Legion of Shadow

by Michael J. Ward

  ‘No!’ You hear Lansbury cry out.

  There is a flash of bright light and suddenly the room falls away into nothingness. Your stomach gives a lurch as you feel yourself rushing forwards at great speed . . .

  Another flash.

  Freezing cold water splashes against your face, forcing you to recoil. As you stumble backwards, you see that your surroundings have changed. All around you, water pours over jagged black rocks, spilling out from a gorge high above you.

  ‘What the . . .?’

  You look around frantically, having lost all sense of your bearings.

  There is hard rock beneath your feet – a ledge, jutting out like a giant’s tooth from a mossy cliff side. A few metres away a curtain of water breaks against its pitted edge, filling the air with a fine white spray. For a second, all you can hear is the roar of the waterfall. Then, you catch something else . . . the scuffle of feet.

  Spinning round, you see Fetch lunging for you with a knife. You react instantly, snatching his wrist and twisting it back, forcing him to drop the weapon.

  ‘Fool!’

  You feel the air around you charging with static . . . the water roars loader in your ears, a deafening pain . . . then there is another flash of white light. You find yourself falling forwards, hands flailing for something to hold onto. There is nothing to see – only a white light; piercing and cold.

  Then a stone floor rushes up to meet you. Unable to stop yourself, you slam down hard with a cry of pain. Turn to 872.

  898

  Nyms studies the trader with a frown. ‘I’ve heard of such things – charms that allow you to travel unseen or to confuse those that would seek to do you harm. I suspect this cart of his,’ he taps one of the rickety-looking wheels with his foot, ‘strange though it might sound, could have such a charm worked on it. Although, why anyone would want to give this junkyard that kind of attention . . .’

  He tilts his head, regarding the trader with a half-smile. ‘In a camp full of the king’s own, he would be even crazier than me to cause trouble. And as you know. . .that is a whole lot of crazy.’

  The swordsman turns and pats you on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should find out what he has to sell. I mean,’ Nyms makes a show of looking you up and down, ‘you could really do with the makeover.’

  Will you:

  Ask Lansbury about the strange runes? — 860

  Ask to see the trader’s wares? — 795

  899

  You expose your mark, dragging the spirit’s shadowy remains towards the waiting jaws of your branded serpents. You have gained the following special ability:

  Banshee’s wail (co): Use this ability to stop your opponent rolling for damage when they have won a round. You can only use this ability once per combat.

  Nyms shivers and looks away. ‘I hate it when you do that.’

  You laugh as the newly absorbed magic surges through your body, healing your wounds and swelling your corded muscles. You close your eyes, feeling yourself drifting away on the euphoric currents of magic, losing yourself to a void of darkness. . .

  ‘Nevarin!’

  You hear a voice but it is distant, distorted. It belonged to someone you once knew – but perhaps that was another life. You see others now, bodies shimmering like stars against the backdrop of night. Other Nevarin. Other faces. They slide past you, blurring into streaks of light. You try and focus but they are moving too quick, eluding you. All except one. . . standing alone, burning brighter than the rest. A man. His eyes widen with surprise as he turns to face you. You catch a scar running down his left cheek and a circlet of gold resting on his brow.

  ‘Nevarin!’

  You feel something tugging at you. Pulling you back.

  With a gasp, you lurch forward, your eyes snapping open – to find Nyms’ gaunt face inches from your own. ‘Woah, you’re back!’ The rogue rocks back on his heels, surprised. ‘What happened?’ he asks, looking you over with concern. ‘You just passed out cold.’

  You try and remember, but the gossamer images are already fading from memory. ‘The mark . . .’ You look down to see its swirling runes humming with energy, their bright glow shimmering across your body. ‘It . . . it was nothing,’ you state hastily, clambering back to your feet.

  As your gaze falls on the double doors leading deeper into the mansion, you can’t help but feel that whatever lurks in this place, in this city, now knows you are coming.

  ‘I’ve got a new plan,’ says Nyms, his hands flexing around his weapons. ‘You lead the way and I’ll watch your back. How does that sound – better?’

  You stride towards the double doors and fling them open, their runes of protection fizzing and hissing in protest. ‘Do not worry, my friend. The time for skulking in shadows is over.’ Turn to 936.

  900

  The blood-smeared passageway opens out onto a large, rectangular room. In each of its corners is a stone pedestal, above which an orb of green light hovers in mid-air, casting an eerie glow over the room’s cluttered contents.

  At the centre of the subterranean chamber is a tomb, bearing the effigy of Valentine D’Azzuro. The lid of the tomb is still intact. At the foot of it, two necromancers lie sprawled in the dust, their wounds coated with a bubbling green poison.

  Around the edges of the room, smashed pottery and overturned chests litter the space. Several racks have been pulled down from the wall and their weapons lie strewn across the floor, joining the tattered scrolls and discarded books that have been tipped out of their cases and trunks.

  There is the sound of angry cursing. A figure, previously hidden by the tomb, suddenly straightens into view – the ghostly-green light catches their features.

  It is a hooded man, dressed in velvet-black robes. His long, pale fingers are curled around an object, which looks like a sceptre or rod. With a snarl, he tosses it aside . . . then his head jerks around, as your party enter the room.

  Your eyes meet and recognition dawns.

  ‘Fetch!’

  The hooded man mumbles another curse, then throws his arms up towards the ceiling. Black light flickers around his body.

  ‘He’s teleporting!’ you cry, starting forward into the room.

  ‘No!’ shouts Lansbury. ‘Do not go near it!’

  Will you:

  Grab Fetch before he can leave? — 897

  Heed the medic’s warning? — 802

  901

  It is Caeleb. The cavalier’s armour is raked with black scars, his shield battered and dented. He staggers dizzily through the haze, his inscribed sword dragging through the dirt behind him. ‘Nevarin,’ he drawls, hobbling closer. ‘I swore to Mathis . . . to the One God . . . that, I’d destroy all shadow spawn this day . . .’

  ‘Caeleb?’ You shake your head in confusion. ‘What madness is this? I’m not your enemy!’

  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 the strange force closing in around you once again. You try and struggle, but the invisible bonds hold you fast.

  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.

  ‘I’ll find you!’ screams Caeleb. ‘I’ll find you, demon!’

  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.

  902

  You find yourself back in the paved stone room – opposite you are the stairs that lead back up to the surface. Caeleb and Nyms have already passed beneath the archway in the west wall, their footfalls echoing back from the passageway beyond. Turn to 909.

  903

  �
�Really?’ The trader gives a low whistle. ‘Well, what I’ve got here will turn a few heads, even Lord Happy’s over there.’ He nods in Nyms’ direction. ‘Your friend does have a certain charm though, I’ll give him that.’ With a smirk, Waldo reaches inside the chest and produces three items, which he lays carefully before you. ‘Now, tell me – how can anyone put a price on these?’ 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:

  Confessor’s coat

  Talanost’s edge

  Reaper’s fists

  (chest)

  (main-hand: sword)

  (gloves)

  +2 speed +4 brawn

  +3 speed +5 brawn

  +1 speed +3 brawn

  Ability: fortitude

  Ability: sear

  Ability: critical strike

  After you have made your purchases, you can ask to see Waldo’s special deals (turn to 839) or bid the trader farewell (turn to 789).

  904

  The shadowstalker goes for a lunge, but stumbles losing her balance. You note that her breathing is laboured, her movements lacking the sharp focus you would normally associate with one of her kind.

  ‘This place does not agree with us, does it?’ you state dourly, feeling the heaviness dragging at your own limbs.

  The shadowstalker rights herself, raising her magical blades once again. You see that both are dripping with a thick black poison. ‘On the contrary, I find you considerably more intolerable, coward!’ With a screeching cry, the stalker springs forward, her poisoned blades cutting deadly arcs of steel:

  Special abilities

  Withering strikes: Each time you take health damage from Malaise’s damage score, you must lower your brawn and magic by 1.

  Deadly venom: Once you have taken health damage from the shadowstalker, at the end of each combat round, you must automatically lose 3 health.

  If you defeat Malaise, turn to 912. If you are defeated, turn to 862.

  905

  The shadow spawn surge forward, presenting a single, black wall of snarling death. You grip your weapons, waiting tensely for the inevitable. Above their horned helms and grisly standards, you see the last of the mages streaking towards the doom orb that hangs above Talanost. The dark moon of flesh and sinew is firing a torrent of black fire across the city. You can only assume that it is destroying the last of Ravenwing’s camp and hampering any attempt at reinforcement.

  Then the wave of shadow spawn crashes down upon you, drowning you in a mass of filthy bodies and snapping jaws. With a surge of magic, you break free – springing up into the air. Daarko’s power is nearly spent, but there is just enough, pulsing within your shadow mark, to make a worthy last stand.

  Great tentacles of shadow spiral out from the writhing serpents on your arm, smashing into the legion’s ranks and sending bodies flying. A giant looms close, trying to bat you with its spiked club. You flip over, blasting it with bolts of magic. The giant gives a booming cry, as its smoking body crashes down, sending shadow spawn scampering in all directions.

  You hang in the air, your magic surrounding you in a halo of purple light. From here, you are able to take in the battlefield. At the far side of the square, amidst the blackened craters inflicted by the airstrike, the dark general sits astride their armoured mount. The warrior has sighted you, levelling their bow to fire a stream of enchanted arrows in your direction. Your shield blocks the deadly projectiles, their magic fizzing and sparking harmlessly on impact. But you know that your barrier will not hold for long.

