by James Hunter
We moved through the village, making for the western gate in silence, the crunch of our boots on gravel the only sound. We didn’t spot a single villager on the way out, which was strange in itself—what’s more, all of the houses we passed were shut up tight, their windows shuttered against the night. It didn’t take us long before we left the town completely behind, emerging into the thick jungle surrounding Yunnam, then bearing west, closely following the route we’d taken to the mine earlier in the day.
It took us twenty minutes of hard hiking through thick tree cover before we stumbled upon a pair of ragged and worn stone piles, which might’ve been boundary markers or an entry gate in a different, long-forgotten age. “Almost there,” the chief muttered, an uncharacteristic flutter of anxiety in his words. “It should be just over the next rise.” He jerked his head toward a steep hill directly ahead of us. I let out a deep sigh. I wasn’t an outdoors guy by any stretch of the imagination, but the “rise” was definitely more of a mountain: one which seemed to climb up and up and up. The chief, his Rangers, and Otto, with their high Stamina levels, would probably tackle it with ease, but I just knew it was going to wear me out.
“Let’s just get it done,” I said, slipping forward and starting the painful ascent.
It took another half-hour to make the climb—which even boasted a vertical rock wall we had to scale like spider monkeys—and by the time we crested the top and broke onto a flat plateau, I thought my thudding heart and pumping lungs would burst from the sheer exertion. I dropped onto my ass the second we were clear and immediately grasped my knees as I pulled in great lungfuls of air.
Next time I invested Attribute Points, Constitution was definitely getting a bump. After a few seconds, I could mostly breathe again and scrambled to my feet—that’s when I caught my first glimpse of what had to be our intended destination. The place loomed dead ahead: a sprawling complex of dark stone, pointed spires, and yawning, lifeless windows, poking up through the jungle canopy.
“There she is,” the chief said, noticing my far-off gaze. He swept a hand toward the structure in the distance. “That, my friends, is the Darkshard Keep of the Nangkri. Earlier today, you visited a long-abandoned mine that once belonged to the Nangkri Dynasty, but that ore shaft isn’t the only ancient relic littering these hills.
“In days now deep in the shadow of history,” he continued, “the six Named Clans of the Dokkalfar—the Ak-Hani, the La-Hun, the Lisu, the Karem, the Chao-Yao, and the Na-Ang—were unified under the banner of the Jade Lord, ruler of the Nangkri Dynasty. Five hundred years ago, or more, that was. There were six Keeps, one for each of the king’s brothers, who ruled over each of the six clan cities. Those were different days. Glorious days, before the coming of the Downfall.” He fell silent, his face twisted in pain at the words.
“What’s the Downfall?” Abby chipped in breathlessly as she moved next to me and slipped an arm around my waist, leaning on me for support. She could probably stand to invest a few more points in Constitution as well.
The chief stopped and glowered at her, then slashed a hand through the air. “A thing we don’t talk about,” he said more coolly than I’d ever heard out of him. After a long beat, the hard lines of his face finally softened. “My apologies, honored guest”—he offered her a slight bow in contrition—“it is something of a cultural sore point, I suppose you could say. A painful reminder of better times. Perhaps, when you’ve dwelt among us a while longer, I will feel comfortable enough to speak on it.”
Though the chief didn’t explicitly say so, I got the sense there was definitely a quest relating to the Downfall, if only I was patient enough to wait. I already had a supremely good reputation with the clansfolk of Yunnam, but maybe I needed to elevate my reputation with the Dark Conclave or the Shadow Pantheon before he’d spill the beans. That was fine, though. I could wait. I already had enough on my plate, and I certainly didn’t want to risk pressing him and losing the option of a future quest chain, so I held my tongue and shot Abby a let it go look.
The chief shook his head and waved one hand through the air. “None of that matters. Ancient history best forgotten. But, one of those keeps still sits vacant in these hills—overlooking Yunnam far below. After the Fall, the land came under a curse, and now the place is desolate. It is the haunt of a powerful land spirit, called a genius locus, set to guard the ruins by the last inhabitants of the Keep. Our people do not venture there—no one ventures there. It’s a death sentence to any wayward adventurer.” He faltered and gave me a quick once-over. “Unless, of course, you have a Faction Seal …”
“Wait. So, you’re telling me we’re going to ransack the ancient ruins of a long-dead empire that no one’s visited in five hundred years?” Cutter asked. The thought should’ve been daunting, but Cutter sounded excited. “I don’t suppose in any of your legends, there’s some mention of a vault or a royal treasury, eh? Any place where these royals of yours might’ve stored priceless artifacts or mounds upon mounds of gold coins?”
