"The Shadows…yes, my king, you would not know of these cold wastes and the dangers that lurk within them," said the elder. He put his wizened hands to his knees as he bowed his head and spoke. "The sun already finds little purchase in these lands where dark clouds and snow choke the life from it. Here, darkness thrives.

The Shadows are creatures of this night. Born from it. Forged from it. Their history is recent, for in the great many records that have been left unto me by my elder and the elders before him, it has only been ten life cycles since their emergence."

The Collector automatically calculated that ten life cycles would be approximately five hundred years in considering the elder's lifespan as a reference point.

"But since their arrival, they have been a plague. A small, contained one, but a terror nonetheless," said the elder. "They have no true form. None that may be seen with the physical eye. Not even with the magical eye. Thus, it may be that they do hold a form and that none have simply grasped it.

Or perhaps they are malevolent entities of the dark that hold no true physical vessel.

All that is known is that they dwell within the shadows.

When there is light, they move from shadow to shadow, whenever points of darkness touch. Thus, in light, when the sun shines, they do not appear.

But in the dark, when there are storms, they hold free reign over the world. They emerge from anywhere, and they grasp at the feet of those with flesh that live within the light and drag them into their darkness.

What happens to their victims, none knows. Merely that they do not return."

The Collector clicked the mandibles on its main skull in understanding. "It can be reasoned then that the most optimal method to prevent the approach of these entities is through the sustained production of light."

"Tis' true, my king, yet hard," said the elder. "The winds here will make quick work of any torch. Lightstones drain of their magical energy in these withering, sapping colds. The Shadows come, and they are relentless.

They will outlast any torch. Any lightstone."

But not the Collector's light, noted the Collector. An infinitely self-sustained form of magical light that burned independent of wind currents or most magical interferences – this is what the Collector possessed.

A natural ward against any of these entities. Whether they were consumable specimen or whether they were like the snow sprites, simply clumps of intangible energy, were to be seen.

"Can these entities be made to expire? What necessary force or conditions are required for their demise or injury?" said the Collector.

"Light they cannot escape from," said the elder. "In the day, the elder before me told me of a tale where the sun broke through a gap between the clouds, and the shadows pursuing him were left illuminated without any other spots of darkness to escape to.

There, they burned and screamed a horrible scream that haunted him to the last of his many days."

A potential for these entities to therefore be specimen, then, thought the Collector. The presence of a scream would indicate physical organs, and if that was the case, the Collector would be eager to devour a sample of this specimen and obtain its ability to traverse the seemingly impossible spaces of darkness within cast shadows.

"Did these entities, when exposed to inescapable sunlight, leave any corpses? Physical signs of their expiration?" said the Collector.

The elder shook his head. "No. Once their screams ended, what arose from the shadows were Snow Sprites. Fitting, in a way.

Shadows that haunt and hunt in the cold and dark burn to become sprites that guide all those in need to warmth."

The elder froze. "Do…do you sense that, my king?"

The Collector noted that the elder's sensitivity to changes in atmospheric pressure, particularly those related to the flow of magic, was quite high, rivaling even that of the Collector's. Possibly a side effect of his lost vision: his magical sensitivity arose to compensate for compromised physical sight.

There was a distinct change in pressure. A heaviness accompanied by a slight chill.

"Ah…what misfortune," said the elder. "The Shadows are here. But why? They should have left this mound long ago, following the darkness of the storm until it broke apart. I…forgive me, my king, for my error."

"Do not waste time engaging in apologetics. Divert your mind to the tasks before you," said the Collector.

It heightened its awareness of its surroundings but did not project its magical energy out in a field around it, for it understood in dealing with tinkerers that utilized such techniques their limitations.

By spreading magical energy latent within the body to a sufficiently large area around the body, less mana was available to defend to provide defense to the body itself, rendering it less capable of summoning large quantities of mana or leaving it more susceptible to mental manipulation.

