by James Hunter
<<<>>>
Arcane Dampener (Faction Bound)
Weapon Type: Blunt; Staff (Modified)
Class: Constructed Artifact, Two-handed
Base Damage: 37 (Modified)
Primary Effects:
25 points Arcane damage + (.25 x character level)
+8% damage to all Blunt Weapon attacks
Intelligence Bonus = .25 x character level
Spirit Bonus = .5 x character level
Increase Spirit regeneration by 5.5 Spirit/sec
Secondary Effects:
Absorb 250 points of Arcane damage on contact
(1) per day, per (4) character levels, activate Nullify on weapon contact
(1) per day, per (10) character levels, activate Arcane Dampener Dome. Range, 150 meters.
Duration, 30 minutes.
To every force, there is an equal and opposite force—light has its dark, the raging inferno has its rampaging blizzard. Magic, it seems, is no exception to this rule...
<<<>>>
“Is done,” Vlad said softly. “Was not sure Vlad would be able to replicate, especially not while trying to finish the siege towers. But”—he hooked his thumbs into his trousers and shrugged—“Vlad is man of honor. Achieving range and duration Jack wanted was... Tricky. Very tricky. Vlad blew up first version on accident. But, is done.”
Hopefully I wouldn’t need to use the Dampener in Morsheim, but it was nice to know I had it, just in case. I stowed the staff, already feeling a hundred times better about our chances.
“Also, Vlad made you something else,” Vlad said. “Everyone knows Grim Jack Shadowstrider, da? You have been flying around with a spotlight on you for weeks. So Vlad made new armor from creature you killed. Should be even better than old armor, and no one will know is you. Consider it early wedding present,” he finished, tapping knowingly at the side of his nose. “Is very good design.”
With quick hands, he pulled out a jet-black, multi-plated leather cuirass covered in finely tooled purple runes, intricate scrollwork, and silver rivets. Pauldrons, dyed purple and black, descended from the shoulders. Plated thigh tassets, crafted from the same purple and black leather, trailed from the bottom. Once again, Vlad had outdone himself. Although the base itself was leather, offering excellent flexibility, he’d incorporated the black iron plates from the Gatehouse Horror into the design, creating a suit of armor that would rival any plate mail I’d ever seen.
<<<>>>
Umbra Horror’s Bane
Armor Type: Medium; Modified Leather
Class: Engineered Wonder
Base Defense: 232
Primary Effects:
+25 to Constitution
+25 to Dexterity
+17% Resistance to Piercing and Slashing damage
Spirit Bonus = 2 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 10)
Intelligence Bonus = 2 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 10)
Luck Bonus = .5 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 10)
Secondary Effects:
Iron Stance: +13% chance to resist Stunning Blow, Crippling Strike, and Crush Armor.
Ironsides: 50% chance to nullify additional Backstab damage.
Iron Aura: Increases effectiveness of all Aura spells/abilities by 10%.
Iron Resistance: +10% Resistance to all Elemental and Arcane-based damage; +5% additional Resistance to Cold.
The Gatehouse Horror was an unnatural creature, forged of Shadow, Iron, and Hatred. But any tool forged can be turned against its maker in the proper hands.
<<<>>>
“You’re the best,” I said, stowing my current gear, pulling on the new gear, and taking a gander at my stats.
<<<>>>
<<<>>>
I DISMISSED THE INTERFACE and yanked the grumpy Dawn Elf into a tight hug. “Seriously, the best.”
“Is nothing,” Vlad said, fighting free of the hug. “To thank me—no more hugs.”
A final pop-up appeared as I released the disgruntled and ruffled Engineer.
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: The Path to Victory Part 5
After a long and arduous road, you are finally ready to bring the fight to Thanatos’ doorstep! As you found a secure location for the Vogthar caretakers and the unscripted younglings, the Lorekeepers have agreed to help you in your fight against the Dark Overmind. All that is left to do now is invade and take Thanatos’ capital in the name of Eldgard!
Quest Class: Rare, Champion-Based
Quest Difficulty: Infernal
Success 1: Take the gatehouse and capture Idruz before Thanatos can muster a counterstrike from his capital.
Success 2: It’s possible the Vogthar are more than they seem; find a Vogthar Lorekeeper to get the answers you seek. They may just hold the key to toppling Thanatos.
