Part 6: On the Road

On the Road




The serviles warned you that strange dangers have overtaken the Hills of Jars. The still air carries only a few sounds: the moan of air currents through distant tunnels and the steady, maddening drip of condensation from stalactites.

These warrens are a good example of the curious architectural style the Sucia Island Shapers apparently favored: a blend of natural caverns with granite masonry. The walls aren't mortared at all. What look like simple, stone blocks are actually expertly dressed to fit securely together without any extra support.



You pass by the basic way station and head south. The locked lever here is no match for your charm. Your triumph only lasts a moment before it's brutally snuffed.


Walking through the mines would be a foolish and likely fatal mistake. You and your creations edge past towards another lever-locked door.



Your vague hope of finding something to neutralize the mines is rewarded. You send out a silent thought of gratitude that whoever planted these mines also left a means of bypassing them. That means whoever is responsible still needs a way to pass through the Hills... Though if the controls are left locked up, that person certainly didn't intend for anyone without the keys to enjoy safe passage.






You can't see it in my screenshots because I haven't worked out the whole gif thing yet, but the tiny wick atop these little mines twitch back and forth. It would be kind of cute if mines weren't the bane of my existence. It's at this point that Geneforge really stops fucking around and takes off the kid's gloves, because these mines will absolutely wreck your shit. What mines a given spore box actually effects is ambiguous and it's completely possible to mistakenly reactivate mines and then detonate them. I used quicksave liberally here, and if you're playing, you should too. F10 saves the day!

You hold your breath and approach the first row of mines. When they don't explode, you close your eyes and step toward the second, then the third. Here, you find a servile who was much less fortunate than you. Scorch marks on the tiled floors show that she's not the first creation to get too close to a live mine.

Someone came back and replaced the mines without removing her body. The casual disrespect towards a dead creation makes your skin crawl. She was left here perhaps as a warning to anyone who might follow. Her pale, fixed face and awful wounds are enough to sicken anyone with even a basic level of empathy. Unfortunately, there's nothing you can do to compose her body, so you cover her with a blanket pinched from the way station.



There's a long empty creation pen nearby. You wonder what kinds of creations were kept there before Sucia Island was evacuated. Perhaps this was a station to temporarily hold ornks while moving them across the isle, or maybe those long-gone Shapers kept fyoras and artilas here that were much like your own.

That gives you something to chew on while you carefully, painfully mince through the minefield. The creations you can shape thanks to the canisters are from designs over a century old. How do they compare to modern designs? What tweaks have been made since this place was abandoned? How have fyora and artila temperaments changed? These questions are a welcome distraction.







After venturing into a few dead ends, you find another spore box and twist the dial. You're not sure if you just reactivated all the mines behind you or if you've deactivated unseen mines ahead. Perhaps both. Dread hangs over you like a sword dangling by a single thread. Even your creations, innocent of the danger that mines present, have picked up on your anxiety and are sullen and snappish. No words can express your shame at passing your fears along to them.



This part of the warren is a maze of natural tunnels. The pink-tinged calcite is slick in places and you're forced to catch yourself more than once on slimy walls and stalagmites.



Fortunately, you reach another developed portion of the caverns, where the tiles, though grimy, at least aren't coated with bio-film.



You twist another spore box dial, then, curious, sniff the air. It doesn't smell any different from the pervasive mildew down here. Hopefully the control spores are nontoxic.



The benches here still have tools and complex Shaping equipment on them. You take intact pieces of Shaper experimental equipment just in case. It's heavy, delicate stuff, but it may prove useful in the future. If nothing else, you can probably sell it to the serviles for some significant coin.



Another unfortunate servile. He somehow avoided death by landmines, but he was unable to pick the locks and died anyway. His body is waxen and pale and the flesh is firm and smooth to the touch, much like a fine, hard soap. You recognize the phenomenon -- grave wax. It happens most frequently in very moist, sealed environments, but even Shapers have yet to determine the why of it.

The other doors here are all locked and your essence is too depleted to spell them open. You decide to check the other tunnels.





You find a mortared wall that shows signs of being recently built. It must be blocking off a shortcut... When you think back to how you came in, you're relatively sure of it. Perhaps you should start drawing maps. They might help with mysteries like these.

The minimap in the lower right corner is very helpful for figuring out where you haven't been yet, but sadly lacks any annotation function or landmark features. It does display little blips for NPCs, with different colors for the PC, their creations, friendly NPCs, and hostile NPCs.



You rest and refresh yourself, then continue exploring the eastern galleries of the Hills of Jars. There's another spore control box, and you find a passage that leads to still another locked automatic door. This one is a little too complex to defeat with your Unlock charm.



The eastern gallery is in the all-natural style. Heaps of jars both intact and shattered line the nooks and crannies here. You're a little disappointed that none of these jars are canisters. You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up at the serviles' name for the place.

This side is riddled with dead ends, but you do find a passage out to the east. That means you've opened all three routes through the Hills of Jars, which will certainly please the serviles. With trade and communications re-established, they might even be able to work together to push back the other rogues.

Somehow you doubt the serviles will achieve that level of cooperation.

Now that she's found all 3 exits, Solution can pass freely through this zone. You don't need to explore the central area at all. In fact, you don't need to engage in any combat at all. If your mechanics skill is high enough, you can get through Hills of Jars without ever taking any damage.



Before you go, though, you decide to investigate the heart of the warren. Anything important here would have been isolated from major exits and protected behind thick bulkhead doors. You return to the lever you bypassed earlier. A living tool softens up the lock, and your charm finishes it off.




The mines are bad enough, but subverted turrets are terrifying beyond belief. You weren't expecting to run into them past the bulkhead, but it appears that you weren't the first person to get back here. Just like the mines, turrets have finite lifespans and can't independently reproduce, so there shouldn't have been any remaining rogues back here.

You and your creations have already spilled partway out of the narrow service corridor. If you don't seize the element of surprise but instead flee, the turrets will be waiting for you if you return.

Grinding your teeth, you go ahead and commit to the fight by pushing GreatEvilKing forward. Turrets aren't well-armored, just exceedingly dangerous.



Your fyoras take out the first turret, but not before it gets a shot in on GreatEvilKing, the first creation to enter the fray. Berryjon hangs back; if the thahd were to get close enough to a turret to punch one, it'd be well within range of two more turrets' thorns. The access corridor provides shelter and a useful choke point in case of an ambush from behind. Berryjon's immense bulk is more than enough to ensure that nothing will be able to backstab you without berryjon spotting it first.



As you reinforce the team with a war blessing, the Vosgian Beast once again proves its worth by half-dissolving a turret. The turrets are really just large fungal growths; their soft bodies are no match for acid. You're grateful that the turrets can't scream as they melt away.





More turrets have been planted by the surviving workbenches. One of them is darker than the nearest turrets -- and to your dismay, it turns out to spew envenomed thorns, one of which poisons idhrendur. There's no time to cure the fyora now; moving into range of one of these venomous turrets puts your creations in range of at least one more, so you must focus on taking them out by any means necessary.





Fortunately, the last turret falls before any of your creations succumb to their wounds. Without wasting a single motion, you pop another pouch of cure spores and tease thorns out of your creations' wounds. The Vosgian Beast, fragile as it is, was on the brink of death, but the potent antivenin in the spores helps stabilize it so that you can stop the creation's bleeding and make it whole once more. You and your creations are starting collections of scars that are completely out of step with the Shapers you've seen all your life. Maybe if you were better at healing craft, you wouldn't look so battle-worn.



With the turrets out of the way, you investigate the doors here. Behind the first is another spore control box. You turn the dial even as you wonder if perhaps making it in here earlier would have helped you avoid fighting those turrets altogether.



Among the remaining supplies is a pair of steel gauntlets. Such important personal protection would have come into handy much earlier, like when you found those horrible vats at the ruined school. Honestly, it's a little surprising that you didn't find something like this much earlier. Either there's a servile out there with a massive collection of Shaper steel, or the Shapers were extremely conscientious about taking their PPE back with them during the evacuation.



The locks on the next set of levers you find are even finer than that on the bulkhead which let you in here. You have to squeeze out your last bit of essence to convince them to open.



