rawbone probably found the key when it took over these ruins, but he couldn’t figure out how to use it. Even an intelligent thahd is still a thahd. Dakro goes back through the complex, unlocking doors with what appears to be a master key. He mostly finds yet more dead school supplies, but eventually uncovers his goal: a canister! He quickly makes his way and slams his hand down on the metal spike, a wave of euphoria filling him. He sits for a time, just basking in the feeling. When the initial rush finally fades an hour later, he looks around for the next one, but is greatly disappointed. If only he could find more! Or, he thinks, make more. He immediately begins ordering the essence in his body to catalogue the changes that have been made. It looks like this one did not teach him to make magic, but re-wrote his synapsis, making him faster and… more arrogant, less cautious? That’s odd. To learn more, he will need to study the next canister before he uses it. Upon reflection, he orders his cryoa to stop him from using the next canister they find. Behind the next locked door they find the school’s servant mind. At first, he isn’t sure if it’s still alive. Then, slowly, quietly, it begins to speak, its long closed mouth breaking a thick crust of dust and dried saliva to speak. “Welcome, Shaper. I am the mind who has been named Povralus. It has been long since I have spoken or thought. Forgive my slowness. I will attempt to wake quickly and serve you better. I have lost much of my knowledge. What remains is at your service.” Dakro says, “Why have you lost so much of your knowledge?” "A Shaper from off the island came to me. She said the school was to be closed forever. She said that I was to forget all the marvelous things we had learned here. I obeyed completely, of course. Then they sealed me away. This was many years ago." Dakro has an epiphany, “Of course, I should have realized it earlier. This explains why the quarantine mind seemed so dull and ignorant. They ordered you to wipe your memories. So, you would not be able to tell me why this island was Barred directly, but perhaps… What happened to this school? Why is it in ruins?” "I do not know. Is the school in ruins? Nobody has visited me for so long. I know little. The last contact I had with your kind was when most of my knowledge was blocked off. Gone." "Why was the school closed?"; “I think I remember being told ... we on this island had discovered dangerous knowledge. But I serve. The ways of the Shapers are not for me to know. Unless they wish it." Dakro mulls over the panels covered with rapidly-changing symbols. He can’t understand them, but he knows they tell the servant mind what is happening in the complex. Realizing that talking with this lobotomized Mind would be a waste of time, he moves on. In one of the rooms beyond the mind, he finds another canister and immediately races toward it when his cryoa goes rogue, pinning him to the floor. Dakro reasserts control, only to be confused, as he senses the cryoa sitting on his chest is not rogue. A second later, the answer hits him. Of course, he was going to study the canister! He takes the canister Mind Pavralus, who believes he has never seen such canisters before. Putting two and two together, these canisters must be why the island was barred. They are too dangerous to use. He looks down at this mutated body and shudders. Had he voiced his thoughts aloud, Mind Pavralus would have told him the flaw in his thinking. Why canisters could not be the reason Sucia Island was barred.

Chapter 4: Entrepreneurs Dakro treks onward and soon enters the wild land north of Vakkiri. He exercise and natural surroundings soothe his anger. In the wilds, e finds the remnants of servile farms and camps. He also finds patches of scorched land. The serviles tried to expand here, only to be driven back by rogues. There are fyora tracks all over the place, clearly visible in the patches of ground among the scrub. There is also a crudely-painted sign by the road reading: LAND OF GHURK Pass Toll 10 coins Three serviles approach, weapons drawn. The leader is an aging servile who has been left bent and scarred by his years fending for himself in these woods. However, he still holds his blade with a steady hand. He looks Dakro straight in the eyes. “Stop! Am Ghurk.” The servile is trying to hide his fear, but even his long, harsh life hasn't erased his inbred terror of the Shapers. He barely manages to speak. “This our woods, Shaper. Woods of inutile. Though you are of lofty race, you still must pay the toll to pass. Ten coins, or go the way you came." Inutile serviles are those who for whatever reason, do not serve Shapers properly. Most are killed and a few live lives of desperate isolation. Dakro bellows, psychically amplifying his speech in the servile’s brain, “You dare threaten me? I am a Shaper! If you make one move towards me, servile, I will dissolve your arms and legs with my Shaper powers. You will starve and die. Slowly.” Ghurk is terrified. This is beyond Dakro’s powers, right now, but the inutile doesn’t know that. Ghurk backs away. Dakro demands, “Explain yourselves.” Ghurk bows his head. “Am inutile. Thrown from towns. Now life