They waited, listening to the calls of the Bahro, in the shadows – knowing that no beasts should be allowed freedom – that all should submit to the order of things. They wait often in the city and all dark places. Hearing much. A passing Explorer once remarked that there is a place for everything and that everything has its place, for which they were grateful, because the phrase gives them comfort. Their existence is complex. They were written much as an Age and they are powerful fragments - the torn up notes, the screwed up paper; the fragments of Ages that never existed, that could never of existed, yet were written. They are D'ni rejects, detritus, the words nobody cares for, and it eats away at them. When the Explorers arrived the Scraps saw an opportunity.

They had, many years ago, so many so that they stopped counting, given up hope of renewal, of their words having a chance to blossom. The arrival of the DRC, and the resulting Explorers, is an opportunity to again influence others. Yet they are intensely private. Their plans are always cloaked in secrecy, the Scraps subvert, hungry for power. They are of noble birth, for their words are of noble origin, they know their place, and they know that they were discarded for a reason, totally unable to accept the arbitrary nature of their fate. Waiting, planning, their alien chatter can sometimes be heard from the darkness as the Explorers link out.