Legion of Shadow (122 page)

Special abilities

In this combat, you roll against the decayers’ speed. If you win, you can roll for damage against the decayers or the spore cloud (or both, if you have an ability that
lets you do so). If you lose the round, then the decayers attack you.

If you manage to survive to the start of the
seventh
combat round, with Lansbury’s shield still intact (i.e. it still has
health
), then turn to
832
. (Special achievement: If you defeat the decayers before the end of the
sixth
round with the shield still intact, then turn to
845
). If you
are defeated, then you may return to an earlier point. Restore your
health
, then turn to
885
.

925

The warrior’s body collapses into a swirling vortex of purple light. Eagerly, you tug back your sleeve and expose your shadow mark to the magic. The runes writhe and twist
beneath your skin as they greedily devour the ranger’s essence, healing your wounds and gifting you with even greater power.

If you are a ranger, you may now learn the shadow ranger career (turn to
814
). Otherwise, turn to
834
.

926

At the foot of the stairs is a small square room. The floors, walls and ceiling are all fashioned from slabs of grey stone, inscribed with neat flowing script. You can feel the
air around you pulsing with magic. The mark beneath your skin burns, as if on fire.

‘What is this place?’ you ask hoarsely, the air thick and suffocating.

‘There is some residue of holy magic here,’ says Lansbury, her eyes scanning the walls of engraved lettering. ‘This inscriber knew their art.’

‘Magic for what purpose?’ enquires Nyms, nervously glancing from side to side. ‘Hasn’t done much to stop Zul and his mages.’

Lansbury furrows her brow, leaning closer to a section of the writing. ‘Don’t be so quick to judge, rogue. These were designed to absorb negative energy, to cleanse this place of
taint.’

‘Why?’ asks Caeleb sceptically.

‘This tomb was fashioned from magic, cut from the earth using geomancy.’

‘But that is good, right?’ Caeleb traces a line of script with a gloved finger.

‘Not all magic comes from the One God, Caeleb,’ replies the medic.

‘Dwarf magic.’ Nyms raises his twin swords and turns their blades to display their runes. ‘Like these. Thought you holy people frowned on the old magic.’

‘It has its uses, from time to time. These inscriptions are a cleansing rite . . . to repel the demons that are drawn to such things.’ She turns and stares at your arm, which is
releasing a thick, dark smoke into the air. You look down at it in bewilderment, feeling suddenly dizzy and nauseous.

‘Is this dwarf magic?’ you croak. Your voice sounds distant . . . detached.

Nyms moves to your side. ‘You don’t look so good.’

Lansbury takes your arm, studying your mark with a mixture of interest and unease. ‘We should move on.’

There are two exits from the room, one to the north – leading onwards into a torch lit passageway – and a narrower side corridor to the east.

927

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
828
.

928

You awake to find yourself lying on your side. The room is dark and smoky – a vaulted hall lined with flickering oil lamps. A row of alabaster statues stand in silent
vigil against one wall, their faces grim-set and mean. Next to them, the dim light catches on the bared ribcage of some ancient beast, its skeleton reconstructed and strung on wires. Its jaws hang
open in a silent roar, the blade-sized teeth mirrored in the glass display cases that litter the rest of the dusty space.

‘Oh yes. Be back soon. Oh yes . . .’

You arch your neck, seeking the source of the voice. The man in the red coat is leaning over one of the cases. Shards of glass sparkle on the ground around his feet.

‘Hush, hush. This is the one, yes? Just like he said – just like we thought.’ He lifts out a rectangular shield, its lower end tapering to a point. He holds it awkwardly,
turning it over in his hands. ‘Are we sure? The sun, sun, sun.’ He scratches the back of his head, where you see his grey hair balding around an ugly scar. ‘Yes, like he said. Be
back soon. So soon, pretty thing.’

He twists something set in the shield. There is a loud click, echoing in the empty chamber. Carefully, the man lifts a golden disc from out of the shield, fashioned to resemble a sun. He puts
the shield aside and holds the disc aloft, gazing at its underside. ‘Lily, lily, lotus . . . lily, lily, lotus.’ The man licks his lips, chuckling to himself as he turns it round,
seemingly counting patterns carved into the gold. ‘Lily, lily, lotus . . . ah.’ He touches something. There is a spark of magic and suddenly the disc begins to twist and fold in on
itself, the sculptured rays of the sun forming the petals of a golden flower. Reaching into his coat, the man produces an ivory-and-gold rod which he slides into a hole beneath the head-piece,
forming a wand-like staff. It flickers with golden light as soon as the two pieces connect.

‘I was right,’ the man sighs, shaking his head. His voice hints at disappointment. ‘More magic. Need more . . .’

You realise you still have your weapons. Gingerly, you shift your weight, preparing to spring at the man while he is still unawares. But even making this minuscule movement causes the man to
flinch.

‘I hear you. Scrape, scrape, scraping. Sound is so very loud. So very loud.’ He spins round, his long coat snapping around his gaunt frame. ‘Breathing much softer. Calm.
Softer.’ The man raises a finger and shakes it in a reprimanding fashion. ‘You’re not doing things you’re supposed to.’

You realise that the man is clearly deranged. But there is something familiar about him. A thin scar cuts down his left cheek, disfiguring his mouth into a perpetual sneer. Resting against his
forehead is a gold crown, shaped to resemble three entwined serpents.

‘Who are you?’ you rasp hoarsely. ‘Why did you bring me here?’

‘Many name, name, names,’ he replies, his eyes glittering in the glow from the staff. ‘In the shroud, the name doesn’t matter, not so much. But . . . Lorcan . . .
that’s what they used to call me.’ He points a trembling finger in your direction. ‘And you. You’re important because I have to kill you.’

929

The dark warrior is a powerful opponent, bolstered by the healing of his necromantic minions. The deadly black axes slice through the dusty air, leaving streaks of crackling
magic in their wake. But you are a Nevarin, fast and agile, your own powers heightened by the shadow mark that burns bright against your skin. While your allies are forced back by the
warrior’s unstoppable fury, you see an opening and spring forward, catching the flat of one of his sweeping blades and leaping again, to somersault behind him. Before the warrior has a chance
to turn and defend himself, you strike with the full power of your strength and magic.

The warrior falls to his knees, his axes sparking and then winking out of existence. With a final pained gasp, the dark warrior vanishes, the armour clattering to the floor, empty.

Caeleb walks over and prods the runed armour with his foot, pushing the breastplate over to reveal an engraved insignia – a chalice, surrounded by a circle of seven stars.

‘Arthurian’s coat of arms . . .’ He shakes his head grimly. ‘We were too late.’

Lansbury wrinkles her nose as she examines the armour. ‘I don’t think what we fought today was Arthurian. It was something else . . . something that was using his body.’

Caeleb’s expression hardens, his eyes coming to rest on the shattered remains of Arthurian’s tomb. ‘Zul will pay for this sacrilege.’

Lowering your weapons, you step over the rubble to search the bodies of Zul’s followers. You find 50 gold crowns and may help yourself to one of the following rewards:

With little else of interest in the chamber, you leave Arthurian’s tomb and head back into the bone fields. Return to the
Act 3 quest map
.

930

With a burst of magic, you propel yourself through the air, landing in a roll ahead of the charging ogre. The slow-witted beast shows no signs of slowing, its ball and chain
spinning in a grey blur above its ugly head.

Your weapons fly into your hands as you prepare to take on this formidable opponent: