Ask to see the rare items? — 881
853
‘Look for yourself,’ sneers Fetch, waving a hand towards the nearest wooden crate.
You give the assassin a long stare, still distrustful of his motives. ‘No, you open the crate.’ With a ring of steel, you draw your weapon and hold it to his throat.
‘Very well,’ he scowls, waving you away with the back of his hand. ‘Does everything have to be so dramatic with you?’
‘Sorry, did you miss the part where you were trying to kill me?’
Fetch looks back at you, his eyes bright beneath his hood. ‘I call it self-preservation. Something that has kept me alive these many years. You’re not so bad at it yourself.’
Grunting with discomfort, the assassin takes the lid off the crate and pushes it aside. ‘Travelling leaves me weak, tired. I am not interested in playing games. See for yourself.’
You step closer and look into the crate. Resting amongst folds of linen are a number of jade figurines. You shrug your shoulders. ‘Some nice ornaments. What is the big deal?’
Fetch throws open his arms, turning on the spot to take in the whole of the room. ‘Here are treasures so rare and priceless that even the king of Valeron would crawl on his belly for a chance to possess them. These are Avian’s. He is a collector.’
‘And what does he plan to do with all this?’ You scan the room, filled with hundreds and hundreds of similar boxes.
‘It’s not what he plans to do,’ grins Fetch folding his arms. ‘It is what he hopes to stop others from doing.’
You scowl. ‘I hate riddles.’
Fetch walks back over to the door, his eyes lingering on your own. ‘Riddles are all you deserve, shadow walker.’
Turn to 792 to ask another question.
854
You sprint to the end of the building, then kick off from its edge, soaring effortlessly over the glittering sea of bodies. You twist in mid-air, sending bolts of black fire into the ranks of shadow spawn, your dark magic ripping through their bodies and leaving charred craters in the earth.
As you fall out of your dive, you grab hold of the statue, swinging yourself around to land on the plinth, right next to the surprised inquisitor. ‘You started without me,’ you grin, drawing your weapons. Mathis glares at you as he blocks yet another blast from the knight’s bow.
‘They weren’t keen on waiting,’ he scowls.
You put your back to the statue, your mind now focused on the nightmarish creations that are clambering to reach you. They look like ghouls, save their bodies have been fashioned from pure shadow, their red eyes burning with a ravenous evil.
‘Ghasts,’ snarls the inquisitor. He swings his warhammer in a deadly arc, sending four of the creatures spinning away in a sizzling explosion of holy light. ‘Watch their claws.’
‘Just watch those arrows!’ you shout back, ducking as one goes zipping past, to smash into an advancing monster. ‘I’ll handle these!’ With a snarl of fury, you hurl yourself against the devilish ghasts, hoping to buy time until aid can arrive. You must fight:
Special abilities
A gathering of ghasts: The ghasts’ sharp claws ignore your armour. (If you have second skin then you may use half of your armour score, rounding up, to absorb the damage).
Bolt from the blue: Roll a die at the end of each combat round. If you roll>or more, then Mathis has deflected the general’s arrows with his shield. Otherwise, an arrow has got through and you must take 5 damage (ignoring armour) from the magical blast.
If you manage to survive to the start of the seventh combat round, then turn to 794. (Special achievement: If you defeat the ghasts before the end of the sixth round, then turn to 813). If you are defeated, then you may return to an earlier point. Restore your health, then turn to 885.
855
The general is a skilled fighter, matching you blow for blow – but a lucky opening allows you to step in past her guard, kicking her leg away and throwing her off balance. Too late, she tries to recover but your weapons knock her blades aside, your follow-up blow sending her helmet rattling away into the dirt. At last, you finally look upon your enemy’s face. It would have been beautiful once, but now it is a ruin of pulpy, scarred flesh. Her flat stare holds no emotion – no remorse. ‘Finish it,’ she hisses.
You back away, shaking your head. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this.’
The woman laughs bitterly. ‘It has always been like this. Do you even think we remember another way?’
You raise your shadow mark, its demonic glow surrounding your body. ‘I wish I did. . .’
Before you can stop her, Sanrah snatches a dagger from the dust and lunges. Your reaction is pure instinct, blasting her away with your magic. The general’s body snaps back, flipping over to crash down onto the dusty ground. There is a groan of pain then silence.
