‘Not we. You! You’re going far away from here!’ The woman ushers you to the door. ‘I can’t have the inquisition sniffing into my affairs. My charms, my magic – they’ll have me for a heretic. Be gone!’
Before you can argue, you find yourself back outside the cabin. The door slams closed behind you, followed by the sound of bolts being dragged into place.
You open up the sack and rummage through its contents. You have now gained the following items:
Wytchwood wreath Clove oil
(2 uses) Crushed mugwort
(2 uses)
(necklace) (backpack) (backpack)
Ability: protection Use any time in combat to restore 3 health to Use any time in combat raise your speed by 2 for one combat round
You scan the nearby hills, your gaze halting on the menacing silhouette of the inquisitor, lurching towards you like one of the demons from your nightmares. With no other option, you hurry away from the cabin, making for the tangled confines of the forest. Turn to 244.
69
The haft of a blade cracks into your skull, sending you stumbling against the wall. Another blow drops you to your knees. Then everything is darkness. You feel yourself drifting away, the cold of the Norr pulling you into its embrace . . .
Suddenly there is a powerful rush of magic, hitting you head on – driving your spirit back into your dead limbs.
‘Nanuk . . .’ you gasp.
Your eyes flash open, startling the thief who is about to make off with one of your weapons. He scampers away, leaving you a clear view of the alley. Apart from a few wary onlookers, there is no sign of the ruffians or the monk. Cursing your ill-luck, you quickly check your belongings. All of your backpack items have been taken (remove these from your hero sheet), as well as half of your gold (rounding up). Staggering to your feet, you resume your journey. Turn to 659.
70
You have only gone a little way into the hills before you hear a mewling growl, followed by the rending and tearing of flesh. Drawing your weapon, you advance cautiously, fearing what you may find.
As you crest the hill, you see a body lying sprawled in a circle of flattened grass. It is covered in green-black scales, with bony spines protruding from its shoulders and head. A scrawny-looking wildcat is trying to chew at one of the arms, where the birds have picked clean most of the scales. On seeing you, the animal raises its blood-flecked nose, revealing a set of overlong fangs either side of its jaw. Too late, you realise you have wandered into the path of a sabre-toothed cat – and it doesn’t look pleased at having its meal interrupted. It is time to fight:
Speed Brawn Armour Health
Sabre cub 1 2 0 30(*)
(*) Once the cub is reduced to 10 health or less, it will bolt into the grass, fleeing the combat. If you are victorious, turn to 364. If you lose the combat, remember to record your defeat on your hero sheet. You may then attempt the combat again or return to the map.
71
The fight turns from a scrappy one-sided affair into a match of equals, as your magic boosts your strength and allows you to keep time with Barl. You soon realise that the instructor follows the same series of moves, lacking any flair or spontaneity. As a child you would have been impressed with such a display, but now experience has turned you into a hardened fighter.
You read his moves with ease, dodging and ducking to find the openings in his guard. The instructor’s quiet confidence is soon reduced to a surly rage, spitting curses as he seeks to get back into the fight. You remain one step ahead, anticipating his predictable retaliation. A desperate lunge leaves him impaled, his jaw dropping open in astonishment.
‘Consider today’s lesson over,’ you sneer, watching as the veteran’s lifeless body slips to the ground.
If you are a warrior or rogue, turn to 314. If you are a mage, turn to 591.
72
A service hatch opens in the wall, revealing a display of potions, creams and ointments. You notice that most of the items have parchment labels attached to them, covered in lengthy descriptions.
‘What do you recommend?’ you ask, struggling to read the labels from where you are standing.
‘For you?’ There is the sound of someone sucking air between their teeth. ‘I’d buy the whole darn shop for that ugly mug of yours. Unless yer treat that frost bite, you’ll be short of a few extremities. Fifteen gold each – not bad for a beauty treatment, eh? And same for the spirits, if you wanna put some fire back in yer soul. Makes good paint stripper too.’
You go to grab one of the potions.
‘Hey, wait up!’ barks the trader, making you jump back in surprise. ‘Be sure to read the small print now. I don’t do refunds. Once you take it, that’s it!’
You may purchase any number of the following, for 15 gold crowns each:
Healing balm
(2 uses) White wolf spirits
(2 uses) Cure all
(1 use)
(backpack) (backpack) (backpack)
Created in a factory that may contain nuts Ability: pick ‘n’ mix May induce bouts of howling and delirium Ability: punch drunk Irresponsibly tested and environmentally unfriendly Ability: cure
You may continue to purchase items from the trader (turn to 151), discuss something else (turn to 685) or leave (return to the quest map).
