rider-in-the-mist

An ethereal spark dances up from your immense, bear-like armoured gauntlet to the thatched roof of the decaying villa.\n\nThese hearts are poor fare for you Zargrak - the raven, the right-hand of death... a veritable demon of war, [[but|All Is Revealed]]...

As your vision finally dulls and fades, [[you see the image of a hooded man in the distance|The Hooded Man]]. \n\n<html>You are dead.</html>\n\n<html>You quest is at an end.</html>

Vicious brambles snag at your hood as you clear the scrub. Your pursuers, at least, abandoned the chase some time ago.\n\nYou examine the small lyre tucked under your arm. A chip in the varnish! And what is that? Blood? You mutter a venomous oath and rub frantically at the stain with the dew-dampened corner of your cloak. \n\nNow you smell the trace of a lingering, familiar scent. Smoke and blood. In the distance, and through the thinning mist, you see a burning house. \n\nYou whistle the mournful fragment of a foreign ditty, half-remembered from your recent travels and, feeling drawn to the chaos, decide to satisfy your curiosity.\n\n[[As you approach you see corpses|Corpses]].

Your eyes squint against the blinding glare.\n\nAs your vision swims back into focus, you see a flat, featureless oval mirror. You gasp when you see that the plate of dazzling polished steel is the mask of a fallen giant.\n\nDespite the intimidating appearance of the matte-black armoured warrior, you are drawn to the shiny trinket like a magpie.\n\nFlight, pain and panic - all are momentarily forgotten as you find yourself hypnotically drawn closer. [[You gingerly prod at the mask with your foot|Trapped]].

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The opposing force has lost heart with the death of the sorcerer - their most powerful weapon. But, thanks to your efforts, the war is won and you will collect your gold from a grateful Baros.\n\nThe thousands of Thrallens that have not escaped now lay dead or dying. Though you are high above the field of battle, you hear their plaintive cries, faint on the wind. You try and define your feelings, but you are numb and feel nothing. You tell yourself that maybe it is just the cool of the night combined with the shock of recent combat.\n\nYou turn away from the carnage and shiver as a tiny sliver of uncertainty works its way into your spine.\n\nNo, you are not yet ready to reclaim your birth-right. Not yet, but one day, [[one day|Ezgrave Remembers]]...

You are Zargrak, a mysterious warrior-knight known as the Raven. Preternaturally adept at ending life, you are the right hand of death itself. [[Begin your quest Zargrak|Path of Zargrak]].\n\nYou are Ezgrave the Enchanter, but there is nothing enchanting about you. You are a powerful sorcerer, utterly without conscience, an expert in the foulest black magic which you use to further your insatiable craving for power at any cost. [[Begin your quest Ezgrave|Path of Ezgrave]].\n\nYou are Arkos, sold by your dimly remembered and poverty-stricken parents into the <html>care</html> of your uncle Ezgrave. You are less than a slave in the eyes of your brutal master. [[Begin your quest Arkos|Path of Arkos]].

He tried to kill you!\n\nYour hand shakes violently as you wipe at the bloody gash at the nape of your neck.\n\nThis morning while you scrubbed the floors, you turned to pull at a leaky oaken bucket only to find your uncle, eyes fluttering wildly and rapidly mouthing words in a strange tongue, about to plunge an obsidian dagger into your neck. Only your fortuitous flinch earned you a ragged wound rather than instant death.\n\nYour terror as you run through the freezing marsh is well-founded, given that your uncle is none other than Ezgrave, an infamous sorcerer steeped in black magic. Death, in fact, may very well be the least of your worries.\n\nAnd so you run through mist that clutches at you like ghostly fingers. The mist seems impervious to the silvery shards of dawn's light and, though the light appears as rays of ice, not fire, they are still bright enough to cast reflections up from the slushy ground.\n\nOne such reflection is particularly dazzling and, despite your headlong rush, [[you are drawn to it|Corpse]].

