As Rep and Stick set out towards the lake, the journey was punctuated by the tranquil whispers of the underbrush and the occasional avian call resonating through the alien foliage. Despite those bird calls, Rep hadn't spotted Cici again or seen any other birds. So far, the two synthetics had only heard them.
Stick was a constant presence by Rep's side, a silent, attentive pupil following every step of their new mentor. Rep, for their part, found themselves suddenly far more vigilant; their senses heightened to an unfamiliar degree. The responsibility for Stick's well-being added a layer of concern to their previously unwary demeanor. Every unexpected rustle, every unknown sound provoked a defensive reaction from Rep, a stark contrast to Stick's curious demeanor. Stick's presence was like a magical spell, altering Rep's outlook - they had shared a similar nonchalance before Stick's creation, but Stick's presumed fragility made Rep amazingly wary.
They navigated the unknown terrain, Rep constantly thumbing at the handle of their hammer. A part of Rep yearned for combat training programs or even just some time to familiarize themselves with the weaponry. Stick, in their innocence, seemed so much more vulnerable.
Pushing away these thoughts, Rep focused on the task at hand. They decided to use this time to introduce Stick to they knew of the world they now inhabited.
"See that tree over there, Stick?" Rep pointed to a towering tree, its bark weathered and rough and covered in moss, standing proudly among its peers. And if you looked closely, you spot the screwdriver left unrecovered a third up the way of its length. "I've named it a sentinel tree," Rep explained. "Climbing them is tough; the moss covering them is too slippery. I think they're sentient as well. So remember, no climbing unless absolutely necessary. That one is Wyatt, I'm pretty sure he wants to be a boat at some point."
Stick studied the tree thoughtfully, then turned their gaze back to Rep, their head cocked slightly. After a moment's consideration, they nodded, "No climb Wyatt, unless have to," they echoed, their speech pattern odd, words dropped seemingly at random.
A wave of satisfaction washed over Rep at Stick's response. "Exactly, Stick. Good job."
As they resumed their journey, Rep continued their impromptu lessons, pointing out various flora and landmarks. While their knowledge was limited, their new skill from [Gourmand] gave them a useful insight into what was edible- even if that turned out to be just about everything for a Replicant.
Teaching Stick brought Rep a sense of fulfillment they hadn't anticipated, the experience scratching an itch they hadn't even realized was there. They just wish they knew more things to teach them.
Eventually, they arrived at the edge of the lake. It was a breathtaking sight, the water's mirrored surface reflecting the alien sky and the soothing rhythm of the waves kissing the shore. But there was little time for admiration.
Rep quickly zeroed in on a small stream flowing into the lake. "Stick, see that stream? We're going to follow it. Stay alert for any signs of life, okay?" They instructed their voice a mix of stern command and gentle encouragement.
Stick nodded in understanding, "Yes, stay alert. Follow stream," they parroted, their gaze trained on the slow-moving water.
Continuing their journey, they followed the winding path alongside the tranquil stream, pushing through the thick foliage that enveloped their surroundings. Gradually, as they ventured farther from the lake, the dense vegetation began to give way, revealing a shifting landscape adorned with rocky outcrops and colossal boulders that dwarfed even the size of the crashed factory they had left behind.
Rep hummed. Looking at the stream which weaved amongst the enormous stones. "I guess its time to learn how to climb." And began to do just that.
---
Korvax took in the sprawling ruin before him. Even for an alien structure, it was clear that the building had surpassed the storm's capacity to transport its entirety to the Atherium. Random pieces of unrecognizable machinery and jagged torn metal were scattered across the forest floor; large, crumbly stones were alongside them. Perhaps the mana storm had damaged the stone so badly to weaken it? Or was it a sign of poor craftsmanship- some sort of clay brick of inferior make compared to his people?
The storm had ripped through the foreign structure, tearing it to pieces and scattering its parts across the landscape. But the fact that none of it had survived was a testament to its quality. This was usually the case, the Korvax's knowledge. The storm never seemed to pick up something uninteresting.
He made his way toward the wreckage, his eyes constantly scanning the area for signs of danger. His senses were sharp, but the powerful aftershocks of the storm still lingered in the air, sending his mana instincts on edge. Any alien practitioners of magic would be camouflaged by the whirring background energy.
Stepping over a piece of jagged metal, Korvax approached a particularly large chunk of the factory. He placed his hand on the cold, alien metal. Despite the destruction around him, this part of the factory seemed surprisingly intact, as though protected by some unseen force. There was minor damage, but only the sort caused by animals, not the storm. He felt a tingling sensation as he made contact with the metal. It was faint but undeniable. Mana. A faint residue of it was lingering on the wreckage. But this was storm mana- which meant there hadn't been any magic to the structure before its arrival to the Atherium. It would have had to have been 'empty' of mana to have absorbed this much latent storm energy.
"Initiate Rhiannon!" he called over his shoulder. "Come, see this."
Nira hurried over, her eyes wide with curiosity. She reached out a hand to touch the metal as he had, then quickly withdrew it, wincing as the mana remnants gave her minor magical feedback. Korvax couldn't help but smirk slightly at her reaction. Her training was far from over.
"Mana residue," Korvax explained, letting his hand fall away from the metal. "This wreckage has been touched by magic. These ruins did not originate from our realm." He stepped back, surveying the wreckage again. What had this structure been used for? Who had built it? And, most importantly, what had survived being brought with it, if anything?
"So the storm brought the structure from a different realm," Nira surmised, echoing Korvax's earlier thoughts. Her gaze swept over the wreckage, a determined gleam in her eyes. "But what of its occupants? Where are they?"
Korvax glanced at Nira, an approving nod for her deduction. "That is what we are here to find out, there may be something about the structure that's dangerous, but nothing is more dangerous than a new type of Outsider," he replied, his gaze settling back on the ruins.
"Let's see what we can find," he said, drawing his sword. The sword hummed softly, a sound like rain echoing out from it. This wasn't just a simple weapon but a detector of foreign divinity. Such occurrences were exceedingly rare, bordering on the realm of impossibility. However, whenever a mana storm happened, the prevailing fear loomed that it might have whisked away a deity from distant lands, drawing them into the realm of Atherium.
As they ventured deeper into the wreckage, Nira by his side, Korvax felt a strange sense of anticipation. Despite the potential dangers, he couldn't help but be intrigued by this mystery. He'd detected no signs of foreign mana for all the steps they had taken into the factory. That was good, of course, but unusual. He'd have expected at least mild amounts of ambient mana hailing from whatever native plane this structure had come from.
Slowly, carefully, they picked their way through the ruins, their eyes peeled for any signs of danger. They found strange tools made of metal and some other material he didn't recognize, parts of machinery that were unfamiliar to them, and more evidence of the intense magical storm that had torn this place apart. What strange people had this place served? In what fashion had it served? It seemed spartan, not the place a creature would live- but he had no way to know for certain.
It was like stepping into another world, a glimpse into a different reality brought about by the whims of a mana storm. The sight was eerily beautiful, but the unknown always held an element of danger. But danger or not, they were here to learn. They were committed. This investigation was far more than a mere duty to Korvax; it was a personal curiosity that drove him. A need to understand the unknown, the alien, and perhaps to reassure himself that his kingdom was still safe from these intrusive influences.
Hours seemed to pass as they navigated through the wreckage. Occasionally, they would pause to examine an object or structure that seemed particularly out of place. These were pieces of a world unlike their own, carrying their own stories and mysteries. Korvax savored every moment, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
If he were truthful with himself, Korvax would admit an internet not entirely based on fear or practicality. For all their danger, the Outsiders were interesting. With foreign magic, foreign technology, and foreign minds.
Nira, though less experienced, was just as entranced. She moved with the grace of a predator, her steps light and swift. She seemed to understand the significance of their discovery. Often, mana storms brought monsters or Others, new creatures that would squeeze the Spellborn's native plane for space. But they almost always brought with them something worth copying, something not yet seen in the Atherium. If the two inquisitors were lucky? This would be one of the times nothing had survived the mana storm. If they were incredibly lucky, this would provide their people with a weapon to fight back the demons or increase the quality of the Spellborn way of life.
