Legion of Shadow

by Michael J. Ward

  ‘The airborne regulars!’ You punch the air as the mages hurtle past on their flying carpets.

  Then, at the far side of the square, you hear the resonating blast of a horn. From your vantage point, it is difficult to see through the thronging masses, but it looks like a battalion of Ravenwing’s militia have made it across the city. You catch the glimmer of polished armour and a fluttering standard, proudly displaying the black raven. Aid has finally arrived.

  For your victory over the scarrons, you may now help yourself to the following reward:

  Scarron bile (2 uses)

  (backpack)

  It smells bad. Very bad.

  Ability: vitriol

  When you have updated your character sheet, turn to 828.

  786

  You enter a small square chamber, hewn from the bare rock. The low ceiling peaks into a natural shaft, which angles upwards through stone and roots to reveal a narrow band of daylight above.

  In a corner of the room, lies the skeleton of an adventurer. Their clothes are rotted with age, brushed with a carpet of tangled cobwebs. A jewelled dagger is still clutched in the bony fingers of one hand.

  Lansbury kneels beside the skeleton, her brow creased. ‘I wonder what happened here.’

  ‘Tomb robber,’ snorts Nyms, looking up at the narrow shaft. ‘Probably climbed down here hoping for some easy loot. I guess they found more than they bargained for.’

  Lansbury frees a loose bone from the cobwebs, turning it over in the light from her staff. ‘This arm was severed,’ she states grimly, tracing the uneven edge with a finger. ‘I think they may have done it themselves.’ The medic nods to the dagger in the other hand.

  ‘Why would someone do that?’ asks Caeleb.

  ‘An infection perhaps.’ Lansbury lets the bone drop from her hand. ‘It doesn’t really matter now. I think they are beyond helping.’

  ‘No, I meant . . . this.’ Caeleb is stood facing one of the walls, his head craned back. You move to join him, your jaw falling open in bewilderment when you see what has caught the warrior’s attention.

  The entire wall is covered in hundreds of marks, cut deep into the rock by a blade or stone. Most are purely random symbols, but some are clearly an attempt at communication. You edge closer, the light from Lansbury’s staff casting flickering shadows over the crude engravings.

  Not me. Not me. One God punishes. I punish. Punish. Not me! I die for him. Not me. Not me. The rest descends into gibberish, the marks becoming more erratic.

  Lansbury looks back at the skeleton. ‘Perhaps they were trapped in here. That anomaly could have existed a very long time.’

  You feel a sudden prickling along your skin. Instinctively, you spin round – to face the far wall. There, hanging like a glimmering curtain, is another anomaly. Whereas the previous one had been a glutinous mass of mould and decay, this one is sparkling like dew on a spider’s web, its thin strands rising and falling on an unfelt breeze.

  ‘What is it?’ asks Nyms, trading confused looks between yourself and the far wall.

  You glance at your companions. ‘Don’t you see it?’

  Lansbury’s face hardens. ‘Another anomaly . . .’

  ‘Then why can’t we see it?’ growls Caeleb, raising his shield as he turns slowly on the spot. ‘It’s something to do with that thing you absorbed, isn’t it?’

  Nyms has started backing up, edging towards the entranceway. ‘This could be very bad. I think it’s time to leave, don’t you?’

  Will you:

  Agree and leave the stone chamber? — 831

  Investigate the anomaly? — 825

  787

  A short passage opens out into a long rectangular room, dominated by a stone tomb. An image of a knight is carved in high relief on its surface, his gauntleted hands folded in silent prayer. Around the edges of the room are a number of rune-bordered alcoves. Within each rests an item of equipment, from ornately-decorated weapons to highly-polished pieces of armour.

  ‘Jorvic!’ gasps Arthurian rushing to the side of the tomb. ‘By Judah’s light . . .’ He makes the sign of the cross in the air as his eyes rove around the chamber. ‘This was a good man.’

  You walk over to the nearest alcove, studying the fine sword that rests within the dusty recess. ‘And this is a fine weapon,’ you comment, reaching out to touch it.

  ‘No!’ Arthurian’s voice echoes around the chamber.