You stand before Zargrak, nervously kicking at the stiff, peaty mud.\n\n"Resourceful <html>and</html> courageous. Who are you?"\n\n"Arkos. I am Arkos and I <html>am</html> just a marsh-rat - a slave to my uncle Ezgrave. He... hurts me." The last words come out as a defiant snarl rather than the expected whimper.\n\n"Ezgrave," rumbles Zargrak. \n\n"Hmmm... perhaps I can offer you something better. Somewhere back there," says Zargrak, gesturing vaguely north, "my squire deserted me. Tell me where to find your uncle and you shall become my new squire. You will no longer be a slave, but the servant of a renowned warrior. What say you?"\n\nYou do not hesitate:\n\n"There," you say pointing west, "he is there sir."\n\n"Well done young Arkos. Finally, a test of faith. After-all, should not a knight trust in the honour and bravery of his squire? Now, turn away, be still and prove yourself worthy of the patronage of Zargrak."\n\nYou:\n\n[[Turn your back to Zargrak and wait quietly|Die Impaled by Zargrak]].\n\n[[Ignore the command|Zargrak is Impressed]].\n\n[[Lift your hand in a seemingly placating gesture|Lose Your Hand]].

You remember scaling a bone-white sky-piercing shard, to spend nights in the warm embrace of a golden-eyed empress.\n\nYou remember sailing across unfathomable depths to a port city lit like a sapphire on black velvet.\n\nYou remember a lost city of the ancients hidden within trackless desert wastes.\n\n[[But|But]]...

File Name : rider-in-the-mist.tws\nTitle : Rider in the Mist\nDescription : My first Twine game - a short sword and sorcery origin story.\nLanguage : Twee\nCompiler\t: Twine 1.4.2 (Builds to HTML5)\nAuthor(C) : Roy Mathur \nHistory : 2014-12-31 11.38 1.0b Far more work than I thought; much more so than a single short story or even a novella. I am now bug-hunting with the deadline only 12 hours away! Work! Work! Work!\n\t\t\t 2014-12-20 0.2 Had a brain storm and made it into a multi-POV story with 3 playable characters.\n 2014-12-16 0.1 Worked through @auntiepixelante's tutorial in about 5 mins and then set to work!\nNotes : 1/ This is fun!\n\t\t\t 2/ Sometimes choices end with the same result to lull the player into false sense of security. *Cackle*. (But in retrospect this makes the dev look like they made a mistake. Doh!)\n\t\t\t 3/ This WAS fun. Now it's hard work.

...this last name, unbeknownst to most and then only whispered by war-weary men-at-arms deep in their cups, is not merely a figure of speech. \n\nJust ask these last fools. Still, these morsels should provide adequate sustenance for now. Especially since you plucked the still-beating organ from your previous squire, one of a long line of gullible young men, not one moon before.\n\nAnd what also of the finely bred, red-dainty torn from Talsav's own daughter shortly before arriving at his court?\n\nAnd now?\n\nWell, it has been many years since you eat a King.\n\nYour frosty, ringing laugh contrasts with the hellish conflagration of the burning house.\n\nSeraphim wickers and you [[comfort her|Zargrak Dies]].

"Ahhh..." You exclaim.\n\nYou have proved your will stronger than that of Ezgrave and have absorbed his succulent darkness. You are sated, at least for now.\n\nYou leave the house and return to the side of your horse. You gently stroke Seraphim and a grating chuckle escapes your mask. You ponder this latest scheme in a long line of carefully planned, and flawlessly executed, games of deceit and damnation.\n\n[[You laugh victoriously|Burn Lair]].

You chuckle at Arkos's new-found caution and say:\n\n"You learn quickly. One more lesson before we continue - henceforth, you will address me Zargrak. Plainly and without embellishment."\n\n"Yes si-... Zargrak."\n\nBefore you can continue, something in the fetid air stirs and you feel Ezgrave both near and far. His psychic presence feels close, but is also stretched and attenuated. Nevertheless, you are cautious and do not lightly dismiss Ezgrave's skills as a deadly opponent.\n\nYou tilt your helmet from side-to-side in an unconsciously avian manner as befits your nom de guerre. Unbelievably you sense that the fool has no inkling of your proximity. [[He'll know soon enough you think|Near Ezgrave's Lair]].\n

You walk besides the warrior's mount, making sure to keep a cautious eye on Zargrak.\n\nYou hear what might be an appreciative, rasping chuckle from Zargrak.\n\n[[You head west|Arkos at the Villa]], hoping that you are bringing doom to your hated uncle.

The Ezgrave contract is lucrative in so many ways and not just because of the heavy pouch of King Talsav's gold, paid in advance, and another waiting upon successful completion. Completion, of course, being the death of the vile sorcerer Ezgrave. \n\nYou anticipate great enjoyment in the culmination of this latest venture. Behind your mask, what might be called a grin forms as you nudge the mountainous black destrier forward and deeper into the dense and fetid fog.\n\nThe war-horse is steaming and snorting, its heavy, iron-clad hooves sink tiredly into the treacherous surface of Minchon Marches. The vast and corrupt marshland being the abode of Ezgrave the Enchanter. Not knowing the precise location of your prey perhaps you and, more importantly, your horse should rest.\n\nYou slow and dismount.\n\nAfter rubbing the horse down with a hand-full of tough marsh-grass, you let Seraphim loose. She is well-trained and shall not wander far.\n\nWearier than you first thought, you find a clearing on which to rest. Your great-sword is within easy reach and you can trust your war-honed instincts to awaken you instantly.\n\nYou [[sleep|Awakened]].

...keeping a careful distance behind as Zargrak enters what, until now, has been your prison and likely your grave too.\n\nYour uncle Ezgrave lies supine on the stone floor! You find it difficult to conceal your glee.\n\nThe towering Zargrak folds down over the body of your former master, prison warder, torturer and would-be murderer.\n\nZargrak now unfastens the strange, mirror-like mask. Curious, you edge closer and then your heart stops. The battle-mutilated face you expected is something else entirely.\n\nYou watch both horrified and fascinated as hungry tendrils of shadow creep out from a terrible maw of darkness. These grim ectoplasmic tentacles pry apart the decayed teeth of the sorcerer and, somewhat too thick to accommodate his mouth, dislocate the jaw, crack the cheek-bones and dislodge the eyes as they ram their way down his throat.\n\nThe body starts to thrash violently at this gross violation, but soon it is over and Zargrak's phantasmagorical mouth-parts slither back into the helm.\n\nZargrak replaces the mask and turns away.\n\nYou move closer and, with your finger-tip, paint a bloody tear on the cheek of the corpse. [[Ezgrave is dead and you are free|Arkos's Quest Continues]]!

A steel en-cased hand suddenly reaches up and clamps around your frail, thin ankle like a bear-trap and you scream in pain.\n\n"What wretch dares touch the face of Zargrak?" Rasps a metallic voice.\n\n[[You struggle to free yourself|Talk to Zargrak]].\n\t\n[[You reply|Talk to Zargrak]].

The featureless mask tilts to one side.\n\n"Intelligence is, fortunately, rare. Well-done. As my ward, power and wealth small be yours. If... you survive. Now lead me to your uncle."\n\nYou:\n\n[[Lead Zargrak west|Die Impaled by Zargrak]].\n\n[[Move to Zargrak's side as he mounts the war-horse|Live on as Zargrak's Squire]].

Mayhem, murder... [[something interesting happened here|Looting]].

Unfortunately, the lull in your attack has provided Zargrak an opportunity to recommence his psychic onslaught, [[reducing your already rather tenuous control|Ezgrave Dies]].

You rush around your lair, rapidly gathering up ingredients.\n\nYou sweep an area on the stained, debris-strewn flag-stone floor and, with a piece of chalk, draw a complex design of jagged esoteric symbols.\n\nYou are ready.\n\nYou close your eyes, bring your hands together, pressed against your forehead as you concentrate and channel your psychic energy:\n\n[[You attempt astral projection|Astrally Project Your Spirit]], freeing your corrupt spirit to soar through the marshlands at the speed of thought.\n\n[[You attempt transmigration|Transmigrate Your Soul]] of your soul into a body more capable of moving through the marshlands at speed and hunting down your recalcitrant sacrifice.

You stand before the low, ramshackle ancient stone villa. Its rotten, stinking thatch an indication of the vileness within.\n\nYou lick what passes for lips and your anticipation is palpable as you approach the oaken portal. The door is slightly askew.\n\nLo!\n\nBefore you lies Ezgrave, unconscious and vulnerable as a newly-born.\n\nYou approach, unfasten your mirror-like mask and allow the hungry tendrils of shadow to creep out from the terrible maw of darkness within your helm. These ectoplasmic hydrae pry apart the decayed teeth of the sorcerer and, somewhat too thick to accommodate his mouth, dislocate the jaw, crack the cheek-bones and dislodge the eyes as they slither down his throat.\n\nThe body thrashes violently at this gross violation, but soon it is over and your phantasmagorical tentacles retract wetly.\n\nA hissing sigh escapes your mask as you turn away from the discarded shell:\n\n"[[Sss|Zargrak's Quest Continues]]..."