Success 3: Save Page-Citizen Gnaeus Gessia within 28 minutes!
Success 4: Accompany Zendu, Lorekeeper of the Lost Heaven Caste, to the Temple of Forgotten Waters.
Success 5: Find a true safe haven for the Vogthar prisoners and younglings currently in your care to earn Zendu’s blessing and the aid of the Lorekeepers in your fight against Thanatos.
Success 6: Invade the Necropolis, disable the shield generator powering the Arcane Necrotic Barrier surrounding Skálaholt, and take Thanatos’ capital in the name of Eldgard!
Failure: Fail to complete any of the objectives.
Reward: ???????
<<<>>>
My final quest objective had just come, which meant it was high time to show Thanatos why he needed to be afraid. The Alliance was coming, and we were bringing Hell with us.
Storm the Walls
THE WORLD LURCHED AND swayed a hundred feet below as the desolate, frozen plains of Morsheim flashed by in a blur. Dead ahead, the looming wall of black ice encircling the Necropolis drew inexorably closer. The giant, mechanical legs of the siege tower tore up the ground at an incredible rate. Even after seeing the impressive siege towers in person, I’d half-expected them to be lumbering, slow-moving juggernauts. An aircraft carrier, built for the land instead of the high seas. But no.
These things might’ve looked like carriers, but they moved like speedboats—nimble and quick.
Using the magically enhanced vision of the enormous Seer Stone perched atop the tower, I glanced left and right, watching as the other two towers—both miles away from my position—careened toward the wall at the same blazing speed. Though the basic design of those towers was the same as the Crimson Hammer, there were a few minor variations. For one, each was painted with its own insignia—Osmark’s had a thirty-foot cobalt griffin splashed across the front and Abby’s rig showcased a golden phoenix taking wing.
Each also had its own unique weaponry.
While my rig had an oversized hammer, Osmark’s had a retractable metal arm with a buzz saw the size of a carnival Ferris wheel. And Abby’s? Well, it really felt like the Phoenix had been made for her since her arm ended in a portable flamethrower large enough to make King Kong sit up and take notice.
As I watched the towers scuttle across the tundra on their mechanical spider legs, I couldn’t help but think how oddly fitting it all was. The first city the Alliance had ever taken was Rowanheath, and we’d accomplished the impossible by using the spiderkin of Hellweb Hollow to scale the indomitable walls. Hopefully, this would be the last city I’d ever have to take, and we were going to do it using spiders. Titanic spiders, crafted by the most devious minds mankind had to offer. There was a certain symmetry to it, a kind of poetic justice I could appreciate.
I felt simultaneously sick and excited, knowing we were balanced on the edge of a cliff. This was it. The final push against the Necropolis. If everything went according to plan and fell neatly into place, the outer city—meant to withstand an enemy siege of years—would fall within a handful of hours, and the inner city of Skálaholt would topple in short order. The parallels with Rowanheath were, once again, obvious. Symmetrical. But that was only if everything went according to
plan. If it didn’t—if we’d overlooked something or if Thanatos had some nasty trick tucked away up his sleeve—everything could fall apart around us.
Thousands would die, most to never respawn.
Thanatos would finish his work, undermining Cernunnos, corrupting the rest of the dungeons of Eldgard, and becoming too powerful to stop.
Both Travelers and Citizens would fall next, either conceding to eternal rule under Thanatos’ thumb or choosing death over subjugation.
So, no pressure to get this right.
“Engage Command Center view,” I muttered under my breath. “Switch to A-Gunner control.”
In a blink, the world shrank in scope, and I was back inside the war room, staring out of the indestructible diamond-glass window.
Vlad sat in the seat to my left—my engineering lieutenant—while Cutter filled the A-Gunner seat to the right, hyper-focused now that he was behind the wheel. When I’d asked him to have my back, he’d balked at first, insisting he was more useful on the deck of the Hellreaver. Eventually, though, I’d browbeat him into reluctant submission. Like Abby and Otto, Cutter and I had been together since the beginning. He was my starter NPC companion, and he’d also become my closest friend in the time we’d spent together. If anyone was going to help me win this thing, it had to be him.
