by J. A. Hunter
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Quest Alert: Secrets in the Shadows
Congratulations! You have courageously ventured into the Vault of Shadows of the Protoverse and found the Keeper of the Shadows, the Spirit of Eitri Spark-Sprayer. As a reward, your Shadow Lord ability has permanently increased by (1) Proficiency Point. Additionally, Eitri has unlocked the Grandmaster-level effect for Shadow Lord!
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Skill: Shadow Lord
Those who have walked the Path of Shadow long enough to become a Shadow Lord have gained not only an unparalleled connection to the Umbra, but a masterful understanding of how to manipulate, shape, and control Umbra power. With your knowledge as a Shadow Lord, you have chosen to combine Shadow Stride, Umbra Bolt, and Dark Harmony, forming the unique Path of the Shadow-Warp Portal. Using Shadow-Warp Portal allows the caster to rip a compact hole through the Shadowverse, instantly moving objects from one place to another.
Skill Type/Level: Spell/Initiate (Modified; Grandmaster-level effect)
Cost: 75 Spirit (Variable; See Effect 2)
Range: 100 Meters (Sight)
Cast Time: 1.5 seconds
Cooldown: N/A
Effect 1: Cast a base 1' x 1' Shadow-Warp Portal; any object that enters the entry portal will immediately leave through the exit portal. The caster can control the spawn location of both portal points (line of sight) as well as the vertical and horizontal orientation of the portal points.
Effect 2: Manipulate the base size of the portal from 1' x 1' to 6' x 6'; for every foot of dimensional space added to the base portal, add 50 Spirit to Cost for a maximum of 325 Spirit for a portal with a dimension of 6' x 6'.
Restriction: Shadow-Warp Portals cannot be opened inside objects, such as walls, floors, or players. The entry and exit points must be cast in unoccupied free space! Shadow-Warp Portals will not function within the Shadowverse. Additionally, the caster cannot physically travel through a Shadow-Warp Portal, since they must maintain the spell from outside the Shadowverse!
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“Now, before you depart,” Eitri said as I closed out from my interface, “we have one more matter to discuss.” His joking tone was gone, replaced by a somber voice and a deadpan face. “There is only one reason you would be seeking out my book, and that is to find the forge of my father. And if that weren’t enough confirmation, I can sense the Doom-Forged relics upon you. Their power radiates off you in waves.”
“If you’re going to try to talk me out of going,” I said, “don’t. We need your father to forge us the weapon. Nothing can get in the way of that.” I paused, jaw clenched. “This is bigger than him. Bigger than you or me.”
“No, you misunderstand,” Eitri’s spirit said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I know you cannot be moved from your course. I wouldn’t try to dissuade you from it. Rather, I wish to warn you and to plead with you. My father, he has been crushed by guilt and grief. Guilt and grief over my death. It has transformed him into something... terrible. It’s what led him to make that damnable weapon in the first place. If you give him the pieces, he will remake the weapon, but he won’t give it back willingly. He’ll take it and try to kill... well, everyone, if he can. In truth, he will burn the world down if you let him, and with that weapon in his hands, he just might be able to.
“But he isn’t a monster, not truly.” Eitri’s eyes pleaded with me. “He’s just a grief-stricken father. A powerful one. But not an evil one. Continue your quest. Forge the weapon, but please. If there is any way to spare him, any path to victory forged not in bloodshed but in mercy... take it. I am convinced that there must be some way to free him from the corruption that has taken hold of his mind.
“Truly, I don’t know what the answer is, but the fact that you wear Nangkri’s crown on your head tells me you might be up to the challenge. If you can both assemble the weapon and cleanse my father from the corruption of his grief, you will prove yourself to be an heir worthy of my legacy. Do that and you can come back to this place and claim the Iredale Hold as your own.”
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Quest Alert: The Doom Forge
The spirit of Eitri Spark-Sprayer has heard about your quest to reforge the Doom-Forged weapon. He has warned you that his father, Khalkeús, has been twisted by rage and grief and that he will likely try to kill you once he has the Doom-Forged weapon in his grasp. He has charged you with completing the quest without killing Khalkeús. In addition, you must find a way to ease his suffering.
