Part 37: Where Death Awaits Pt. 2

You pass through another small Shaping chamber. Even it is full of drums. The arrangement makes no sense -- all this waste would have never been left scattered everywhere while the workshop was in use. It would've been stored out of the way, probably deep within one of the many caves or clawbug burrows.





The records area isn't full of leaky drums, but that didn't save these scrolls.



The next spiral is complex enough that you're forced to don the tinker's gloves for the extra boost. The connectors are corroded and some of the fibers have finally snapped.



You wonder at what kind of madman would have eaten in a kitchen located inside a Shaper workshop.





With the local pylons powered up, you order your creations to hang back. Soon the signature pew pew of security pylons blasting specters rings out through the workshop.





The specters are softened up and your team moves in to finish them off.



Now that the nearby chamber is free of spooks, you investigate the eastern doors.





In the first cell, you find your second canister from the workshop. It's in surprisingly good shape. The automatic door might have successfully sealed this room. The canister improves your ability to shape battle alphas.

You also obtain an interesting suit of finely forged chainmail from the nearby cabinet.

The other two cells have boiling pools of acid in them and very little of use.





The conditions in the nearby apothecary are similarly inimical to life. You creep along the walls and find some pods. Among them are curing pods, which is a great relief, because you've already run out since entering South Workshop.

The crystal lattices in the next room have somehow survived the awful gases and prove useful. You wonder why they were cultivated in soil. You've seen them growing from bare stone all over the eastern side of the island. Well, if they'll survive in soil as heavily contaminated as these little plots, the lattices must grow in unusually robust configurations.







You wonder if perhaps these specters did something similar to themselves -- or had something similar done to them -- as the Sucia ancients did. The Shapers of two hundred years ago clearly had the knowledge; the spectral vlish in the High Energy Holding Cells demonstrates that. Moreover, those Shapers didn't have many qualms about Shaping themselves, as shown by the canisters and, it seems, the Geneforge.





You get the pylons back online one at a time and blast a path through all the shades. Even if they're the product of necromancy rather than Shaping gone wrong, they still die like everything else you've faced.



Someone certainly has been here. Ramel isn't entirely deluded.



Somehow, three crystal boxes and a cabinet were left at the far end of a room with more vats in critical condition.

You know I've looted every last container no matter how close they are to boiling pits of whatever the heck, right?



You enter this massive hall, the largest in this whole complex. In the center, you see a ghastly specter. It is not the ghost of a Guardian or Agent. It is the spirit of a Shaper, kept in unending unlife by some powerful, horrible magic.

Unlife, you say? Hmm...

When you enter the hall, it points a finger at you. "I am Corata," it intones. "One of the masters of Sucia Island! You are here now, Shaper, and I bid you to serve me. I need your help."

"Help? What sort of help do you want?" you ask. You watch the shade warily. It calls itself Corata, which... you'll just accept. Mind Ramel might be mad after all the years of being trapped inside this pit of horrors, but you decide to finally take its words at face value. Corata is here in front of you, standing at the center of three roughly equidistant Shaping platforms, four quiescent pylons, and four active defense glyphs.

Solution could say "Foul shade, I will never help you! Your only peace will be found at the end of my blade," and then she'd be dumped right into combat.

It intones its story in flat, slurred tones. "I am one of the three masters of Sucia. When the isle was Barred, I snuck back. I came here with those loyal to me. We wanted the power here, the power of the Geneforge, for ourselves. But we needed the control rod. It was here. So we came here."

You wonder if Trajkov knows about the control rod. If so, his efforts to retrieve it have only ended in corpses piled in an alcove. "Then what happened?"

"We made a mistake. We didn't think the poison here could affect us. We were wrong. It was much fresher and stronger then than it is now, before the worst of it leaked into the soil." Corata probably wouldn't sound more concerned about that even if he were properly alive. You, however, wince. You've seen firsthand the results of the leaching toxins, and what's more, you actually care. "We didn't see how sick we were getting until we were in too far. Some of us escaped. The rest were warped, changed, held. I, the strongest of all, found the control rod, but was trapped in this horrible form. Those who escaped did no better. I made sure that they died. That was their penalty for leaving me!"

