Pestilent hide Matted mukluks Seeping shawl
(cloak)
+1 speed +2 brawn
Ability: corrode (cloak)
+1 speed +2 brawn
Ability: corrode (head)
+1 brawn +1 magic
Ability: decay
You are also able to salvage a white fox pelt and a flawless emerald. (If you wish to take either of these items, simply make a note of them on your hero sheet, they don’t take up backpack space.)
Your search also reveals a narrow opening at the back of the cave, just wide enough for you to squeeze into. Keen to escape this fetid cave, you push yourself into the tight crevice and grope your way along the ice. After several hundred metres the rift begins to widen, leading you through into another open space. Turn to 397.
4
As you drag the sack through the dirt, something scrapes and catches against a rock. Lifting up the sack, you see that there is a tear at the bottom, causing several sword hilts to poke through. Other items now lie scattered along the trail, having fallen out of the hole. You retrace your steps, stooping to retrieve the stolen equipment.
Amongst the weapons and fragments of armour, you spot a pair of black-enamelled gauntlets, etched with magical runes. You are immediately reminded of the warrior you spoke with in the main hall, who described a similar set of gauntlets that had gone missing.
If you wish to keep these magical gloves for yourself, then you may add the following item to your hero sheet:
Ran’s beaters
(gloves)
+1 armour
Ability: charge
If you would rather keep the gauntlets and return them to their rightful owner, then remove the keyword thievery from your hero sheet and replace it with the keyword gains. When you have made your decision, turn to 383.
5
The next few moments pass in a series of vivid flashes. You see the wolf’s jaws snapping inches from your face, his neck stretched taut in an effort to reach you. Bloody froth dribbles over black hair, hot sour breath blasting against your cheek . . .
Yet you are still alive.
In his haste, the alpha has caught himself on a bone, the sharp end now rooted in the animal’s side. A bone from a ribcage – the only thing holding death at bay.
You fumble desperately for a weapon, hands scrabbling amongst the dirt and refuse. Then, all of a sudden it hits you – an energy, more powerful than the dragon leaf. It floods into you, pushing itself under your skin, between the bones, inside your muscles. A thunderous roar, bestial and savage, is ripped free from your lips. Fingers swipe through the air, trailing green ribbons of mist, green claws . . .
You have gained the following special ability:
Spectral claws (co): If you take health damage from your opponent’s damage score, you can immediately strike back at them, inflicting 1 die of damage, ignoring armour. This ability can only be used once per combat.
The claws rake through the wolf’s flank, eliciting a hellish shriek. Then there is a deafening crack as the bone splinters. The wolf rolls away, taking longer than he should to find all fours. In places the thick fur has been torn away, revealing deep gashes glistening with blood. The smell of it is intoxicating, a metallic tang laced with a lucid sweetness. You drive yourself forward, snarling like a beast, no longer in charge of your own body, your hands clawing and tearing. Something has control of you, using you to fight back.
If you have the word sacrifice on your hero sheet, turn to 37. Otherwise, turn to 54.
6
The tunnel folds into a tight spiral, angling through the trunk until it brings you out onto the gnarled remains of a branch. Turning back to face the tree, you see the crown spreading out above you – a tangle of dark boughs, their pointed tips bunched tight like a regiment of spearmen. From somewhere above, you hear agonised screams – and pleading sobs.
‘Rata-rata-tosk!’
The voice startles you. Spinning to your right, you catch a blur of movement racing up the trunk of the tree. It is only when the figure stops that you can make sense of its shape. It looks like an oversized rodent, its fur stippled red and brown, with tall pointed ears and a wide muzzle for a face. Behind its shoulders curls a bushy tail.
‘Not come here, rata-rata, not come!’ The creature’s sharp teeth chatter together as it speaks. A clawed hand reaches for one of the many leather pouches dangling around its waist.
‘Wait. Can you help me? I need to find Skoll!’