...never, during the endless quest to further your knowledge, power and influence, did you once allow yourself to become too complacent. To settle. To grow fat and lazy and forget the objective of seeing your brother's head on a pike. But that empress you once loved... What was her name? If only you could remember her name...\n\n"Years," you mutter again. And then you swear an oath. You have no time to reminisce like some old fool in his dotage.\n\nYou try shaking yourself out of the reverie, [[but you are weary|Search]].

A neo sword and sorcery game by Roy Mathur\n\nInfluenced by:\n\nKarl Edward Wagner's Kane\nFrank Frazetta's Death Dealer\nH.P. Lovecraft's Cthulu Mythos\nThe works of Edgar Allan Poe\nRobert E. Howard's Conan\nThe Ice Warriors from Doctor Who\n<html>Female of the Species</html> by Space\n<html><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Birbal" target="_blank">Birbal the Clever</a></html>\n<html>And many, many other thingsss...</html>\n\nThanks for playing and Happy New Year!\n\nRoy, Midnight Wednesday 31st December 2014 / Thursday 1st January 2015\n\nConnect with me at <html><a href="http://roymathur.com">RoyMathur.com</a>\nListen to <html><a href="http://roymathur.com/podcast.html">Roy's Rocket Radio</a>\nRead <html><a href="http://roymathur.com">Boldly Voyaging the Multiverse! Probably the Best Nerd Blog in the Multiverse!</a>

You clear a small copse of twisted, malformed trees and see a house. \n\nOnce, long-ago, this must have been a modest villa or hunting lodge. The low-slung, ash-coloured building squats, fungus-like, in the centre of the marsh. The deep-set foundations, further the impression of great age.\n\nYou approach with great stealth and notice that the building is listing badly and subsiding. It cannot be the weight of the walls. They are too well supported by a wide foundation set into the natural bedrock. Neither can the sparse, thread-bare thatching possibly constitute a hazard to so robust a structure. \n\nYou sniff appreciatively at the palpable redolence of evil, like a connoisseur appreciating the aroma of a fine vintage, and finally you understand. The insurmountable weight of old sin has leached into the very stone imparting it with an unearthly density. \n\nYou dismount and [[stalk towards the door with an odd, disjointed fluidity|Zargrak's POV at Ezgrave's Door]].

Nothing!\n\nYou cannot understand, unless...\n\nYou frantically think back to that confrontation with the desert necromancer at the Wall of Thrall. There you learned that a blocking effect can come into play when there is another magical presence of equal or greater power than your own.\n\nThis can only mean that back at your lair a being of considerable magical ability is within close proximity of your undefended corporeal form. [[But|Ezgrave Senses Danger]]...

Rider in the Mist

...you are deep in the marsh and too far to return to your body! \n\nThat accursed Arkos! \n\nYour accursed brother!\n\nBoth have driven you to this point.\n\nAnd now [[you sense something terribly wrong|Ezgrave Versus Zargrak]].\n\nDanger is close! \n\nSo very [[close|Ezgrave Dies]].

You manage to achieve a partial return to your corporeal self and immediately recognise the towering warrior as the infamous Zargrak!\n\nOut of the corner of your eye, you see Arkos run back to Zargrak's destrier. Perhaps he is trying to reach for a weapon. There is a sinister black great sword suspended from the saddle.\n\n[[You use the lull in the fight with Zargrak to cast a spell at Arkos|Ezgrave's Mistake]]\n\nIgnoring Arkos for now, [[you quickly concentrate your mind on a spell to finish Zargrak - something nasty and fitting for the sheer temerity of daring to challenge your primacy|Ezgrave Kills Zargrak]].

Impressed, you tilt your head to one side.\n\n"Intelligence is, fortunately, rare. Well-done. As my ward, power and wealth small be yours. If... you survive. Now lead me to your uncle."\n\nYou watch carefully as:\n\n[[Arkos turns away to lead you west|Kill Arkos]].\n\n[[Arkos takes position at Seraphim's side|Something Stirs]].

