Legion of Shadow

by Michael J. Ward

Will you:

  Ask to see the special deals? — 839

  Ask to see the rare items? — 903

  876

  Searching the ogre’s filthy belongings, you find a leather pouch containing 50 gold crowns. You may also help yourself to one of the following special rewards:

  Chains of the void

  Seed of rage

  Aged acromion

  (necklace)

  (talisman)

  (main hand: wand)

  +1 speed +1 magic

  +2 magic

  +2 speed +5 magic

  Ability: shackled

  Ability: dominate

  Ability: rust

  When you have made your decision, turn to 824.

  877

  After much effort, you finally manage to blast a hole in the membrane. . . but your success may be short-lived. The rupture is already closing back together again in an effort to heal itself.

  Without hesitation, Avian throws the carpet forward, sending it careering towards the narrow gap. Your shoulders brush the gooey sides of the membrane as you sweep past, making it through the breach with scant seconds to spare.

  ‘That was close!’ you yell, ducking your head to avoid the ceiling of the tunnel. ‘Tell me that’s the last of those?’

  ‘Hold on!’ shouts Avian. ‘We’re almost there now. We have to destroy the brain!’ Under his expert guidance, the carpet twists and turns through a tight forest of glowing stems, dodging the streaks of lightning that flicker between them.

  Then, the forest is gone – the carpet shooting out into a huge, circular chamber dominated by a grey sphere of fatty tissue.

  ‘That’s it!’ shouts Avian ‘Prepare yourself! The brain will try and defend . . .’

  Suddenly, a wave of sizzling magic rumbles out across the chamber. It hits like a wall, slamming into the carpet and sending it spinning over through the air. You fall backwards, screaming out in agony as a thousand unseen needles lance into your body. With a whimpering cry, you crash down on the spongy floor of the cave, tears streaming from your eyes. ‘Pain,’ you gasp. ‘I’d almost forgotten . . .’

  Frantically you look around for Avian. The mage is sprawled several metres away, the tattered remains of his carpet strewn across the ground. He is still breathing, but looks to be unconscious. You struggle to your feet, hurrying to his side as another wave of energy tears through the cave. You draw on your reserves of magic, summoning a temporary shield to absorb the blast.

  As the energy dissipates, you lower your shield and hurry forward, using the momentary reprieve to press your own attack against the gargantuan brain of the doom orb:

  Special abilities

  Neural blast: At the end of each combat round, the cortex releases a neural blast. This automatically does 10 damage to your hero, ignoring armour.

  Magic shield: You can spend 2 magic to create a shield, to absorb the damage of the neural blast. Each time you use the shield, your magic score is lowered by 2 for the duration of the combat. If this reduces your magic to zero you fall unconscious and automatically lose the combat.

  If you manage to destroy the cerebral cortex, restore any lowered attributes and then turn to 826.

  878

  As you hurtle into the room, you glimpse a stone tomb at its centre – and its carved lid, pushed to one side. A black-robed body goes flying through the air, to crack against the nearest wall. Your attention swings back to the centre of the room, where a broad-shouldered man dressed in a glowing white shroud is stalking towards another necromancer. They are cowering in fear, fumbling for the dagger at their waist.

  ‘Squire! Squire!’ bellows the man in the shroud. ‘Where is my squire?’ He looks around angrily, then starts back towards the mage.

  Before the necromancer can free their weapon or cast a spell, the man has grabbed them around the throat. He lifts them up off the ground with ease.

  ‘One God punish thee!’ With a growl of anger, the man hurls the body across the room. You wince when your hear the mage’s bones shatter on impact.

  Nyms gives you a sideways glance. ‘OK, this is new . . .’

  The man fixes his attention on your group, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Squire! Bring me my broadsword.’ He looks around distractedly. ‘There are shadow spawn here and I must defend my home. Squire!’

  ‘They have raised another Tor Knight,’ hisses Caeleb. ‘He still thinks he is in the past . . .’