73
You push the creature away, gagging at the smell of its filthy body and rotting, soiled clothes. As you scrabble free, still shaking from your ordeal, you can’t help but feel a momentary pang of guilt. This is the second life you have taken – first the Martyr’s and now the fengle. You glance down at the black blood pooling around the creature’s body. It had been self-defence, you remind yourself; you had no other choice.
You turn the dagger in your hands. It is nothing more than a jagged splinter of rock, filed to a sharp point. It is crude, but might prove useful in these dangerous woods. You also notice a blue stone attached to a leather cord around the fengle’s neck. Pulling it free, you see that it contains the spiral markings of a fossilised shell. The fengle obviously scavenged it, believing it to be special. If you wish, you may now take any/all of the following items:
Shale knife Fengle’s fossil
(main hand: dagger) (necklace)
+1 brawn Ability: charm
You turn your attention back to the standing stone, curious as to who would have placed it here and why. However, as you go to take a closer look a series of guttural calls ring out from the trees to your left, accompanied by the sound of feet splattering through wet mud. It appears the fengle was not alone. You glance back at the stone, wondering if you will have time to examine it before the creature’s companions are upon you.
Will you:
Stay and investigate the stone? 133
Hurry back into the forest? 175
74
‘Bowfinch,’ the woman nods, putting the tankard back. ‘All right, but you can pay up front, no way that’s going on a tab. You know I only got two bottles, part of the shipment for Lord Eaton’s party. If you’re lucky, they’re still unopened, so I can sell you one – a hundred gold. You got that kind of money? Otherwise, don’t waste my time.’
If you wish to purchase a bottle of Bowfinch ’55, turn to 334. Otherwise, you decline the offer and turn back to the taproom. Return to 80.
75
The ground gives a violent shudder. Strong enough to almost throw you off balance. Unlike previous tremors, this one does not abate, continuing to rattle and judder as you feel some powerful force start to build.
‘What’s happening?’ You look to Rook, who has stopped in the middle of the passageway, his head cocked to one side. He goes to speak . . .
Then everything is thrown into a tilting, reeling chaos.
From the chapel you hear a splintering crack. You look back to see the statue of Judah riven in two, a deep fissure cutting across his face and chest, severing the lines of scripture carved into the stone.
Rook is already headed for the feast hall, duc
king through streams of falling dust. You follow without question, bouncing and scraping from one wall to the next as the ground continues to shift beneath you. When you reach the hall, you see guards hurrying towards the main doors. Several emerge from side passages, still buckling on armour, their dishevelled appearances and bleary eyes suggesting they have just awoken.
The tremors intensify, sending cracks racing through the ground and along the walls. From somewhere in the distance you hear a thunderous crashing of stone. You cover your head, feeling spots of mortar patter down from above.
‘We have to get out!’ Rook grabs a bewildered soldier, pushing him towards the main doors. ‘Move it!’ He turns, gesturing to the others. ‘Out! Into the yard! Now!’
All of a sudden, the shaking stops. Everyone stands frozen – waiting, listening . . .
Then you hear the distant screams. And a relentless drumming, like fists pounding against a barrier. The soldiers look at one another, confused.
‘The wall . . .’ Rook looks aghast. ‘Something’s assaulting the walls.’
One of the recruits snorts. ‘Who’d attack us now – in the middle of a quake?’
The drumming continues, now accompanied by roars and screams of a different nature. They sound inhuman. ‘That’s the wards,’ snaps Rook. ‘They’re being tested, broken. To the walls, men! To the walls!’
He makes for the open doors of the keep, the rest of you following close on his heels. Turn to 152.
76
You push open the door, startling the two undead guards who are feasting on some rotted remains. They lurch to their feet, blood dripping down their grey-mottled chins.
‘Flesh . . .’ says one, sniffing at the air with a half-decayed nose.
‘Bones . . .’ grins the other, a pale tongue worming out of its mouth.
With a wheezing groan, the two zombies lumber towards you, one dragging a broken ankle, the other hunched over with its shoulder bone protruding at an ugly angle from its links of chainmail. It is time to fight:
Speed Brawn Armour Health
Rattle 1 1 2 18
Ruin 2 2 1 15
Special abilities
Blood brothers: When the first undead is defeated, the remaining zombie goes into a fit of rage, increasing its speed and brawn by 1 for the remainder of the combat.
If you manage to defeat the undead guardsmen turn to 448. If you lose the combat, remember to record your defeat on your hero sheet. You may then attempt the combat again or return to the map.
77
You make it through the glacier and onto the home straight – the walls of the prison now less than a mile to the south. Unfortunately, the racer who opted for the dangerous corkscrew is too far ahead to catch, but you can still battle for second and third place with the other competitors.