When you open the western door, you're immediately fired upon by a trio of venomous turrets. The first two shots kill the Vosgian Beast before you can even move, leaving your very first artila to quickly dissolve into a smear of formless ooze. The third strikes you. Fire spreads through your veins, threatening to eat you from within. These toxins are based on those used by certain natural arachnids that rely on venom to not only disable prey, but also to partially digest it. You can only clutch your thorn baton and order berryjon into the doorway.

You suddenly realize that there's nothing that sets you apart from the Shapers who ordered this place abandoned but ability. You're ordering your creations to take the blows that are meant for you. Those Shapers might have at least been able to shield their vulnerable creations. They certainly wouldn't have left it so close to a door without knowing exactly what was on the other side. The Vosgian Beast paid for your miscalculation.

RIP The Vosgian Beast. You served Solution well!





There are simply too many turrets for your exhausted creations to handle. You order them to pull back before you're all overwhelmed. You can't even take the Vosgian Beast's corpse with you. The artila is just protoplasm now.

You return to Vakkiri with a heavy heart. Now that you've opened the doors in the Hills of Jars, it's imperative that you either re-seal them or disable the rest of the turrets before some innocent being wanders in and meets a grisly fate. If you were able to get past those locks, eventually so, too, will someone else, be they a servile or another bit of human flotsam like yourself.

Disabling those turrets means you still need another artila. You set your guilt aside and summon the forces of creation. The Awakened guards pretend not to watch as you Shape before them in broad daylight once again.



Placid saviour proves to be a heartier artila. The newly-shaped creation looks vigorous enough. It watches the serviles with keen interest, perhaps already trying to distinguish food from not-food.

All that stuff on the ground there? That's a glorious pile of wealth.





The warrens in the Hills of Jars have lost some of their mustiness when you return. The renewed air circulation is already hastening the decomposition of the corpses you found before.

The remaining locked door where you first encountered the turrets proves stubborn and you resort to using another living tool to get the job done.



Still, the effort proves worthwhile, because beyond is another large storage room. The thick layer of dust here proves that no one has come in here in ages. No turrets greet you with their customary hail of thorns, but you're careful to keep your vulnerable new artila away from any unscouted openings.





Past a pair of evaporated essence pools is another canister. This one improves the potency of your searer spell, allowing you to approach the natural strength of an artila's spittle. Still, your ability with combat magic is simply inferior to what your creations can do. It's better for a second-rate caster to rely on first-rate companions than to let frivolous ego get in the way.

Using the canister soothes you. The sorrow of losing the Vosgian Beast and Xander77 are distant now, more like being touched by the light of tiny, distant stars than holding a red-hot poker by the wrong end. Instead, anger comes to the fore. Whoever placed those turrets will suffer.



You are determined not to repeat your mistakes. The automatic door that leads into that hell of turrets closed when you and your creations left. This time, you ensure your weaker creations are out of line of sight when you open the door. With berryjon as back-up, you peek through the doorway.

A servant mind? Of course. There had to be something here to help run such a large warehouse. The size of this place implies that it was full of necessary supplies for the researchers stationed on Sucia Island. The administration here must have received countless requests for reagents and equipment.

Before you prod the servant mind awake, you decide to investigate the ledgers and cabinets for clues. More information will help you decide what questions to ask and how to evaluate the answers.


That doesn't quite match the estimate Tavit gave you of a century... Twice that long? Perhaps this warren was abandoned long before the rest of Sucia Island was Barred, but you doubt it. You can't imagine that Tavit willfully lied to you. It was more likely simply mistaken. That means the servant minds you've met are at least two centuries old, if not older. It's amazing that they haven't gone mad for being isolated for so long.

You check another tome chained up nearby.


Three canisters? A frisson of desire shoots through your brain. You've used one. That means you could find two more here, though they may be guarded by those awful turrets.

You check the cabinets by the mind. The first case contains a ceramic jar of mind nutrients. The jar appears intact, so you take it before moving on.





"What is your purpose here?" you ask.