A classic tale of hubris and murder. You frown at Corata. He managed only to get himself and his followers trapped here, and killed any who were smart enough to flee. You doubt you'll receive better consideration from this crazed abomination. "And what do you want from me?"

Corata suddenly becomes much more animated. "Save me! I can see you have great Shaper power in you! Use it to rebuild my body and restore me to life. End this imprisonment and maddening torment. Then I will give you anything you want!" Despite the offer, his tone is better suited for commanding rather than beseeching.

You immediately realize that you can't do what he wants. Nobody can. What he wants, the creation of a Shaper body and filling it with an existing spirit, is impossible. Even to a Shaper, dead is dead.

Solution can again tell Corata to eat steel here, or...

"Can you tell me why Sucia Isle was Barred?" you ask. You need to buy time until you decide what to do with this creature.

He looks furious. His translucent form glows red. "The fools! They did not realize what we had done! We could rewrite any being. Give it incredible power in moments. You know how marvelous this is! I can see you have partaken heavily of the canisters yourself! They thought that power should only be obtained with years of study and control. They wanted all of us to be chained to an eternal treadmill of unnecessary work. So, when we finally completed the Geneforge, they Barred the isle. Curse them!"

You're starting to agree with the wisdom of those long-lost Shapers, but as an apprentice looking forward to years of discipline, you're uniquely positioned to see the appeal of obtaining mastery in the blink of an eye. You'd still feel that desire even if you weren't stuck on Sucia Island. "What is the Geneforge?"

"Our greatest creation! The cumulative synthesis of all we had achieved. One use of it could elevate a being to near-Godhood! The combined essence of all of our canisters, in one simple device. I was going to use it. I would be the very first. Then they kept me from it, and trapped me here. They will pay, but first I need a new body!"

Solution can say, "You are mad. What you want is not possible to any Shaper," and again, fight, or "Let me think. I will go and try to find a way to make you a body," and leave.

You nod like all this makes perfect sense, then say, "I know a way to save you. But, to make your body, I need that I control rod you mentioned."

"What? You can? You mean that the means of my salvation were in the next room for all these years?" He points to the southwest door. "The rod is there. Bring it and save me. But beware! If you are trying to trick me, oh, how you will pay."

Megalomaniacal threats have never been the way to your heart.



In your nervousness, you go the wrong way and discover Corata's private torture dungeon.

Yes, I regularly confuse directions in real life and in videogames. Don't make fun of my brain condition!



The insane ghoul immediately conjures up his spectral bodyguards. He doesn't have time for your foolishness, but you make your way around the chamber while your blessed and hasted creations make short work of the shades.

You can't get any of the crystal spirals to work. The pylons remain quiet and useless. At least they can't be turned against you.




Unfortunately, the Control Rod doesn't work on the devices here. You're certain it will prove useful once you reach Trajkov's lair, though.



Corata summons wave after wave of specters. They fall soundlessly. You hope they aren't suffering, but given how miserable Corata looks, you know that hope is in vain.



RickVoid splatters Corata's glowing form with acid and he falls, dissolves into fumes, and is no more.



Mind Ramel watches you quietly as you approach.

"Corata is dead. I killed him. He is gone forever," you say. You aren't sure how to best reassure Ramel that its tormentor is now just another collection of foul gases.

"Then I am free. Free at last. I am weak and old and I am over. Over, at last. I am sorry I can serve no more, Shaper. Peace. Sweet peace. Here is the rest of my life," Ramel says.

Before you can say anything to stop it, it begins to concentrate. You can almost see the energy flowing out of it, pouring into you.

Ramel is not dead. But his mind is gone.

Ramel rewards us with an additional point in each of our base stats. But it's a ghoulish reward, isn't it?



You collect your creations and hastily retreat from South Workshop. Destroying Corata won't clear the air or undo centuries of slow poisoning, but now no one will lure passersby into the ruin. If you had the power, you would bury the place under the mountain it was dug into.

Corata dropped this rad shield. Solution swaps it for the foreskin fyoraskin shield and becomes much cooler.



You briefly stop at the border of Pentil to create an additional glaahk. You sense that you'll need the extra muscle where you're going.



Next time: Practice Freedom