A pair of Alliance guards—trusted members who could follow orders and would die before giving an inch of ground to the enemy—milled around, keeping an eye on the rest of our rather unorthodox guests.
Lorekeepers. Six of them.
These were all of the Vogthar Lorekeepers that remained—save for Lorekeeper Oakfen of the Narrow Waters Caste, who’d been chosen to accompany the Vogthar refugees to their new encampment in the Avilynn Wood.
The Lorekeepers all wore flowing robes and prayer beads like Zendu, but despite those similarities, they were all quite different from each other. Some young and spry, others old and bent. Three men, three women. All had the dusky gray skin of the Vogthar, but the horn types varied wildly. Ram, bull, antelope—even one with elk horns. Together, they sat in a loose circle, their legs crossed, their hands resting on upturned knees. Only Zendu stood, hands folded on top of his conjured cane, his face solemn and sad as he peered at the approaching city.
“Is it time then, Grim Jack?” he asked, never taking his eyes from the walls.
“Almost,” I replied evenly. “We’re going to launch the initial attack before you start the ritual. We want to draw the Vogthar out and make Thanatos and the rest of the Darklings think everything is business as usual before we bring the hammer down, so to speak. Hopefully that will buy us a few extra minutes to establish a foothold. Just be ready to begin the ritual on my signal.”
“It will be so.” He offered me a slight smile filled with too many teeth. “And for what it’s worth, Grim Jack Shadowstrider, it has been an honor meeting you. Should we not see each other again this side of the River of Oblivion, know that my people owe you a tremendous debt.” He turned away, dismissing his cane, and lowered himself, taking his spot in the circle. “Prepare to sing the old songs, Lorekeepers.”
I had no idea what in the heck that meant, but at this point it didn’t matter—not so long as Zendu could deliver and incapacitate the Necropolis’ numerous defenders.
“Jack,” Cutter called over the comms. “We’re a hundred meters out, mate. Time to get your head in the game.”
“On it,” I replied, settling myself and resuming control of the mech with a thought. “Eagle view,” I said, my perspective immediately shifting back to the Seer Stone on top of the tower. This was the closest I’d ever been to the Necropolis walls, and they were even more impressive up close. At full height, the siege tower was a hundred and fifty feet tall, and we cleared the lip of the wall by less than thirty feet. From here, I could also see those walls were easily fifty feet thick—no possible way to smash our way through ’em.
The only way we were taking these fortifications was through sheer attrition. Boots on the ground, swords in hand.
Though that wasn’t going to be particularly easy since the walls were seething with Vogthar warriors of all shapes and types: Heavy-armored Eloyte Knights, robed Warmages and Blood Totemists, Tainted Rangers, and wolf-like Frost Hounds. Not to mention siege engines for days. Hell, the walls were even large enough to hold an assortment of prowling Ragna Wolves and deadly Vogthar Cyclopes, twenty feet tall.
It was going to be a battle all right, but we’d come ready for a fight.
War drums boomed around us, the sound reverberating in the air.
Trying to coordinate a full-scale assault using Regional messages only was next to impossible, so instead, contingents of War-drummers manned each of our rigs, the beats letting aerial and mounted cavalry know what to do and when. Far more effective in the long run. At the sound of the drums, the sky darkened overhead and gray clouds rushed in, arcs of blue lightning flashing above. A hundred Eldingar—elite Hydromancer specialists—worked in tandem across the three towers, summoning deadly winds, hailstones, and devastating lightning storms at will.
Searing blue-white bolts streaked down, slamming into the assembled defenders with pitiless cruelty, blackening bodies and throwing Vogs from the walls. Twenty-pound hailstones followed, bludgeoning those unlucky enough to be below, breaking bones and snapping necks.
Meanwhile, the skies above us teemed with squadrons of Accipiter and platoons of mounted aerial units, including the Ilahi Bardic Symphony—a company of Accipiters who usually played their angelic music for visiting kings and lesser nobles who ventured out to the Barren Sands. Their normal stomping ground was the Gorkemli Concert Hall in Ankara, but now they led five hundred bards from all across Eldgard, blasting an epic, rolling version of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”
Osmark had insisted on the score.
