by James Hunter
Quest Class: Common, Class-Based
Quest Difficulty: Moderate
Success: Gather 100 pounds of Raw Darkshard Ore. Amara must survive.
Failure: Amara dies while on the mission.
Reward: 15,000 EXP; schematics for Arcane Shadow Cannons; increased reputation with the Dark Conclave and the Shadow Pantheon.
Accept: Yes/No?
<<<>>>
I read the quest over. I always hated the endless ingredient gathering assignments RPGs often offered, but it sounded like there was a twist here if I was wise enough to see it. One I couldn’t afford to pass up—especially if it kept my future faction base safe from potential invaders. I reluctantly accepted.
TWO: Shadow Portal
“For the record,” Amara said as we weaved through thick jungle vegetation, scaling a treacherously steep slope to the west of Yunnam, “I am not happy to be doing this. You”—she shot me a frosty look through the slits in her bone-mask—“may have passed the initiation ordeal, but I still don’t enjoy being a babysitter. Like some common forest guide.”
“Glad to see you’re bringing your positive outlook with us on the trip,” Cutter replied, in between labored wheezing.
“This from the man who oozes sarcasm and scorn like an infested wound,” she snapped, glaring at him. There was certainly no love lost there. Just so long as they kept it to bickering and didn’t stab each other.
“So what’s the deal with this Nangkri Dynasty your father mentioned?” I asked, sidestepping a mucky pool of brown water, then clambering over a downed tree covered in fuzzy moss and riddled with brown-capped fungi. It reminded me a bit of the Moss Hag, actually.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked sharply, a hint of warning in the words.
I’d been hoping to steer things back onto more friendly—or at least neutral—ground, but apparently, I’d hit some sort of sore spot. Either that, or this was just the way Amara responded to every question. Hard to tell with her at this point. “Curiosity?” I finally replied with a shrug. “Just seems like something interesting to talk about while we walk.” Plus, I was savvy enough as a gamer to know there was likely a quest chain tied to something like that.
She sniffed in disapproval and looked away, resuming her restless scan of the land, eyes never ceasing their search. “Instead of your chitchat,” she replied, “maybe you should practice the art of silence. You make enough noise to alert every potential enemy in the area of our presence. You are like a baby Troll, blundering through the forest without a care in the world.” She turned away and picked up the pace to a near jog—a clip fast enough to ensure Cutter and I were too winded to talk anymore.
Eventually, the sloping hill began to level out, and after a few twists, turns, and switchbacks to avoid some particularly difficult terrain—a sheer rock wall, a fetid pool studded with yellow reptilian eyes, a steep chasm that sliced into the earth—we crested the ascent and spotted what had to be the mine. Not far off was a small mound of rough, moss-covered rock jutting up from a tangle of vines and trees. Even from where we were standing, it was easy to spot the deep fissure gouged into the rock face, leading back into the earth. I activated my player map and saw a location marker pop up on the screen: Ancient Darkshard Mine.
“You. Thief,” Amara said as she drew a recurve bow of dark wood, carefully checked the string, then pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back. “Likely, there will be traps or wards. You will go first. To disarm any potential hazards and scout for enemies.”
“Woah, now,” Cutter replied, holding up his hands in protest. “That sorta sounds like a command, and last I checked, I don’t take orders from you.” He paused and squinted, eyes narrowed in defiance. “In point of fact, I don’t take orders from anyone, ever, not unless they’re dangling a fat bag of gold in front of my face. And me? I see no gold. Besides”—he folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow—“you’re a Huntress, which is basically a less awesome Rogue, so I know you have Stealth and Trap Detection.”
“Yes,” she said, face deadpan and unamused, “but if you perish, no one will miss you. If I perish, Grim Jack fails his mission.” A ghost of a smile seemed to touch the corners of her lips, self-satisfied by her wicked burn.
He shot a look back at me, indignant.
“She’s got a good point, Cutter,” I said. “Plus, I thought you were the best thief in Eldgard, right? This seems like your thing.”
“For the sake of our friendship, Jack, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear you just question my thieving credentials. And as for you,” he said, rounding on Amara, “obviously, your feelings for me have addled your brain—my roughish good looks sometimes have that effect on the fairer sex—so I’ll let your insult go. For now.”
