The Master watched Lysander wave goodbye to his friends, noting that the three seemed more acquainted with each other than they were the others. "I'll be expecting you to pledge yourself to me as well," she spoke with an authoritative air that was quickly becoming second nature to her. The... paragon... could wait until later. Her anima reserves were too low, and she doubted the combat efficiency of such a small creature. "As your god, I suspect that won't be a problem for you."

It wasn't.

"Lysander... I have a question for you. Where are all of the bodies? I was led to believe that it was mere days ago that this village was attacked."

The boy shuddered. "The Chaka took them. I don't know why. I don't want to know why." Looking towards the farmland, he sighed gently. "I just... need to be thankful that you have finally returned to us. Your will is... it's more important than anything. That's what my parents always told me. I can't... I can't worry about what happened to them now." His words seemed to be aimed at convincing himself more than anything. The Master shrugged.

A more prepared Wanderer, perhaps, may have given instructions to her future self. Some idea of her goal. But The Master was thankful that what had been left behind appeared to be a fiercely loyal set of followers. She could make use of that. Currently, it was important that she understand her place in this life. She was weak, but her minions could make up for this in some fashion. Were she born alone, a level 1 [Skeleton] with no dungeon to assist her, her new life would have surely been cut short by now.

It was clear to her that she had been given no small amount of power, though most of it appeared to be locked away behind the quest she had been given. Although the chaka tribe presented a large threat to her, it also provided potential for immense growth in a short timespan. She suspected that most dungeons that expanded outward as she had would run into this problem. Either there would be a lack of anima to fund expansion, resulting in them beginning to excavate new rooms within the earth, or the threat posed by the invaders above would prove far too much for them and they would fall. She had, thus far, been able to leverage her strengths... but the chaka had been foolish. It was pure luck that she had survived thus far. She found herself wondering.

Her will.

What was her will? To grow stronger. To learn. To use her knowledge to futher her growth. But... that answer was too simple. What did any living being want to do? To live. What did anybody trapped in a dangerous situation want? To grow stronger. Those were simply her current aims, based on the hardships she was facing.

What were her true goals? Her greater will?

"Yes... my will." She spoke slowly, her voice tinged with an implacable tone. Perhaps she had no answer. Not yet. It was... something to consider.

"Your current priority," she began, tilting her head to face the boy, "is to grow enough food to sustain those among us who require it to live. To enforce my will, I require a fighting force. To maintain my soldiers, they need supplies. You and the girl, Ramie, are important in this supply chain. If you require anything - tools, hands, come to me. If it is pertinent, I will provide. The humans under my protection are..." non-replenishable resources. "Irreplacable."

"Thank you, your Grace." Lysander gave a sheepish smile. "Tools should be all that I need right now, and they're probably around somewhere." Hopefully, she thought, because I have no way to make more right now.

"Excellent. Then I will leave you to get acquainted with your farmland." Trudging off into the field until she arrived at the spawner. It was... a wooden post. "Not particularly intense for a spawner," she shrugged.

Spawner - Animated Scarecrow - Inert

Claim? [5 Anima]

Not another undead monster. Good. It was healthy for her army to branch out. A large horde would more easily defend her, but if it shared a single weakness then it could be easily countered. As for their abilities... that was hard to say. The longer that she had spent using this 'Will', as Erich had called it, the more she began to 'feel' for what an option might give her. It was still nowhere near as clear as The Will's definitions were, but with situations like this it was better than nothing.

At the worst, they would still be useful for farmwork.

Next, she had two conversations to have. The first would be with the girl... then, she'd speak to Memna. Alone. She entered the chapel, her eyes flashing as she took in the sight of the young man and the woman whose name escaped her in conversation. "Hello," she said, their voices cut short. "I've come to speak with the girl regarding her.... line of work, here. Your name?"

"Brichtrede, your benevolence." The young woman answered. "I'm willing to fight, if I must. I--"

"What is it that you can do?" The Master interrupted. "I have no small amount of warriors, yet precious few artisans. Are you capable of a craft? A skill?"

"I'm willing to learn anything. If I could be of use..." Brichtrede scratched the back of her neck. "Uh... right now, there isn't much that I can offer in terms of skills. We don't really have the tools... but if you need a blacksmith, a weaver, a tanner? Once you reclaim the buildings, I could try to learn any of those crafts." It was a weak offer in The Master's mind. The girl didn't appear to be good at anything in particular, but she was at least prepared to learn. "All things considered, you're likely to become a blacksmith unless I can find somebody more suited to the task. I'll need better equipment than what I currently have access to. Is there a stable source of metals to make new tools from?"

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"The mine," Brichtrede snapped her fingers. "The mine! The chaka came from the west, and our mine is to the east! If the miners are still alive, then you'd be able to gain metals from the mine with their help. And with the smithy... oh, but it has been several days. I hope that they weren't ambushed on the way home."

"If they were smart, they would have realised that something is wrong and turned back." The Master hummed. "Very well. You are dismissed for now. I wish to speak with Memna in private." Motioning to the man, she beckoned him forwards. "Come. We are headed to my crypt." The journey was silent, save for the two's footsteps.

The door slid shut behind Memna, and The Master turned, her eyes flashing as they did when she was appraising someone. "I have questions, Memna." She spoke coldly, like she always seemed to, leaving him lost as to her motive or mood. "Let us begin with an easy one. This [Rite of Siphoning]. Explain it to me. How is it performed?"