  To your right, a knot of Ravenwing’s forces are battling the shadow spawn. Even though they are outnumbered ten to one, they are managing to push back the enemy forces. Behind them, you see more warriors hurrying into the square – Ravenwing and Caeleb amongst them. Suddenly, a jagged boulder smashes down amongst their ranks, throwing up dust and sending them hurrying for cover. The missile came from the edge of the square, where an ogre-like monster is swinging a huge ball and chain in an angered frenzy, smashing up buildings and sending broken masonry toppling towards the knights.

  Ravenwing and Caeleb emerge from the dust, attempting to close in on its position, but they are headed off by a group of shadow spawn. The ogre gives a deafening roar as it lumbers towards the fight, its heavy iron-shod boots crushing the stone beneath its feet.

  Will you:

  Attack the general? — 861

  Attack the ogre? — 930

  906

  With the help of your allies, you are able to bring down the gigantic bone angel. While Lansbury administers healing to a wounded Caeleb, you search the rotted pile of flesh and bone. You may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

  Broken wings

  Bone halo

  Skull plate

  (cloak)

  (head)

  (chest)

  +2 speed +2 brawn

  +2 speed +3 magic

  +2 speed +3 armour

  Ability: fearless

  Ability: focus

  Ability: dominate

  (requirement: warrior)

  When you have made your decision, turn to 841.

  907

  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 Mathis lying on his side. The inquisitor looks badly wounded. Possibly fatal. Caeleb kneels at his side, his ear pressed close to the warrior’s fevered ramblings. Ravenwing stumbles past, helping to support an exhausted Lansbury. You notice that Nyms is not with her. The grizzled warrior glances your way, shaking his head sadly.

  ‘Nevarin!’ Caeleb trudges through the rubble towards you. The cavalier’s armour is raked with black scars, his shield battered and dented. ‘It’s over for your kind,’ he sneers, hobbling closer. ‘I swore to Mathis . . . to the One God . . . that I’d destroy all shadow spawn this day . . .’

  ‘Caeleb?’ You shake your head in confusion. ‘What madness is this? I’m not your enemy.’

  He raises his inscribed sword. ‘Mathis told me everything . . .’

  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 Caeleb. ‘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.

  908

  You are back in the tomb of Valentine D’Azzuro. While you recover from your ordeal, you recount your strange travels to Lansbury, Nyms and Caeleb. The latter is inspecting an antique sword as he listens to your story.

  ‘What was this talisman he was so interested in?’ he asks, turning the sword over to scrutinise the hilt.

  You shrug your shoulders, before taking another gulp from Nym’s water skin.

  ‘It matters not,’ states Lansbury stiffly. ‘Whatever that creature is, it is no concern of ours.’

/>   ‘He was a man,’ you add, lowering the skin. ‘Once.’

  ‘He reeked of old magic. Old magic gone bad.’

  You hand the skin back to Nyms before pushing yourself back to your feet. ‘Avian trusted him, like he trusts me.’

  Lansbury purses her lips, her back straightening.

  ‘Now, now . . .’ Nyms steps around the medic, pointing to the archway with the tip of his sword. ‘Can we save the drama for camp?’

  You rub your shadow mark, which has started to burn again, beneath your skin. ‘I have no mind to delay here.’ Turn to 793.

  909

  You follow the corridor through into a wide circular chamber. It is nondescript save for a pattern of runes carved into the floor. Each one is surrounded by intricate lettering, the characters flowing in a spiralling array of designs. The effect would be almost hypnotic, if it wasn’t for the dust and rubble that is strewn over most of the engraving. As you pass through, you see that someone or something has smashed many of the flagstones, disrupting the detailed scripture.

  ‘The work of a fine inscriber,’ comments Lansbury. ‘Such a shame that its power has been broken.’

  Caeleb has not halted, showing little interest in the runed tiles. Instead, he is intent on heading deeper into the tomb. As you follow him into a side passage, you hear a strangled cry from up ahead, accompanied by the ringing boom of a voice raised in anger.

  ‘Looks like we’ve caught up with the necros,’ mutters Nyms.

  Caeleb doesn’t slow, advancing down the corridor into the next chamber. Turn to 878.

  910

  The robber spits on the ground. ‘What am I doing here?’ he growls. ‘Like you wouldn’t know, demon!’ He continues to circle you warily, the blade of his dagger glinting in the lantern-light. ‘Did they send you? Are you here to finish what they started?’ He hisses like a cornered serpent, making a tentative lunge for you with the knife. You dodge away, watching him intently.