best if we live out here and take food from Vakkiri. Less work than toiling in fields. No farming when so many rogues. Is a lifestyle we invented!" Dakro’s anger gives way to amusement. “You invented theft?” “Yes! Had much thought. Reading old Shaper tomes. It is called 'banditry.' We may be first servile bandits! We are proud.” Dakro starts outright laughing. “Good for you! And because you have remembered your place with regards to Shapers, I am going to reward you. Here, take these javelins. They are weighing me down and I think you can put them to good use against the so-called ‘Awakened’ to the south. Ghurk takes the javelins and begins to count them (with some difficulty). Dakro proceeds past Ghurk. One of the two accompanying servile bandits scowls at Dakro as he passes. The Shapers' presence is filling him with terror and rage. A volatile combination. Fortunately, Ghurk’s presence keeps the inutile under control. In a secluded area, Dakro finds a wealth of stolen food. He picks out some of the better meat and (pear-like) fruit, eating a bit and stowing the rest. Deeper in, he sees the living area of the inutiles with numerous armed guards. Not wanting to press his luck, he holds his head high and struts on by. Keeping to the trees, Dakro follows the remnants of a road to the east. At the edge of the tree line, he spots a few rogue fyora wandering the plains, looking for animals to eat. Wanting to gauge their strength and cunning, he waits patiently in the woods until one is alone and nearby. After ten minutes or so, he thinks he finds his chance and fires a thorn from his concealed place. Simultaneously, his cryoa leaps into the air, aided by its new wings, and comes crashing down on the fyora, pinning it to the ground. The fyora bellows forth a terrible screech that draws others. Still pinning the fyora, the cryoa breathes ice shards at an approaching fyora, sending frozen blood flying across the grass. Dakro involuntarily takes a step back as he sees his number of enemies has quadrupled. He hastily re-aims his baton toward the one intent on him and catches it in the leg, forcing it to stumble. Like Dakro, the cryoa also takes a step back. However, unlike Dakro, this is an intentional movement in order to catch the fyora under its feet in the massive storm of ice crystals that it launches from its body. Dakro looks on in wonder, not having realized that the cryoa could control the “leaking” ice shards. The storm catches all four attackers in its storm, killing two and severely wounding the one that stumbled. The storm rages, only to be parted by several plumes of flame, scorching the cryoa. Dakro and the cryoa quickly finish off the last attackers. Dakro breathes a sigh of relief, all too soon. Even though all the enemies are dead, his momentary lack of concentration causes the cryoa to go rogue from its injuries. Dakro runs, but fortunately soon re-asserts dominance. Having seen how quickly things went south, they continue north along the treeline, skirting the fyora-filled plains. Nestled amongst the trees, they find an old, ruined Shaper shed. The front door died years ago, so he can enter easily. These doors are one of the Shapers’ most cunning creations. They are thin stone shells, intertwined with a large, custom-made plant. The plant detects motion nearby and lifts and lowers the door accordingly. Of course, sometimes, the plant dies and rots away. Then the door sinks into the open position permanently, like this one has. Inside, Dakro finds several living tools. Living tools are actual living organisms. They have several long, thin tentacles, which a skilled Shaper can manipulate to open or repair mechanical devices. They are delicate, though, and generally expire after only one use. Dakro never learned to use them, but takes them anyway for later experimentation. He leaves the metal tools and rotting lumber. At last they come to the massive ruin that is hopefully the former school Pinner talked about. Fortunately, the entrance hasn’t caved in. Dakro doesn’t see any signs of what was here, but the facility is buried underground. That usually means Shaper research or experimentation. As he scopes the place out, four fyoras wander out of the tunnel. The ruins are probably infested with the creatures. Dakro and the cryoa shout warcries and two of the fyoras immediately run back underground in terror. Dakro races forward, ducking into a roll underneath a fyora’s fireball. Regaining his feet, he jabs his sword up into the exothermic sack within the fyora. An explosion, contained by the flame-resistant skin, rips through the fyora’s organs. By the time Dakro has disengaged, he sees the cryoa has already dealt with the other one. They creep inside. The interior hall was built centuries ago and has been crumbling ever since. The traditional statues at the entrance, arms held out in welcome, tell Dakro what this building is. These are the ruins of a Shaper training hall. He smiles widely. Here, initiates were both taught and modified, undergoing the grueling tests and schooling necessary to master both magic and the creation of life. It has been a long time since a Shaper was tested here, but that is about to change.