"l was the quartermaster for this facility. Most of my mind was formed to store vast amounts of information. My skills were put to use remembering all that was in here and all that was removed."

"What supplies here would be useful to me?" Perhaps Pak can direct you to the remaining pair of canisters here. If there's a way to reach them without first tangling with the turrets, you might get lucky and receive power that trivializes such creations.

"Oh, many, many things, Shaper. I can equip you with many powerful items." Pak starts to list weaponry, rations, and so on.

However, it is soon clear that his information is out of date. He has not been told that practically everything here has been looted. Eventually, you tell him to stop listing. Pak is essentially a complex abacus, full of data rendered trivial by the island's Barring.

Though it's pointless, you tell Pak that you could use a boat.

As expected, the servant mind responds apologetically. "I am sorry, Shaper. A boat would not fit in this complex. Try looking at the main docks. They are to the southwest." No doubt it is referring to the place where you swam ashore.

"Do you know why the Shapers left here?" Probing the minds has only proven so effective in the past, but you can't miss any opportunities to figure out what's going on here. Besides that, Pak's initial greeting struck you as off somehow. Pak was awake when you came in, unlike the other minds...

"No, Shaper. I am so sorry." If the servant mind could bow, it would, you know. Instead, it can only cringe.

"All right," you say. "Why were mines and turrets placed here?"

Pak looks uncomfortable. Its tiny, useless limbs flop about worriedly. "There was one who came here, with guards. A human. He came and said he was an envoy from the Shapers. He said that I must place defenses to protect all of our supplies. I did so. Please, please forgive me if that was against the true will of the Shapers."

Finally, confirmation that Clakkit's rumor-mongering is true. Someone else is here. The person can't be a Shaper. No Shaper would ever travel incognito. Not only it that beneath one's pride, but it would also be incredibly inconvenient. This stranger is responsible for the deaths here, and, you imagine, also for the proliferation of rogues in the forests and valleys beyond. They have much to answer for.

Part of you is also relieved that no mad Shaper left spawners here. The reality is bad enough, though -- somehow an outsider has unlocked the secrets of Shaping. You, at least, have been chosen to learn them. This outsider has not. Whether by chance or design, this intruder has stumbled upon secrets not meant for them.

"The Shapers do not want these things here. Deactivate them immediately," you command Pak.

Pak closes his eyes for a moment, and then opens them. "It is done, Shaper. These paths are clear."

"Now tell me about this human." You wonder if the outsider is the ally Nabb mentioned. If the Takers have allied with outsiders, then they've gone beyond dangerously rogue. That would ensure the Takers' destruction.

"He was no Shaper, but he said he was. I am sorry, Shaper -- I am only good for remembering, not analyzing personal character and veracity. He had two guards with him. Well-armed. One of them said his name, and he seemed angry."

Pak's timidity is starting to irritate you. You want answers, not apologies. "What was the name?"

"I am sorry, Shaper. He ordered me to forget the name. I couldn't. I had already stored it. So he ordered me never to retrieve it."

"As a Shaper, I outrank all non-Shapers. I command you to ignore all orders given by non-Shapers. Once that is done, tell me the name."

Pak thinks for a little bit. It is clearly a difficult chore. "I can't let you affect protected memories, but I can let you affect orders. So all such orders are forgotten. Now, what did you want? Oh, yes. The name." The mind hums. "The name of the human who commanded me was Trajkov." Very interesting. You make a note of it.

"That is all for now," you tell it. Pak, relieved that you have no more difficult questions, watches you go.



The turrets now ignore you. After a few moments of thought, you decide that a little more assurance can't hurt. You direct your creations to crush a turret. The other turrets don't react when you damage it, so, one by one, you destroy them.



This storage room has several surviving living tools and a canister. When you use it, several refinements to the thahd design make themselves known to you. You hope that you won't have to shape another, but if you do, you know how to make a more rugged variety now.



The next canister you find doesn't impart any new secrets or spells. Instead, it refines the fragile network of filaments that connect your mind to your body, allowing that network to transmit its all-important signals even more quickly than before. You feel faster and more agile when the changes are complete. For someone like you who has always been frail, the difference is amazing.