The creature hisses, its muzzle crinkling back into a scowl. ‘Witch keeps him. And I protect, rata-rata-tosk!’ He lifts his hand from his pouch, clutching a golden acorn. He throws it down at your feet, the shell splintering into bright shards. From its remains you see a black seedling start to take growth, its thick stem coiling into the air, barbed leaves unfurling.
You back away from it, unsure of its purpose.
With a snigger, the wily squirrel continues to scamper up the trunk, then pauses to look down with a hungry gleam to his eyes. He is clearly waiting to see what you will do next.
You scan the trunk, and its many hand and foot-holds – easy enough to climb. However, you also notice another possible route – a nearby branch you could leap onto. Beyond it, a series of ledges and scraggly vines form a makeshift pathway to the summit.
Will you:
Chase the creature up the trunk? 489
Use the ledges and vines instead? 271
7
The black sludge closes above your head, pushing dank earth into your ears, nose and mouth, burying you in its suffocating embrace. (You must immediately roll on the death penalty chart [see entry 98] and apply the effect to your hero.) Trapped and blinded, you make a last frantic bid for escape, pushing magic into your limbs, bleeding it out in waves of powerful energy.
Then you are falling, tumbling through darkness, the laughter resounding in your ears once again. Turn to 435.
8
Sam produces a pair of picks and sets to work on the lock. Within seconds, the metal chest is open. After Sam has taken his cut of the treasure, you are left with 50 gold crowns. (Remove the hunters’ chest from your hero sheet.) If you have the locker and wish Sam to open it, turn to 641. Otherwise, you continue your journey. Turn to 563.
9
The robed man paces the room restlessly, his fingers playing with his short spike of beard. ‘Four weeks you’ve lain on that bed – and two of those cold without life.’
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. ‘Wait, I was dead? That’s impossible!’ You look to the knight, hoping he will refute such nonsense and offer reason.
‘I’m afraid it is true, Arran. We were going to send out a rider, to notify the palace of your passing. But when we came to prepare the body – there was still a life stirring there. Movement. Some nights, it was like you had something wild inside you, trying to get out.’
Segg ceases his pacing, glaring at you with his blue piercing eyes. ‘I suspected you were possessed, by some demon from the shroud. But it appears that is not the case.’ His stare continues to hold you, as if pushing you to state otherwise, seeking the truth.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ you reply. ‘I only remember . . . dreaming.’
‘Well, you’re awake now,’ nods Lord Everard. ‘And whatever your malady . . .’ He pauses, his eyes taking in the grey pallor of your flesh, ‘I will believe it is the One God’s work and not the hand of another that brings you back to us.’
Return to 291 to ask another question, or turn to 98 to end the conversation.
10
‘Don’t even think of coming any closer,’ growls the sniper. ‘Keep yer distance, or my next shot will take that head clean off yer shoulders.’
Skoll takes hold of his axe, cursing in Skard.
You grab him quickly, before he leads the attack. ‘No. It’s not worth it, my friend. They have powder weapons – I’ve seen what they can do, and unless you desire this,’ you flick a finger towards your ravaged face,
‘I would heed his warning.’
Skoll grunts, but lowers his axe. ‘The coward’s way. I am a Drokke – a warrior!’
‘And better to live as one than die as one,’ you add dryly. ‘Come. We have more pressing business.’
Not wishing to risk the lives of your companions, you return to your transport and leave the island. (Return to the quest map to continue your adventure.)
11
Prologue quest: Call of the wild
Morning finds you stumbling wearily through the dense forest, its trees still dripping with last night’s rainfall. You’ve had no sleep, relying instead on the potency of the dragon leaf to ease your aches and pains and give fresh vigour to your tired limbs.
The night was a miserable one, spent huddled beneath an overhang of rock, the hard wind battering you with rain. There was no hope of making a fire, not that you’d have known the first thing about making one, so instead you shivered and shook, the cold settling deep into your bones.