“Oh, there is treasure,” the chief replied solemnly. “I am sure of it, though of what sort, I cannot say. As a headstrong youth, I once tried to explore those ruins, but the demon spirit nearly sent me into the Great Beyond. This time, though, will be different. Like the Keep, the Faction Seals are relics from a different age, and the Genius Locus should recognize the seal and allow Grim Jack to take possession of the Keep and establish his faction. Either that or murder us all.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “What will be, will be. Now come, it’s a bit further yet.”
I found myself lost in thought as we threaded our way forward. In a way, everything the chief had said made a strange sort of sense. Rowanheath had a monstrous keep, so why wouldn’t the other cities have something similar for players that chose those locations as their seat of power? Aside from the chief’s tree, there wasn’t really any place in Yunnam which would be a good fit for a giant, well-fortified faction base. And it also made sense that the Devs would create some sort of especially fierce boss to keep unwanted explorers from ransacking those Keeps before the rightful owners could claim them.
Something rustled off in the bushes not far away, drawing me from my thoughts. Instinctively, I reached for my hammer, but before I could even pull the weapon from the frog at my belt, Amara fired an arrow—a brief squeal followed, then silence. Maybe Amara wasn’t super friendly, but she was very good at killing things, and I was glad she was on our side. We shoved our way through a thicket of moss-covered palm trees, ducked beneath a tangle of low hanging vines, and broke into a clearing, offering us our first unobstructed look of the Keep.
“Holy Bollocks of Banztantium,” Cutter muttered, needling me in the ribs with his elbow. “Jack, we just hit the absolute jackpot. I knew sticking with you was the right move.”
Generally, I tried not to agree with Cutter on anything, because he was a terrible human being with the moral compass of a pit viper, but this time I agreed wholeheartedly. My jaw was practically dragging on the ground as my inner gamer greedily rubbed his mitts together in anticipation.
The place was run down and dilapidated—creeping vines clung to the walls, piles of rubble lay strewn across the ground, water had pitted and stained the stone—but the Keep was huge. Way bigger than I’d first thought. It wasn’t some puny military garrison, long forgotten. No. This was a castle. At least as big as the fortress overlooking Rowanheath. Maybe bigger. And it was fit for a king, or at least it had been once, before time got ahold of it. Cutter was right, this place had to be loaded down with loot, just waiting for an adventurer bold enough to go in and take it.
On a more practical note, the Keep was also in a supremely good defensive position.
There was a stone wall, twenty-five feet high, surrounding the place, ringed by a wide moat, full of boggy swamp water, which was probably teeming with gators and other Storme Marsh horrors. A series of dilapidated guard towers poked up along the wall, offering great sentry positions, and the main tower—jutting up like a hi
tchhiker’s thumb from the Keep proper—would allow us to see for miles and miles. Yeah, this would be a great place to set up shop if we could get things cleaned up and operational.
Assuming, of course, the Keep’s guardian didn’t massacre our party first.
TWELVE: Guardians
We crossed the moat via a stone bridge, then passed under a huge archway with a retractable metal portcullis hanging overhead like a guillotine blade, ready to drop at a moment’s notice. Onward we went into a wide courtyard lined with various stone outbuildings, which were all equally devastated—worn down by both time and weather—and in need of some serious TLC. Everyone moved in edgy silence, eyes constantly scanning the landscape in search of whatever threat lived here.
As in the Darkshard Mine, the feeling of unseen eyes began to follow us as we moved deeper into the ruins, making for the Keep. The intensity grew and grew the further into the complex we went, like a palpable weight bearing down on us, eager to crush us into paste. Something was definitely watching us—some unseen and unfriendly resident—and I absently wondered what I’d find if I triggered my Shadow Stride ability and stepped into the Shadowverse. Would I crash into an army of Void Terrors stalking our every movement? Or would I come face-to-face with something even worse?