Slowly, from between the black plates of armour, her essence seeps out – the purple tendrils of magic snaking into the air. You contemplate letting them reform, allowing her to live again. But you have not the strength to deny your shadow mark. It greedily absorbs the general’s essence, filling you with its power. If you are a mage turn to 871. If you are a warrior, turn to 882. If you are a rogue, turn to 887.
856
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 out 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. Turn to 895.
857
The passageway is lined with torches, their crackling flames casting a ghoulish dance of shadows across the flagstones. You stagger onwards, teeth clenched against the throbbing pain that is coming from your shadow mark.
Lansbury walks at your side, watching you with a curious fascination. ‘The inscriptions don’t agree with you, do they?’
You look up, struggling to focus. ‘I don’t feel good, if that’s what you mean.’
The medic nods. ‘Yes, your mark is strong in demon magic. I wonder what it is truly capable of . . . should your memory return.’
You wince as a hot pain shoots up your arm. You stagger into the wall, putting out a hand to regain your balance. ‘Sometimes I am grateful that I do not remember.’
After several hundred metres, the passageway widens, ending in a tall pair of gilded doors. They already stand open, revealing a bright chamber beyond. With effort, you draw your weapons, preparing yourself for whatever danger might lurk in this new section of the tomb. Turn to 799.
858
Ravenwing’s men pursue the routed shadow spawn, slashing and blasting at their fleeing enemy. The battle is won. But at what cost? You look around at the men that have remained behind – not only the wounded and the dead, but those who have simply hung back from exhaustion. Many have a haunted look about them, their bodies blackened by soot and grime. You can’t imagine what devastation awaits beyond the walls of the city – where the doom orb’s magic was turned against the camp. The men’s expressions tell you enough.
Across the rubble-strewn square, you see Ravenwing supporting Lansbury, as he guides her to the shelter of a building. She looks exhausted from her efforts, her shoulders sagging, head hung low. You notice that Nyms is not with her.
‘Nevarin!’ Mathis is trudging through the rubble towards you. The inquisitor’s armour is raked with black scars, his hair plastered to his head by blood and sweat. ‘We have unfinished business, you an
d I.’
‘Mathis? You frown, taking a step backwards. ‘You are not yourself . . .’
He raises his warhammer. ‘Oh I am perfectly myself, demon!’
Suddenly, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. A man is standing on the edge of a rooftop, his scarlet coat billowing in the wind. He raises his hand and suddenly you feel an invisible force closing in around you, pinning your arms and legs tightly together.
Then the man is moving, running through the air as quickly and deftly as if it was solid ground. And like a dog on leash, you find yourself being dragged after him, floating in a magical prison.
‘More demons!’ screams Mathis. ‘Don’t think you can escape!’
You are pulled across a broad plaza, its fountains and pathways now charred and cratered, towards an officious-looking building clinging to a rise of grey rock. You try and discern its purpose – but the invisible bonds shift, spinning you around. Then something hard strikes you across the head, plunging you into darkness. Turn to 928.
859
A winding staircase leads you down into a high-ceilinged chamber. Torches flicker in sconces along the walls, illuminating a row of statues that stand solemn guard along either side of the room. These life-like sculptures appear to be Tor Knights, clad in full-body plate. Swords and shields rest at their side.
Turning back to the entranceway, you see the barrier of magical light fade. Lansbury steps between the once-glowing pillars. ‘Amateurs,’ she mutters with disdain. ‘Thinking they could keep me out!’ Nyms and Caeleb follow her into the room.
‘Took your time,’ you grin, folding your arms and assuming a mocking pose.
Lansbury playfully slaps your arm as she continues past. ‘We’re not through this yet. I suggest you stay on your guard.’
As she marches away, Nyms offers you an apologetic smile. ‘If it makes you feel any better, she never laughs at my jokes either.’
Pushing back your rain-soaked hood, you follow your three companions down the hall, towards a large stone door set in the far wall. It stands slightly ajar, leading through to a set of stairs.
‘The necros did a good job of breaking and entering,’ sighs Caeleb, eyeing up the stone door. You note that its entire surface is covered in spiralling runes and detailed, intricate script work. ‘These doors were warded.’
‘Yes, and they are over a thousand years old,’ states Lansbury matter-of-factly. ‘A child could have broken through these defences. It is nothing to be admired.’ The medic hikes up her robes and starts down the stairs.
‘See what I mean?’ grins Nyms. ‘No fun at all.’
He starts after Lansbury, with yourself and Caeleb bringing up the rear. Turn to 926.