I couldn’t see them, but I knew the Rebel Scum were up their somewhere, strumming along with their bastardized electric guitars, fighting for us in the only way they could.
“Releasing the Keep Guardians,” Cutter called out.
Mechanical hatches sprang open along the eighth level of the Keep, and stone dragons, each designed to look like a smaller, sleeker version of Devil, roared their way from the tower, banking, rolling, and scrambling like a flock of sparrows taking flight. Leading the aerial charge was Devil himself, my trio of Void Ape minions surrounding him like an honor guard.
Do your worst, guys, I sent to all four. Take no prisoners. Focus on siege equipment and casters. Show them why they should be afraid of the shadows.
Devil chuckled in the back of my head, the sound gruff and terrifying. These Vogthar may not know fear, but perhaps we will teach them yet. He threw back his head and issued a thunderous roar, purple fire scorching the heavens. He cut the flow off and dove for the walls, Nikko, Mighty Joe, and Kong diving along with him like fighter jets.
From my left and right, the other towers unloaded their own guardians.
Osmark’s had taken the form of eagle-headed griffins—no surprise there—while Abby’s were enormous stone birds with cruel beaks and deadly talons.
Hordes of Vogthar aerial troops rose from the Necropolis rooftops, filling the skyline like a swarm of flies circling over a fresh corpse. Abami made up the bulk of their force, but there were also hulking Vog Drakes, Vogthar riding on winged Corpse Shirkers, ghostly Oni drifting on some unseen breeze, and deathly Plague Specters, ravenous for warm flesh.
The air was thick with flapping wings and inhuman bodies as the two sides came together, claws flashing, teeth ripping, weapons laying open bloody wounds or hacking away limbs. Accipiter Skyraiders in their light blue and gray armor circled overhead, raining down arrow fire or casting crippling wind-based spells designed to disrupt air currents and send opponents spiraling toward the ground. The Dwarven Iron Horses, sitting on their armor-covered Pegasuses, used heavy-duty repeating crossbows to hobble wings, but already our side was taking casualties.
Hopefully, I cou
ld fix that.
“Weapons display.” The screen populated with siege and spell icons while a throng of red homing reticles appeared before me, locking onto the slower-moving Vogthar forces. Time to see what this baby could really do. Fingers flying across the crystal display board in front of me, I selected targets and cued a bevy of deadly weapons. The tower shook and jittered as Arcane Shadow Cannons thundered on decks five, eight, and eleven. Fifteen balls of pulsing purple-black light erupted, obliterating targets on contact, leaving behind nothing more than curling puffs of smoke and a flurry of ash.
A grin stretched across my lips. Badass. There was no time to celebrate, though.
All along the face of the Necropolis’ black wall, doors lurched opened, revealing rune-inscribed cannon muzzles and deadly ballistae manned by more of the Vogthar—these scuttling inside the walls themselves like ants. Jade light flashed, accompanied by a cacophony of noise as the enemy siege weapons engaged at less than twenty feet out. Moving in a blaze, I brought the enormous shield swinging around, slamming it into place just in time to absorb the majority of the cannon blasts, though the hits still rocked us bad. Metal groaned, and steam hissed as the status gauges along the bottom of my vision lit up like Christmas lights.
We were losing pressure in one of the boiler rooms on level two, there was a sizeable breach in the steel plating on level eight, and the rotator cuff for the mechanical Warhammer arm was damaged.
“Is no problem!” Vlad yelled over the comms. “Well. Little problem. Will fix now! Though, maybe don’t get shot?”
“This isn’t as easy as it looks, Vlad,” I yelled back, using the aiming reticles to lock in on my next round of targets. Then, to Cutter, “I’ve got the ramparts, you focus on the walls!”
Without waiting for a reply, I triggered the ten hwach’a lining level eleven. The hwach’a were weapons of Chinese origin, which Xiu had helped us design for the siege on Ravenkirk. Each contraption was mounted on a firing platform attached to the tower’s exterior. They looked a bit like an oversized crossbow, but instead of firing a single arrow, the hwach’a launched two hundred specialty arrows, called singijeon, in one fell swoop. Each projectile was tipped with a black onyx arrowhead liberally covered in deadly Murk Elf poison. At the butt end of each arrow, near the fletching, was a small pouch filled with explosive powder.