Preface
The world of Geneforge is, of course, the property of Jeff Vogel and Spiderweb Software. I am deeply grateful that this game series was created and for the hours of enjoyment that I have had playing these games. I have attempted to weave the five games into a cohesive story, and throughout there will be other characters who are met more than once besides Alwin, Greta, and Litalia (although these three will not be seen until the third tale in the saga).
I view all of the games in this series as a morality tale. The first Geneforge is a tale of testing of character and ethics. This particular episode in the saga is a rather introspective tale, which provides a bit of a challenge to bring it to the page (or screen, as the case may be). What follows here is the story of how one person responds to the unexpected testing of character-a testing which pits the needs of survival, true character, and the deepest urges of the heart against each other.
I have chosen to tell the tale of a young Shaper (that is, a Shaper proper, not a Guardian nor an Agent). Due to the fact that I do not plan to tell a Guardian's tale in this series, I am using the default name for the Guardian for this Shaper.
For those who have not played the games, I urge you to consider them. These games have perhaps the greatest depth of any CRPG, where the moral dilemmas are between shades of gray, not between the forces of pure good and pure evil.
It is my hope that the telling provides a compelling reason behind the "what" of the events that happened. I hope you enjoy the story that follows.
Prologue
"There is time for one more," said Acarya. "Dakro, take the baton."
Dakro closed his eyes, wishing that he had not been chosen. Unable to put off the moment of reckoning, he picked up the baton. Aiming toward the stuffed target at the far end of the field, Dakro fired the baton. Suddenly from the sidelines, there was a cry of pain from Shusuke, the class leader in thorn targeting.
"Put the baton down, immediately!" ordered Acarya, rushing to Shusuke's side. "Incompetent little ... to my office, at once, Dakro."
Hanging his head, Dakro started for the offices, trying to ignore the jeers from some classmates and the voices of concern about Shusuke's condition. I hate those batons! They never fit right ... like they've a mind of their own!
Hours passed, Dakro pacing unhappily in the office. Acarya entered. "Shaper Simrat wishes to see you. To the library now. Follow me, and don't drag your feet."
Head bowed, Dakro followed down the long hallway into the darkened library. At the far end of the room, sitting on a seat flanked by two serviles was Shaper Simrat himself. Two battle alphas moved to close the door as Acarya and Dakro came into the room.
"It was an accident!" The words flew from Dakro's lips before he even thought. "I'm s-"
"Silence." Simrat raised one hand. "Apologies are not the way of the Shaper."
Dakro felt the words die in his throat as he tried to puzzle out the meaning of what Shaper Simrat had just said, while prudence told him that no one was to utter a sound after a Shaper requested silence.
"Shaper Simrat," said Acarya, making his obeisance, "the boy Shusuke has been maimed by Dakro's-"
"Your incompetence as a teacher aside," said Simrat, "it may be unfortunate that this Sushuke is injured, but I am sure that he will recover." He made a negligent gesture of dismissal. "I wished to see Dakro on another matter entirely."
"Shusuke's arm may need to be amputated," protested Acarya. "This boy must be punished."
"It is not for an Outsider to tell me what to do," said Simrat. "Sushuke is of no importance."
"Shusuke is the school's best student!"
"You are insolent!" Simrat made a gesture. "Perhaps three days will teach you some proper manners. Em, take that man to the punishment cells."
The battle alpha on the left of the door stepped toward Acarya, whose face whitened as the alpha put manacles upon his wrists.
"I meant no ... I am sorry!" sputtered Acarya.
"Four times a day, Em. The usual number each time," said Simrat. As Acarya was dragged from the room, Simrat seemed not to hear the cries of terror from the instructor. "Now, Dakro, to business. You, as the rest of your classmates, had an interview with Mind Tabbart. I have reviewed these interviews, and your application is approved. You will be reporting to the Greenwood Academy in the Ashen Isles."
Application? What application? All the Mind did was hum at me. Dakro thought furiously, trying to make sense of the words of the Shaper who ruled the region. "Where are-"
"Don't worry about that." Simrat gave another negligent wave, and a servile slouched forward. "A drayk will transport you."
The servile slouched toward Dakro, making an obeisance toward the youth, concluding by offering a folded robe to Dakro.
"Now, we will be going to my home for dinner," said Simrat, as the two serviles bowed and scurried away. "You are, of course, merely a prospective at the present." He smiled as Dakro continued to hold the folded robe. "Put it on."
Dakro unfolded the robe, seeing the Shaper symbol embroidered in a paler blue than the robe itself, buttons formed of crystals carved into the Shaper symbol. Shaking it out, he obeyed Simrat's instructions, his mind still reeling as he buttoned the robe.
"There are some minor instructions that I shall give you before your departure. A few things that your status now entitles you to learn." A quirk of the lips, and Simrat raised his voice to speak to the remaining battle alpha. "Ell, find this Shukey boy and have him brought to my audience chamber."
The alpha lumbered from the room, and Simrat rose from his seat, gesturing for Dakro to accompany him. Dakro began following at two paces behind, and Simrat gestured again for Dakro to walk beside the ruling Shaper. Clad now in the Shaper robes, Dakro left the school with Simrat. His former classmates stared, then bowed as the Shapers passed. An excited murmur "Dakro's a Shaper" rose as the two departed the school grounds.