I snorted and shook my head. He was delusional. “Oh, she’s definitely got some strong feelings for you, Cutter, but I think you might be misreading the situation. I’d say she’s fighting off an urge not to spear you through the guts and feed your corpse to the village pigs.”
Ignoring my jab completely, Cutter turned and set off, padding forward on silent feet. When he wanted to, the man could move like a ghost. I stole a sidelong glance at Amara—she was watching the thief with something that might’ve been begrudging respect plastered onto her face. That or nausea.
Cutter paused at the cave’s entrance, dropping to a knee as he ran fingers over the forest floor, probing the dirt and looking for some sign of a ward. After a moment, he stood and began to inspect the rock wall to the left, before moving on to the right. His fingers gently prodded and poked at the stone, examining every inch for traps. Satisfied with whatever he’d found, he dropped into Stealth, shadows reaching out to him—curling around him, softening the lines of his body until he was little more than an indistinct blur. Then, in a blink, he was gone.
Disappeared into the yawning mouth of the ore shaft, cloaked in shadow.
“Is there anything I should know about these Void Terrors your dad mentioned?” I asked Amara as I crept toward the cave, slipping my warhammer from my belt.
“They are dangerous,” she offered tersely before heading into the entry, leaving me to trail behind.
“They’re dangerous,” I muttered as my sight adjusted to the gloomy interior. After a few seconds, my Night Eye ability kicked in and everything took on a spectral blue tinge.
Amara didn’t bother to drop into Stealth, so I caught sight of her easily enough even in the poor lighting. She did tread carefully, though. She had an arrow nocked and ready to loose at a moment’s notice as she stared at every crevice and pocket of shadow as though it might potentially hold some deadly beast, just waiting to eat our faces. I gripped my warhammer a little more tightly, fidgeting nervously as I prepared to embrace the dark power of Umbra so I could hurl a ball of shadow at any potential foe.
The tunnel continued to dive steeply into the earth, a musky, damp smell growing in the air while darkness pressed in on me, sapping what little light trickled in from the cave opening. Maybe I was just catching a bit of Amara’s obvious paranoia, but it sure felt like we were being watched. The deeper in we went, the worse the sensation became, until I found myself constantly glancing over my shoulder, sure I’d see something preparing to pounce. Except, there was never anything there. Just jagged rock, barren ground, and endless darkness.
After what felt like a lifetime in the underground cavern, our muted footfalls were finally interrupted by the subtle splat, splat, splat of dripping water. The tunnel leveled out and opened up into a small chamber with a pitiful waterfall—hardly more than the trickle of a leaky showerhead—feeding into an equally pitiful stream. The stream, in turn, cut across the path before disappearing into a slim crevice in the tunnel wall, swallowed deeper into the earth. Cutter was on the opposite side of the stream, lounging against the wall, legs sprawled out, ankles crossed while he fastidiously cleaned his nails with a dagger.
He held up his fingers, regarding his handiwork, before finally stowing the blade and turning his attention on
us. “You sure oversold this place, Amara,” he said, lazily gaining his feet. “They must’ve been relying solely on the creep factor to keep people away. Not a single trap. Not even a whiff of opposition—not that there’s anything to keep people away from. No branching pathways. No secret rooms. No treasure or loot.” He said that last bit like an accusation of high treason. “Just a whole lot of nothing. Other than that stupid plate on the floor.” He gestured at a metal disk, about the diameter of a large tree. “It’s not gold and doesn’t seem to have any sort of activation mechanism. Worthless.”
The disk was composed of dull, pockmarked silver, covered with runes and glyphs, and set into the stone so it sat flush with the rest of the ground. Though Cutter insisted the disk was worthless, just looking at it made my stomach flutter: violet energy radiated from the thing in cold waves of power, calling to me. Beckoning me. Touch me, it seemed to whisper in the back of my head. The black handprint on my forearm—a gift from a dying Murk Shaman, who’d first set me on the path of the Dark Templar—began to throb with a dull chill.
There was a resonance here. A familiarity.
“So, what do you expect us to do now?” Cutter asked Amara, accusation coating his words as he planted hands on hips.