It was the longest night you can ever remember. Too fearful of sleep, you chewed on the dragon leaf, its taste both a comfort and a reminder of home. Your thoughts wandered often to the events on the road, the cuts on your neck and face still stinging from the Martyr’s attack. She was a holy priest. A follower of the One God. And yet she had tried to kill you – a prince of Valeron.
Then there was the demon. A creature of the underworld; a being of pure evil. He had saved your life, and allowed you to escape. His rumbling voice still rings in your ears – The fates have put you on this path.
When dawn’s light finally arrived, pushing its way through the leaden clouds, you were still bereft of answers. Instead, the only certainty was that you were on your own, with no one else to protect you. Until now, the forest has proved safe, but you can’t help but recall the fireside banter over the previous evenings, the guards sharing chilling stories of the giant wolves that are said to hunt these parts. And the trolls, and the goblins and the . . .
You stop yourself, trying to stifle your fears and focus on the more immediate problem of finding a way home. Above the treetops, the sky is little more than a slate-grey expanse of cloud, diffusing the sun’s light and giving no clue to its position. The only landmark you have is the dark smudge of rock in the distance. You assume that must be north and instinct tells you that heading in that direction will only take you into danger. Instead, you strike out towards what you think must be east, keeping to the left of the ridge and hoping that eventually you might find some settlement or sign of civilisation.
East is the way back home.
This choice has led you to a series of steep hills, covered in scraggly bush and silver-barked trees. Stopping to draw breath, you decide to take stock of your meagre possessions. You have enough dragon leaf to last another week. That, at least, is a positive. The sword at your hip is useless, however – an inscribed blade known as Duran’s Heart, whose holy enchantments burn at your touch. Wearing gloves or wrapping cloth around the grip have proven equally ineffective.
At least your quilted under-jacket will afford you some protection, and the rest of your clothing, despite being thoroughly sodden with rain and mud, is of good make, and should last the journey.
(You may now add the following items to your hero sheet. Remember to update your attributes to reflect the bonuses from your items. Your hero will now have 2 speed and 1 armour.)
Leather overshoes Quilted jacket Craven’s cloak
(feet)
+1 speed (chest)
+1 armour (cloak)
+1 speed
Resuming your journey, you discover that the land itself appears to guide your steps. Skirting around the hills, you find yourself following the curve of a dried-up streambed, which winds down into a narrow gully of rock. This makeshift passage drops steeply, forcing you to pick your way past rocks and logs until you come to the valley floor. For the first time, you are presented with a dilemma. To your left, there appears to be a narrow trail, winding up the side of a forested hill. There, amongst the trees, you can spy columns of pillared rock – perhaps remnants of an old building. Ahead of you, the streambed reaches a steep bank, where the ground drops away into a series of ledges, forming a natural staircase down into a thick tangle of trees.
Will you:
Follow the trail to the ruins? 34
Continue down into the denser woodland? 59
12
You push against the door, gritting your teeth against some unseen force. At first you wonder if it is supernatural in origin, but as the crack widens you soon realise it is the result of a strong wind, gusting in from an open balcony.
With effort, you manage to hold it open just wide enough for yourself and Anise to enter.
Like the rest of the tower, the room has been ransacked. There are the remains of several cupboards and trunks pushed up against the right-hand wall, where a few tattered strips of clothing snap and wave like trapped ghosts amongst the broken wood. In the far wall, there is another closed door.
Will you:
Search through the debris? 490
Step out onto the balcony? 325
Leave through the opposite door? 392
13
A man’s cries draw you to an archway cut into the tree trunk. Passing through, you find yourself in another winding passageway. The distressful sounds grow louder until you find yourself standing outside a cell, barred by a wall of gnarly roots. Peering between the spaces, you see a Skard warrior held prisoner, his body wrapped in a cluster of branch-like arms extending from the far wall. Your immediate thought is that it might be Skoll, but the warrior is slighter of build, with flame-red hair shaven into runic whirls. He is struggling against the branches, his pale hands reaching forward to try and grab a dagger resting on a plinth only inches away. Each time the warrior’s fumbling fingers almost reach the weapon, he is yanked back by the branches.