We received two points of quick action! That brings our QA stat up to 3. We will never spend skill points on QA, so this is a nice little bonus that will sometimes help us act first during battle.



With all the dangers within the Hills of Jars at last laid low, you venture southeast into the Plains of Pentil. You check the sign, which reads, "Pentil - Northeast. Thorny Fens - West." As long as you follow the road, you are confident that you should soon arrive in the Obeyers' settlement. Hopefully their welcome for you is as warm as Sleet said.




The abandoned ornks shy from you at first, likely frightened by the creations around you. But when you don't attack them, the ornks edge closer, drawn in by the aura of a Shaper. You give the boldest one a pat. There's little you can do for them -- you don't know much about caring for ornks, and you don't yet know what happened to their owners.



You investigate a nearby ruin that turns out to be in use as a shed of sorts. There's little of interest to you inside. Looking over the fields, you can make out hulking shapes in the distance -- more rogue thahds. You suspect that you'll have to do something about them if you want to make it to Pentil.



For now, though, you need to head east. The road has been maintained as best the serviles can, and following it is a far sight easier than trudging through overgrown fields. The last thing you need is to stumble into a mole hole and twist an ankle.

To your surprise, there's an armed servile to the south, hidden in a pocket of the brown stone cliffs. He looks completely worn down. His Shaper-style robes are stained and tattered beyond repair.





When you step into the serviles' camp, you're greeted by a chorus of desperate cries. Resting serviles leap to their feet and bow their heads low. The clamor of their pleas bewilders you.

Reeling, you command them to be silent, then turn to the servile by the fire. This must be Chesh. This band of serviles have clearly had a hard time of it lately. They are exhausted and demoralized, and this, their leader, seems the weakest and most fatigued of all.

Yet, though he is trembling and almost asleep on his feet, the moment he sees you, his energy seems to return to him. He puts his hand on the pommel of his sword, drops to his knees, and bows his head.

"I had not even dared to hope. I had heard the rumors, but I welcome you, Shaper. I place myself and my men at your disposal. I am Chesh Blade, of the village of Pentil."

He stands again. "We are isolated, now, trapped and separated from home. Our losses have been great. Yet, hopefully, now that you are here, the tide will turn."

"What is this place?" you ask, looking around at the disarrayed camp.

Chesh either misunderstands or decides to equivocate. "These are the fields where Pentil grows all of its food. Or, it was, until the rogues swept in from the north and blocked the city gates. Now, it is a ruin, eagerly awaiting the wisdom of the Shapers to set it right." That much is as you suspected. You're glad you decided to follow the road instead of circling around the northern reaches of the fields.

"Tell me of your troubles," you say. A better picture of the rogues and their territory should be useful in rousting them out.

"The west gate of Pentil is to the northeast. However, it is blocked. There is a strong force of rogues there, in a good defensive position, and none of our forces have been adequate to defeat the blockade." Shame forces him to lower his voice, though the situation is clearly no secret to the rest of his band.

You wonder if you'll fight your way into Pentil only to find a besieged or burned out settlement. It seems that their troubles may be even more severe than those of the Awakened. "Describe their forces to me."

Someone, perhaps Trajkov, must have commanded the rogues to form a blockade. Otherwise, the rogues would have simply carved up territory and formed packs. Come to think of it, the roamers of Thorny Fen also behaved oddly, cooperating with far more complex tactics than you'd usually ascribe to such creatures. Why is Trajkov conspiring to divide the serviles?

Why would an outsider bother?

As you ponder this, Chesh replies, "It will sound meager to your ears, Shaper. It is perhaps ten thahds and about half a dozen artila. The thahds provide a buffer, while the artila acid sears any who approach. Perhaps we might dislodge them, but at ruinous cost to ourselves. A cost we can't afford. Of course, with your help, I am sure that we could dispatch them easily."

"Why do you wait, then?" you ask. You're here, and your creations should prove adequate enough against mere thahds and artilas. "Why don't you clear the gate?"

He examines you carefully. Perhaps he is trying to gauge how strong you are. His faith in you might not be as absolute as it seems. "We will, Shaper, but perhaps not yet. As I said, their position is very strong."