Quest Class: Ultra-Rare, Class-Based
Quest Difficulty: Infernal
Success: Complete the Doom-Forged quest line without killing Khalkeús; additionally, you must find some way to ease the mad godling’s pain.
Failure: Fail to complete the Doom-Forged quest line; kill the mad godling Khalkeús; spare his life but abandon him to his misery.
Reward: Be named the rightful Heir of Eitri Spark-Sprayer and inherit the Iredale Hold!
Accept: Yes/No?
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I read it over and reluctantly accepted. “I don’t understand,” I said. “How am I supposed to stop a grief-mad god, hell-bent on revenge, without killing him? Especially if he won’t cooperate with me?”
Eitri offered me a mischievous smile. “As I said, I don’t have an answer. But even if I did, a test of mettle and character is not one that I would help you with. If you are truly worthy to be my successor, then I am convinced you will find a way.” He waved a hand and a silvery portal appeared beside me. “Good luck, Grim Jack. The gods know you’ll need it.”
Roadblocks
I STEPPED THROUGH, expecting to end up back in the odd column forest, but instead the silvery doorway deposited me in the library just outside the archway. The path into the Protoverse was firmly closed, the archway was completely walled off by thick stone, and even the strange warning carved into the stone was gone. Man, but this place was a complete trip. I shook my head, turned on a heel, and made my way out of the library, heading for the map room where the rest of the crew would be holed up.
I kept my metaphorical fingers crossed that they hadn’t bailed since it’d taken me nearly the entire three hours I’d allotted to complete the little jaunt.
When I pushed the heavy wooden door open with a bang, I found an arrow immediately trained on me, courtesy of Amara, and a fireball budding at the end of Abby’s staff, ready to burn the face from my body.
I raised my hands sheepishly. “Just me, guys,” I said. “No need to go with the nuclear option.”
Amara grunted and lowered her bow while Abby dismissed the spell with a whisper. “Having second thoughts about going in?” Abby asked as she pulled a no-nonsense stool over to the bulky map table and took a seat. Cutter and Carl were already sitting, while Forge leaned casually against a wall, examining a leather map with furrowed brows.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely confused. “I’ve been gone for...” I pulled up my interface to check the time. What in the hell? My clock had somehow gone backward—the last three hours spent inside the Protoverse vanished, as though I’d never left. “Impossible,” I said. “How long have I been gone?”
“Two minutes,” Cutter said with a shrug. He had a stack of playing cards out in front of him, idly shuffling them, crowns and clubs flashing and disappearing in an impressive display of sleight of hand. “Give or take.”
“What’s going on, Jack?” Abby asked, immediately picking up that something was wrong.
I shook my head, baffled. “I left.” I hooked a thumb back toward the library. “I didn’t turn back. I went in. I was gone for almost three hours, and I was keeping an eye on the clock the whole time.” I headed over to the wall and dropped down onto my ass, pressing my back against the stone as the world reeled. This couldn’t be possible. Quickly, I pulled up my character sheet and skill tree, ensuring I hadn’t just hallucinated my whole encounter with Eitri.
I let out a sigh of relief. Everything was just as it should have been, and when I pul
led up my quest log, I found the updated quest alert I’d received from the shade.
“Everything looks right, but I swear to God my clock has reset to somehow account for the time loss. But I’m telling you guys, I was gone. For three hours.”
“Perhaps time runs even more quickly in that place?” Amara offered, quirking an eyebrow. “We take for granted that time, it runs differently in the Shadowverse, but what if there is another such place? One that we know nothing of?” She paused, lips pressed into a tight line. “The business of time, it is a thing of the Overminds—of Kronos—so who can say what is possible, no?”
I mulled it over for a minute and had to admit the idea held water. Eitri had said the Protoverse was tied to Kronos’s earliest attempts at time manipulation. “Yeah, I suppose that’s possible,” I admitted.
“Well, don’t leave us hanging, Jack,” Abby said. “What happened? What’d you find?”