Chapter 3: Vakkiri On the trek to Vakkiri, Timo watches Dakro nervously. He is happy to be in the presence of a Shaper, and yet ... He is nervous, too. He well knows how much power his creators have, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. When they enter the servile colony Vakkiri, there is a good deal of astonishment on both sides. Dakro sees that the creations seem to have done well on their own, much better than he would have suspected. They moved into the Shaper ruins and made them their own. They have crops, shops, and guard patrols. The serviles, in turn, are speechless. They have clearly been without Shaper influence for many years, and they have no idea how to react. They look overjoyed, relieved, and terrified at the same time. Most of all, though, they look expectant. They watch Dakro carefully, gauging his every move, wondering how he is going to treat them. The power of the Shapers has always completely overwhelmed that of their creations. Dakro, however, doesn’t have the full power of the Shapers. He is weak, tired, untrained, and alone. Fortunately for him, they don’t seem to know that. Dakro largely ignores the creations and looks for the Shaping Hall, his best bet for more canisters. He quickly spots the ruins, its entrance flanked by two imposing statues of Shapers. Here, Shapers built the creatures this town needed to function. They would make fyoras and thahds for defense, ornks to breed, and so on. Inside, he meets a withered, bent servile, at least a century old. They are designed to live for a long time, but this one is setting a record. When she sees Dakro, she is overwhelmed with emotion. The servile must exert great effort to keep from breaking down. She stares up with awe, as if gods walk the earth now. To her, maybe they do. With a trembling voice, she says, “Welcome back, Shaper. I am Learned Pinner. Welcome to my home. Welcome, at last.” Dakro smiles, “Thank you. I have found some strange artifacts on this island. Cylindrical containers full of goo about four feet high. Do you know anything about them?” “You mean the canisters? I have some of the fragments of them in a back room. They were created by the Shapers here before they left.” She shudders. “We serviles do not use them. Letting them infect us kills us instantly. I have seen it.” She winces, turning her face into a maze of wrinkles. “We fear your Shaper creations. We avoid them.” Disappointed, Dakro purses his lips, then asks, “Why is Sucia Island Barred? Why was it abandoned?” “We do not know. Your kind left a century ago. They left behind us serviles. They did not tell us why they fled. I have an idea, though. Where you might get a clue of why the isle was abandoned. One moment.” She walks to a cabinet and pulls out a large map case. Spreading it on the table, she says, “Here, to the north, there is a large ruin. It was once a school, where your kind learned their arts. Many years ago, before the island went wild and the rogues came, I met a servant mind there. It was friendly then, but confused. Maybe you can get it to talk sense.” She looks up from the map. “Not that it is my place to tell a Shaper what to do! I only mention this because the mind might have been told why Sucia was abandoned. I would go myself, but there are rogue creations now.” Dakro yawns. “Rogues are hardly a concern for a Shaper. Anyways, who should I see about my room?” Learned Pinner looks uneasy. “Ask for Leader Khobar in the large central building.” Unlike the others, the muscular Leader Khobar does not fear Dakro. Or, if he does, he doesn’t show it. He sizes the Shaper up, trying to figure out whether he is a help or a threat to the serviles under his care. A sword hangs from his belt, which is shocking. Serviles are not allowed weapons. He bows to Dakro, a very short, sharp motion, all the time keeping his eyes upon the Shaper. “Welcome to our home. I am Leader Khobar, proud Awakened and the chosen leader of the tribe of Vakkiri. It is a pleasure to have the Shapers among us again at last.” Dakro cannot help but notice the way Khobar emphasizes the word Leader. Or the lack of enthusiasm he put into saying the last sentence. Dakro sees the large number of armed serviles and considers his options. Finally, he says, “Pinner told me to see you for my room.” Leader Khobar sighs, “She loves your kind more than is safe. Before we speak of ‘your room,’ you need to understand the current situation. After the Shapers abandoned us, we serviles struggled for survival. Most were unable to live without your commands. Some of us were selected by cruel nature to be allowed to survive.” Dakro extends his senses and feels mutations in the obedience organs of almost all nearby serviles, which explains how these ones survived without Shaper commands. Leader Khobar continues, “Without the Shapers, we serviles had to find our own ways and beliefs. As the years passed, we split into three sects: the Awakened, the Obeyers, and the Takers of Free.” “The Obeyers are the ones who wish to follow. They are the ones who worship your kind as gods. You will find them in Pentil, to the northeast, as obedient and pliable as you could possibly wish. Their leader is called Rydell. I’m sure they will give you a friendly welcome and all the groveling you desire.” “This village is dedicated to the Awakened sect. We have been Awakened from the dark sleep of Shaper Mastery. Our eyes are open. We wish to deal with the Shapers as equals, with friendship and gratitude, but we will not be slaves to you any longer.” Dakro scoffs. Ignoring him, Leader Khobar finishes, “The Takers of Free are the mad ones of Kazg to the east, led by Gnorrel. They have been warped by the cruelty of their lives here. They were made by the Shapers, and now they wish to overthrow them. They wish to separate from the Shapers completely, and if the Shapers attempt to deal with them, they wish