“You are a fool—” she began.
I held up my hand, cutting the argument short.
“Hold on,” I said quietly. “There’s definitely something here.” I moved forward, shouldering past a disgruntled Cutter, before dropping to a knee at the edge of the circle. I bent over and ran my fingers along the metal, feeling the corroded surface, tracing along the strange lettering. As I did, the throbbing palm-print branded on my skin began to pulse in concert with the beating of my heart. After a few heartbeats, the icy chill in my arm became almost painful, sending frozen tendrils of power radiating through my body like a creeping fog.
Then, working on hazy intuition, I triggered my Shadow Stride ability.
A cloud of smoky black exploded out from me as normal, but instead of time crawling to a standstill, the strange ring drew in the eruption of Umbra power. I stumbled back a step, landing on my ass as a portal of dark, flickering purple sprang to life inside the confines of the metal ring. I quickly scrambled to me feet, never taking my eyes from the shimmering gateway into the unknown, as though something might charge out at any second.
“As I was saying,” Amara offered coolly, “you are a fool, Cutter. This disk may appear useless to one without a key. But we”—she strutted up and slapped a hand against my back—“have a key. Come. The Shadowverse lies beyond.”
I gulped, suddenly unsure I wanted to go through that gateway. “So, Cutter,” I finally said, “you’re our official scout and thief—wanna go first?”
He frowned and shook his head. “Yeah, naw. I’m good. This seems like your show, Grim Jack. Why don’t you lead the way, oh fearless one?”
I stole a glance at Amara. She shrugged noncommittally. “It is your quest.”
I sighed, blew out my cheeks, then readjusted my grip. Finally, I stepped into the portal, cold power washing over me as my stomach did summersaults.
THREE: Void Terrors
I stepped into an eerie tunnel, colored in monochromatic shades of black and white with splashes of purple spattered throughout. The hallway I’d left behind had dead-ended, but in the Shadowverse, the hallway continued on, stretching into the distance, the walls wavering and blurring on the edges as though they were made of water instead of stone. The experience was similar enough to Shadow Striding that I didn’t completely freak out—at least, not until I heard a terrible shriek cut through the air like a buzz saw.
I planted my feet and prepared to strike as I squinted against the dark and scanned the hallway, looking for the source of the ear-shattering racket.
Nothing. No movement.
Only dark shadows, flickering and churning on the edges of my vision. But then the awful cry came again, this time much closer. I swiveled my head left, then right, taking my time as I scanned the passageway. A flash of movement caught my eye: a streak of shadow like an ink stain, rushing along the surface of the right-hand wall, heading for me. What the heck is that? I found myself wondering as the stain darted closer and closer—
Something landed on my shoulder. I wheeled around, conjuring an Umbra Bolt in one hand as I braced myself for something horrific to maul the crap out of me. Instead, I found Cutter standing off to my left, a disgruntled look blanketing his features. “Well this place is awful,” he muttered.
“Shut it,” I hissed, spinning back around, urgently searching for the incoming blob of shade. Another ear-shattering shriek broke the air, this time within spitting distance. My gaze swiveled to a spot on the wall maybe six feet away; I was just in time to watch something explode outward, springing off the surface of the wall, materializing into a creature with wicked fangs, a lithe lupine frame, and flesh-rending talons.
A tag popped up above its head. [Void Terror].
“Bloody hell!” Cutter squawked as the creature slammed into my chest and brought me to the ground like a lion ambushing some witless antelope. Its claws seemed to sink directly through my armor, digging painfully into my skin as my red-tinged HP bar flashed in the upper right corner of my vision. With gritted teeth, I raised my hand and unleashed the pent-up bolt of flickering shadow directly into the creature’s compact muzzle. The blast landed with a thud. Though it didn’t do much damage to the Void Terror, it jarred the creature to one side, buying me a moment to breathe. To think.
With a heave, I drew my legs in, planted my feet in the creature’s gut, and kicked with everything I had.