You try not to let any displeasure seep into your expression while you think how best to handle this. The support of Chesh and his armed band would eliminate any meaningful risk to you and your creations when you assault the gates. A half-dozen or so armed serviles would present not only a confusing number of targets for the simple-minded rogues, but you're sure that with your blessing, the serviles would be able to form a meaningful battle line with berryjon as its heart. Of course, there's always the option to deceive these serviles, have them charge, and then sort out the survivors, but that's both unnecessarily cruel and horrifically wasteful.

"You will have my assistance. I will be with you. Attack the gate now."

He examines you again. He thinks for a bit. Finally, he says, "Shaper, I thank you for being so kind. We will attack the gate soon. As soon as our wounds are healed." This lot looks pitiful and terrified. You aren't holding your breath.

"As a Shaper, I command you. Attack the gate now," you say, summoning all the cold hauteur you can.

He looks very uncomfortable, almost panicked. "Shaper, we will. l promise. As soon as our wounds are healed." That looks like it may take a long time.

You don't conceal your scowl. You're certain you could convince Chesh if you lied about your strengths, but you can't quite make yourself utter a lie that will send these serviles to their potential deaths. On the other hand, this open defiance cannot be rewarded. "I'm low on supplies and require assistance." It's petty, and if you're honest with yourself, which you aren't, seizing these serviles' supplies might be the same as killing them yourself.

Chesh does not hesitate for a moment. From his perspective, this may be a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of a Shaper he has defied three times. "Please, Shaper, take anything of value in our camp. It is an honor to assist you." He eagerly says this although it is clear that they have a much greater need for weaponry than you do.

His eagerness is almost humbling. "You are kind," you allow. "Thank you for your help."

Chesh is confused. "But Shaper, what is ours is yours. You do not have to thank us mere creations."

So he's willing to give you everything he has, but not to lay down his life. You shake your head, but take the opportunity to restock some thorns and crystals. These serviles have very little and even less to spare.



You check the next cave and discover that it has been put to use as a morgue. Surprisingly, no rogues have defiled the half-dozen corpses here. Their weapons, if they were even armed to begin with, have been wisely claimed by the survivors.



On you way back to the road, you find a thahd stalking your party. Interestingly enough, the rogue ignored the ornks entirely. Though this thahd proves tougher than those you've encountered earlier, your creations are still able to vanquish it before it can do more than superficially bruise berryjon.







As you check the tunnels along the cliff face for spawners and outsiders, you learn a little about what life must have been like here before the rogue invasion. The serviles who worked these fields lived in close quarters much like they do in Shaper territory outside Sucia Island, packed tightly into barracks with little regard for privacy. Their quarters are messy, but you're not sure if that's the result of unsupervised serviles or destructive rogues.




You locate a more complex tunnel reinforced by aged masonry. This tunnel dates back to when still lived on Sucia Island. The canister here enables you to cure a wider array of even more potent toxins, providing you with hope should you come across more venomous turrets.



South of the storeroom is a root cellar. You find an interesting sample of tubers and rootstock cuttings here, though they're showing telltale signs of withering from being untended so long. You take a little time to moisten the roots and cane trimmings. The serviles will return once you clear out the rogues. There's no point in letting all their hard work go to waste. Besides, you've always had a soft spot for plants. Without them, you wouldn't have the marvelous thorn batons.





With the patience born of putting down over a hundred rogue creations, you sweep the rest of the plains. Some of these siege-modified thahds are using the same tactics the fen roamers did. The thahds patrol and sometimes try to ambush you, but for the most part they bellow for help as soon as they spot you and flee, only to return with more allies.

Your creations become skilled at spotting the siege thahds first and disabling them before they can raise the alarm.



To the northwest you find a disturbing boneyard tucked away in a cliffside pocket. It's hard to say what the bones belonged to. You hope this is where ornk carcasses were discarded after slaughter. The other options are nowhere near as benign.



You find a wide canyon opening closer to where you estimate the Pentil gates are. There's another sign here that reads, "Pentil - East. Thorny Fens - Southwest. Rogue Wastes - North - Beware!"