"We must flee. The Shadows…they are surrounding us." The elder tried to hobble on to his walking stick and thrust out a hand to the rest of the goblins. "Protect your king with your lives! We must leave!"

The Collector clicked its mandibles loudly, and the elder stopped. "Your brethren understand well already that they are to utilize their lives in my defense. Thus, they are arranged in defensive ring around me. You, stay and continue to identify the movements of these 'Shadows.'

The elder nodded slowly and sat back down in front of the Collector.

"Move backwards. Ten meters," said the Collector.

The elder nodded again and scooted back through the snow, and when he was far enough away, the Collector activated its flames once again.

From the red-feathered tendrils on its back came sparks, and those sparks caught on the tendrils and created a raging conflagration that at first exploded outwards into wild tongues of fire. The light of the Shinchu at the Collector's chest shone, and the flames began to calm, to flicker and swirl around that point as it fed off the light and sustained itself.

>>>

Mana Level: 90>80

>>>

The Collector noted as light illuminated the dark depths of the Snowmound, though not completely. The raging flames around the Collector cast countless shadows all around, and these, the Collector's six pairs of ocular systems kept keen eyes on, noting any irregularities of movement within them.

The Collector itself, if the elder was correct, was completely out of risk due to the unending light and flames wreathing it. So too would the elder and most of the tribe so long as they stayed within the innards of the Snowmound close enough to the Collector.

"Wh-what warmth!" The elder drew nearer, slowly so as not to burn himself, sticking out a tentative and trembling hand towards the Collector's flames. "And such light, I can feel it. Can you maintain this, my king?"

"Without any external interference, it is possible," said the Collector.

"Then-then we can fear the Shadows no more!" said the elder with triumph, baring his decayed and chipped teeth. "These Snowmounds, they are the homes of the Shadows that we take only during storms, when the Shadows leave them to hunt.

But with this light, these can now be our homes."

The elder shivered, pricking his ears up. "The Shadows are displeased. I hear their whispers. They wait at the edge of the light. They wait to take us."

"You are capable of perceiving communications from these specimens?" said the Collector.

"Only…only whispers. Only those that have been touched by the Shadows can hear them. I…I was touched when I was a boy, when one tried to take me under to the land of the dark."

"What do these auditory signals convey to you?" said the Collector.

"Death. They promise my impending doom. I cannot truly understand them, they are of a tongue none know, but I feel their intent," said the elder.

"Continue to convey me additional information regarding these specimen as you can," said the Collector. It decided in the meanwhile to enact some forms of experimentation.

The Collector mentally bid the evolved hobgoblin champion to step out of the light and outside the Frostmound.

Judging from the elder's bodily language that conveyed abject fear, the Collector fully knew such an action would likely cause the champion's demise at the hands of these Shadows. However, the Collector desired data, and an evolved champion was not a rare resource.

There were thirty-seven hobgoblin specimen counting both males and females available to evolve.

The champion would provide useful data to the Collector, for the Collector would be able to see through the champion's eyes and link to his senses. If these Shadows pulled the champion into

The champion turned and trudged out, each of its marching steps leaving it more and more exposed to the dark.

"Who leaves!?" said the elder. "Those heavy steps, Gobb, is that you? Come back, you fool! You cannot beat the Shadows with force!"

"Calm yourself," said the Collector, evoking Higher Calling. The elder fell under the mental suggestion and eased up. "He marches now to provide me data within which I may potentially extract a means to eliminate these specimens."

The Collector sensed that a normal tinkerer controlling a magically bound specimen like this would have to close their eyes and remain still in order to fully attune with their controlled unit, but the Collector had enough mental processing power to do so without any compromise of its own functions.

Thus, even as it looked at the elder and listened to it, it could also fully perceive the sights, sounds, and feelings the champion took in.

The champion stepped outside the boundaries of the Snowmound, crawling his way out of the tunnel.

As soon as his brawny figure stood up in the bare darkness of the outside, there occurred interesting phenomena -