Part 28: Souls Freed From Vice

Souls Freed From Vice

“Then the soul, freed from vice, purged by studies of true philosophy, versed in spiritual life, and practiced in matters of the intellect, devoted to the contemplation of her own substance, as if awakened from deepest sleep, opens those eyes which all possess but few use, and sees in herself a ray of that light which is the true image of the angelic beauty communicated to her, and of which she then communicates a faint shadow to the body," from Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier.





This river valley is shrouded in deep shadow. Cold winds blow in from the ocean, howling through the tunnels bored into the cliff on your right. Your creations dart looks this way and that, spooking easily thanks to the tension permeating this lonely stretch of road.






Upon reaching this northern exit, Icy Tunnels is considered "cleared." However, Solution still has much left to do here.



You meet one of the outsider humans, the leader of the small group guarding this narrow pass. She points at herself and says, "Avdotya of the Sholai." She looks very confused and nervous. She clearly didn't expect to see you. "Do you understand me?"

You respond that you speak a little bit of her tongue.

She nods. 'You must go back. You cannot pass here." Your understanding of her speech is imperfect, but adequate.

"Why can't I pass here?" you ask, crossing your arms.

"These are orders of Trajkov. He says no Shapers can pass beyond," Avdotya replies.

"Who is Trajkov?"

"Trajkov is the leader. He says who may pass our post, and who may return. If you want to pass us, you must see Trajkov. He is north, in big mountain. He wants to see you." She starts to look over her shoulder, but stops herself.

"What is past here?" you demand.

"I cannot say." She braces herself.

You oblige her expectations. "I am a Shaper. Let me pass. If you do not, I will destroy you."

"We have our orders. Step forward and we slay you. The young Shaper is to be brought to Trajkov."

"And if you slay me, I can never be brought to Trajkov. Let me pass, and I promise I will return to see him." You're worried, but not so worried that you won't try to bluff your way past. If they're so interested in restricting this area, that means one of two things: either another route to the rebel Sholai lies beyond, or... the docks are near. You can smell the sea. You can almost hear it.

It is difficult but you manage to convince Avdotya of your sincerity. "We let you pass, but be warned. There are the guards further on, and they will not let you go all the way to the ship docks. If you not get permission from Trajkov, they attack on sight."

A ship! You could almost sing for joy.










You don't have nearly enough spore batons to get through this mess. Snarling to yourself, you turn back. You will return, and the Sholai and Takers who laid these mines will be sorry that they ever placed themselves between you and the sea.



On your way back through the small Sholai guard post, you discover the Sholai's barracks. They have patched up an old Shaper building that was once likely used for the same purpose. There's nothing of interest in their cabinets, though.






Inside you find more crystal lattices. Perhaps they occur naturally on Sucia Island, and the experiment you found in the warrens was someone's attempt to reproduce them and deliberately cultivate them.

There are even more of those pylons inside here. Many are thickly coated with minerals thanks to the long, slow drip of condensation from the ceiling over the years... But you don't hear any dripping now. These pylons must have been frozen in time long before the tunnels themselves froze over.



When you venture deeper into the tunnels, you're confronted by a specter. Like Clockwork disposes of it quickly enough, as the rest of your creations are bottled up with you in the tight little passageway between caves. Being trapped like this makes you nervous, though.



The specter dropped a gauzy pair of gloves when it vanished. You snatch them up. The enchantment isn't your style, but you know several merchants who will happily fork over substantial gold for them.

The various specters here have low drop chances for specter gloves, specter robes, and specter boots.



Another ghost, in slightly fancier phantom wear, confronts you as you wend this corner. Your team has more room to maneuver, though, and it goes down just as quickly as the gloved specter did.



The spectral sage was guarding another pylon surrounded by bones and baskets. The baskets are full of rubbish -- the years didn't treat their contents kindly.



These tunnels honeycomb the entire cliff. The wind is loud enough to muffle your footsteps, and the multiple approaches to each chamber leave you vulnerable to ambushes. One such strikes as you walk through still another pylon chamber.

The spectral trio melts away before the combined strength of your creations, but you don't let your guard down.

Despite the ghosts and the cold, though, these tunnels are beautiful in their own way, and the pylons are fascinating. Someone long ago poured heart and soul into making them, into carving those mysterious designs, and they were clearly meaningful to those long-lost people. Maybe the pylons served the same purpose to the former inhabitants that the Shapers' statuary serves -- a reminder not just of common values, but also of authority. The pylons aren't very imposing, though, so you're not sure that's right...

