Legion of Shadow (98 page)

With a bestial snarl, the warrior tugs a knife from his belt. At that same moment you notice the shadow mark glowing on the back of his other hand. You roll away, as a jagged set of black thorns
burst out of the mark, wrapping around the man’s fist and pounding the ground where you had been lying.

‘That’s a neat trick,’ you grin, turning your arm to reveal your own shadow mark. ‘Want to teach me that one?’

There is a flicker of surprise on the warrior’s face. Then his grubby face settles into another rictus snarl. ‘You are no Nevarin!’

Before you can answer, the ragged man is surging forward, his deadly thorns pulsing with a dark and unnatural magic:

Special abilities

If you defeat the shadow ranger, turn to
925
. If you are defeated, turn to
862
.

785

Forced back against the shield, you are uncertain how long you will be able to hold off against these fearsome adversaries. 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.

For your victory over the scarrons, you may now help yourself to the following reward:

When you have updated your character sheet, turn to
828
.

786

You enter a small square chamber, hewn from the bare rock. The low ceiling peaks into a natural shaft, which angles upwards through stone and roots to reveal a narrow band of
daylight above.

In a corner of the room, lies the skeleton of an adventurer. Their clothes are rotted with age, brushed with a carpet of tangled cobwebs. A jewelled dagger is still clutched in the bony fingers
of one hand.

Lansbury kneels beside the skeleton, her brow creased. ‘I wonder what happened here.’

‘Tomb robber,’ snorts Nyms, looking up at the narrow shaft. ‘Probably climbed down here hoping for some easy loot. I guess they found more than they bargained for.’

Lansbury frees a loose bone from the cobwebs, turning it over in the light from her staff. ‘This arm was severed,’ she states grimly, tracing the uneven edge with a finger. ‘I
think they may have done it themselves.’ The medic nods to the dagger in the other hand.

‘Why would someone do that?’ asks Caeleb.

‘An infection perhaps.’ Lansbury lets the bone drop from her hand. ‘It doesn’t really matter now. I think they are beyond helping.’

‘No, I meant . . . this.’ Caeleb is stood facing one of the walls, his head craned back. You move to join him, your jaw falling open in bewilderment when you see what has caught the
warrior’s attention.

The entire wall is covered in hundreds of marks, cut deep into the rock by a blade or stone. Most are purely random symbols, but some are clearly an attempt at communication. You edge closer,
the light from Lansbury’s staff casting flickering shadows over the crude engravings.

Not me. Not me. One God punishes. I punish. Punish. Not me! I die for him. Not me. Not me.
The rest descends into gibberish, the marks becoming more erratic.

Lansbury looks back at the skeleton. ‘Perhaps they were trapped in here. That anomaly could have existed a very long time.’

You feel a sudden prickling along your skin. Instinctively, you spin round – to face the far wall. There, hanging like a glimmering curtain, is another anomaly. Whereas the previous one
had been a glutinous mass of mould and decay, this one is sparkling like dew on a spider’s web, its thin strands rising and falling on an unfelt breeze.

‘What is it?’ asks Nyms, trading confused looks between yourself and the far wall.

You glance at your companions. ‘Don’t you see it?’

Lansbury’s face hardens. ‘Another anomaly . . .’

‘Then why can’t we see it?’ growls Caeleb, raising his shield as he turns slowly on the spot. ‘It’s something to do with that thing you absorbed, isn’t
it?’

Nyms has started backing up, edging towards the entranceway. ‘This could be very bad. I think it’s time to leave, don’t you?’

787

A short passage opens out into a long rectangular room, dominated by a stone tomb. An image of a knight is carved in high relief on its surface, his gauntleted hands folded in
silent prayer. Around the edges of the room are a number of rune-bordered alcoves. Within each rests an item of equipment, from ornately-decorated weapons to highly-polished pieces of armour.

‘Jorvic!’ gasps Arthurian rushing to the side of the tomb. ‘By Judah’s light . . .’ He makes the sign of the cross in the air as his eyes rove around the chamber.
‘This was a good man.’

You walk over to the nearest alcove, studying the fine sword that rests within the dusty recess. ‘And this is a fine weapon,’ you comment, reaching out to touch it.

‘No!’ Arthurian’s voice echoes around the chamber.

You hesitate, looking back at him with surprise.

‘Do not touch his belongings!’ he snaps. ‘They are protected.’ He stabs a finger at the runes above the alcove. ‘Holy magic.’