to die fighting.” Dakro realizes his mouth has dropped ajar and quickly closes it. “Okay, so what does this have to do with my room?” Leader Khobar rubs his forehead in frustration, seeing his words have not penetrated the thick skull of the Shaper. “We of the Awakened will freely trade with you for lodging, but if you wish slaves, you need to head to Pentil. Speak with Sencia over there if you wish lodging here.” He points to a servile woman tending to rows of pallets. Hardly trusting himself not to attack this roguish servile, he takes his leave, strutting over to Sencia. She looks up at Dakro strangely. There is none of the expected awe and fear in her eyes. She looks at the Shaper as if he were merely another servile. She says, “I am Sencia. Sencia of the Awakened. I welcome you to our humble home, Shaper.” Dakro grits his teeth, “I require a room.” Sencia points to the barracks. “Only those of rank and stature live in private homes. You may sleep in the barracks. Aid us, and you may earn the privilege of a private room.” Dakro’s eyes go wide. He cannot believe how this creation is speaking to him. Sencia says, “I see by your reaction that you are ignorant of our ways. We are the Awakened. We are a sect of serviles, led by the mighty Ellhrah. We believe that we serviles must stand up for ourselves, be proud, claim our intelligence and our birthright, and look to you Shapers as our equals." Dakro tries to interrupt, but Sencia talks over him, “We know that many Shapers will not approve of this. We will accept the consequences of this. If you would like to learn more, you should speak with Ellhrah. He lives to the east, in the fortress past Watchhill." Many of the nearby serviles start looking extremely nervous and start leaving, soon replaced by even more guards. Dakro raises his voice, “I will permit you creations to continue living as you have, as I have more important business elsewhere.” He then leaves, openly stealing some venom thorns on the way out. He stares daggers at anyone daring to meet his eyes. On the outskirts of town, a short, pale servile sits slumped in an old stone chair inside his home. When he sees Dakro, he calls out and beckons Dakro inside his home. He is clean and quiet, but he doesn’t look like he has been out of his home for some time. He speaks without looking up from the floor. “Welcome, Shaper. I am Nabb. I have been waiting for you to come see me.” “Greetings, Nabb. I take it from your posture that you have not been corrupted by the beliefs of the Awakened?” “Yes. I am risking much to speak with you. I must say what I have to say. I act without instructions from my sect, because I believe it is worth the risk.” Nabb takes a deep breath. “I am of the Takers. I am a spy here, from the village of Kazg. I have come to see what the Awakened are doing. I tell you this because we wish your alliance. Do not listen to the lies of the Awakened and the Obeyers. Do not throw your lot with them until you have been to Kazg and seen truth.” Dakro says dangerously, “Khobar told me the Takers of Free would attack me on sight. Are you trying to trick a Shaper into a trap?” “No! Khobar lies to keep you from the truth! Aid us and we can repay you. This island is full of secrets. Full of power. We know those who can unlock it for you. To learn more, you must give us help.” Dakro relaxes a bit. “I am listening.” Nabb swallows and says, “We will do anything to make the Serviles free, even work with a Shaper. We will accept your support, through one day we must leave you behind. There is no hope of true freedom and happiness for the servile race until we totally shed the influence of your kind. With you and our other allies, we may break free of the Shaper fist.” Dakro asks, “And who are your other allies?” Nabb lowers his head even further, “I am forbidden to say. If I do, I will be punished harshly. There are powerful forces on this isle, and we are linked with them. Forces that may make even the Shapers tremble. Join us, help us, and you may share in those powers too.” Dakro scoffs. “I believe I met them. They killed my living drayk ship and marooned me here. Now, you want me to betray the Shapers and aid my attackers?” “Of course! You should! You crush the creations. You abandon us. You are cruel to us. You are unjust. You must betray your kind, for justice. It is a hard choice. Fortunately, as I said, we can repay you with power.” With barely controlled rage, Dakro shakes the dust off his shoes and strides out of Vakkiri toward the school Pinner told him about. His last act in Vakkiri is to order his cryoa to relieve itself on Nabb’s sidewalk.

Chapter 2: Transmogrification Dakro’s musings are interrupted by creations bellowing to the north. He scans the horizon for horrible, mutant creations and sees that he is not alone on this island. However, the next creations he encounters are nowhere near so terrifying. It is a flock of ornks, which are cow-like Shaper creations. They are slow, clumsy livestock animals, hardy and laden with meat. Shapers created them to stock lands unfriendly to non-created animals, such as, apparently, this one. He notices that these ornks have large tusks, probably added by the Shapers to protect them from predators. Fortunately, they are likely to leave him alone if he leaves them alone. He sets course for a huge stone hall on the horizon. As he crosses the grassy field, the salty scent of the sea gives way to the smell of grass and flowers. Walking on dry land is refreshing after a week at sea. Dakro can feel the strange essence canister continuing to work its changes in him. His strength is slowly returning, and he feels a deep compulsion to find and use more of these canisters. The stone hall is still intact, and soft lights glow inside. His skin tingles. There is more Shaper magic inside. He immediately recognizes this large building as a Shaping Hall. There had to be one of them on this island somewhere. Here, the Shapers on this island used magic and force of will to make creations, for both utility and battle. Amazingly, this building is mostly intact. Shapers build things to last. Dakro sees energizing pools in the side chambers. Holes in the ceiling allow light to shine on them, keeping them alive. The goo inside each pool is a semi-living essence-charged algae, capable of drawing energy from the air and the sun. In the corners of the hall, he sees two glowing glass canisters. The essence mixture churns and glows within, ready to give him power. He races across western corner and immediately pierces his hand on the canister's needle. Then, before he even tries to learn what it did to him, he runs to the eastern corner and does the same with the other. A feeling of euphoria and power seizes him. He suddenly knows how the essence is healing him and demands it heal him even faster. As he forces it to work unnaturally fast, he can feel some of the essence dying, but that is no problem. He moves to the nearby sunlit essence pool and draws more into him. It is exhilarating. But that is only the tip of the iceberg. He now understands the basics of shaping a fyora! A fyora is a simpler version of the drayk, of which his living craft was one variant. The fyora version is a small, fierce lizard creature with sharp teeth and large glands in its throat that give it the ability to spit globules of flaming saliva. It's a very common model of creation. Shapers have made them for centuries to serve as bodyguards, watchdogs, and even pets. Dakro begins drawing on essence to form the creature until he gets to the flaming saliva sack and remembers his burned hand. His concentration wavers and the would-be fyora become a viscous pool of blood and ichor with bones sticking out at odd angles. Dakro dissolves the unusable bits down the drain and draws more essence, taking it a bit slower, experimenting with the constituent parts. At last, he feels ready for a second try at a cohesive creation. As he finishes it, he can feel explosive energies building within it uncontrollably. He orders it as far away as possible, where it detonates, shaking the building. He continues experimenting through the day. Mid-way through he gives up on fire, switching from exothermic reactions to endothermic ones. In the end, he manages to produce an ill-formed cryoa, a larger version of the fyora that breathes sprays of magical ice. The reactions are barely held in place, so ice shards leaks from the creation. He actually considers this an improvement, because it means that all nearby enemies will be damaged. He will just need to keep a safe distance himself. He sends the cryoa well ahead down the road and follows, but the road soon becomes impassable due to a thick wall of trees and undergrowth that has completely overgrown it. He directs the cryoa off the original path. It clears a path, snapping branches and tearing up bushes with its claws, teeth, and ice. As they press onward, Dakro begins to feel on edge. His Shaper training has left him attuned to sensing certain sorts of magic. He knows hostile creatures lurk ahead. Sure enough, they soon clear the foliage and see a fyora standing on the path ahead of more ruins. This one doesn’t have the usual expression of servility and obedience. It doesn't look at him with fear or respect. Instead, it is drooling. As if it sees him as ... food. He has heard tales of creations which have turned on their creators, have gone rogue, but it only rarely happens. When it does, the rogue is instantly destroyed. This fyora has spent years free of Shaper control. It bares its teeth at him, daring him to step forward. He can see shadows moving in the ruined buildings behind it. It is not the only creation lurking here. The creation stares at him with a confused look on its face. It bares its teeth, but it isn't fully rogue. Using what he learned from the canisters, Dakro psychically extends his will into the obedience organ built into the core of every creation, attempting to pacify the confused beast. The beast shudders and snarls, but it can’t shake his control. He stares at the fiery beast in the eyes. It looks down at the ground, demoralized. The sense of calm spreads through the ruins, touching the other creations. Dakro smiles and says, “The Shapers built you well. I can’t wait to apprentice for them!” He then tilts his head and looks at the cryoa. “Actually, I guess… I am a Shaper.” He shouts, “Look what I have wrought with my own hands and force of will! This island is mine to command!” The cryoa bows low, and then follows his silent command to scout ahead. Dakro is somewhat confused as to why he felt the need to shout. The two ransack the ruins, eventually coming to what was once a storage warehouse. Well, it still is. But now, instead of housing useful supplies, it holds old trash and rotten sacks. Nevertheless, on one counter are several thorn batons. Most are dried up and dead, but one looks like it’s still alive. Thorn batons are one of the Shapers' most ingenious creations. They are a mix of living and inert matter, plants (mixed with a touch of animal) grown in a metal frame, capable of firing a long, sharp thorn at high velocity. When unused, they go into hibernation and can live for a long time. They also find several healing pods. These gourds contain specially formulated and mildly enchanted shaper-made goo that causes the body to rapidly heal. Dakro tries strapping some supplies to the cryoa, but the straps just keep falling down. A bird alights on a nearby tree and Dakro gets an idea. He begins to form protrusions from the cryoa’s back. The sound of tearing skin, cracking bones, and anguished roars fills the ruins as Dakro forces the cryoa to grow wings. Dakro finishes and stands back proudly, “You might not get much lift, but that should give you