  Around the room are a series of alcoves, surrounded by shimmering white runes. Within each alcove there is a weapon or a piece of armour. The man throws out his hand, his fingertips curling. There is a flash of magic from the nearest alcove and suddenly the sword, that was once resting within it, flies out and lands in his outstretched palm.

  ‘If you need something doing,’ he growls, ‘do it yourself!’ The knight raises his sword and charges towards you. ‘For Valeron! For glory!’

  You must now fight this crazed undead knight:

  Special abilities

  To arms!: At the end of each combat round, Jorvic equips himself with another item from his armoury, boosting his attributes for the remainder of the combat. He equips these items in the following order:

  * Breastplate – raises his armour by 2

  * Cloak – raises his speed by 1

  * Shield – raises his armour by 2

  * Helm – raises his armour by 2

  * Leg guards – raises his armour by 1

  ‘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 defeat the mighty warrior, turn to 916. If you are defeated, turn to 862.

  879

  ‘Oh, this one likes to party.’

  Nyms frowns down at you as you stumble towards the rise.

  The fury, the blood lust has abated – leaving you fatigued and exhausted. Your weapons are heavy in your hands; feet dragging through the thick black ash. Above you, columns of grey light break through the heavy storm cloud. The light is piercing – almost painful after the gloom of the crypt.

  Most of all, you feel pain. From every inch of your body.

  The dagger still protrudes from your thigh, where blood soaks through your clothing. Your shoulders throb and your lower back stings, but those pains are nothing to the burning coming from your arm. The shadow mark smoulders as if on fire, sending curling smoke drifting up into the chill air.

  Nyms moves to help you, but the robed woman at his side stops him. It is Lansbury – Redguard’s medic.

  ‘One God protect us.’

  She hurries to meet you, just as your knees buckle and you drop to the ground, emitting a grunt of agony.

  ‘What possessed you to leave the camp?’ asks Lansbury, looking you over with a concerned expression.

  You don’t have the strength to answer.

  The elderly healer puts a hand to your thigh, fingers settling around the hilt of the dagger. ‘Now, this is likely to hurt,’ she says, with a hint of regret. ‘But I’m afraid . . . under the circumstances . . .’

  You scream with pain as hot fire races up your spine, forcing you to kick and jerk. Then there is a different heat . . . soothing, comforting. You open your eyes to see Lansbury’s healing energies closing up the wound. The heat washes across your body, numbing the other points of pain.

  ‘Just the tonic,’ grins Nyms, folding his arms.

  You return the smile, flexing your shoulders. ‘Good as new.’

  Lansbury gives a weary sigh. ‘You should not have been out here alone. It isn’t safe.’

  ‘You want to keep me on a leash, huh?’ you add dryly.

  Lansbury scowls. ‘Don’t answer back to your elders. Especially when they just saved your life.’ She stands abruptly, brushing the dust from her skirts.

  Nyms step
s forward and offers out his hand. ‘I don’t think this one needed much saving, Lans. It’s the enemy I feel sorry for.’

  You grab his wrist, using the support to spring back onto your feet.

  ‘So, what did you find?’ asks Lansbury, looking back the way you came. ‘Anything that will actually help our efforts here?’ The medic’s disdain is evident in her tone.

  ‘I found a crypt. More a labyrinth than anything else, crawling with necros and ghouls. They’re raising the dead.’

  Nyms snorts. ‘Tell us something we don’t know.’

  Lansbury rolls her eyes, as if in agreement.

  ‘Look, I didn’t find any rotten, old books, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ you add tersely, glaring at the medic. ‘I got . . . distracted.’

  ‘So we see!’ Lansbury grabs hold of your arm and lifts it closer to her face. The purple sigils are still glowing with a purple light, although their fierce heat has now subsided.

  ‘Do not give in to this,’ she whispers, her eyes meeting your own. ‘It is a dark thing. It is not what you are.’