Even the specters have their own sort of ephemeral beauty. Their features have faded with age, leaving only the impression of human bodies that flow artfully, shivering in the currents of the cave wind. The shades' bodies shimmer with phosphorescence that scintillates between the greenish bioluminescence of cavern fungi and the gold of crystal lamps, pulsing with failing but still stubborn will. If you ever become a ghost, you hope that you might hold on to your duty as well as these ancient specters have -- though you can't yet guess at what this haunting is for.





It's just as well, because another ambush strikes as you pass through a chamber you thought you'd already cleared. You don't remember that little side room, either, but you don't have time to puzzle the issue out. You have to send these specters back to their rest.






This place is another seriously large maze. I've excluded most of the encounters here. Almost every chamber has 1 - 2 specters waiting inside, and you will be constantly ambushed from behind.



This wall was definitely solid when you passed through before, but now it's gone, revealing an alcove full of bones and lattices. You crush a green one and let it refill your essence.

Something strange is certainly happening here, above and beyond the haunting...



You find another lattice alcove on your way out. You search it extensively, but you don't find any hidden triggers or indeed anything stranger than the crystal. The cold is getting to you, though, so you are relieved to exit the icy tunnels for now.






The nearby obelisk reads "Servile Maintenance Hall, Control Three." You hope that Control Three is still alive, but given the horrid condition of this foyer, you expect to be disappointed.

At least the water source is still clean-looking. As long as nothing toxic has leached in or been dumped in, you'll be able to refresh yourself here during your explorations.

Your planning is interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You turn.



You meet a small servile. His skin has a fresh, waxy look, and he has a vacant expression. He actually looks like a new creation! He certainly doesn't have any of the presence of mind common to serviles on this island.

He starts to speak to you, slowly and carefully. "Shaper. I have Shaper instruction. I am Greeter."

"What is this place?"

"This is servile warren, where serviles made and taught, by Control Three. But defended. I here to warn, but not expect Shaper," Greeter says. It's a poor excuse for a name, but descriptive, at least.

"You said you have special instructions if a Shaper comes?" you prompt him.

"Control Three defends. Fills with creations to protect place from rogues. But Control Three has become weak, and creations attack all. Beware." This is all said with the same passion as a bookkeeper reciting rote figures from the last year.

"They will even attack me?"

"Creations attack all. There to defend this place."

"Can anything be done to restore Control Three?" you ask. If this servile was assigned to warn trespassers, where are the serviles assigned to care for the control mind?

"It says it is hungry. I don't know what to do about it," Greeter says.

"Who made those creations? And who made you?"

"Control Three. Even weak, it can command powers here. It makes new creations. They fight rogues who come in. Many rogues come in. Bad serviles. They killed." Greeter looks up at you, intelligence and comprehension failing to penetrate his features. This is much more like the servile behavior you are used to.

"What do you think of what is going on outside this place?" you ask.

"What is Outside?"

You briefly explain the concept.

The servile looks scared. "I have never been Outside."

You look back towards the entryway. This servile has never taken the couple dozen steps needed to leave this place. Nothing other than Control Three's scanty instructions has bound it here all this time. You wonder if the Takers have met this servile. You suspect not -- they would have almost certainly killed him. Perhaps he had a predecessor that met that fate.



A servile body lies curled and putrid in the corner here. Greeter has been using this small room as a living space -- living with a dead member of his kind. You struggle to contain how repulsive this is. Greeter is likely cut off from Control Three by the rogues he described, but it takes a special sort of obstinate stupidity to share your quarters with a rotting corpse.

The sort of stupidity an untutored, loyal servile might show. No one told him to do anything with the dead body, so of course he left it alone.

You check the nearby logbook.




As you read, RickVoid shrills an alarm. Greeter stands in your path, looking blankly at nothing. A blue roamer of the same sort you saw at the southeastern docks menaces your artilas, who haven't yet re-oriented themselves to meet this threat.

But a lone, rogue roamer is not an effective defense against you anymore. The roamer screeches its last and crumples, charred and bloody, as your fyoras finish it off.







The wide corridor and dining hall are full of trash and rubble. This facility must have been wrecked even before time took its toll.