860
You join Lansbury, who is still studying the cart with a thoughtful expression.
‘What do you think? Those runes . . . did they tell you anything?’
The medic gives a deep sigh. ‘I don’t know. They are not of this world, if that is what you mean.’ She traces a finger along a length of wood, forcing the sigils to glimmer briefly in the dull half-light. ‘While not the same, I would say they share a common origin with . . . this.’ She reaches out and takes hold of your arm, tugging back the sleeve to reveal your branded skin.
You snatch your arm away defensively. ‘A shadow mark?’
Lansbury shrugs. ‘Some of the symbols on this cart follow a similar form, although I sense their purpose is different. I would say these runes have more to do with travel and safe passage, than . . .’ she glances down at your arm, ‘. . . murder.’
You tug back your sleeve, shamed and angered. ‘I can’t change the past.’
The medic holds up her hands, nodding. ‘I know. I know. Forgive me, I’m sorry.’
You give her a hard look before shifting your attention back to the trader. ‘And what of him? Is he a spy or not? If these are shadow runes, that makes him the enemy.’
‘Oh, hardly.’ Lansbury leans over the side of the cart and pulls out an old cooking pot. Holding it to her face, she peers at you through one of its many rusted holes. ‘I don’t think we need to be frightened of old pots just yet, do you?’
Will you:
Ask Nyms for his opinion on the trader? — 898
Ask to see the trader’s wares? — 795
861
With a burst of magic, you propel yourself forward, aiming straight for the legion’s general. As your shield sputters and dies, one of the arrows slams into your chest, sending you spinning back through the air. You land roughly, tumbling and sliding through the dust to finally lie in a smoking heap at the base of one of the craters.
The ground trembles as the general’s mount advances. It is a huge, grey-scaled beast, its horned face sloping back to form a spiked crest. Along its flanks, black plates of steel are bolted into its flesh, oozing dark blood and rust.
Frantically, you scramble to your feet, tugging the arrow from your chest. You feel no pain, no discomfort, only an icy tingling as your shadow mark closes up the wound, flooding you with fresh energy.
‘Nevarin!’ The general reins in the armoured beast, its splayed feet skidding in the thick ash. ‘You . . . you fight against us?’ The muffled voice is that of a young woman’s – surprise evident in her tone.
You brush the dirt and dust from your clothes. ‘What ever gave you that impression,’ you sneer, drawing your weapons.
‘Humph! So be it!’ The general barks a word of command. The beast gives an answering roar as it lowers its head and starts to charge, looking to run you through with its horns:
Special abilities
Blindside: If you use a speed ability and win the combat round, you can strike at the steed’s unprotected rear using the lower armour attribute (6). Otherwise, you are unable to outflank your foe and must strike against an armour of 18.
Sharp shooter: The general is firing arrows in your direction. For eachresult you roll for speed, you are hit by an arrow and must take 4 damage, ignoring armour. (If you have an ability that lets you change or reroll die results, you may use it to avoid this damage.)
If you manage to bring down the general’s mount, then you must continue with the health that you have remaining. Turn to 809. If you are defeated, then you may return to an earlier point. Restore your health, then turn to 905.
862
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 from your arm.
‘Good question,’ says Nyms, nervously tapping the pommels of his swords. ‘We thought you were dead and then . . .’ He shrugs his shoulders.
‘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.
‘Zul’s forces overwhelmed us,’ 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 t
he 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 carpet the ground. As you catch sight of a skull, grinning back at you from a mound of ash, you find yourself pondering your strange immortality. Return to the Act 3 map to continue your adventure.
863
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 out 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. Turn to 884.
864
Quest: Waking the dead
‘Remind me again why we’re here?’
Nyms is huddled in his cloak, the cold rain dripping from the peaked brim of his hood. In the valley below, lies a vast necropolis – its crumbling buildings veiled by a ghostly mist.
Next to you, Caeleb gives a heavy sigh. ‘I’m going on a hunch, nothing more. We’ve seen what Zul can do. His necros are raising the dead.’
‘And you want us to do the same?’ Nyms blows out his cheeks, rubbing his gloved hands together nervously. ‘We’ve done some crazy things together, my friend, but this one . . .’
Caeleb points to a large domed structure, looming tall and ominous amidst the swirling fog. ‘That is Arthurian’s tomb. He was a great warrior; the leader of the Tor Knights. It was his sacrifice that helped win the shadow war.’
Legion of Shadow Page 55