As weird as the time distortion was—and it was—I couldn’t help but smile, thinking about what I’d learned from the shade. I stood, extended a hand and conjured a miniature portal a few feet in front of me, then casually took a healing potion from my belt and tossed it through. The exit portal appeared behind Cutter’s head, the potion zipping through at the same rate I’d thrown it, smacking him right in the back of the noggin.
“What in the bloody hell?” he barked, shooting up from his chair, wheeling around as he rubbed at his head.
“Boy, do I have a story to tell you guys.” The portal vanished with a flick of my wrist, and I told them about my strange journey through the Protoverse and my encounter inside the tomb of Eitri Spark-Sprayer. I told them about the reward he’d granted me and the impossible quest he’d charged me with.
“Why can’t we have one normal mission, eh?” Cutter grumbled as I finished. “That’s what I want to know. Gods, but what I wouldn’t give for a standard dungeon dive. Just kill some monsters and walk away with a bag stuffed full of sweet, sweet loot. But no. Not Grim Jack bloody Shadowstrider. Can’t ever be easy with you.” He pulled free one of his daggers, twirling it idly with thoughtless ease. “So how are we supposed to beat Khalkeús without just bludgeoning the grumpy bastard to death, eh?”
“Well, I’m hoping Carl has an answer to that,” I replied, turning on the Cleric. “You find anything in the book that might help us?”
He grimaced and shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re expecting. Remember, time distortion or whatever. I’ve only had the book for about five minutes, so needless to say, I haven’t made any headway. No visions, either. But at a glance, it looks more like a journal than anything with real practical value. I mean, I’ll tear through it, but chances are what we’re looking for is in the temple in Stone Reach.”
“Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road,” Abby said, pulling a scroll from her inventory. It was a one-off back to Cliffburgh, which she’d taken the liberty of copying from the original Sophia had provided us with. Ideally, we would’ve gone straight to Stone Reach, but getting a port scroll inside the mountainous city was the next to impossible—even for us, which was saying something. But Cliffburgh was more or less on the way, and Carl needed to stop back anyway to pick up a few items he had stored in a chest at a local inn called the Howling Tortoise.
And thanks to the scroll we wouldn’t have to trek back through the manor or tangle with any of the vicious Void Terrors that might’ve respawned. Cutter would have to send a word to the Gobs on the Hellreaver, but they’d be able to pilot the ship back to Rowanheath without him.
A win-win all around.
The portal shimmered to life, and we headed through, emerging on a very familiar landing just below the front gates of Cliffburgh.
Though the location was the same, the scene that met us was very different.
This time around, the heavy front gates were battened down. Dwarven archers manned the wall with their crank-powered crossbows while a quartet of foot guards stood watch over the gate. There were two spearmen, a heavy tank wielding double shields, and a squad leader with a beefy axe gripped in one fist. I scanned them, searching for the familiar face of Raginolf, the captain of the guard, but no such luck.
“What kinda bullshit is this we got here?” Forge asked, directing the question at Carl.
The Cleric shrugged and spread his hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them lock the gates here. Not in the month I’ve been kicking around the place. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“More Vogthar attacks?” Amara suggested, one hand darting toward a wicked dagger at her belt.
Only way to find out for sure was to ask.
We made our way up the short winding steps, and the guards moved into place at once. The dual-shield-wielding tank hustled to the fore, while the spearmen quickly posted up behind him, their spears canted out from either side at a forty-five-degree angle. A decent defensive setup that would make flanking the tank nearly impossible. Cranks creaked to life as crossbows were lifted and bolts were readied. These guys weren’t taking any chances. The guard with the axe shuffled forward, his squat, powerful body radiating confidence.
“Halt,” he barked when we were ten feet out. His Scottish accent was noticeable, though not nearly as pronounced as Captain Raginolf’s. “Not sure what ya folk are looking fer, but best ya turn back the way ya’ve come. Cliffburgh is closed for the time being.”
“Closed?” Carl said, shouldering his way to the front of the group, a scowl on his bearded face. “Cliffburgh is a trading town. It doesn’t close. You trade. That’s like your whole thing. You can’t just close.” He folded his arms, glaring at the guard.