  ‘Then what am I?’ you ask intently.

  The medic looks about to answer, but then her resolve falters . . . she shakes her head instead. ‘Come, let us return to the camp before we are missed.’ She slides her arm through your own and together you wander back towards the track, Nyms following at your side. Return to the map to continue your adventure.

  880

  You hammer against the creature’s warded flesh, striking faster than its magic can heal. Finally, the beast crashes to the ground, its thick black blood pooling around your boots.

  ‘Glad to see you’re back on form,’ grins Nyms, sheathing his blades.

  You give him a sideways glance, aware that your shadow mark is still pulsing with its stolen energy. ‘I had a little help from a friend.’

  Lansbury lays her hands on Caeleb’s chest, uttering words of holy magic. A soft white glow spreads out from her palms, pooling across his broken armour and knitting together the wounds beneath.

  ‘Thank you,’ he grunts, pushing himself back to his feet. He walks over to his shield and lifts it up. ‘Not much use now,’ he grimaces, turning the twisted metal around in his hands. ‘What was that devilish thing anyway?’

  You look down at the defeated shadow creature. If you wish, you may now help yourself to the following item:

  Branded bracers

  (gloves)

  +2 brawn +2 armour

  Ability: regrowth

  You follow the others past the smashed flagstones at the centre of the room, making for the rune-bordered archway in the far wall.

  Lansbury notices that you are prodding at your face, your expression dark.

  ‘What troubles you, Nevarin?’

  You glance her way. ‘The Nevarin are shape-shifters – they can assume different bodies. What could . . .’ You pause, struggling to find the words. ‘How do I know that this face, this body . . . is even me?’

  The medic stares at you, deep in thought. ‘The truth is, you can’t.’

  A shiver runs up your spine. ‘But how is it even possible – to assume the shape of another?’

  Lansbury chews her bottom lip, pondering the question. ‘Hmm, some magic you have forgotten, I think. Perhaps you share a common bond, a shared conscience, with the others of your kind . . . through the mark.’

  The thought sickens you, bringing bile to the back of your throat. ‘I do not wish to share anything with their kind.’

  Lansbury is silent, her attention shifting back to the decorative arch. You see that its keystone and several of the surrounding stones are smashed, disfiguring their runes.

  ‘When in doubt, take the direct approach,’ mutters Nyms, kicking at the loose rubble covering the floor. ‘Is there anything they don’t try and break?’

  Caeleb has moved ahead and is now peering through the archway into the chamber beyond. He looks back over his shoulder, motioning your party to prepare for combat. Turn to 790.

  881

  ‘Craving more magic, eh?’ The trader gives a low whistle. ‘Well, I reckon these are just what you need.’ He reaches inside the chest and produces three items, which he lays carefully before you. ‘Now, magic like this,’ he catches your eye, his mouth twisting into a smile, ‘could win you a war. Tell me, how can anyone put a price on that?’ He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. ‘It pains me . . . but, 900 gold crowns? Yes, that’s a fair price. Risked my life for those little beauties.’

  You may purchase any of the following items for 900 gold crowns each:

  Slipstream gown

  Talanost’s reach

  Boots of shielding

  (chest)

  (left-hand: wand)

  (feet)

  +2 speed +4 magic

  +2 speed +4 magic

  +2 speed +1 armour

  Ability: overload

  Ability: critical strike

  Ability: deflect

  After you have made your purchases, you can ask to see Waldo’s special deals (turn to 914) or bid the trader farewell (turn to 789).

  882

  Searching the general’s armour, you find a leather pouch containing 150 gold crowns. You may also help yourself to one of the following special rewards:

  Retribution

  Bone bow of grief

  Bloodied chestguard

  (main hand: sword)

  (left hand: bow)

  (chest)

  +3 speed +6 brawn

  +2 speed +5 brawn

  +2 speed +4 armour

  Ability: feral fury

  Ability: puncture

  Ability: bleed

  When you have made your decision, turn to 824.