a bit of an edge in combat and - more importantly - give me something to anchor these straps to so I don’t have to carry everything myself.” At the end of the ruins, they enter a Quarantine Hall. It is not entirely abandoned. They see another feral creation in the far corner. A thin, mangy thahd is leaning against a pillar, barely recognizing its surroundings. Thahds are large, clumsy humanoids. They have thick bones, strong muscles, small internal organs, and tiny brains. The bones of its prey litter the floor around it. It is a pathetic creature, but dangerous. Dakro can feel the obedience organ has atrophied within the creature, just as all muscles atrophy when not used. There will be no controlling it. Remembering his ordinarily cautious self, he orders the cryoa to lead them down a side passage that will enable them to safely skirt around the creature. They enter the quarantine waiting hall. People wishing to enter or leave Sucia Island through this port waited here to be questioned and inspected by the servant mind. And, sure enough, the mind is still here, resting to the north. Dakro marvels at the skill of the Shapers who shaped these remarkable creatures. They were given remarkable lifespans. The thing is still alive. A servant mind is a very specialized and useful sort of creature. Once grown, it never moves again. It spends its life in a stone crib made to fit it. Once there, it spends its entire life thinking, remembering, analyzing, and advising the Shapers. He carefully approaches the servant mind, unsure how its long solitude has affected its brain. Fortunately, Fortunately, its eyes are clear and bright, and its body appears whole. It has the massive, lumpy skull characteristic of these strange creations. “Welcome, Shaper. I am Mind Tavit,” it says, reflexively reading from an internal script centuries old. “Do you wish to pass through quarantine?” Dakro ignores the creature’s desire for an answer and asks, “What happened to this island? Why was it Barred?” “I am sorry, Shaper. I am limited in the scope of my knowledge. When I was left here, I was given no further information or instructions. If it helps, I can tell you that the decay in my internal organs indicates that it was abandoned well over a century ago. I am sorry that I cannot be more precise, as I was in hibernation all this time.” Dakro mulls this over. “What was the purpose of this island?” “Research.” Not the most useful answer he could have hoped for. Dakro asks a few other questions, but it quickly becomes clear that the creature was programmed with pathetically little information. Irritated, Dakro orders, “Let me through quarantine. I need to find someone useful.” The creature looks at him carefully. It makes a low, soft humming noise. He doesn’t feel anything, but Dakro suspects some sort of magical augmentation is allowing the creature to analyze him in minute detail. Eventually, the noise ceases. Mind Tavit says, “I find no reason to impede your progress further. The exit door will open at your approach.” On the other side of the quarantine hall, Dakro sees another flock of ornks, watched over by a servile. Serviles are one of the greatest Shaper creations. They are the most common and valued servants of your people: intelligent, hardy, obedient, and featuring hands with opposable thumbs. They are also easily controlled. If there are serviles here, this isle must not be as savage as he feared. Serviles are weak and easily cowed creatures. If there were any real threat here, they would have been quickly wiped out. His emergence from this hall is clearly the last thing this servile expected. He looks terrified at first, then curious. He leaves his flock behind to run and speak with the Shaper. He probably wants fresh orders. Nearing Dakro, the servile breaks his stride and boldly walks up. They inspect each other. It seems to be the same design of creation with which Dakro’s completely familiar. Same hunched posture, number of limbs, and so on. It looks very surprised to see him. However, it doesn't have the attitude of immediate obedience he has come to expect. It seems more curious than anything. After a few awkward seconds of staring, it speaks. “I don't think I'm mad. It's a Shaper! A Shaper has come at last! Oh, it has been years, years, since anyone has come through that door. A Shaper has come! This is so wonderful!” He gazes with awe. “Oh, but where are my manners. I am Timo. I am a shepherd. I graze my ornks here because nobody comes here. Oh. I must go to Vakkiri. I must tell my people a Shaper has come at last!" Dakro feels the servile’s obedience organ isn’t completely atrophied, but it isn’t normal either. Mutated, perhaps. Like it has been getting nourishment (for lack of a better word) from orders given by those who are not Shapers. Is that even possible? Mentally off-balance, Dakro asks, “Who or what is Vakkiri?” “It is our humble village.” He points east. “It is that way, not far. Not far. I should tell them a Shaper has come at last. Our home is humble and small, but, with no Shapers around, we did what we could.” Remembering the shade, Dakro asks, “There are no shapers here?” Timo grows even more nervous. “I do not … No. You are the only one. You are the Shaper. You have returned, and we … we can serve.” He seemed somewhat reticent about saying that last word. “If you need food or a safe place to rest there are people in Vakkiri who can help.” Dakro considers how odd it is that Timo is referring to his fellow serviles as “people.” Creations are called creations, not people. Frowning, Dakro says, “That’s right. You had better serve me, or you will be disciplined harshly.” Before, Timo was nervous. Now he is openly terrified. “Of course,” he says meekly. “Of course we will serve. The might of the Shapers must always be obeyed.” Timo looks unsure what to do next. His entire world just changed in a moment.