I shivered at the thought, remembering how much trouble the Drake had caused us.
At last, we moved through another graceful archway set into an inner wall, which separated the Keep from the rest of the long-dead ghost town. Before us was a castle, though not of the blocky medieval-Europe variety like Rowanheath boasted. No, this was vaguely oriental in design and looked closer to a Buddhist temple from a bygone era. Instead of angular stone fortifications and hard, sharp lines, this place was all rounded edges, flowing curves, elegant spires, and artfully carved stonework depicting fantastical beasts and epic battles.
A set of weather-beaten steps led from the courtyard to a colossal set of sealed doors, big enough to admit a herd of elephants.
“I think, perhaps, it is best if you go ahead from here,” the chief said, glancing around apprehensively as he readjusted his grip on a stout walking staff, which I figured doubled as his primary weapon.
“I agree completely,” Cutter said, quickly slinking behind me so I was basically a human shield. For a moment, I didn’t move, but then Cutter helped me out by giving me a little shove.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I snapped, glaring at him over my shoulder. I took one last, deep, calming breath, then moved through the ranks of our squad, edging past Amara and Baymor until I was in front. Alone. I inched closer to the Keep, and placed one tentative foot on the stairs.
My toe had hardly touched down when a thunderclap rocked the night accompanied by a brilliant flash of scarlet light, which left me reeling and disoriented. At first I thought it was actually some sort of freak lightning storm, but as I took a quick glance around, I saw huge columns of unnatural fire erupting from the ground in a circle around us, hemming us in. The deafening cacophony of light and sound continued unabated for another few seconds—then, in a blink, everything ceased as quickly as it had begun.
Now, however, we had company.
We were completely surrounded by a host of hulking guardians, called [Keepers], built from stone, earth, bone, and moss. They were crude humanoid beings that stood nine feet tall, and half as wide, with enormous earthen muscles. Their arms were as big around as telephone poles, and so long that their rocky knuckles dragged in the dirt. Their legs, by contrast, were squat and powerfully built, meant for strength, not speed. Gleaming spikes of bone, wood, and Darkshard ore studded backs, shoulders, and forearms, offering them some serious protection against potential attackers.
I spun in a slow circle, counting our mean-looking visitors: twenty-five of them. A three to one advantage in their favor. Very bad odds. Maybe even impossible odds.
I gulped, suddenly terrified, and hesitantly reached into my bag, ready to retrieve the seal and beg these things not to crush us like bugs. Before I could get the disk out though, the creatures opened their mouths and let out a chorus of bellowing war cries, a thunderous clamor that sounded like an earthquake given voice. Then, while we all stood shocked and unprepared, the creatures charged, their huge stone legs churning like truck pistons as they ate up the distance between us.
In an eyeblink, everyone was moving.
Otto surged forward, throwing himself in front of Abby as one of the hideous, earthen monsters lashed out with a rocky fist, which shifted and morphed into a gigantic spiked mace as it sailed through the air. The Risi warrior narrowly diverted the blow, before sidestepping right, whipping his sword around in a flash of steel, and slicing at the creature’s middle. The blade clanged against rocky armor with little effect. It didn’t matter, though, because while the creature was distracted, Abby darted into the open and threw both hands forward, conjuring a cannonball of flaming earth and churning magma.
Her attack landed like a sledgehammer of force and fire; the intense heat obliterated one of the creature’s legs, leaving it wobbling unsteadily.
I wheeled around and launched an Umbra Bolt into the face of a Keeper barreling toward the chief—except I hardly even recognized the chief. His normal leather armor was gone, and now he wore heavy plate mail constructed entirely of pale white bone, inscribed with gleaming emerald runes. The guardian lurched left as my attack landed, temporarily blinded. The chief, clad in his terrifying gear, took advantage of the opening; he twirled his staff overhead, before smashing it into the staggering creature’s rocky skull. A crack of pale-green light exploded as the weapon landed, and I watched in amazement as the Keeper started to decay in double-speed: the moss and plant matter holding it together promptly withered and died as stone crumbled away into fine dust.