You kneel to examine a Taker's corpse when you catch a blue blur in your peripheral vision. It shrieks when it notices you, and then flees.







More rogues attack from the southwestern hall, drawn in by their packmate's alarm. They pour in faster than your creations can kill them, but the guardian roamers can barely keep up, let alone land serious wounds.



You've slain almost a dozen by the time the dining hall quiets again. Patrolling roamers kept blundering into the fight, screaming for help, and fleeing just as it arrived; the effort of putting them all down cost you some reserves, but no terrible injuries.

Of course, your creations shriek when still another rogue tries to attack you from behind.





As soon as you whip around to face it, the roamer screams and flees.



Then you notice another from the northwest. You fear you'll have to kill your way through all of Control Three's defenses to reach it, and then it won't be able to replenish them fast enough to fend off the Takers.

You know what the Takers will do to a defenseless servant mind. It won't be a clean death.






A lever in the surgery unlocks the nearby office. You sift through the useless records, then pull still another lever. The odd arrangement doesn't make much sense to you.




That lever unlocked the storage room, though, and you stock up on more spore pods.





The serviles' old sleeping chambers have been ripped up by the rogues to make foul-smelling nests. You find another dead, gnawed-on servile in one. You can't estimate when it died or what exactly killed it.



The Takers fought a fierce battle here not that long ago. Swords and javelins are mixed in with thorns, bones, and rubbish. You're about to sift through to find salvageable materials when another guardian roamer wanders into your sight. Your artilas slay it before it can even cry out.



A pair of locked doors without exterior levers taunts you. An obelisk nearby reads "Discipline Chambers." You're pretty sure it's labeling whatever's beyond the narrow corridor there...



You follow the tight hallway around and into the main chamber.


Before you can even make it out in the dark, a turret fires. Like Clockwork yelps, but you can't reach it to heal the wound -- your path is blocked by the artilas and idhrendur.



Like Clockwork endures. The first turret falls and you close on Like Clockwork as your other creations race ahead. They mark a second turret and it falls even faster than the first.



The first lever unlocks a holding cell. There's a skeletal servile corpse here. You shudder to think of how this creature spent its last days, locked up and dying of thirst in this cell with no one to hear its cries.



Scattered bones remain here amid piles of garbage and bedding. The smell of ancient rot and ordure, kept fragrant by the dank conditions, drives you out.

You check the tome between the cells.




You pass whipping posts and rusting shackles. There are whips on the tiled floor, decayed to the point that they crumble under your heel. The sole cabinet here is packed with ruined implements of pain.



Two rogue roamers await your team as you leave the discipline chambers. Like Clockwork snaps at one, but the other rogue lunges in to take advantage of your roamer's exposed throat. Even as Like Clockwork's prey rolls in its death throes, Like Clockwork itself dangles limp and twitching from the guardian roamer's thickly muscled jaws.

Enraged, you scream at your artilas to turn the rogue into the protein slime from which it came.



Once again, there are only five of you left standing. The roamers weren't your match. Like Clockwork didn't have to die. You let your distraction with your surroundings steal your attention from the roamer's injuries. Your neglect strikes again.



Even as you grieve, you are determined to do better. This time, you can make something harder. Better. Faster. Stronger.



The terror vlish doesn't have eyes, but it doesn't need such apparatus to direct your creations and punish rogues. MagusofStars has literally been born ready.

There will be no more surprises.



None of the rogues can withstand the mental pressure even a newly-made terror vlish exerts. They fall swiftly and in agonizing fear.



You've found very few supplies to justify exploring this place, but knowing that there's a servant mind in dire peril is enough to keep you moving ever deeper into the complex.






Of course, if Dayna's hypothesis is correct, then very little except some meddling separates you from a servile. Of course a human being, even a Shaper, would be upset and exhausted by ceaseless toil... Humans and serviles are social beings with higher cognitive functions, and that means you need leisure.

You could use some leisure, you think.





The turrets guarding the spring-fed pool prove no obstacle for MagusofStars. The turrets fold in on themselves and wither into nothing but ooze and thorns.




You haven't had that luxury.



Before you go further, you check out the sitting room by the antechamber to ensure no more roamers are waiting to attack from the rear. There's another automatic door here stuck fast in place. With nothing else to do, you move on.