Chapter 1: Marooned Dakro lies on the hard dock, weakened to the point of collapse. He lifts his bloody hand and watches his Shaper-bred clothing taking in the sunlight, water, and ambient magic to regrow itself where torn. If only he could do that so easily. Or if his healing supplies hadn’t gone down when the warship first attacked. “The warship!” he shouts to himself. Suddenly remembering the warship, he bolts upright and scans the horizon, but thankfully sees no sign of the ship or any survivors. The ship’s design was unfamiliar to him, but surely they would have recognized his ship as Shaper-bred. Who would be audacious and suicidal enough to attack a Shaper ship? Dakro sighs. He has more pressing questions right now. Questions of survival and escape. The beach stretches off to the east. He dons the armor and straps the remaining supplies to his body. With one last look at the red-tinged water, he begins a slow walk through the uneven sand. It keeps him off-balance, but no more so than he already is in spirit. The sand gives way to a well-overgrown road. Amongst the vegetation Dakro spots a ratty Shaper-bread cloak on the ground. It has been discarded here for so long that it has regrown roots. He takes his sword and clumsily slices the cloak free. He really needs to find a knife. Wrapping the cloak around himself, he feels a bit warmer as the cloak not only helps shield him from the chill sea air, but starts absorbing the saltwater still clinging to him. He continues following the poor excuse for a road past a tunnel built into the cliff to the north. It is probably a storeroom or warehouse, as one is usually placed near the docks of a settlement. However, this structure is crumbling and appears to have been abandoned for at least a century, probably two. He will come back if he has to, but right now it appears a bit too hazardous to risk when all the goods inside are probably useless after all these years. When he reaches the end of the path, he sees it is blocked by a thick stone door marked with the symbol of the Shapers. When he gets close, his skin tingles from the complex magical protections. He hears a soft, reassuring voice, “Sucia Island has been Barred by the Shapers. For more information, send a request to the Council. Only full Shapers are allowed entry. No Shaper qualities have been detected in you. Please go.” His first thought is one of relief, for it means any deadly rogue creations on the island cannot get to him, unless they can somehow bypass the cliffs. However, his thoughts quickly turn to the dangers of starvation. He reluctantly turns back to the crumbling underground warehouse. He cautiously makes his way through the structure, stepping around myriad junk and being guided by red crystals that luminesce when they detect his motion. Another cloak lies here. Without sunlight and soil, this one has gone into long-term hibernation, surviving off limited ambient magic. He soon finds an office. The shelves hold nothing but dust, but a cabinet in the back corner contains a variety of papers. Dakro rifles through them eagerly, hoping for a clue as to why the island was Barred or where he might go for supplies. It’s no use. The papers crumble at his touch. Beneath the papers, though, he finds a brass key, none the worse for wear for its long concealment. He takes it, in case it proves a key to surviving or escaping. He chuckles, trying in vain to convince himself this is a time for laughter, rather than soul-crushing despair. Gingerly moving along, he makes his way to a small chamber. Inside, there once were several cylindrical canisters, each about four feet high, made of thick, carefully blown glass with a metal needle on top. Most of the canisters have been broken, but one of them is still intact with glowing fluid that swirls and moves about, seemingly under its own power. It looks like it is (in its own way) alive. It probably is. Dakro remembers seeing similar objects. The Shapers can store essence concoctions, filled with life energy, which heal and energize those in need. He takes his cut hand and places it on the sharp metal needle on top. The essence-filled emerald goo of the canister flows into him, healing his wounds, but then doing something more…. He is suddenly struck by a dizzy spell, driving him to his knees as the goo rewrites some of his very being. A strange urge, an instinct, seizes him. He extends his fingers and focuses. A bolt of fire flies across the room and explodes on the far wall, causing the structure to shift unsteadily. Dakro clenches his burned hand to his chest as he quickly picks his way outside. Part of him is excited. It’s magic. Actual magic! What would have taken years of training, he learned to do in an instant. It is exhilarating and, at the same time, utterly alien. He had no idea Shapers could do something so wonderful. However, he questions whether the essence worked correctly after all these years in storage. Using magic shouldn’t hurt so much, right? Then he thinks back to Heika, the Agent who came to tell him he had passed the tests and would be allowed to train under the Shapers. When he shook her hands, he thought how strange that she had the rough, scarred hands of a worker. Dakro mumbles to himself, “If burned flesh is the price of this magic, then it is not for me.” He thinks to himself, “Still, it may be worthwhile if it will fool the door into thinking I am a Shaper. If.” Re-approaching the door, it says, “Shaper qualities have been detected within you. You may pass. Please do not remove or interact with any -” and then the voice cuts out. “Strange.” he thinks pensively as the portal opens. Just beyond the portal is a hazy, insubstantial humanoid. Dakro cries out and starts to run when he sees that the “ghost” is warping and twisting in the light breeze, like a strong wind would tear it apart. Probably not a ghost then, but a spy or scout woven from essence by a Shaper