Suddenly you feel a hard sharp sensation in your neck.\n\nArkos!\n\nSo quick.\n\nEndless demon spawn have you birthed and nursed, but it is your very last squire...\n\nArkos!\n\nA mortal son in all but name.\n\nA mother's son in all but blood.\n\nA proud final laugh rattles within your helm.\n\n<html>Your evil soul, free at last from earthly confine, flies back to that ancient realm beyond space and time. Cacophonous are the welcoming roars of demon-kind and the cries of the tormented alike.</html>

...you are impressed.\n\n"Resourceful, for a marsh-rat. Strong too, for something with so little meat. Maybe Zargrak won't eat you." You say releasing the youth who springs to his feet and runs to hide behind a tree a safe distance away.\n\nYou watch as:\n\n[[He walks back towards you|Arkos Confronts You]].\n\n[[He Flees|Kill Arkos]].\n\n[[He attempts a spell of warding|Sever Arkos's Hand]].

Exhausted and frustrated, you take a moment to rest.\n\nThis is not working.\n\nYou need to widen your search.\n\nYou allow your mind, disciplined from many years study of the dark arts, to sally forth, probing, [[into the unclean mist|Nothing]].

You casually fling an ever-handy battle-axe at your victim, severing his hand at the wrist. [[You laugh at the little pun as you watch blood spurt from the screaming youth's severed limb|Kill Arkos]].

You make the best of a poor situation by looting the corpses.\n \nThe black knight yields a hefty almoner of gold coins.\n\nThe ragged mess surrenders nothing, else a bronze name-piece. You read the glyphs:\n\n"Arkos."\n\nShrugging, you flip the bronze charm around your neck.\n\n"Waste naught, want naught. Fare-thee-well Verun the Endayan Minstrel. Well met Arkos the Musical... um... Marshman?"\n\nYou look in askance at the weak midday sun and frown at the displeasing cadence of the words.\n\nThe body in the house, as well as the house itself, is rapidly being reduced to a mound of hot embers and there is nothing else worth liberating. In the distance you see a grey nag, but you also see a far more promising black mare.\n\nThe menacing horse does not back away as you approach. As you stroke its soft, shadowy flank, you cannot help but notice the bloody hooves.\n\n[["No more walking at least," you whisper to it|The Rider In The Mist]].

You rush through the spell, but something blocks your progress.\n\nFurious and oblivious to ought but the scarcity of time, [[you attempt a more powerful invocation|Astral Projection or Transmigration]].

You are stunned with the knowledge that Zargrak must be the demon that you yourself summoned. But that was mere moments ago, how could...? Time! The demon race stands outside of space and time.\n\nAnd then you start to laugh. When will demons ever learn? To think that even something as old, evil and cunning as Zargrak could best you? You, who has fought the most powerful and dangerous sorcerers in existence. You, who once even bound a god-like Elder, the powerful race of ancients that dwell in Ocean Black. Hah!\n\nStill, your summoning has, on this occasion, failed. You need a new plan to destroy the thief you call 'brother'. Your mind is filled anew with schemes within schemes as [[you turn away from your vanquished foes|Ezgrave Rides for Vengeance]].

Success!\n\nYour soul forcibly possesses the body of a monstrous owl that haunts these lands. You swoop through diseased trees, your night-attuned vision hunting urgently through the clinging undergrowth. \n\n[[You continue your search|Lost In Thought]].

The spell quickly dissipates, which can only mean that you are not fighting something mortal. A lightning quick probe discovers Zargrak's true nature. Demon! You reformulate your spell and... success! Zargrak is rooted and still.\n\nSensing the battle lost, Arkos turns to flee. You make a casual gesture and he is instantly enveloped in a roaring pillar of flame. \n\nNow you turn your attention to the frozen Zargrak. You unhinge the mask to find a perfect absence of light. A shadow-vassal! You recognise a demon of high rank. Your next spell un-binds Zargrak from the suit of armour which clangs to the ground empty, as its owner is returned from whence it came with a hissing scream.\n\nYou ask yourself why a demon would come all the way here, but as you turn away from the bodies of the fallen [[a sudden thought occurs to you|Ezgrave's Realisation]].

You cautiously gently prod the largest body with Fang. Your serpent-tongue slim sword flickers out and rings hollow on the ominous, matte-black armour of a huge warrior.\n\nThere is also another corpse nearby. It is little more than a piteous bundle of rags, bone and blood.\n\nPuzzled, you look around and see a third within the burning debris of the house. The metallic tang of magic, underlying the smoke and the blood, [[kisses the back of your throat|Something Happened]].