A spectral vlish waits in the Shaping chamber, hovering amid the empty essence pools. It turns its quivering antennae toward you. You feel its weighty mind seeking to impose its will over your own, but you throw it off. The effort to try and control you leaves the spectral vlish rogue vulnerable to your creations, and in short order, they cripple it and burse its air bladder. The dying rogue forms a puddle on the tiles and you step over it and into the short access corridor.





MagusofStars trembles as you approach the mind. You quickly realize why. Tucked into the blind spots on either side is a pair of turrets. They were positioned to flank intruders. Fortunately, MagusofStars was at least able to warn you that something was wrong, and the turrets are destroyed before they can harm anything.






A cold thrill races up your spine at the sight of not one but two canisters in this spiral alcove. The first improves your ability to dominate beings and the second quickens you not just physically, but mentally.

Finally, some reward for slogging through this boringly laid out hellhole.



Three crystal spires pour out their power here. You can hear the deep rumble of hidden machinery, not too different from the other Shaper compounds you've visited outside of the sects' fortresses. You approach Control Three, who ought to be able to explain just what's happening here.



You must deactivate the crystal spires, which is bad news. But, to your great relief, the spire controls aren't that complex, and despite their great age, the spires obediently power down after you tinker with each of them.

The servant mind gasps, "Shaper. At last. I am Control Three. I require nutrients. Please."

You're almost loathe to part with it, but you unseal your last jar of mind nutrients. "Here is some nutrient fluid," you say.

You could order it to die, which is a possible Taker quest.

"You... Shaper. You are... wise. Thank... you." You carefully scoop the nutrient goo into the creature's mouth. Soon, it regains its strength. "Thank you, Shaper. I am restored. Give me some time to restore my mental thoughts, and I will be able to help you."

As you wait for Control Three to recover a little, you reorganize your supplies and tools. You've gained quite the arsenal and your pockets are heavy with coin. Still, the selection is very narrow and tailored mostly towards killing and robbery. Living tools and reaper batons are not what you expected from your new life as a Shaper apprentice.

When you turn back to Control Three, it is still alive and much healthier. "Shaper, I am eager to serve you. What would you wish of me?"

"What is your purpose here?" you ask.

"I am the master of the serviles in Kazg, though they have gone completely rogue. I am sorry, Shaper. I lost control of all of them. I also control this complex, though I know little about it anymore. The years and the rogues have damaged it. For this, too, I am sorry."

You wave the apologies away. Control Three isn't responsible for Sucia Island's troubles, and you're not going to interrogate it about the Takers. "What can you control in this complex?"

"I... I..." It thinks. "There is still one door I can control. It closes its eyes for a moment. "It was locked. Now it is not."

"What is this place?"

"This was where new serviles were created, bred, and trained. They were made to serve the many tasks needed on Sucia Island. It was difficult. Many of the tasks were complicated," Control Three replies.

"What sort of tasks did you teach?"

"I taught serviles how to maintain, repair, care for records, all of the typical servile tasks. I also taught them how to do jobs specific to research on the Geneforge."

Now that is a much more interesting avenue of inquiry. "What is the Geneforge?"

"I do not know. When the Shapers left, they told me to forget all I knew of the Geneforge. I only know that it was powerful and dangerous and difficult to control. And I think it still exists."

Why was this the only thing the Shapers were thorough about? It would have been easy for you not to learn about the Geneforge at all. You might have stumbled into Trajkov's clutches completely blind.

"Can you control the creations here?" you ask. You don't want even one more guardian roamer crossing your path.

"I could. I made them, using mechanisms left by the Shapers for me. But I have been weak for so long that they have grown completely rogue. Now that I am restored, I will use my energy to make creations to battle rogues everywhere."

You sigh. "I'm done with you for now," you say.

Control Mind Three wobbles a little. "Thank you, Shaper. I will return to my purpose. I will control the rogues as much as I can."

Thanks to talking with Control Three, we can now freely cross the Servile Warren. It's not really important, since this zone only has one exit. Shutting the mind down has the same effect.

The hidden machines are silent now that the spires have completely shut down. You check the door by the western alcove, but it's evidently not the door Control Three unlocked for you.



The unlocked room is actually to the south, and contains another canister and a dead servile. The servile must have been locked in with the canisters. Three are broken. You wonder if the servile did that or if the rubble that fell from the ceiling is responsible.

The mass restore spell the canister grants you is welcome recompense for all your troubles here.

Next Time: The Little Things