to explore, learn, return, and report. Dakro pleads, “I was shipwrecked. I didn’t mean to come here. Please, please help me be on my way from his accursed Barred isle. You'll be guaranteed my silence, for I know the penalty for coming here is death.” The shade does not respond for a moment. Then it starts to move slowly toward Dakro, but breaks apart, as if the motion was too much for it. It dissolved rapidly in the warm sunlight. Dakro stares for a moment, and then - giving the area where the shade dissolved a wide berth - continues following the path up the cliff. At the top, he finds a guard tower next to a massive door that neither opens nor speaks, no matter what names he calls its mother. Entering the guard tower, he finds a locked lever. Trying the key, he finds it fits perfectly, and uses the lever to open the door with a loud screech. The cliff trembles slightly. After hastily passing through, he peers to his right into what appears to be barracks for Guardians (the Shaper police/military force) or Agents (Shapers not in research or enforcement). There are rotted beds and trash everywhere. A quick peek into a chest near the door reveals several javelins, which he takes. Whoever left, left very quickly. Turning a corner, Dakro sees a roamer, often used by Shapers as scouts or attack dog, watching him. Since it is a creation, it should be naturally inclined to obey him. However, this creature isn’t servile at all. It doesn’t look hostile; it’s just staring. It is an eerie feeling, being watched by a creation in this way. Creations have always obeyed him mindlessly before, unless a Shaper instructed it otherwise. It is clear that, whatever this island is, Shapers have been here (and may yet be, given the shade). However, if this isle is full of rogue creations, he may have a serious problem. After a seemingly interminable time, Dakro masters his courage and approaches the roamer blocking his way forward, ordering it to let him by. The roamer sniffs the air and then gets nervous and runs away. Odd. Further on, there is an inn, where visitors and travelers could stop for steaks, drinks, and sleep. A crumbling roasting pit still dominates the center of the room. Dakro's mind wanders to better times: The savory aroma of basted ornk at his celebratory going-away party. The soothing sound of insects as he lay awake all night in anticipation. His mother's final words... He recoils from the memory. His mind back in the present, Dakro finds himself confused and even more worried. This island appears to have once been fully settled. But most islands are Barred because of experiments gone awry, and most such experiments are performed by very small labs, in crude quarters, safely far from society. Yet, here he’s seen warehouses, guideposts, and now an inn. At one point, a lot of Shapers lived here. What could have driven so many of the powerful Shapers off? And what took their place?

Prologue A single mutation can reshape the course of a species. So too can a single person. Or even a single act. Even sailing without a soul in sight for the past week has not dampened Dakro’s excitement. He will apprentice under the Shapers: the oldest, most respected, most secretive, and most powerful of the magical sets - those with the power to create life. They even created the living ship upon which he sails. He grabs the scaled neck of his ship and leans forward, straining his eyes as he passes a small island. His chart identifies as Sucia Island and enticingly marks as being Barred by the Shapers. It is forbidden, likely due to some failed biological experiment that resulted in deadly rogue creations and abandoned secrets. Visiting it is punishable by death, but it can’t hurt to look from afar, right? Little does he know how wrong he is. Distracted by the island, he fails to notice the warship off to the east. His craft cries out in alarm as the warship fires a long spear. The razor-sharp bolt strikes his craft, which roars in anger and breathes a bolt of fire, striking the enemy’s sails and setting them ablaze. The battle takes only seconds. His living craft founders, mortally wounded, and drops him into the water, vital equipment sinking into the depths. Unable to swim, Dakro starts to sink into the rough waves, but, with one last effort, his living ship saves him. Bleeding, it drags him toward Sucia Island. Dakro grabs the crumbling dock as his ship slumps against the dock, dying. Dakro scrambles to retrieve what equipment he can: a Shaper-bred plant that purifies water, a canister of food, chitin armor, and a sword. As he starts to carry back charts and books, the craft suddenly shifts violently and begins going under the crimsoned water. Dakro drops everything and makes a desperate lunge for the dock, catching the edge and hauling himself up. He watches, morose, as his hope for escape sinks into the sea, leaving him alone, abandoned, on a forbidden shore. Marooned on Sucia Island.

Mutagenesis Book 1 of the Geneforge series Table of Contents Prologue Chapter 1: Marooned Chapter 2: Transmogrification Chapter 3: Vakkiri Chapter 4: Entrepreneurs Chapter 5: Schooling Chapter 6: Poison Chapter 7: Thorns Chapter 8: Pentil Chapter 9: Reflections Chapter 10: Roamers Chapter 11: Taking from Takers Chapter 12: Cunning Chapter 13: Enigma Chapter 14: Fear Chapter 15: Front Lines Chapter 16: Alpha Chapter 17: Side Effects Chapter 18: Writing History Chapter 19: The Divide Chapter 20: Shaper vs Shaper Chapter 21: Politics Chapter 22: Life Chapter 23: Ascended Chapter 24: Ward Chapter 25: Unbridled Power Chapter 26: Prism Chapter 27: Priorities Chapter 28: Power Core Chapter 29: Singing Chapter 30: Cold Chapter 31: Understanding Chapter 32: Stength Chapter 33: Trash Chapter 34: Toxic Waste Updated weekdays. Thank you alhoon, Isaiah, kuo, and ultra112 for your encouragement.

You may still download the Geneforge 1 - Mutagen Demo by visiting: steam://install/1526390