  You hesitate, looking back at him with surprise.

  ‘Do not touch his belongings!’ he snaps. ‘They are protected.’ He stabs a finger at the runes above the alcove. ‘Holy magic.’

  You immediately back away, reminded of the strange circle in the previous chamber.

  ‘Come,’ hisses Arthurian. ‘I will not tarry here!’ He strides across the room, taking an archway through into a magic-lit corridor. You follow close on his heels, fascinated by the blue flames that flicker in the iron sconces along the walls.

  At the end of the corridor, another passageway branches to the left, ending in a statue of a knight, his head bowed. In the wall facing you is an immense door, fashioned from ivory and gold. Each of its panels has been intricately decorated, depicting a number of embossed scenes. As you edge closer, you see that they all feature a knight on horseback, battling a nightmarish menagerie of fearsome monsters.

  In the centre of the door is a gold circle and inset within it is an ivory chalice.

  ‘Where does this lead to?’ you ask in wonderment.

  Arthurian removes the crucifix from around his neck. Holding it up, he unscrews the base, pulling it away to reveal a miniature key. ‘This is a perfect copy.’ His bright eyes regard you through his ragged strands of hair. ‘You have no idea how hard it was to get this.’

  He steps forward and places the key into a small cavity at the centre of the chalice. As the key slots into place, there is a deep rumbling sound. Suddenly, piercing strands of white light radiate outwards from the chalice, spilling along previously unseen cracks and trenches. Within seconds, a spider’s web of light has branched across the entire surface of the door, splitting it into sections, which suddenly start to revolve. You watch, mouth agape, as the door folds in on itself and then slides aside, revealing a small, dust-shrouded room beyond. (Make a note of the word vault on your hero sheet.) turn to 886.

  789

  Waldo closes the chest and locks it with the silver key. When he straightens, he claps you on the shoulder with a wide smile. ‘Guess I’ll be sticking around for a while, unless those inquisitors move me on – so, come seek me out if you need anything else.’

  You glance down at the strange chest. Its glittering, embossed design now displays a winged dragon – identical to the one displayed on Redguard’s fluttering standards. ‘Hmm, appearances can be deceiving,’ you mutter.

  Waldo doffs his cap to you. ‘I’ll let others be the judge of that.’

  Bidding the trader farewell, you head back into the camp. Return to the map to continue your adventure.

  790

  Warily you step through the archway, to find yourself in a circular chamber with a high-domed ceiling. At the centre of the room is a stepped dais leading up to a stone tomb. The lid has been smashed to pieces, its shattered stonework lying in jagged pieces around the base of the dais.

  ‘Oh, this doesn’t look good,’ mutters Nyms, his swords spinning nervously in his hands.

  Hovering above the open tomb is a man in rune-plate armour. He hangs suspended in the air, his head tilted back and his arms outstretched to either side, palms turned upwards.

  Stood around him are four black-robed necromancers. They are chanting arcane words as streams of magic arc from their fingers, pouring into the warrior who basks in its purple glow.

  ‘More . . . give me more!’ he snarls, his head snapping forwards.

  One of the necromancers falls to his knees, clearly with exhaustion. The dark warrior turns to face him, his scowl deepening.

  ‘Is this the best that Zul could sen
d me?’ He raises his left hand, tightening it into a fist. The mage begins to choke, gripping his throat.

  ‘Something wrong with this picture?’ asks Nyms worriedly, shooting Caeleb a hurried glance. ‘Thought Arthurian was on our side?’

  Caeleb looks equally confused. He starts forward into the room, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. ‘Great Arthurian, we seek your aid.’ He drops to one knee, his head bowed. ‘My lord. My protector – these are dark times. We ask that you help us to conquer this evil.’

  The dark warrior looks down with derision, as the lifeless body of the necromancer slumps forward.

  ‘Fools! Arthurian is not here.’ The man’s voice booms in the chamber, shaking its very foundations.

  ‘But this . . . this is his tomb,’ implores Caeleb, stumbling to his feet.