The Rogue Wastes must be where these besiegers came from. How have there been rogues anywhere on this island long enough for the serviles to make signs about them? Have outsiders been going to and fro, stealing Shaper secrets from this place? The very thought terrifies you. The power to Shape is not one to give or receive lightly. It took you years to prove yourself, and a tiny voice inside you sometimes whispers fears that your landing on Sucia Island marks you as unworthy of that trust.

After all, you're making use of secrets that you have little right to. The only thing that sets you apart from the outsiders is that you were chosen as someone who will one day be worthy of learning these things the correct way. Using the canisters is certainly expedient, but this place was barred and you're not certain that the canisters aren't the cause of that.






You approach the blockade through a wide crevasse, thinking to use it as a way to funnel the rogues into a meat grinder. This plan starts out well, but the artilas turn out to be far more powerful than you expected. Berryjon accounts for several siege thahds that your fyoras and placid saviour soften up, but the thahds aren't the problem -- the artilas are far too effective and you can't support berryjon against all the rogue thahds while also eliminating their ranged support.

You don't want to see another creation die an avoidable death. You force them to retreat. As you circle back, you draw your team up against the western cliff face and finish healing them. This assault is the push that decides whether you're going to be able to liberate the western gates of Pentil or whether you'll be forced to resort to more devious means. You bless your team and then move into position.



Luck is on your side. The siege artila did not regroup after you fell back earlier. Their flanks are all exposed. You don't take any risks. GreatEvilKing, placid saviour, and idhrendur take out the leftmost artila. More notice your return and slither south to meet you, but you have fortune's favor and none manage to hit your team.

These creations are not terribly intelligent, perhaps because they are so fresh. They've clustered together for support, innocent of what a terrible tactical error that is. Your spray crystals devastate the artilas, leaving only a couple that were too far out of range. Berryjon rushes in to meet the slow, confused siege thahds. In moments, there's only mopping up to do, which your creations handle quite easily.



With no armed support and without any significant assistance, you've seized the western gates. You praise your creations, without whose efforts this victory would have been utterly impossible. Even an artila appreciates a little tickle now and then. Idhrendur and GreatEvilKing preen and nibble your fingers delicately, and berryjon puffs its massive chest even if it only understands about half of the compliments you give.



You find another servile here, murdered by the rogues -- or rather, murdered by whomever sent these rogues. Trajkov or whoever did this has a great deal to account for. You hope you'll have a chance to mete out justice to this wretched outsider.

Back at the warrior serviles' camp, you find Chesh still waiting despondently by the campfire. He starts to give you his excuses again, but you forestall him with a raised hand.

"Are you not aware that I've already broken the artila force and cleared the blockade?"

Chesh looks acutely embarrassed. "Oh. I admit our reconnaissance has not perhaps been what it could be..." In his place, you'd want to sink into the ground, never to be seen again, so you keep your mouth shut. He'll be humiliated enough when word of his dereliction of duty to you, a Shaper, gets around in Pentil.

And it will.

"Up, men! We will now retake the gate!" As they prepare to leave, Chesh says, "Shaper, if you could spare a great kindness to your lowly servants, could you escort us to the gate? We are weak, and we may need your protection if more forces have arrived."

To Chesh's incredible joy, you assent to escort them north. The march turns out to be completely uneventful. Any remaining rogues have been chased off by the slaughter for now. Compared to the Awakened you've met, Chesh seems truly pitiable -- his terror of the rogues is more like that of normal serviles, but you find yourself missing the spine shown by Awakened patrols. They needed your help, but they didn't snivel about it. That hermit in Watchhill could teach Chesh a thing or two about fighting rogues.





At long last, you've arrived in Pentil, the village of the Obeyers, the serviles who still respect the natural order and recognize their place. You're not as confident about that last part now that you've met some of the Obeyers, but you're willing to approach them with an open mind and a forgiving heart.

Before you pass the guard house, you hail one of the serviles in the gatehouse. You speak with the guard for a little while. The servile is completely obedient, cooperative, and in awe of you, but he doesn't know anything very useful.


Next time: The Obeyer Interlude: Your Faithful Servants