In no time, the Keeper was little more than a pile of stone, bits of yellowed bone, and rotten plant matter. Damn. That was super cool.
From the look of things, Chief Kolle didn’t really need my help, so I spun, searching for a new target. I found one—it was shooting toward me like a freight train. The creature threw a punishing haymaker at me, powerful enough to crush my face if it landed. I dropped low, letting the swing whizz over my head, before surging forward and smashing my hammer into the creature’s center, triggering Savage Blow. The Keeper’s torso cracked, a fissure running up its front, but it hardly seemed to care or even notice. A mean left uppercut landed in my ribs, lifting me from the ground and knocking the wind out of me—along with a fifth of my HP.
I staggered back from the blow, easily dodging a slow-moving kick, and lashed out with my warhammer again, smacking at an exposed wrist. The creature roared in pain as its whole hand disappeared in a puff of rocky debris. I hadn’t killed it, but I’d bought myself a few seconds.
“I could use some help over here,” Cutter hollered over the din of battle. I stole a quick glance over one shoulder and saw the thief spinning, weaving, and twirling through a group of guardians ten-strong. He deftly ducked wild punches and avoided devastating kicks while slicing and dicing his way through the crowd. He was doling out some minor damage, but his bladed weapons were far from ideal for creatures like these. Worse, the Keepers were slowly boxing him in, preventing him from slipping away from their clubbed fists.
In another minute or two, they’d be in position to pummel him to death.
The Rangers were standing in a tight ring—the four of them fighting back to back—and both Amara and Baymor were firing volley after volley of arrows at the hulking beasts attacking the nimble thief. They were shooting improvised specialty arrows tipped with little round vials that exploded on impact and covered the Keepers with biting acid. The sludgy green goop chewed through stone and bone with ease, while dealing out some significant DPS along the way. Nice.
I threw out my free hand, casting Umbra Bog on the group surrounding Cutter—thick strands of inky shadow erupted from the earth; tendrils of black stretched up and ensnared crushing hands and stomping feet, g
iving Cutter a chance to slip into the clear. My generosity, though, cost me precious seconds, and when I turned back, a giant stone fist clocked me in the jaw. An explosion of white-hot pain erupted in my face as I dropped to the ground like a bag of rocks, groping at my ruined and bloody mouth. A new combat notification popped up in the corner of my vision:
<<<>>>
Debuff Added
Fractured Jaw: You cannot speak and cannot cast mage spells; duration, 2 minutes.
<<<>>>
That was annoying, but the pain was far worse than the actual debuff since none of my Shadowmancer abilities required spoken chants or incantations. A giant foot sailed toward me, and I rolled left, throwing caution to the wind as I triggered Shadow Stride. Up until this point, I’d been hesitant to utilize the ability, afraid of the possibility of running into a bloodthirsty mob of Void Terrors, but I badly needed a breather. Time lurched to a standstill around me, and the descending foot froze in place along with the rest of the world.
With a painful sigh, I pushed myself upright, taking a quick look around, searching for potential enemies. Nothing. No Void Terrors. So next I searched for anyone who might need a helping hand.
The Rangers were frozen in various stages of combat, some nocking arrows, others preparing to release. Otto was statue-still, his blade poised to cleave through a guardian’s outstretched arm. Abby had her hands outstretched, a gout of white-hot fire erupting from her palms. During the brief combat, the chief had somehow managed to summon a trio of shambling zombie-worgs and a small army of rickety, weapon-wielding skeletons. Cutter was frozen midair, a manic grin splitting his face as he attacked a stone guardian stupid enough to offer its back.
Everyone was doing as well as could be expected, so I carefully circled to the outside of the creature that’d sucker punched me in the face, dropped into Stealth, and lined up my shot. I took a few practice swings for good measure, my semitranslucent hammer whooshing harmlessly through the Keeper’s head. Satisfied, I gave a nod and emerged from the Shadowverse, time resuming with an abrupt lurch. The creature in front of me finished its bone-crushing stomp—except I was no longer on the ground. I unleased a devastating Stealth attack as the creature’s foot landed, which earned me a critical hit. The hit was solid, like a batter knocking one out of the park, and the creature’s head simply vanished in an explosion of dirt and stone.