"Sorry, sorry, please... I thought you were..." Replies a young, trembling voice.\n\n"Dead? Not dead..." You creak to your elbows, never once loosening your grip. "Though perhaps sleeping and now hungry..."\n\nThe youth suddenly, unexpectedly, struggles with surprising strength, but ultimately it is a fruitless endeavour - like insignificant flotsam fighting a tidal wave. [[But still|Watch Arkos]]...

Damn Arkos, that useless walking carcass!\n\nHis sacrifice was to be the key element of a complex and dangerous spell to bring forth, from the abyssal plains, a powerful evil bound to your service. \n\nThis, in turn, would allow you to finally culminate your decades-long scheme to regain the kingdom wrongfully denied to you by that bastard usurper, your dear brother <html>King </html> Talsav.\n\nBut in the chill, damp morning your withered and ancient body was incapable of a simple coup-de-grace. Perhaps you should have drugged and murdered the wretch in his sleep.\n\nYou berate yourself. Now is not the time for retrospection and you need to track Arkos down before the power of the spell you have so carefully crafted dissipates.\n\n[[You begin the incantation for simple spell of seeking.|Try a Spell of Seeking]].

Thus begins a most dangerous game of surviving your service to Zargrak. Power or eternal damnation waits. Which shall be yours? \n\nYou are the crow stealing morsels from the raven's nest. \n\nFor now.\n\n[[Your smile is not pleasant to look upon|Arkos Considers The Future]].

Your efforts have no discernible effect and you remain trapped.\n\n"Resourceful, for a marsh-rat. Strong too, for something with so little meat. Maybe Zargrak won't eat you."\n\nAbruptly Zargrak releases you. You spring to your feet and run to hide behind a tree a safe distance away.\n\nYou watch as Zargrak ignores you and strides into the spike-like dune-grass. He emerges moments later with a towering black destrier in tow.\n\nYou:\n\n[[Summon up your courage and walk back towards the fearsome warrior|Confront Zargrak]].\n\n[[Thank the spirits for your deliverance, turn tail and run|Die Impaled by Zargrak]].\n\n[[Furtively describe arcane sigils in the air before you|Lose Your Hand]].

"No time like the present," you mutter and decide that your time of exile is at an end.\n\nAs you gloat on your victory and the pleasant prospect that Talsav's days are numbered, you fail to see Zargrak's huge mare. [[It is snorting and its bloodshot eyes are rolling with distress and anger. Suddenly it rears|Ezgrave Killed By Seraphim]]!

Even in sleep, your defences remain active. You sense the presence of a weak spell being formed somewhere within this foul marsh. You psychically swat at the irritating buzz of minor magic. However, before you can probe more deeply, you are alerted to a nearer curiosity - something on the material plain [[pushes at your mask|Grab Arkos]]!

"Sorry, sorry, please... I thought you were..."\n\n"Dead? Not dead." The armoured corpse creaks to its elbows, never once loosening its grip. "Though perhaps sleeping and now hungry..."\n\nInstead of quaking with fear as you should, you recklessly: \n\n[[Fling a clod of frozen marsh-peat at Zargrak's face|Behind the Tree]].\n\n[[Kick at Zargrak's face|Behind the Tree]].

You are suddenly trapped under the iron-shod hooves of the war-horse towering above you. Hooves descend like the thunderous crash of war-hammers wielded by giants and [[smash you to a bloody pulp|Death]].

You feel a sudden tearing pain in your back.\n\nYou look down and see the razor-sharp blades of a cross-bow bolt piercing your blood-soaked chest.\n\nZargrak walks over to your spasming body and you feel the pressure of his saboton-armoured foot cracking your ribs. He laughs mirthlessly behind his mask, grasps the quarrel and uses it as a lever. He worries, back-and-forth, at your wound. Eventually a gory gauntlet comes away with your steaming and still-beating heart.\n\nYou remain alive throughout.\n\nZargrak now lifts the mirror-like mask. Behind it is a black void from which hungry tendrils of shadow emerge. They grasp the bloody organ, drawing it back to be consumed within by some terrible maw.\n\nThe ribbon of your life ebbs like silver succumbing to tarnish as you watch helplessly. Finally, after what seems like an aeon, you drift away.\n\nZargrak replaces the mask, mounts his destrier and heads west. \n\n<html>Your corpse lays discarded like a ragged, empty glove.</html>\n\n<html>No one will remember your name.</html>\n\n<html>Your quest is at an end.</html>

