Arsenal/Cheshire Cat/The Shade in "The Shadow Under Alleytown!"
Tensions are high in East End Gotham! Not only is there a series of unexplainable blackouts plaguing Alleytown, but our resident heroic father-daughter duo is embroiled in a familial squabble!
When Cheshire Cat breaks off to follow a lead, she comes across a creature made of shadows and its pursuer, The Shade!
Before the young vigilante can grill the shadowy, shadowy man, Arsenal crashes the interrogation, prompting the two to resume their argument. However, all grievances get tabled when the creature ambushes the three, separating Roy from Lian and The Shade from his lower half!
Lian, with The Shade in tow, must navigate the abandoned subway tunnels under Gotham in order to find Roy-and The Shade's legs-and end the creature's rampage!
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The Shadowlands is a place that's been caught in my mind since that first faint recollection of the party walking face-first into an invisible wall. There is no leaving this place, not anymore. The Shadow Lord is going for sheer effectiveness over a number of other showy villain options, and that makes it terrifying in a way that a shark moat would decidedly not be.
This is how he's such an effective villain while never really appearing in person. He is not just a character, but a force of ruination, and one that pursues his goals intelligently, something that adds a lot to his threat. (He/it goals.)
We see this characterization through the Shadowlands, the place that has been wholly absorbed by him. The sun itself has been replaced somehow with his symbol in the sky. Breathing the air gradually gives you clinical depression. Someone gets eaten by beetles not ten minutes in.
These things are far more haunting than the fact that the place is desolate and has monsters.
The unknown is also used here to great effect. We know that that factory over there, with the constant smoke from those tall chimneys, is busy designing facsimiles of life and grafting humans to animal parts. But we only see some of the finished products of the Factory, and Claw, the escapee. The medical horrors that go on inside (children's book, everyone!) are left to your imagination.
...The pile of living Grey Guard corpses outside is fair game though.
I also always liked how so much of this place is left unknown. There is absolutely no trace of Pirra left here, and its people neither remember nor are able to return. Nobody comes back ever again, before or since Doom, and King Lief's rescue mission.
Nobody knows what even exists in the deeper continent. Maps of Deltora cut off at the border, and there doesn't even seem to be any knowledge of the north coast at all. Everybody stays way the hell away from the evil beach, I suppose.
Good stuff. And perhaps it makes for a better story, that the Shadowlands will likely never be reclaimed or explored further.
Darklord: Elena Faith-Hold
Domain: Nidala
Domain Formation: 615 BC
Power Level:đ đ đ â«â« (3/5 Skulls)
Sources: Islands of Terror (2e), Ravenloft (3e), Ravenloft Playerâs Handbook (3e), Ravenloft Dungeon Master's Guide (3e), Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft (5e)CW: Religious zealots, Genocide Twitter Thread
Elena Faith-hold, whoâs name clearly gives away her religious zealot ways, is the Darklord of Nidala. Nidala is a forested mountainous region that appears as a pure and noble land at its surface, but the further you delve into her realm, the more sinister it becomes. Just like Elena, who would love for all to believe she is a humble paladin and the chosen of Belenu. When she is, in fact, an utter fool.
Nidala is one of the Domains in the Shadowlands, which hold the Demiplanes of Nidala, the Shadowborn Manor, and Avonleigh. If you take pleasure in tales of corrupted holy knights, then youâll love the Shadowlands as it ventures into all of those classic troupes. The whole power leads to corruption and all such nonsense is explored in the Shadowlands. I will note that 5e does mention Elena by name under the description of the Shadowlands Domain, but only by name. In this guide, van Richten deemed her less important than an evil sword and theyâre not wrong.
Elena was a Knight of the Circle and trusted friend of Kateri Shadowborn (the holier than thou paladin who continually fights against the Darklord Ebonbane in Shadowborn Manor whom I reviewed previously). A paladin devoted to the sun God, Belenu, Elena rode forth on her unicorn mount to battle against evil. Her campaigns were successful and the people worshiped her with adoration. She bathed in the attention and many converted to Elenaâs faith to further prove their devotion to her.
Being a paladin, this predictably led Elena to start a crusade against any that would not follow the âone true religionâ. This hypocrisy is one of the many reasons I have never counted myself amongst the devout. They are nothing more than bleating sheep bowing before an unknown, unseen thing that calls itself a god.
Quite predictably, Belenu withdrew his favors to Elena, stripping her of her abilities to heal and smite evil and her unicorn mount abandoned her. Since these paladin types are always looking for a sign from their god, you would think that Elena would gather that Belenu was not at all pleased with her crusades. Having a brain as thick as her muscles, Elena believed Belenuâs withdrawal from her was a test and she continued on. Eventually, those she deemed âheathensâ werenât enough and she took up arms against any non-human.