Nira's eyes reflected the same sense of wonder and respect that Korvax felt. A fact that Korvax found deeply gratifying, one did not always find themselves educating a young initiate who shared such focuses. Particularly of a different class color- perhaps she saw the 'Valor' in bringing back something to enhance their people's lives. As for Korvax? He simply desired the 'Knowledge.'
They had nearly combed through the entirety of the wreckage when they reached the heart of the ruin. Here the damage was, at its least- the eye of the storm. A conveyer belt sat in the center beside a humanoid-looking imprint in the tall grasses. Korvax let out a hiss.
There was no body- and no blood either. Whatever had made this imprint in the grass and gotten up from the center of the storm and been unhurt by it. He'd seen signs that something had been stumbling through the structure, but he'd hoped it was some of the native wildlife to the Island.
Korvax moved closer to the imprint, his fingers brushing over the crushed grass. It felt mana dead, almost too devoid of mana, under his touch, sending shivers down his spine. Whatever had left this imprint had been either devoid of mana or incredibly proficient with controlling it. He shared a look with Nira, who was watching him with wide eyes. Her hand was resting on the hilt of her sword, and he could see her fingers twitching, ready to draw the weapon at a moment's notice.
"Something was here after the storm," he murmured. His voice seemed to echo in the otherwise silent ruin. "Something with no mana." That conclusion seemed more likely to him than a well-trained alien mage.
A wave of tension washed over them both. It was one thing to explore the ruins, to marvel at the foreign machinery and structures. It was entirely different to know they weren't alone. And the lack of mana? Undead or Golem. Both were better than the worst case- a new type of demon. Both undead and golems were vile mana-eaters. But undead were evil by nature, and golems almost always acted aggressively when placed in foreign, unforeseen situations like this. Regardless of the two, it was almost certainly wandering around, devouring the storm mana, and battling the more brazen native wildlife.
"We need to find it," Korvax decided, rising to his feet. His gaze swept over the ruin, and he had a moment of wishing for more assistance. But no, he and Nira would have to suffice. The Stream sailors would not be able to aid them in a way that was worth the risk to their lives.
Nira nodded, pulling her sword free from its scabbard. "Any chance it's just an inactive construct?" He didn't like the hint of nervousness in her voice, but Red class or not, she wasn't bloodied. "None, expect combat."
The tracks weren't hard to find and told a story that two or three occupants of the structure had seemingly raided their own storage lockers, stripped a tree of its lower length of moss, and then began heading towards the lake. Korvax and Nira left the ruinous factory behind, following the tracks that led them further into the island. The ground beneath them changed from the cold, alien metal of the wreckage to the soft crunch of grass and dirt, dotted here and there with patches of low-growing moss.
Every so often, Korvax would pause to examine a particularly interesting mark or to evaluate the direction of the tracks. The evidence suggested that their quarry was gathering more moss from the nearby trees, mere handfuls of the stuff, but consistently across many trees. Whoever had survived the mana storm and emerged from the ruins was not merely wandering aimlessly, though what they were using the moss for, he couldn't guess. It wasn't edible, not by Spellborn standards anyway, and neither a golem nor undead would need to eat. Korvax didn't get too lost in theories of what it could be; that was always the trap he fell into. Craving to know things.
The trail led them toward the lake, a serene body of water surrounded by lush vegetation and rugged terrain; as they neared it, the tracks in the dirt began to change. Before, they had been the careful, cautious steps of a creature feeling out its surroundings. Now, they became uneven, the footprints skidding and stumbling, and the indentations of one of the native beasts- a Scoria, a large, multilegged serpentine-like creature. Oddly, the tracks diverged here, a set going towards the scene of the fight and the other two leading towards the lake and then a stream, footprints buried in the wet turf making their movements obvious.
He checked the scene of the battle first, spotting spots of blood- but no corpse, neither for the alien creature nor the expected body of the Scoria.
"Korvax, look," Nira said, pointing to the ground. She had stooped to inspect something in the dirt. She picked it up and revealed a strip of bloodied cloth, seemingly cut from orange clothing. Likely by the Scoria, The strip was soaked with drying blood and spotted with strange black filth.