Although young, you strike an imposing figure. Your black robes flap like the wings of a dragon, as you stand atop the great Wall of Thrall.\n\nA fearsome battle rages far below. The siege engines of your patron, the power-crazed warlord Baros, throw boulders covered in burning pitch, rotted animals and pox-ridden corpses over the wall and into the streets of the besieged desert city. At the suggestion of a canny free-company captain, the heads of slain Thrallen soldiers are also returned to their families as grisly missiles. You try not to imagine cries of woe from the city below, that would surely greet the so ignominious a return of loved ones and force your mind back to the task at hand.\n\nDespite the onslaught, Thrall has not fallen. The Thrallens are also fighting a dirty war assisted by the sorcerer you now face. Krastian is a necromancer. He has been resurrecting enemy soldiers and turning them back against their brothers-in-arms. Your mission is to end this threat and kill Krastian. You combat Krastian's necromantic force of lich warriors with your own speciality, the most dangerous of all magic - the binding of demons to one's will. The terrible, otherworldly creatures under your command lash, tear and rend Krastian's lich army. Krastian's face betrays the strain of fighting on two fronts - here with you and down below against Baros.\n\nEventually, you sense an opening and, as another lich tumbles from the wall, you strike! You use something very ordinary, so work-a-day and mundane a spell in the arsenal of magic that Krastian is caught unaware as the fire-ball engulfs his face. His body, burning from the neck up, collapses. You stride over and kick his corpse into the darkness below and watch Krastian's smouldering death-mask grinning up at you on its long way down.\n\nBreathing heavily, as you revel in victory, you realise that you are strong, though not yet at the very nadir of your potential, but perhaps just enough to avenge yourself. You could use your hard-won skills, such as they are, to return home and destroy Talsav the usurper.\n\n[[You frown, staring down at the battle below|Ezgrave's Quest Continues]].

But, even as you saddle Ezgrave's nameless grey horse to join Zargrak, a voice whispers in your head. The fire from Ezgrave's burning lair, set alight by ethereal sparks from Zargrak's hand, lend extra credence to the proverb:\n\n"Out of the cauldron and into furnace."\n\nYou cast a side-long glance at Zargrak caressing the war-horse's mane and quietly [[lead your lesser grey nag alongside the great black steed|Arkos Kills Zargrak]].

Though you feel time slipping away, you are also lost in the ecstatic sense of freedom you feel, in contrast to the prison of your old and gnarled body. For a fleeting moment your concentration slips and your subconscious betrays you. \n\nYour mind drifts and you day-dream of what your life might have been, had you been content to forgo retribution and allow your brother the throne. [[Wealth? Love? Family? Happiness?|Long Ago]]\n\nBut hatred abides and the fires of rage are rekindled.\n\nNot only has your brother stolen the throne, so rightfully yours, he is also responsible for the hard path your life has taken.\n\nThe sooner your find Arkos, the sooner you can unleash the terrible vengeance that your brother so richly deserves.\n\nYou curse at your momentary weakness and [[continue your search|Search]].

The young man stands his ground.\n\n"Resourceful <html>and</html> courageous. Who are you?" You ask.\n\n"Arkos. I am Arkos and I <html>am</html> just a marsh-rat - a slave to my uncle Ezgrave. He... hurts me." He says.\n\n"Ezgrave," you rumble.\n\nEzgrave the sorcerer, the vile, evil-hearted monster whom King Talsav has hired you to slay for the kidnap and murder of his beloved daughter.\n\n"Hmmm..." you continue, "perhaps I can offer you something better. Somewhere back there, my squire deserted me. Tell me where to find your uncle and I will make you my new squire. You will no longer be a slave, but the servant of a renowned warrior. What say you?"\n\nArkos does not hesitate and says:\n\n"There," he says pointing west, "he is there sir."\n\nYou continue:\n\n"Well done young Arkos. Finally, a test of faith. After-all, should not a knight trust in the honour and bravery of his squire? Now, turn away, be still and prove yourself worthy of the patronage of Zargrak."\n\nYou watch as Arkos:\n\n[[Turns his back to you and waits quietly|Kill Arkos]].\n\n[[Ignores the command|You are Impressed]].\n\n[[Lifts his hand in a seemingly placating gesture|Sever Arkos's Hand]].