  The warrior shakes his head, his long mane of dark hair shifting across his purple-glowing eyes. ‘This is his body,’ snarls the knight. ‘But I’m afraid Arthurian is no longer home.’ He throws back his head, a cold and chilling laughter echoing back from the high stone walls.

  Caeleb draws his sword with a flourish. ‘Demon! I will send you back to the shroud!’

  As he charges forward, the dark warrior drops to the floor of the tomb, splintering the stone beneath his plated feet.

  ‘Ah yes, I have waited a long time for this!’ Purple magic blazes from the warrior’s runed gauntlets, forming two mighty axes – sparking with magic:

  Special abilities

  Dark mending: At the end of every combat round, Dark Arthurian is able to restore 2 health from each necromancer that is still alive. This ability cannot take him above his starting health of 80.

  ‘Heal me!’: Lansbury can heal you for 15 health any time during this combat. This ability can only be used once per combat.

  Team effort: Nyms’ sweeping strikes add 2 to your damage score. Caeleb uses his shield to defend you from harm. Your armour is raised by 2 for this battle.

  If you manage to overcome this sinister imposter, turn to 929. If you are defeated, then turn to 862.

  791

  Just like the tinker’s chest in the town of ‘No Hope’, the interior of this chest is larger on the inside, filled with a myriad of weapons, armour and trinkets. It is a far cry from the battered pots and pans in the trader’s cart.

  ‘Now do you believe me,’ grins Waldo, leaning over your shoulder. ‘I got a knack for finding treasure. And rare stuff, too.’

  ‘I suspect these don’t come cheap,’ you say with a wry grin, as you lift out a rune-etched shield.

  ‘That depends. I got my rare items . . . real beauties those, then I got my special deals.’

  Will you:

  Ask to see the special deals? — 815

  Ask to see the rare items? — 803

  792

  Fetch leans back, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Are you going to ask me any more foolish questions?’

  Will you:

  Ask how Fetch came to meet Avian Dale? — 837

  Ask about his magical ability? — 829

  Ask him what he was doing in the tomb? — 800

  Ask him to return you to the others? — 915

  Ask what is in all the crates and boxes? — 853

  793

  Caeleb carefully places the weapon he was inspecting back onto its rack; a poignant but futile gesture, as the rest of the room still remains a cluttered mass of upturned chests and trunks. ‘They will pay for what they have done,’ he mutters, casting an angry glare around the room. ‘Come on.’

  He leads the way back down the corridor. As you near the inscribed room, you feel the air growing thick again . . . your limbs weakening. The shadow mark hisses beneath your clothing.

  Nyms gives you a worried glance as you stumble into the room, your head pounding with pain. Without pause, Caeleb crosses the chamber, taking the north passage. You follow, your concentration focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other. Turn to 857.

  794

  (Make a note of the word rival on your hero sheet.)

  Forced back against the statue, you are uncertain how long you will be able to hold off against these fearsome adversaries. Suddenly, a bright flash of light draws your attention skywards. From out of the smog, you see white shapes swooping down over the ruined city, their vapour trails blazing bright like comets. Beneath them, a series of explosions swell across the square, cutting a vicious swathe through the tightly-packed ranks of shadow spawn.

  ‘The airborne regulars!’ You punch the air as the mages hurtle past on their flying carpets.

  Then, at the far side of the square, you hear the resonating blast of a horn. From your vantage point, it is difficult to see through the thronging masses, but it looks like a battalion of Ravenwing’s militia have made it across the city. You catch the glimmer of polished armour and a fluttering standard, proudly displaying the black raven. Aid has finally arrived.

  For your victory over the ghasts, you may now help yourself to the following reward:

  Spirit tincture (1 use)

  (backpack)

  Use any time in combat to lose 4 health but increase your brawn or magic by 2 for the remainder of the combat

  When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 884.

  795

  ‘A-ha, I see you have a nose for a bargain!’ Waldo grabs hold of the old riding blanket that covers his seat and, with a flourish, pulls it away to reveal an ornate chest. Putting the blanket aside, he takes the chest and lifts it down onto the ground.