“We bloody well can, lad. Can and have. There’s trouble brewin’ up in Stone Reach. Whole kingdom’s on high alert. No one’s going in. No one’s going out. Ya ken it?”
“Trouble. In Stone Reach. What kind of trouble?” I asked, stepping up beside the flustered Cleric.
“Our trouble is our own, and certainly not the business of a bunch o’ outsider javlar, like you lot.” The guard leaned over and spit into the dirt. “I reckon it was one of yer kind what did it in the first place.”
“Did what? And also, I’m not a foreigner,” Carl protested. “I’m a Dwarf, and not just a Dwarf but a priest in good standing with the Acolytes of the Shield and Hammer.”
The guard blanched, his face paling visibly. “A priest with the Acolytes of the Shield and Hammer, ya say?”
Warning bells started going off inside my head. Something was definitely amiss here.
“Well, why dinnae ya say so right away? Perhaps it’s best if you head on in and stop over to see Captain Raginolf in the guard barracks. Ah reckon he’ll have some news for ya. Might be, he has a question or two as well.”
“I don’t understand,” Carl said, his voice shaky as he spoke. “Seriously, what’s going on? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Aye. Nae my place to tell.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Gustav, open the sally port, eh?”
There was a clank and a clink as a small door set into the main gate swung outward.
“You can go through, but these others must leave. No foreigners.”
“Are you serious?” Carl pressed, scorn heavy in his voice. “But that’s stupid. They’re in my party, guys, and I’d be happy to vouch for them.”
“Halden,” the bulky tank called out. “A moment?”
The surly gate guard shot us a suspicious glare—don’t even think about trying anything funny—moved over to the tank, and leaned his ear in close. The tank whispered something, though I couldn’t be sure what. The squad leader, Halden, grunted noncommittally a few times as the shield-bearer spoke, glancing occasionally in our direction. Finally, he straightened, squaring his shoulders as he regarded us. “Don’t suppose ya are the Travelers who helped with that row against the Vogthar? Bergen here seems to think he recognizes ya—says ya were wearing different garb, though.”
“Your man has a
sharp eye,” Cutter said, sauntering forward, poised and self-assured as always. “That was us indeed. Surely you can bend the rules a hair for the heroes who saved so many of your fellow guardsmen.” It wasn’t a question but a suggestion that seemed to be more.
“Aye. Now it’s starting to add up.” Halden turned and signaled at one of the archers on the wall. “Ya hear all that?” he called up. The archer nodded in reply. “Well, alright then,” he said, turning back to us. “Ah suppose we can indeed make an exception for ya lot.” He leaned in conspiratorially and dropped his voice. “Though maybe we could keep this between us, eh? Ah don’t need any trouble with the captain. Come on now.” He waved us over as the other guards broke their formation, resuming their customary posts in front of the gate.
Tension I hadn’t even been aware of melted from my shoulders, and a knot in my chest loosened as we made our way into the trading town.
“Well, that was a stroke of bloody good fortune,” Cutter crowed as we ducked through the sally port. The words died on his lips a second later as the gate slammed shut with a thud, followed by the sound of a heavy bar being jammed into place. Arrayed before us in a rough semicircle were guards. Thirty of them, all loaded down with weapons and looking for a fight.
“Travelers,” a blocky guard before us said as he broke ranks. “Name’s Garth, and I’m the sergeant of the guard. Captain Raginolf would have a word with you. Like to ask you about your connection to a fire down in the Low Quarter. Oh, that and you’re wanted on suspicion of murder. Murder and sacrilege.”
“You arrestin’ us, partner?” Forge growled, drawing his axe, the rasp of metal on leather carrying in the quiet.
This new guy, Garth, seemed about as unflappable as every other Dwarven guard we’d met so far. He rocked back and forth on his heels and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “That depends, big fella, on whether you want to cooperate. You do it the easy way and come with us peaceably, well, we’ll call that a friendly chat, now won’t we? You do it the hard way? Resist. Fight us. Maybe kill some of my men? Well, then we’ll put you in chains until the fires beneath the mountain grow cold.”