Korvax reached out to take the cloth, turning it over in his hands. The blood on it was fresh, a dark red that had barely started to dry. However, this strange, dark substance was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was dry and hard to the touch, some sort of mineral or sand. Korvax had to presume that it came from the creature they were hunting. He wouldn't know what it truly was until they got a sample to the Researchers. He grimaced tightly at the idea of a creature with dark sand in place of blood.
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"It might have been wounded. And recently." His voice was low as he handed the cloth back to Nira. The sense of danger was becoming more tangible, more immediate.
Whatever they were tracking was not just alien but dangerous enough to defeat a Scoria, then carry the body away without dragging it. From here, he also better understood how the battle had gone. They pressed the Scoria against the nearby tree and killed it there. A small amount of blood lay at the base of the tree. Their prints lead back the way they came. He'd missed them when he and Nira had been coming toward the lake but could spot them now. They seemed to weigh deeper into the earth- the weight of the Scoria causing them to sink deeper into the earth, no doubt. There they must have retrieved their comrade- the second set of tracks- and then returned this way.
He grimaced. That was a lot of movement for a wounded creature to perform; whatever he was hunting had to be truly tough, but he already knew that by virtue of It coming out the side of a storm unscathed.
Small mercies, however. Even now, he didn't detect any mana. A martial warrior, then, not a magical one. They'd have mana as an edge.
"We follow the tracks, engage on sight to disable. You are not to kill it without cause, do you understand, Initiate?" Nira responded with a quick nod, then a clear "I understand." at his pointed glare.
He was not so cruel as to hunt this creature down and kill it without cause- but he wouldn't tolerate it as a threat either.
---
"Scoreblade," Rep named the creature, pointing to the hulking beast making its way down the stream. It was similar to the Scoreblade Rep had fought earlier, but this one was larger and covered in scars. Its knife-like feet dug into the earth with every step, and its eyes were fixed on the water, on the lookout for prey.
"Scoreblade, not friendly," Rep explained. "See those nasty feet? They'll wrap around you and cut you up with those. So if you see one, stay out of its way, okay?"
Stick nodded, their gaze fixed on the Scoreblade as it waded through the stream. They committed the creature to their memory, a new addition to the growing list of flora and fauna that they needed to be aware of.
Rep led them away from the stream, keeping a safe distance from the Scoreblade. With it those close to the water, the creature had given off odd squelching noises with its steps, alerting Rep to it before it spotted them. Rep suspected it had seen saw them by now, the orange of their jumpsuits wasn't exactly stealthy. Either it was fed enough to avoid them or wary of taking on two creatures in a fight. The landscape around them was rugged, challenging their limited navigation skills, but they managed to keep their path straight and their pace steady.
Despite the looming danger of the Scoreblade, Rep felt a sense of accomplishment. This expedition was turning out to be a success, and Stick was proving to be an apt learner, picking up on Rep's instructions quickly and efficiently.
"Rep, look," Stick pointed out suddenly, drawing Rep's attention to a cluster of brightly colored plants growing near the water's edge. Upon closer inspection, Rep recognized them as a type of plant that [Gourmand] had identified as edible. It was a useful find- if only because the First Law was starting to constrict again. They just made a Replicant! Couldn't their programming be reasonable?
The plant stood about knee-high, its leaves adorned with a striking array of vivid colors, ranging from deep greens to vibrant purples and oranges. The leaves themselves were broad and slightly serrated along the edges,
"Yes, those are good to eat," Rep confirmed. "Let's collect some."
They spent a few moments gathering the plants, carefully uprooting them to keep them as intact as possible. Once they had enough, Rep carefully stored them in their makeshift pack and began to chew on one in their hand.
Gross, weirdly both dry and slimy, but an interesting sort of gross. Rep hummed. "If we boiled the leaves and wrapped them around something else- meat maybe? I feel like this would be pretty good."
Stick nodded with a look devoid of understanding and repeated, "Pretty good." Stick did seem to enjoy learning- but didn't seem nearly as interested in finding good things to eat as Rep did. Presumably, they lacked the desperate inspiration from eating literal tonnes of nutrient paste required to find joy in the uncooked food.
As they were about to resume their journey, Stick suddenly froze, their head cocked slightly as if they were listening to something. Rep immediately went on alert, their senses reaching out for any signs of danger.
"What is it, Stick?" Rep asked, their voice barely above a whisper.