You are near to the ruined villa that Ezgrave has made his lair, when Zargrak stops abruptly. For a moment Zargrak is as still as an age-blackened statue. Zargrak then dismounts swiftly and moves to the door with a curious, bird-like motion.\n\n[[You follow|Arkos's POV at Ezgrave's Door]].

Decades pass, briefly as Summer breezes.\n\n[["Years," you say|Remember]]...

The spinning blade of a battle-axe flung by Zargrak flitters as swiftly and silently as a forest moth. It severs your hand at the wrist. Blood fountains from the bloody stump!\n\nYou:\n\n[[Run|Die Impaled by Zargrak]].\n\n[[Clamp your hand around the stump and run|Die Impaled by Zargrak]].

Otherwise occupied, Zargrak does not notice as you slide the great sword from the scabbard affixed to the saddle of the war-horse. The blade is heavy, but partially sleeved so that it can double as a short spear. This is how wield it, thrusting the wicked black point, with all your strength, into Zargrak's neck. Fortune smiles and by sheer blind luck, the point finds a gap between the scales of Zargrak's gorget.\n\nSoundlessly Zargrak is transfixed, then falls [[from the rearing horse|Arkos Killed By Seraphim]].

You settle yourself on the horse and sing to it of love and death.\n\nBut where to now?\n\nDo the Spires of Darax-é-Mor, the Ocean Black or the Hell-Plains of Osria harken unto you? \n\nDoes fortune or infamy wait?\n\nIt matters not the destination - adventure beckons!\n\nYou are the rider in the mist.\n\n[[<html>The End?</html>|Credits]]

Despite your partially incorporeal state, the nebulous impression of impending pain and terror is all the worse as you are powerless to prevent what is to follow.\n\nZargrak turns to you and removes the strange mask. \n\nAnd then the terrible thing hidden inside emerges. It is hungry. You see and, worse, feel the monstrous writhing tip first slip between your lips, then force itself into your mouth. This first small incursion is the initial sortie of the tentacular bundle that follows. The pulsing, veinous root splits further into hydra-like branches. Rapidly, the writhing mass expands into a volume impossible to contain. Bones break, flesh and sinew tear and part before the medusoid organ as it tunnels into your body.\n\nUnfortunately, you are not granted the mercy of oblivion as this is not the end of your torment, it is only the beginning .\n\nThough your life has gone, your ordeal is far from finished. You feel something more vital, more precious being roughly excised.\n\n"No, not that," is your last coherent thought as your eternal soul is wrested brutally away from the cycle of rebirth, ripped asunder and cast into a bottomless, burning pit where <html>your screams echo in eternity.</html>

<html><a href="http://roymathur.com">Roy Mathur</a></html>\n[[Credits|Credits]]

Success!\n\nYour unclean spirit rushes away, into the trees, trying to sniff out Arkos. \n\n[[You continue your search|Lost In Thought]].

You calmly load a cross-bow pistol and loose a bolt, savouring the sudden spasm as Arkos claws at the terrible thorn emerging from his chest\n\nYou walk over to the body and hold it down with your boot, laughing mirthlessly from behind your silvery flat mirrored-mask. You widen the wound and wrench the steaming and still-beating heart from its crimson cavity.\n\nYou lift the mask, revealing your true face - a black void from which twisting tendrils of shadow extend. Your mouth-parts clutch hungrily at the bloody heart and draw it back into the terrible maw of darkness within your helm. You sup at the tender treat and feel the delicious ribbon of life ebb like silver inevitably succumbing to tarnish.\n\nArkos, at least, proves better a sweat-meat, than the burden of yet another tedious squire.\n\nYou replace the mask, mount Seraphim, and continue [[west|Something Stirs]].

You are trapped under the iron-shod hooves of the war-horse towering above you. They descend like thunderous war-hammers wielded by giants and smash you to a bloody pulp.\n\n<html>A life wasted with hate.</html>\n\n<html>Your quest ends.</html>\n\n<html>Oblivion.</html>

You easily grab the offending appendage.\n\n"What wretch dares touch the face of Zargrak?" You [[rasp|Talk to Arkos]] at the mewling thing that you have captured.