In time something must have gotten through that thick, full plated head of hers and with none of her abilities returning to her, she prayed to Belenu for guidance. Belenu gave no response. Another force, a sinister force that locks us all away into our own personal eternal torments answered instead. The Dark Powers transported her into the lands of the Mists. This resulted in her roaming the realms of Ravenloft and finding corruption and evil in every town she visited, then she would proceed to slaughter everyone within to âcleanseâ the evil. After slaughtering 10 such villages, the Dark Powers finally decided she was corrupt enough to imprison her within her own Domain.
The Dark Powers gifted her with âFaith Holdâ Castle that looms over the walled capital city of Touraine and a dark unicorn mount that is essentially a hybrid nightmare/unicorn. As a Darklord, Elena is a true micromanager. She rides forth every week to personally inspect all of the villages within her Domain, searching for corruption and evil. She also makes weekly decrees of faith and those that do not follow these decrees are arrested and, more often than not, tortured or executed.
When she is not within ear-shot, her people call her âElena Strangleholdâ, which is quite accurate. She forbids any form of âmerry-makingâ in her realm. Bards are not likely to find any work there. Elena retained some of her paladin abilities, but no longer can heal, only inflict wounds. She can detect life around her, but can no longer turn undead.
She believes she can detect âevilâ, but in fact is only detecting strong emotions directed at her. This ability does not differ between positive and negative emotions. Those who love and adore her and those that hate her are both detected by this ability of hers, resulting in her executing both her greatest enemies and allies without realizing it. In combat, she is a warrior, wielding a bastard sword, and using her âsee the lightâ ability, which acts similar to a charm spell, to attempt to convert her enemies to her cause.
In summary, Elena is yet another religious zealot too blind to see that her god left her long ago. Her rule is as oppressive and unoriginal as she is. Iâll reluctantly give her 3 skulls, but thatâs mostly for her unique nightmare/unicorn mount than anything else.
Dim light was beginning to fill the clearing where they had lain to rest, signalling a new day of marching, but she could not bring herself to move. She lay where she had fallen asleep the night before, her arms curled protectively around Jarred, feeling her entire body tremble with the memory of what had occurred the day before. Jarred. The Grey Guards. The whip cutting into Jarred's back, causing him to scream. The blood dripping onto the grass at Jarred's feet as they stopped to make camp for the night, a spot of crimson against the browns and yellows of the half-dead land. The taste of bile in her mouth as she vomited from the sheer horror of it all, feeling the tears run rivulets down her sodden cheeks.
She struggled to hold down the bile that she could feel surging up her throat. She suppressed a shudder. The memories resonated deeply inside her soul, horrible and haunting, filled with blood and darkness. She did not think she would ever be free of them, however much she tried to forget. It terrified her, to know that.
We survived, she told herself firmly. We may be bloody and battered, but we are alive. That was what she should focus on. However, she knew that if Jenara had not chosen to help them as she did, they would both have perished- Jarred from blood loss and herself at the throw of a Grey Guard's blister. They both owed their lives to Jenara, who now lay sleeping some feet away, her cheek pillowed on her arm, and to the woman who had helped her; Kaldi, Jenara had said. Jenara had agreed to stay with them, to Anna's relief and pleasure. She had grown fond of the girl, and not just because Jenara reminded her of her lost daughter. Anna had come to respect the Jalis girl and care for her, and was glad that she had decided to befriend her. It had made the march at least somewhat more bearable than if she had not.
The girl in question stirred, and opened her eyes to gaze at Anna. 'The Grey Guards are waking,' she said.
And she was right, Anna could tell- the sounds of grumbling and rustling of limbs could be heard just outside the clearing. Soon the Guards would call the march to order again, shouting their captives into submission, forcing them to move. It made her sick to think of the increase of pain it would give her already unbearably aching sprained ankle, but she knew nothing could be done about it. The march had to go on; the only other choice was death, and that Anna could not do, not with Jarred there with her.
She rolled over to face Jarred, searching him intently for any sign of infection. She had seen it occur before; her own father had died from a wound gone bad, having been unable to find a healer capable of helping him properly. It was partly why she had chosen to delve into the art of healing and medicinal herbs- she had had to be sure in herself that if she ever found herself in such a situation, she could be of some use, unlike most women in Del who knew nothing of the sort, being too caught up in their duties to their family business. She had never truly thought that she would have to put such skills to use in this way, but now the time had certainly come.
There was a slight sheen of sweat on Jarred's forehead that worried her. His skin was cool to touch, however, and she could see no obvious swelling to the wounds on his back when she crouched and peeled away the makeshift-bandages to look. His breath, when she felt it, was only slightly warmer than she thought it should be. It caused her anxiety, but she knew nothing could be done. She did not have any of the items and herbs she used for healing, and she could not search for any amid the dry, dying shrubbery. She could only hope, and pray that he was strong enough to avoid infection, and combat it if it did come to it.
Gently she shook his shoulder, and he opened bleary, bloodshot eyes. 'Yes, dear heart?' he muttered, clearly still half-asleep.
'You must wake up, Jarred,' she said quietly but with urgency. 'The march is to begin again soon.'
Immediately he sat up, swaying slightly, gritting his teeth from the pain Anna knew he had to be feeling. Automatically she reached out a hand to give him support, concern almost consuming her. If Jarred were to collapse during the march, or even before... Anna suppressed a shiver at the thought.
âI must see toâŠâ she began, gesturing to his back. Even as she said the words sickness rose in her again.
Jarred waved her away, almost carelessly. 'I am alright, Anna, truly,' he insisted. His words slurred together slightly, igniting more fear in her heart. It did not sound-or bode-well for him. But what could she do even if it did? Without her tools and herbs of healing, all of the skills she knew were useless. Her heart ached at the thought.
She frowned at him. âYou were flogged last night,â she said. âLet me see to it somehow.â
âAnd what could you do?â he said. âThere is nothing here that will help. The land is dead. It will only cause you pain, Anna.â Â
She let him be, even as the pain in her heart swelled. All that day, he was alright, alert and walking without help. Though she could see it irritated him to have her hovering close to him as if he were breakable (he had only suffered a flogging, after all, he told her, exasperated), she could not stop herself. It comforted her to see no worsening in his condition; hope bloomed in her, a change from the dull weight of despair she had felt for the past days. He was strong enough. He had to be, she thought desperately. She did not know what she would do if something happened to him.
That night, as they both lay down to sleep, he was alright- there was no fever, no swelling, no pus. With hope aching in her chest, she fell asleep curled in Jarred's arms, taking comfort in his body resting beside hers, and his quiet, even breaths. Silently she gave thanks; it did seem like he was in no danger.
It happened so quickly. Quickly, and unexpectedly. One moment, she was asleep, safe in the arms of her husband, blissfully ignorant. The next, she was waking to low, pained rasps. In the half-asleep state she was in still, all she could think was that something was burning- something was hot, very close to her. But why? Fire, her mind thought hazily. Fire in First Wood. The tree-house was on fire. She had to go, run, find Jasmine... Put it out somehow...
In her distress, she felt herself move restlessly. Her hands knocked against something, a body, incredibly warm... Reality hit her, and she found herself waking with a painful jolt of awareness. She was not in First Wood anymore, was not watching her home burn down around her. It was Jarred she had knocked against. Jarred's which she had dimly thought felt surprisingly hot. Jarred, who did not even stir at her intrusion, as he should have. He lay against her, his skin like a burning flame, his body trembling, the breath gasping unevenly in his chest.
'Jarred?' she whispered.
No response.
'Jarred?' she repeated, louder this time. She shook him, gently at first, but more forcefully when he did not respond. Panic swelled in her. 'Jarred? Wake up! You must wake up!' She felt hysteria rise, felt her movements become more frantic. Her throat choked with horror. By fate, do not let this be happening, she prayed, almost dizzy with horror.
He was alright when we fell asleep!
'Jarred?' She shook his limp, too-hot body again and again, feeling her breath sob painfully, and her entire body tremble with despair.
'Jarred, wake up. Jarred? Jarred!'
Anna watched as Jarred tossed and turned, his body shaking violently. His eyes were wild, anguished, afraid. His breath was a rasp in his chest that was almost painful to hear. She clutched at his hand but he jerked away, unused to the coolness of her touch against the unnatural warmth of his skin.
Like ice touching fire.
Unbidden tears sprang into her eyes. It had been two days since the fever appearedâtwo long, agonising days in which there had been no change in his condition. She could not bear to think of what it might mean. Jarred was strong, she knew, in body and mind. In Del perhaps, or even the Forests of Silence, he may have had a large chance of recovery. In either place, she would be able to find herbs and water and other items to help bring the fever down. There would have been tinctures she could create, mixtures she could brew. But they were not in the forge, or in the Forests of Silence. They were in a forsaken part of Deltora's countryside, laying on dry, cracking earth. What chance was there now?
She bowed her head. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she looked up again. Jenara sank to the ground beside her, her eyes dark with concern. 'There is still no change?' she asked quietly.
'None,' and Anna felt her throat tighten at the word. She blinked rapidly to forestall the tears that were brimming in the corners of her eyes.
Jenara touched her arm and said, 'He is strong. I am sure he will be alright.' She said nothing more; indeed, there was nothing more she could say. Jenara did not know Jarred, so she did not feel the insurmountable terror that Anna did. There was nothing really that the girl could say that would possibly comfort her. Jarred may be strong, but the march was hard, and coupled with the harsh conditions and meagre rations of food, it had weakened him. There was no telling if he would survive or not; the fever was not as high as others Anna had seen over the years, but it was high enough that it could be possibly fatal. In more comfortable conditions, there would have been no chance of death, but here Anna was not sure. She could not aid him in any case; he would have to fight it out alone.