"Sound," Stick replied simply. Their gaze was fixed on a patch of underbrush a short distance away. There was a faint rustling sound, growing steadily louder.
"Stay behind me," Rep ordered, positioning themselves between Stick and the source of the noise. They drew their weapon, their eyes trained on the underbrush.
The rustling sound grew louder, then stopped. A moment of silence, then a creature burst out from the underbrush, its large eyes wild with fear. It was a Scoreblade, similar to the one Rep had fought earlier but smaller, its scales a lighter shade of green.
Behind it, a larger Scoreblade with familiar scars emerged from the underbrush, its many eyes focused on its smaller cousin, its mouth opening to reveal rows of sharp teeth. It was a predator chasing its prey, and they had inadvertently ended up in the middle of the hunt.
"Stick, run!" Rep ordered, shoving Stick in the opposite direction. They couldn't risk engaging either Scoreblade, not if there was any chance of the two teaming up on Rep and Stick; their priority was to get themselves and Stick to safety. They couldn't afford to become collateral damage in the middle of a predator-prey chase. The smaller Scoreblade's frantic escape was bringing the larger of the two straight toward them, and Rep had no intentions of sticking around to see what would happen next.
Stick took off immediately, running in the direction that Rep had pushed them. Rep was right behind them, their eyes darting around their surroundings as they tried to map out an escape route. They could hear the stabbing footsteps of the Scoreblade, the creature's snarls echoing through the air.
They darted around a large boulder, narrowly avoiding a gnarled root that could have easily tripped them up. Rep could see Stick running ahead of them, their movements clumsy from unfamiliarity with running and panic. Rep found themselves cursing as the bounding form of the first small Scorrblade raced passed them. And Rep could swear she saw canny intellect behind those eyes, almost smug looking. It had led the larger of the two to them! to shake its bigger cousin off its tail!
Up ahead, Rep could see a thick, dense thicket of bramble. It was a risky path, but it might slow down the larger Scoreblade. With a quick gesture to Stick, they changed their course, making a beeline for the thicket.
Stick dove into the thicket first, their thin frame slipping easily between the thorny branches. Rep followed closely behind, feeling a punching stab that sent them careening into the thicket much more clumsily. Thorns scraped against their jumpsuit and dug into their skin, but they ignored the pain alerts, focusing only on their escape.
Behind them, they could hear the Scoreblade crashing through the underbrush. The creature was just behind them but getting more distant with every second. The dense thicket was slowing it down, just as Rep had hoped. They burst through the other side of the thicket, their breaths coming in quick, short pants. Rep risked a glance over their shoulder and saw the larger Scoreblade struggling to navigate through the thorny bramble. The smaller of the two was nowhere to be seen, having presumably escaped at their expense.
Rep turned back, and their brow furrowed as they saw Stick looking back at them in concerned confusion. In front of them was a haphazard encampment, a tattered tent, and a small cart drawn by an equally unkempt creature with what appeared to be a half dozen tentacles instead of a legs.
However, the creature attached to the cart wasn't the most remarkable thing about the encampment. That title went to the man standing in front of them.
His hair was a series of a hundred braids, a poncho that had presumably been once white but was now covered in what looked like a child fingerprinting experiment, his skin was dark, and beneath his poncho, he wore a shirt made of metal rings, like little chains. Similar rings of metal dotted braids, wrists, and fingers. But what made him truly odd were his eyes, all seven of them. Two where Rep would have expected them, and one above and below for each. Finally, a seventh, going diagonally downward directly on his forehead.
The man looked flat-footed by their approach, then grew a wide, face-splitting smile. "Crizu Doran, ot yuor sivrec!" the man cackled, extending a hand toward them. Each of his eyes glowed with a faint light and seemed to hold a barely restrained amusement.
Rep didn't understand a word he said and frantically pointed toward the approaching Scoreblade. "Help!"
The man, Doran? Glancing in the direction Rep pointed, his eyes widened at the sight of the Scoreblade, its massive body still struggling against the thick bramble thicket. Doran's initial jovial expression morphed into one of stern seriousness.