I am a Shaper, he thought, and now I will go and make the folk of my village proud.
Dinner at Simrat's had been sweet. Sweeter still, attending in Simrat's audience chamber, a second chair added for Dakro to be seated next to Simrat. Supplicants came, asking for various favors or judgments in disputes. Then Shusuke was brought forward, his arm in a sling with the blisters oozing through the fabric.
"Tell me," said Simrat. "Can any baton bear the load of an acid thorn?"
"No, Shaper," said Shusuke, sweat beading on his face. "The acid thorn irritates any baton except those bred for the acid thorn."
"What happens when a baton is irritated?"
"It ... it may be ... it" Shusuke gave Dakro a pleading look.
"What happens when a baton is irritated?" The tone of Simrat's voice had changed from the amusement to a quiet chill.
"It will not fire true to the wish of its wielder," said Shusuke, dropping to prostrate hiimself. "Please, Shaper, I am sorry. I knew I would be first to choose the baton in the exercises, and I ... I wanted ... I could not have the best score unless I ..."
"Cheated." The word dropped flat against the silence.
"Yes, Shaper, oh gods, please, have mercy," said Shusuke.
"Take him to the punishment cells also," said Simrat, gesturing at Shusuke. "The usual number, twice a day."
Shusuke appeared too stunned to do anything but mutely follow to his punishment.
"It is to your credit," said Simrat, "that you were able to complete your assignments in most cases even after that boy stole your work. Don't look so surprised. I have created my servant mind especially to help me assess the abilities of the youth in my district, and such assessments go far deeper than Acarya ever cared to look."
"What will happen to him after ..."
"He is unfit to be a teacher," replied Simrat with a shrug. "He, and that Shukey thug, shall spend a few years working in the Purity Workshop."
Dakro knew there was no reason to ask what they would be doing after that-humans were lucky to survive a few months of such punishment. Serviles had been especially bred to breathe the caustic air and never left the workshop under any circumstances as the sweet air outside the workshop was as poisonous to them as within would be to Acarya and Shusuke.
"Disrespect to a Shaper is never to be tolerated," said Simrat. "That is a lesson you are to be learning. Don't misunderstand-your training at Greenwood Academy will be very hard, and you will no doubt be beaten often. Anyone unwilling to bend to discipline is unfit to wield the power of the Shapers."
"I understand."
"And no, we will not observe the punishments being carried out," continued Simrat. "A Shaper gives an order, it is carried out. Observing would imply that I questioned the obedience of my creations."
"What happens to creations that diso-"
"They are absorbed. A rogue cannot be permitted."
Dakro spent a few days with Simrat, reading introductory texts before the banquet which included his parents before his departure. Of all the magical sects, the Shapers were the oldest, the most respected, and most secretive and powerful. Alone, they had the power to magically create life from nothing but the raw materials and pure magic, molding life to serve their purpose-from light housework to major warfare. While every year, the Shapers went from village to village to test the acumen of the youth, they guarded their secrets very closely. To attempt to learn their techniques without permission was to court speedy death-by a Guardian's blade by day or the work of an Agent in the night. Now, though, by permission Dakro would learn these techniques and become one of their number. It would be a long apprenticeship, years to be spent on a remote island, watching the work and aiding in research, subject to the rigorous discipline which weeded out the unfit.
At last, he reached the true starting point-a journey which was to be two weeks long while traveling upon a living craft, a specially modified creature named a drayk. Dakro had been journeying for a week when he passed close to a small chain of islands. Consulting his charts, he noted one of them had been colored black and labeled "Barred" with the name Sucia just visible when he tried to peer through the back of the parchment. While he still knew little of the secrets of the Shapers, the introductory texts had taught Dakro that the Shapers declared places Barred for a variety or reasons: experiments gone wrong, dangerous accidents, valuable secrets. Whatever the reason, having been within a Barred area was to be punished with instant death. Curious, though, Dakro stood at the edge of his drayk, carefully looking to the shores of Sucia Island, wondering for which reason Sucia had joined the ranks of Barred places.
Dakro's attention to the island caused him to fail to notice the sailing ship dead ahead of him, coming from the southeast of the island. The drayk cried out an alarm, alerting him to the danger. It was a strange ship, of a style Dakro had never seen before, and he did not recognize the weapon on its prow. It fired a long spear at Dakro's drayk, the razor-sharp bolt striking his craft in the neck. Dakro's drayk reared in anger and breathed a bolt of fire at the attacker, striking the sails, setting them alight.
The battle had taken only seconds. The drayk foundered, mortally wounded. Dakro's goods sank to the depths, and he began to struggle with an attempt to swim to the shore. The urgency of his own situation caused Dakro to fail to notice the extreme difficulty of the other ship. His strength was not enough. Bound by the weight of those Shaper robes he had donned with such eagerness, he began to sink, feeling the weight of a dread certainty that his life would be over before it had begun, anonymous drowning, his body perhaps never to be found.
With one last effort, the drayk assisted him. Bleeding from its neck, rapidly dying, it managed to lift him with its head and carry him to a crumbling dock. Then it died, the dead bulk sinking away, leaving Dakro alone-abandoned-on the forbidden shore of Sucia Island. He coughed, vomited sea water, and crawled to more solid ground.