The Void Terror might’ve hit hard and had a very painful attack, but it didn’t weigh all that much. My mule-kick launched it backward, giving me half a second to scramble to my feet and raise my weapon to the ready. The creature was fast, though, and regained its footing in no time, shifting left and then shooting in again, its tar-black lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing its purple fangs. I called up another Umbra Bolt, but before I could release the spell, Cutter’s blade flew past my face, slipping into the thing’s yawning mouth. The Void Terror’s head snapped back as it stumbled, tottered, then dropped to the floor in a heap.
A length of gleaming steel protruded from the back of its throat, the edge coated in inky goop.
The creature gave out one last shuddering twitch, before disappearing in a dramatic swirl of black smoke, leaving behind nothing but Cutter’s gore-covered dagger and a small pile of shimmering black dust. “Good shot,” I wheezed with a nod at Cutter.
“Obviously,” he said with a sniff. “When you’re the best thief in all of Eldgard, you don’t miss.”
I rolled my eyes as I padded forward, then crouched down to examine the drop.
I hastily retrieved Cutter’s dagger, eyed the strange blood, then tossed him the weapon. He snatched it from the air by the hilt with a deceptive, nimble ease. I didn’t think he was actually the best thief in Eldgard, but no one could dispute he was quick with his hands and incredibly good with a blade. I turned back to the dusty remains of the creature and activated my inventory as I reviewed the other contents of the strange pile. I found two Void Terror Claws—which looked to be some sort of alchemic ingredient with unknown properties—and a small pile of Shadowverse Salts.
“By the way,” I said absently, examining the salts, “what took you so long to get here? And where’s Amara? She’s sure dragging her feet.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked from behind, sounding genuinely confused. “I followed you through the second you left. Couldn’t have been more than a few heartbeats.”
Hmm. That was weird.
I pocketed the Shadowverse Salts and stood, glancing back toward the portal, brow furrowed, lips pulled down into a frown. Whenever I activated my Shadow Stride ability, it made time grind to a halt for everyone except me—I idly wondered if time moved differently here. Maybe Amara was moving in eighth-speed back in the real world. The t
hought quickly fled as a new round of shrieks echoed along the dark tunnel. A lot of shrieks. Like a pack of hunting wolves, closing in for the kill. It took me only a handful of seconds to spot a mob of the lupine Void Terrors rushing toward us—these loped along on the ground, not bothering to mask their approach.
There were at least ten of them.
“Oh bollocks,” Cutter muttered, staring intently at the tunnel, now shrouded in unnatural shade.
“Yep,” I replied as I conjured Night Armor around myself—a twenty-minute defensive aura that absorbed 15% of melee damage and reflected 20% of that damage back at the attacker. More importantly, though, it drastically reduced the physical pain from attacks, which was an even better feature in my book.
“You ready for this?” Cutter asked, slipping a second dagger from a sheath at his side.
“Nope,” I replied with a slight shake of my head. “Get ready to move,” I said. “I’m going to try to slow them down.” I thrust out my left hand, letting the freezing power of shadow spill out of me as I activated Umbra Bog. The tunnel floor below the incoming creatures exploded into a pool of thick prehistoric tar, and whipping tendrils of deepest black wrapped themselves around the feet and legs of the creatures, jerking the whole mass of them to an abrupt halt. The Terrors snarled and yowled in protest, jaws snapping at the shadowy tentacles binding them.
But their slicing teeth found nothing to grip, nothing to tear.
“Thirty seconds!” I yelled at Cutter, darting forward like a madman with my hammer raised and ready to kill. Cutter was already moving, spinning his daggers as he ran so the blades twirled along the outside of his forearms. He leapt at the last moment, sailing through the air, flipping head over heels, before coming down in the middle of the pack, his daggers flashing out like lightning. He spun and whirled, dancing his way through the mob, a manic grin plastered across his face as black blood flew through the air around him in sheets.
I focused on the Terror leading the charge—bringing my hammer around, smashing the blunt face right into its snarling mouth as I triggered my Savage Blow attack. The creature yelped, its head flinging to the side, still bound by my Umbra Bog. I ducked low and lunged forward in one fluid motion, jabbing the wicked spike on top of my hammer into the creature’s exposed neck. It let out a strangled gurgle-gasp, blood frothing from its lips as it dropped to the ground, critically injured, but somehow still alive.