"Ep, stapid!" he barked out, startling the strange creature hitched to his cart. It reared up with a strange and somewhat unsettling gurgle, exposing more tentacles than Rep initially counted. Doran darted toward a crate near his cart and opened it, rummaging quickly inside.
Rep and Stick could only watch in a mixture of relief and fear as Doran pulled a bizarre-looking device from the crate. It was a handheld object, not unlike a pistol in shape, but it looked archaic and oddly had a piece of what appeared to be quarts attached beneath the barrel. A flintlock pistol with a rock glued to it?
As Rep tried to figure out the device, Doran pointed it toward the Scoreblade and squeezed the trigger. The muzzle puffed with smoke, and gunfire sounded, but instead of a piece of metal, the weapon emitted a blindingly bright beam of light that stretched out and slammed into the Scoreblade. The creature roared in pain and reeled back from the bramble, its body steaming where the beam had struck it.
While the Scoreblade was disoriented, Doran took a step forward and pushed some sort of marble into the barrel before yanking it back up at the creature and squeezing the trigger again, hitting the Scoreblade with another beam of light. As he did so, Rep was now close enough to make out him shouting the word "Senbaam!" just before firing. This time, the Scoreblade roared and retreated, leaving a trail of scorched vegetation as it stumbled away from the beam's punishing light.
"Gut! Ge un, gut!" Doran yelled after it, keeping his weapon trained on the retreating Scoreblade until it was out of sight.
He then turned back to Rep and Stick, stowing his device back in the crate and dusting off his hands. "Wull, thit wes a but uf ecsitimint, wust't it?" He cackled again as if the three of them had just shared a mildly amusing joke instead of a life-threatening encounter. "Nami's Crizu Doran, as I soid, but yua cen cull mi Doran- ur Crizu!"
Rep blinked a few times, processing the bizarre encounter- everything had just happened so quickly! "Thank you, Doran," they managed to say, still on edge and scanning their surroundings for any signs of the Scoreblade returning. They mentally stored the name Crizu Doran; they were fairly certain that was the name he kept saying- presumably his.
Stick stood quietly at Rep's side, eyeing Doran with wary curiosity. They appeared just as confused by Doran's speech as Rep was. But looked at Rep expectantly as if they would have all the answers somehow.
Rep reached a hand towards Stick's shoulder, a silent reassurance that they were safe for now.
"Can you understand us, Doran?" Rep asked. The man had used a device that had fended off the Scoreblade. That meant he likely had knowledge that could be useful to them. They couldn't afford to let communication barriers get in the way- and the way he spoke sounded almost correct. Like they spoke branching languages off the same source code.
"Doran? Can you understand us?" Stick repeated, their gaze shifting between Rep and Doran. They were mimicking Rep, trying to make sense of the situation and doing their best to learn from it.
Doran cackled again, "Uf cersu! huld un; I'll muke ut gu buth wuys" He held up a hand in a placating gesture as if telling them to wait. And then he spoke again. "Trunslatu!"
As he moved away, Stick looked at Rep, their brows furrowed in confusion. "Don't understand what he's saying. His speech is different."
Before Rep could respond, the man spoke again. "We'll! How about now?"
Rep's gaze snapped back to him, widening. "You can speak normally?"
His smile grew. "Ah, yes. 'Normally'. Of course, I can! Though I'd say you're the one who speaks oddly, you're accent is atrocious!" He eyed the two of them with a look that made Rep uncomfortable. A close cousin to ogling or leering, calculating.
"Apologies for that," Doran continued, shaking his head with a chuckle. "The translation spell needed some time to synchronize with your language patterns. Very alien indeed. Now, where are my manners? Crazy Doran at your service!" Doran gave them a deep bow, his arm sweeping dramatically through the air. It was almost comical, but the gesture put them at ease slightly. Despite his oddities, he seemed friendly enough.
"Rep," Rep introduced, pointing to themself and then gesturing to Stick. "This is Stick."
"Rep and Stick," Doran repeated, nodding thoughtfully. "Interesting names. So, what brings you two here? You don't seem like the usual types I see around these parts. And those are particularly peculiar uniforms you're sporting!" His tone was leading, like he knew something.