You immediately back away, reminded of the strange circle in the previous chamber.

‘Come,’ hisses Arthurian. ‘I will not tarry here!’ He strides across the room, taking an archway through into a magic-lit corridor. You follow close on his heels,
fascinated by the blue flames that flicker in the iron sconces along the walls.

At the end of the corridor, another passageway branches to the left, ending in a statue of a knight, his head bowed. In the wall facing you is an immense door, fashioned from ivory and gold.
Each of its panels has been intricately decorated, depicting a number of embossed scenes. As you edge closer, you see that they all feature a knight on horseback, battling a nightmarish menagerie
of fearsome monsters.

In the centre of the door is a gold circle and inset within it is an ivory chalice.

‘Where does this lead to?’ you ask in wonderment.

Arthurian removes the crucifix from around his neck. Holding it up, he unscrews the base, pulling it away to reveal a miniature key. ‘This is a perfect copy.’ His bright eyes regard
you through his ragged strands of hair. ‘You have no idea how hard it was to get this.’

He steps forward and places the key into a small cavity at the centre of the chalice. As the key slots into place, there is a deep rumbling sound. Suddenly, piercing strands of white light
radiate outwards from the chalice, spilling along previously unseen cracks and trenches. Within seconds, a spider’s web of light has branched across the entire surface of the door, splitting
it into sections, which suddenly start to revolve. You watch, mouth agape, as the door folds in on itself and then slides aside, revealing a small, dust-shrouded room beyond. (Make a note of the
word vault on your hero sheet.) turn to
886
.

789

Waldo closes the chest and locks it with the silver key. When he straightens, he claps you on the shoulder with a wide smile. ‘Guess I’ll be sticking around for a
while, unless those inquisitors move me on – so, come seek me out if you need anything else.’

You glance down at the strange chest. Its glittering, embossed design now displays a winged dragon – identical to the one displayed on Redguard’s fluttering standards. ‘Hmm,
appearances can be deceiving,’ you mutter.

Waldo doffs his cap to you. ‘I’ll let others be the judge of that.’

Bidding the trader farewell, you head back into the camp. Return to the
map
to continue your adventure.

790

Warily you step through the archway, to find yourself in a circular chamber with a high-domed ceiling. At the centre of the room is a stepped dais leading up to a stone tomb.
The lid has been smashed to pieces, its shattered stonework lying in jagged pieces around the base of the dais.

‘Oh, this doesn’t look good,’ mutters Nyms, his swords spinning nervously in his hands.

Hovering above the open tomb is a man in rune-plate armour. He hangs suspended in the air, his head tilted back and his arms outstretched to either side, palms turned upwards.

Stood around him are four black-robed necromancers. They are chanting arcane words as streams of magic arc from their fingers, pouring into the warrior who basks in its purple glow.

‘More . . . give me more!’ he snarls, his head snapping forwards.

One of the necromancers falls to his knees, clearly with exhaustion. The dark warrior turns to face him, his scowl deepening.

‘Is this the best that Zul could send me?’ He raises his left hand, tightening it into a fist. The mage begins to choke, gripping his throat.

‘Something wrong with this picture?’ asks Nyms worriedly, shooting Caeleb a hurried glance. ‘Thought Arthurian was on our side?’

Caeleb looks equally confused. He starts forward into the room, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. ‘Great Arthurian, we seek your aid.’ He drops to one knee, his head
bowed. ‘My lord. My protector – these are dark times. We ask that you help us to conquer this evil.’

The dark warrior looks down with derision, as the lifeless body of the necromancer slumps forward.

‘Fools! Arthurian is not here.’ The man’s voice booms in the chamber, shaking its very foundations.

‘But this . . . this is his tomb,’ implores Caeleb, stumbling to his feet.

The warrior shakes his head, his long mane of dark hair shifting across his purple-glowing eyes. ‘This is his body,’ snarls the knight. ‘But I’m afraid Arthurian is no
longer home.’ He throws back his head, a cold and chilling laughter echoing back from the high stone walls.

Caeleb draws his sword with a flourish. ‘Demon! I will send you back to the shroud!’

As he charges forward, the dark warrior drops to the floor of the tomb, splintering the stone beneath his plated feet.

‘Ah yes, I have waited a long time for this!’ Purple magic blazes from the warrior’s runed gauntlets, forming two mighty axes – sparking with magic: