|This content is the same for both the web and mobile versions of Dawn of the Dragons|
|Evil Codex's Staff||225||300||300||75||Darkness Within: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage for each additional Evil Codex item equipped; Extra damage for each Healer troop in the active legion||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Orb||225||300||300||75||Darkness Within: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage for each additional Evil Codex item equipped; Extra damage for each Healer troop in the active legion||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Hair||225||300||300||75||Darkness Within: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage for each additional Evil Codex item equipped; Extra damage for each Healer troop in the active legion||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Tunic||225||300||300||75||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Bracers||225||300||300||75||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Girdle||225||300||300||75||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Shoes||225||300||300||75||Crafting|
|Evil Codex's Steed||275||400||375||100||Darkness Without: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage for each Healer troop in the active legion||Crafting|
Full Set Bonus
|Raid Attack Value: 2475|
|Duel Power: 2175|
|I. A year ago...
"But... But..." A thousand expressions of shock and anger surged through Cyd's brain as she stood in the doorway, so many that their multitudes jammed her throat rather than reaching her tongue. "I... You... We... Him?"
Trevor, the leader of the musical troupe known as the Randy Bards, turned to her. There was no shock or shame on her lover's face. Only a sneer that curved the corner of his mouth like a scimitar's blade. His arms were still wrapped around Barhoff, the lute player.
"Oh, you're surprised?" he asked. "I don't see why. You were so boring it was like making love to a marble statue. Though a statue would've had a better complexion, of course. And made for more stimulating conversation."
"Yeah? Well you... you... sing like a zombie! A dwarf zombie! With no head!"
Barhoff chuckled. Cyd spun around, blundered against the doorframe, and ran out into the night. The men's laughter hammered in her ears.
|II. Tears blinded her. A private storm bombarded her skull and scattered her thoughts, transforming the universe into a watery hell. She couldn't even see the path in front of her. But Cyd's legs carried her where they always did when she was distraught. The temple loomed up before her stinging eyes, the blue and white building where she'd spent the past months training as a cleric. Its nearness was comforting. Her wails sank into sobs.
Cyd pushed the door open and went inside, down the aisle between the empty pews. Her mentor, Sister Narme, would be waiting in her private study chamber as always. She'd listen to Cyd and speak wise words. That knowledge, that certainty, helped thrust the anguish deeper into her being.
"A dwarf zombie with no head..." She managed a faint smile. "That was a good one!"
Thus fortified by reminiscences of her cutting jibe, she wiped her eyes and knocked on Narme's door.
A familiar voice came from within.
|III. "And he... he was kissing Barhoff!" Cyd exclaimed. "Barhoff! He isn't even a good bard! He has sausage fingers!"
Sister Narme watched her in silence, elven features inscrutable.
"Trevor kissed a lute player, but *he* was a lyre... I mean, liar! That's... That's a music joke. It's... It's not funny," she continued. "He made me feel... feel... worthless! Like I was nothing to him!"
"That's because you are."
"Worthless. And nothing. Dear gods! Ever since you came to this temple all you've done is whine like an idiot child, until the entire world has to gather round and pick up the pieces of your absurd little life. 'Does he like me?' 'Does he hate me?' 'I think these robes make me look fat!' 'Can I heal my freckles off?' No one cares!"
|IV. Cyd gawped, struck dumb.
"I've put up with your foolishness long enough," Sister Narme said. "Get out of my sight until you've learned to pull yourself together."
Narme sat back down and returned her gaze to the big tome in front of her.
"Don't trouble me, girl. Take your wailing outside!"
Cyd did just that. A fresh veil of tears shrouded her vision as she stumbled from the temple.
|V. She sat on the low embankment beside the lane, ignoring the cold that seeped into her crossed legs. Her knapsack was open on the ground next to her. Assorted curios had spilled from it, yanked out when she'd drawn forth the leather-bound book which now rested in her lap. They nestled in the dark grass near a small inkwell. A quill moved in her hand, inscribing a portion of its contents upon the volume's thick yellowed pages.
Cyd's journal was all she had left, the sole salvation available to her. So she tried to write in it as she'd done since she was a young girl. Letting her fears and miseries flow from her nib, casting them onto the parchment to be bound and captured there, had always offered some solace in the past. But now her hand trembled. Her clumsy digits smeared and blotted the ink. Tears rained down on the page, ruining her work.
She cried out, threw the quill aside, and tore at the book with fierce, furious fingers. In moments the tome lay in mangled ruins. Cyd glared at them as wrath seeped from her hands. Then she groaned.
|VI. "What's wrong, child?" a woman's voice asked.
Cyd looked up. A kind, elderly face shimmered amidst the salty, stinging tears. Cyd wiped her eyes and blushed.
"I... I'm sorry! I-"
"It's all right, my love. But what's wrong?"
"My... My journal." She pointed at the ruined book and tried to stifle a sob.
"Ah. I understand. I've been jilted in my time. Men..." She turned and spat, which made Cyd blink. "Was it an old journal?"
"I've had it since I was a girl."
|VII. "You poor thing! But maybe I have something for you..."
For the first time, Cyd noticed the handcart in the lane behind the woman. A dark woolen blanket rested over its contents. It bulged here and there, telling of the assorted objects beneath.
"My husband was a mage," the woman said. She went to the cart, shifted the blanket aside, and began to rummage. "He left me a room full of artifacts and a ledger full of debts. I'm taking these to Dracoshire so I can sell them in the market. No use to an old woman like me. I need good food and a spot of hard drink at my age, not magical trinkets. Ah! Here we are!"
She turned around, clutching a staff -- a lovely piece of work with an orb at one end. Soft purple light glowed inside the sphere.
"It was his arcane repository," she said. "It can hold your words and speak them back to you whenever you want. He used it to store difficult spells. But maybe you could use it as a journal!"
|VIII. Cyd stared at the artifact. It was beautiful... Exquisite... But she blushed again.
"Oh... I'm sorry," she said. "I... I couldn't afford-"
"Take it, child." The woman pressed it into her confused, unresisting hands. "There's more than enough in this cart to keep me fed and watered for whatever time I have left in this world. And when my life's done, pouches full of gold will do me no good. But a grateful young lady's prayers might..."
The old woman closed the tavern's door behind her, and glided to the table where her three companions sat.
"Did she take it?" Trevor asked.
"Of course," she replied.
Trevor, Barhoff, and Sister Narme grinned. The four of them had done their work well. Their master would be pleased...