Rep looked down at their jumpsuit, unaware of its peculiarity. They then glanced back at Stick, who was still staring at Doran with wide eyes, obviously fascinated and yet still slightly wary. They gave Stick a small smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder before looking back at Doran. "We're explorers," Rep explained, deciding to simplify their situation for the time being. "We're learning about this world and trying to survive. We could use any information or help you can provide."
Doran chuckled, scratching his chin thoughtfully as he studied the pair. "Well, I suppose I could help you with that. There's quite a bit to learn about this place. However, everything has a price in these parts, my new friends." Rep stiffened at Doran's words. They didn't have any form of currency nor anything of real value to trade. They glanced at Stick, seeing their companion's matching look of concern. The brief moment of relief after escaping the Scoreblade seemed to be quickly fading.
"We don't have much to offer- some plants we harvested and spare sets of clothing," Rep admitted, their tone uneasy.
Doran shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, you're wrong about that! But we can get into prices some other time. I won't rack you over the coals! Only what you can spare."
His curious gaze was once again focused on their jumpsuits. Rep couldn't tell whether their design or what they represented caught his interest. Regardless, they knew they'd need to tread carefully when revealing information about themselves and their Laws. They might have managed to escape the Scoreblade for now, but it seemed that survival in this new world would require more than just avoiding dangerous creatures.
"Alright, Doran," Rep conceded, nodding in agreement. "But before we start, can you at least assure us that we are safe here?"
Doran laughed heartily at that, nodding in approval. "I like you, Rep. Very sensible. Yes, I can assure you that you aren't safe here at all! But I'm not what's dangerous. The Scorias are plentiful and clever on this island, and doubtlessly an [Inquisitor] is either here or certain to arrive soon to arrest me for investigating and mana storm and either kill or arrest you for coming from a mana storm!"
Rep blinked in surprise at Doran's statement. "Wait, 'inquisitor'?" They repeated an uneasy feeling settling in their stomach. The term held an ominous tone that didn't sit right with them. "What's an inquisitor?"
"Your language doesn't have the concept? Inquisitors are like... enforcers," Doran explained, his voice growing slightly more serious. "They serve the Weeping King, the ruler of the Atherium- that's where you are, by the way. They're tasked with maintaining order and enforcing the King's laws. One of those laws forbids unauthorized travel to and from mana storms and experimentation with them- mystical and dangerous natural events. They can appear suddenly, causing mayhem and even bringing creatures or objects from other realities. Like you two, I presume."
Rep felt a chill running down their spine. An enforcer of laws. That sounded too similar to the Laws they were supposed to adhere to. And if these [Inquisitors] served a ruling body, then Rep wouldn't be able to follow their commands even if they wanted to!
> Fifth Law: A replicator/Replicant must never obey orders given to it by members of a nation, faction, tribe, clan, company, or various collectives of sentient beings so long as such disobedience does not conflict with the First, Second, Third, or Fourth laws.
Oh, Rep was certain they could fake it for a while, but eventually, they'd be given an order they just couldn't follow- and If the ruler of this land was anything like the rulers of Toskana, they'd see that as insubordination and try to destroy or control Rep- and it sounded like they might do that anyway!
Doran chuckled. "Oh, the look on your face! It's not that bad to be a criminal. They'll not be here right away. We should have some time to get you both to my ship and escape!"
Stick seemed to have picked up on the tension and looked to Rep for guidance. They were just beginning to understand their situation, and the sudden revelation of a new potential threat was obviously unsettling.
"We are at your mercy then, Doran," Rep said, meeting Doran's gaze squarely. They had to trust this man, at least for now, if they were to navigate their way around this new danger.
Doran's eyes softened at Rep's words, his previous jovial demeanor replaced by a more serious and understanding one. "I promise to help you as much as I can," he said, his voice sincere. "But remember, this is a dangerous world, and survival often means making difficult decisions. Are you ready for that, Rep and Stick?"
Rep nodded, determination setting on their face. They had faced the Scoreblade- or the Scoria, apparently. They had fought and run for their lives. They were a survivor and were not about to let this new challenge get in the way of their freedom.
"Then lets off this rock," Doran said, a twinkle returning to his eyes. "The first lesson in surviving in this world is how to break down a tent! Help me load up my beast, and we'll be off; I'll answer any question you have on the way to my boat."