‘Wait – I can free you!’ You put your hands to the root bars, trying to prise them apart – but as soon as you apply pressure to the strange roots, you hear a choking gasp from the Skard prisoner as the branches tighten around him. When you remove your hands the branches loosen again, allowing him to breathe.
You look around for another means of opening the cell. In the opposite wall you notice a slight hollow, with a hand-shaped depression set into the back of the hole.
Will you:
Place your hand inside the hollow? 532
Attempt to chop through the barrier? 439
Leave and continue your journey? 6
14
You recognise the game as ‘Stones and Bones’, which had once been a favourite of your brother Lazlo. It involves players taking turns to pick a stone from a bag, then deciding which stones they keep and which ones to discard in order to create the best ‘hand’. A number of games are currently underway along the table.
If you have the word scripture on your hero sheet, turn to 464. Otherwise, you return your attention to the taproom. Turn to 80.
15
Blinded by the buzzing, snapping insects, you cease your attack and concentrate on breaking free. Diverting your magic, you pour strength and speed into your craft, urging it towards the far side of the chamber. Luckily, you spy a nearby tunnel. Once inside you aim a blast at the ceiling, causing a cave-in to seal off your escape.
You may have avoided the angry swarm, but their razors and mandibles have caused considerable damage to your transport. (You must lower your transport’s toughness and stability by 4.) When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 675.
16
You approach the young mage and ask him his name. He recoils slightly as you near, waving the air in front of his face. ‘If you must know, my name is Harris. I’m Segg’s nephew – so you can’t bully me. Okay?’
You slip into the chair opposite, enjoying the mage’s discomfort. You pick up the nearest book, studying the title. Perinold’s Runic Ruminations. Flicking through the pages, you are presented with a dense array of text, p
unctuated by the occasional arcane symbol.
‘That’s an original,’ the mage glowers, snatching it away from you. ‘Have you no clue of its worth?’
‘Actually, the original is in the palace library,’ you shoot back with a grin.
‘Then I got it on loan.’ The boy sticks out his tongue.
Seeing that he won’t back down, you shrug diplomatically. ‘Well, magic really isn’t my thing.’
‘Really?’ Harris frowns, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I bet my uncle would disagree. I can feel it around you, really strong . . .’ His hand absently goes to the chain around his neck. Dangling on its end is a prism-shaped object, fashioned from onyx or some other dark material. When he sees your eyes upon it, he quickly hides it beneath his collar. ‘I’m just the apprentice,’ he snorts with derision. ‘What would I know?’
Will you:
Ask what he is reading? 105
Ask about the prism? 64
Examine the shelves? 577
Talk to Segg? 328
Return to the main courtyard? 113
17
The blood leads you into a side tunnel, narrow and edged with broken ice. After a hundred metres you come to the remains of some creature; an ugly mass of scales, hair and long pale tentacles. Stepping around it, your eyes are drawn to the far wall. There, frozen into the ice, are a pile of human bodies. It is hard to tell how many – the ice has closed over them, binding the tangled bodies into a solid block. You glimpse faces, coats, mitted hands, a weapon. On one of their coats, a name has been stitched into the leather. Blair.
As you back away from the nightmarish sight, your foot hits something. Turning, you watch as a small glass sphere rolls across the ice, clinking into the wall then rolling back. You crouch down to catch it, surprised to feel the unearthly chill emanating from within. (If you wish to take the frost orb, simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space.)
When you return to the main hall, you find the man waiting for you. ‘Well?’ he asks.
You shudder, still picturing the frozen faces staring back at you, preserved in expressions of terrible agony. ‘Bodies . . .’ you stammer. ‘They were . . . explorers.’
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 4