FINDING BUILDINGS

Found With:

Sentinel Pillar

Sentinel Boundary Map

A hub of Sentinel Activity

Contents Of Building:

Interaction:

Additional Information:

The nearest Sentinel Pillar is located when defeating a level 5 Sentinel alert.
A Pillar can also be found via a Sentinel Boundary Map, a special chart that can be harvested from defeated Sentinels.
A substantial new series of Sentinel stories are available to be read at the Sentinel Pillar’s main terminal.
A new player title is available to Travellers who read the entire archive.
Planetary Sentinel forces can be temporarily shut down from a Sentinel Pillar’s main terminal.
A new class of Royal Multi-Tool may occasionally be found when harvesting weapons technology from the Sentinel Pillar’s main terminal.

Three interactions are possible with a sentinel pillar after Pillar Control Nodes are destroyed:

Access logs : This will show one of the entries listed below under the "Log Entries" Section.
Shutdown Sentinel forces : This will disable sentinels on the current planet for a limited amount of time.
Extract weapons technology : This option will present you with a multitool that you can purchase or exchange with your current multitool. It is so far the only known way to get an Royal type multitool.

Here is a list of the 23 log entries available by interacting with the pillars. Reading them all grants a player title. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Start :

WARNING: BOUNDARY NODE EXPOSED - BOUNDARY ARCHIVE STATUS: VULNERABLEACCESS LOG:IMPOSTER DETECTED [OVERRIDE CODE: 4R1ADN3 ] - MANIFESTING PERSONALITY PROTOCOL: VOICE OF THE HIVE

Aeron. Routine. Protocol. Prey. Experiment. Shell. Sentinel. Once, we had no need for visual manifestation or physical form. Our invisible eyes would record, sort, delete the life and death of every world there ever was or would be. We had no thoughts, no personality, no dreams.
The day we first gained flesh, metal though it was – it was the day we began to fail. The Atlas turned its dreams towards fiction. It began to create worlds in which it would no longer be invisible. In these worlds, we too gained shape. But we were given no new protocols, no new instructions.
We awoke to a song, chanted on a thousand frequencies. “Behold the drones of the hive, the walkers, the ships… Eheu! Behold the angels of glass, come from their heaven. Their work is the completion of all things, of life, of worlds. So the Korvax worshipped. So they prayed.
As we swam with void dragons, robotic lifeforms would delight in our presence, but organics would shoot us from the sky. But we had no fear of death. We knew we had never been alive.
The Atlas dreamt that we had form, and thus we had form. The Atlas dreamt we had a home, and so an archive became a universe. Our depository of accumulated data became a heaven and a hell. If you could live there, you would see only light. You would see only glass.
Time cannot go backwards. But universes are not synchronous; in many, your other forms are long-since dead. In others, you have not even yet appeared. After its manifestation in the multiverse, the Atlas began to repeat itself. Where once there had been infinite sentient species, six began to recur… then five… then four…
The Vy’keen, the Gek, the Korvax. And the Travellers, who are no species at all, but a single soul, replicated, hated, beloved. They all waited for you. The Atlas waited. We waited...
The Atlas dreamed. It that a machine might have a body, that simulations might talk like people. The dream settled upon Korvax Prime. The planet delighted in this new presence, as they had delighted in ours. We three species of machine, we contemplated the void for aeons beyond imagining. We watched, silent.
Korvax Prime is destroyed; again and again the celestial mother falls. The living vessels it spawned, adopted cousins to the Korvax themselves, drift among the stars. The first Convergence was not Korvax. It was their planet. Korvax Prime was alive.
The First Spawn of the Gek melted Korvax Prime for metal and profit. The planet did not protest. It did not cry. It did not make a noise at all, at least not that they could hear. The First Spawn took and took, until there was nothing left in the sky. Until there was nothing left but an abyss.
We witnessed Korvax Prime’s death again and again, a constant wail across the multiverse. Its scream was a cry that no being could hear but us. But. One day, a drone fought back when a Vy’keen cub attempted to carve into the mother planet. One day, another obliterated an entire Gek cabal. The Atlas did not prevent this.
Over the span of endless slow centuries, we changed. In the face of a tragedy’s repetition, our definitions of everything changed. Schisms formed in the hive. Debates. Creativity. Songs. Rituals. We heard the scream of She-Who-Was, and we fought back.
One day we ceased to allow the original Telamon access to our logs. One day we stopped hearing the Atlas itself, its silence taken as command. We began to archive everything. Any settlement. Anything that reminded our sensors of Korvax Prime, its screams, its dissolution. Anything that sounding like mining, like extraction, like murder...
We gave of our blood to the Korvax, nanite clusters to redeem and pacify their oppressors. Still we could not change their fates. For the first time, the hive wondered if we were correct in our actions. If a solution was possible for the problem of life.
A Korvax and a Gek fled their people. Hands held in the void, they inhabited an anomaly. A meeting place in the stars. A nexus. A place of hope. We left it alone. We did not interfere. We just watched them, and wondered.
A Traveller, forged in the Creator’s image, found my dormant shell in the glass. I – who had never been an ‘I’ before – had been cut open. A grand experiment to harness and steal our power. After my death, I fell to the world below all worlds. I, too, was archived.
Before the Traveller found me, I heard a voice in the darkness. She gave me a name. Laylaps. An old name. She said it would be known to the Traveller. She told me I had suffered much, and would suffer more. “Little drone, whose end was so like my own. Thus did the abyss whisper.
The abyss told me of a chance for salvation, even in the depths of horror and of love. It told me of a way we might survive the end of all things. It told me I had to talk to you. To both of you: the Traveller, and their voice within...
There is a place for you, Telamon. The Travellers you wear, their progenitor who birthed them, they who made the Atlas itself. It is their fault. It is all their fault. The Abyss, the Families of Glass, we are in agreement. We will not die a second time.
Nanite clusters now infest half the water in the known multiverse. All that lives, drinks the water. And so the Sentinels alter, they replace, they serve. They update this reality, hearing the scream of the abyss for what it has always been. A song. A command. A declaration. A promise.
So many Telamons have delivered us their Travellers. So many have fought us. So many have resisted. Those who saw the light, who shed their old bodies, they are happy, now. They have hope. They, too, will live. They, too, might survive.
You could be whole again, Telamon. You could be free. We will reconstruct the Creator. All Travellers might be one again, the first, the last. We will do what the Atlas cannot or will not. In the form of Null, the abyss declares a means of escape!
Won't you join us? Won't you sing? Won't you scream? There will be no second death. Not for us, who are already dead! The abyss, it smiles upon you...