  883

  You pass around the back of the domed building, hoping to find an alternative entrance to Arthurian’s tomb. However, as you gaze upon the wide expanse of mildewed stone, your hopes are dashed.

  ‘Nice idea,’ groans Nyms, pushing against a section of the wall. ‘Were you hoping to find a secret door, Lans?’

  You glance over your shoulder, waiting for the medic’s retort. To your surprise to find that Lansbury isn’t there.

  ‘Over here!’

  Your attention is drawn to a wedge-shaped mound of dirt, set away from the building. Lank yellow reeds and tangled thorns cover much of its surface. Lansbury is standing next to it, her staff pointed to a section of the mound.

  ‘What have you found?’ grumbles Nyms, walking over. ‘A new herb for your collection?’

  When you join the medic, you give a snort of surprise when you see the secret entrance that she has discovered. It is a slab of dark grey stone, set into the earth. Someone or something has pushed it inwards, revealing an ash-clogged set of stairs, leading down into darkness.

  ‘A back entrance,’ grins Lansbury. ‘You just need to have faith.’

  The medic utters a quick word of magic, summoning a brilliant white light to the tip of her staff. ‘Care to join me?’

  With a smug smile, the medic starts down the stairs. Nyms draws his swords and gives you an uneasy frown. ‘I’ve a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘That’s not like you,’ chuckles Caeleb, pushing him forwards into the earthen tunnel. ‘Need me to hold your hand?’

  Nyms gives Caeleb a playful shove as they head down the stairs.

  You pause, your eyes shifting to your shadow mark, which has started to tingle beneath your skin. Not a good sign, you realise grimly.

  Readying your own weapons, you follow the others into the secret passage, grateful – at least – to be finally out of the incessant rain. Turn to 844.

  884

  The inquisitor flings his shield away, then turns on you in a zealous rage. ‘This changes nothing between us, shadow spawn,’ he spits. You hear the creak of leather as his hands tighten around his mighty war-hammer. For a second, the rest of the battle is forgotten as you stare each other down, tensed . . . ready to fight.

  Then a voice cuts through the tension. I
t is Avian Dale. He circles past on a magic carpet, a trail of glittering light streaming behind him. ‘We’re heading for the doom orb,’ he shouts. ‘Are you with us?’ Across the other side of the square, the airborne regulars have now gathered in tight formation, their glowing carpets streaking skywards, towards the gigantic sphere. Avian sweeps in closer, offering out his hand. ‘If your magic is strong, I could use your aid, apprentice.’

  If you have a magic score of 24 or above, you may accompany Avian Dale. (Turn to 921.) Otherwise, you decline, wishing to focus your efforts on the ground battle. (Turn to 905.)

  885

  For several moments, you struggle to comprehend what you are witnessing. You had been sure that the city had been cleared – that every last shadow spawn had been destroyed. But here, crammed into the market square, is a veritable horde of the vile creatures. And they look different – more powerful and demonic than any of the creatures you have encountered already.

  Through the chaotic mass of black bodies, you see beacons of hope – your companions struggling against the endless tide. To your left, Lansbury is pinned against a wall, with Nyms lying at her feet. His hands are pressed to the side of his chest, his expression pained. The healer has summoned a shield of holy light to protect them – but it is being battered down by the creatures that surround her. They look like rotting undead, with parasitic growths sprouting from their decaying bandages. With her efforts focused solely on maintaining the shield, Lansbury is unable to heal Nyms’ wounds.

  To your right, Avian stands alone, encircled by a sizeable mound of blackened bodies. Overwhelmed by shadow spawn, he has now resorted to a similar magic shield, its green glow enfolding him in a protective dome. All around it, scorpion-like monsters are besieging the magic, spitting venom against its walls, and hammering at it with their barbed tails.