"Ah... the rite. Essentially, it is a rite that draws life energy from a willing participant, or group of participants, and funnels it towards-- well, your corpse, traditionally, although I suppose the recipient could be changed..."

"Life energy. Anima. You are saying that I can, what, harvest anima from my minions themselves?" She asked, intrigued.

"Not quite as simple as that. Your skeletons, zombies, gargoyles... all of them are sustained by your core. They possess no anima of their own. Even your body is really a shell that your soul is currently tied to... your real body would likely be the core itself. My brother explained that, sometimes, the fastest way to clear a dangerous dungeon was to rush for the core. Its monsters would soon decay with nothing to provide them with life." Memna coughed, patting his chest. "But... I can perform the rite. And the children--"

"Are not sustained by me. Neither is the other chaka that I 'recruited', come to think of it. And you think that this would not be useful when the main thing holding me back is a lack of a steady source of anima?"

"I... didn't think." Memna smiled apologetically. He appeared to be earnest, yet she wasn't entirely convinced that he was incompetent rather than intentionally keeping the dungeon master in the dark.

"Yes. I can see that. You also didn't think to explain The Will to me." She noted.

"About that..." Memna bowed his head. "I wasn't thinking. I apologise. I've been under a lot of stress since--"

"I've been under a lot of stress since my son--"

The Master shrieked as a surge of pain shot through her skull, clutching at it with her bony hands, her fingers digging into her eye sockets. "Silence!" She howled, though the stunned acolyte had long-since stopped speaking. The skeletal guards advanced towards him, weapons raised, and he backed away from them as swiftly as his feet would take him. A skeletal hand wrapped its fingers around his ankle. His life wasn't going to end like this, was it?

Stand down, she commanded, and the guards stopped in their tracks. The hand released him, skittering back into the shadows. The Master shuddered, her bones rattling against each other, and he sighed shakily. "Your grace, I swear on your name, I didn't mean to--"

"Just tell me what you know, Memna." She grunted, the dull pain inside of her bones pulsing slowly. "The Will. Explain it to me."

"Right... The Will. It's... well, it's the will of life itself. It's... the will of existence. You've seen the, uh, the boxes."

"Nothing about them seems to indicate a 'will', as far as I can see. They're more like... information boxes."

"That's a common question. The answer is fairly simple." Memna smiled, "The Will speaks to us through those boxes. It isn't the box itself, but rather the force behind it. The Will is what gives us power and allows us to fight monsters and grow to learn new skills faster. It's... not a god, but a powerful force. What you read within the 'boxes' is law, in essence. You can trust what you read as immutable truth. The Will does not lie, it merely assists in living. To go against it - to try to fight it or manipulate it - would be to fight reality itself."

"...Right." The Master nodded, not quite believing the man... or understanding him. "Well. Is there anything else that you've forgotten to tell me?" The unspoken question hung heavily over Memna's head as he thought for a moment. Searing aftershocks of pain coursed through her being as she waited for an answer.

"I, uh, I suppose... I may have left some things out initially."

----------------------------------------

Grahza sighed, glaring down at the male before him. "Where is Kehtri?" He demanded in the oldtongue, his voice a low growl. He followed this with a groan as he realised the moron in front of him could not understand their ancestral language. How far have we fallen? "Where is Commander Kehtri!?" He snarled. The male cowered, blubbering out a shaky response.

"Kehtri is... dead. Was not a small group of survivors, Big High Chief! There big dungeon. Dead dungeon! Bony mans and ghosts and..." Seeing the rage in Grahza's eyes, he continued rapidly. "They not strong, but too smart! It like they fight many battles already..."

That a small village could contain a dungeon and feed it while maintaining control, or worse, peace with its master... this wasn't unheard of. The clan that Grahza Scarsnout's tribe descended from had possessed such a wonder. But if they had been blessed with a powerful defensive force like this, then why hadn't these defenders protected the village? He didn't like this at all. The dungeon had forsaken its people in a devious power play... it was the only sensible explanation.

"Report. Tell me what you fought. Leave nothing out." He frowned, snapping his clawed fingers and watching sparks of electricity jolt between them. As a [Storm Shaman], and the highest level of the tribe, he held a large amount of power... but he was still just one chaka. He'd need to use his head if he wanted to come out of this alive, and the last thing that he wanted to do was flee with his tail between his legs. He'd already lost too much to justify leaving here empty-handed.

As the male explained what he had seen, Grahza's brow furrowed. This was worse than he'd anticipated. But a plan began to form, nonetheless. If he were to gather - and protect - the magic users of his tribe, he could destroy the gargoyles and spirits. He had - perhaps foolishly - assumed that he could easily quash the remaining resistance, but had instead fed a dungeon. If it hadn't managed to reach second tier yet, and it seemingly hadn't, then he might still be able to eke out a victory for his tribe... perhaps, even, he could subjugate the dungeon rather than destroy it. Its master could not be trusted - that much was clear from its betrayal of the humans. But if he could show them that he was stronger, then he could keep it in line. He could ensure that it never grew too strong, too fast.

"Summon the shamans," he ordered the male. At least, then, he would be in the company of more intelligent chaka. They would need to plan a single, decisive strike if they wanted to come out of this conflict without destroying the tribe.

Losing the tracker had been an acceptable loss - he'd never liked him much, anyway. He was far too ambitious for somebody so stupid. The small group sent to find him... that was when she should have used the full force of his tribe, really. This was a problem he'd brought on himself.

And now, it was time for him to fix it. And properly.