  You kneel beside it, entranced by the silver patterns that have been embossed onto its metallic surface. For a moment, they make no sense to you – but then the lines appear to shift and take on form. You lean back, scrutinising the scene that is materialising before you. It shows a vast city, crowned by towers and minarets. The bodies of three snakes form an arched entranceway, their bodies covered in glistening runes.

  ‘What is this?’ You cannot tear your eyes away from the intricate scene. ‘Where did you find it?’

  Waldo squats down beside you, hands resting on his knees. ‘Does it mean something to you?’ he asks hopefully.

  ‘It is . . . familiar.’ You trace the raised patterns with your fingers. ‘This city, have you seen it before?’

  ‘Is it your home?’ he ventures.

  You shrug your shoulders. ‘I wish I knew . . . I have no memory of that place.’

  ‘Well, I always say . . . it’s what’s on the inside that counts, eh?’

  Waldo puts his hand inside his shirt and pulls out a silver chain. On the end of it is a small sparkling key. Lifting the chain over his head, he takes the key and inserts it into the lock of the chest. A turn and a click later, and you find yourself staring into its velvet-lined cavity . . .

  If you are a warrior, turn to 791. If you are a rogue, turn to 875. If you are a mage, turn to 852.

  796

  Your eyes flutter open, the rain-drenched hills of the bone fields swaying before your blurred vision. Ahead of you, an indistinct shape moves quickly across the uneven terrain. As colours and detail swim into focus, you discern flowing robes and a bright staff of light.

  You try and speak but the words clog at the back of your throat, producing little more than a guttural croak. The ground sways once again.

  ‘They’re awake,’ mutters a voice close to your ear.

  You are dropped to the earth, landing in the sodden ash. As you struggle for breath, you look up to see Caeleb standing over you, sweat and dirt staining his face. ‘You aren’t so light to carry, now get up.’

  Nyms paces into view, looking around warily. ‘We need to keep moving. Can you walk?’ He glances your way a grimace etched deep into his pale, narrow face.

  ‘Get up!’ snaps Caeleb, kicking ash in your direction. ‘You have already slowed us down!’

  In the distance you hear the shriek of some infernal creature.

  ‘What happened?’ you rasp, aware of a throbbing pain coming fro
m your arm.

  ‘Good question,’ says Nyms, nervously tapping the pommels of his swords. ‘You vanished into thin air, right in front of us, and then . . . then you were back again. There was all this shimmering magic . . .’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘It didn’t look good.’

  ‘Demon magic!’ Caeleb scowls, turning away.

  ‘But the tomb . . . our mission.’ You push yourself back onto your feet, swaying slightly as you try and regain your balance.

  ‘We ran into more of Zul’s mages,’ states Lansbury, looking back to survey the dark skies. ‘We were lucky to escape – but now they have scouts looking for us. We must hurry.’

  Another deafening shriek dashes the uneasy silence. You take a tentative step forward, relieved to find that your strength is slowly starting to return. ‘I’ll be fine. Lead the way’

  Lansbury nods, before starting down into a narrow ravine. You follow, slipping on the loose stones and bones that litter the ground. As you catch sight of a skull, grinning back at you from a mound of ash, you find yourself pondering your strange gift for immortality. Return to the Act 3 map to continue your adventure.

  797

  ‘Frontal assault it is!’ Caeleb starts the charge, racing forward with his shield held high. Nyms and Lansbury fall in behind him, the latter uttering words of holy magic. A second later and the medic’s staff flares into white brilliance, its shining light settling around the group like a glowing shroud.

  You follow, aware that the bone creature has already spotted you. It throws back its enormous head and from its steel-encased beak it gives a series of sharp, guttural calls.

  ‘Whoa, someone’s happy to see us,’ smirks Nyms, spinning the grips of his blades.

  The undead creature takes to the air, pushing off from its rocky perch and sending jagged cracks branching through the stone. It isn’t until you near that you see that the tablet is some kind of memorial – its surface etched with hundreds of neatly-scripted names.

  Before you can ponder its significance, Nyms breaks away from the group. He has spotted four necromancers advancing towards you, their wands and staves crackling with dark magic.