With a crack of your whip, you urge your dog-team between the nearest racers. Just as you are starting to pass them, your opponents swing their sleds into yours, hemming you in. Unable to manoeuvre out of the bottleneck, you find yourself hurtling towards a break in the ice.
You will need to take a challenge test using your toughness attribute:
Toughness
Break out 12
If you are successful, turn to 519. If you fail, turn to 198.
78
Taking the bucket from the porch, you head to the creek. It proves easy to find, the chattering rush of noise leading you into a wooded dell. Along its base, white-frothed waters dance and splash, carving a zigzagging path amongst the trees. Turn to 155.
79
Along the walls of Ryker’s Island, torches flicker like a thousand hungry eyes as the racers take their positions for the final race. To the north, across a landscape scoured by the descent of ice floes, you see the dark mountain known as ‘Bleak Peak’. Its summit, little more than a hooked finger of rock, bent like a witch’s hat, is every racer’s goal – the first to reach the top of Bleak Peak will be announced the winner and receive the prized Winter Diamond.
Your competitors are all experienced veterans, having won through from the previous rounds. You cast your eye along the line of sleds – all bristling with spikes, armour and various mounted weapons. From the walls and inside the compound, you can hear the expectant crowds hollering for their favourites – you are even surprised to hear a few cries for ‘ghost’, your own racing handle.
Once again, the fur-clad man with the mosaic face takes to the wall, his fingers pointed skywards. ‘The Peak has no mercy for fools. The Peak will break those who show fear. Only a true champion will take its crown. Racers ready! Get set . . . go!’
The fire has barely left his hand before the sleds are tearing forward, whips snapping through the air, the howls and snarls of the dog-teams quickly drowning out the hooting cheers from the prison walls. The race for Bleak Peak has begun! Turn to 614.
80
The taproom resembles a large, high-ceilinged hall, not dissimilar to the great hall at Bitter Keep. But whereas that had been a cold, lifeless space devoid of mirth, the Coracle is bursting at the seams with busy tables, packed tightly together, and heaving crowds – filling the hall with a boisterous mix of laughter, singing and drink-fuelled chatter.
You move through the congested aisles, noting the grizzled features of the Coracle’s clientele. You guess most of them must be whalers, going by their wind-burnt faces and ivory piercings.
Ahead of you is the main bar, with mounted heads of bears, muttok and wolves glaring back from its far wall. An olive-skinned woman, her face partly disfigured by a scar, is serving up ale to the thronging masses. To your left, a number of men are sat around a table playing a game. They are holding a number of small round stones in their hands, marked with different symbols. Bets are being made as various players choose and discard stones, then reveal their hands.
Behind the gaming table you spy a doorway leading through to what you assume is a private room. Two rough-looking men in oiled black leathers stand on solemn guard, stopping and questioning those who wish to enter.
Will you:
Watch the gaming table? 14
Try and enter the private room? 123
Talk to the bar woman? 299
Leave? 659
81
‘The southerners would like to think them barbarians, with no higher purpose than making war and worshipping heathen gods.’ Everard raises an eyebrow, awaiting your response.
‘Are you saying that is not the truth?’ Every story you have ever heard has painted the Skards as fierce and bloodthirsty warriors, a warning of what becomes of a people when they are driven by their baser instincts. ‘The Skards are a threat to our safety,’ you persist. ‘These very defences were built to keep those savages out of Valeron. They are savages, Lord Everard.’
The knight’s silence makes you nervous.
‘They are hunters,’ he states at last, turning his head to meet the rush of the wind. ‘They struggle daily against what life chooses to throw at them. Look at this place, Arran. Do you see land for crops, for homes, for a life? The further north you go, where rock turns to ice – where life balances on such a fine edge – that is when you start to appreciate who they really are.’
‘You speak highly of them,’ you cut in sharply. ‘Considering your post, Lord Everard, I would have expected you to hold a grudge, not sympathise with our common enemy.’
Everard bristles at that – you can see it in the set of his jaw, the sudden brightness that flares in those steely eyes. ‘Our enemy is whatever chooses to beat down these walls, Arran. Goblins, trolls, demons – and worse. The Skards were our enemy once, just like the others. They were organised, had a strong leader. Death and hardship had taken its toll, so yes, they desired our soft lands of comfort and gluttony. I wonder, who wouldn’t? And they’d have won, but for the fact they were routed – lost their leader and, with him, their spirit. So now the tribes are scattered, bickering and fighting between themselves – lost out there in that cruel wasteland, trying to make the best o
f it, like the rest of us.’
Everard releases a pent-up breath, misting the air.
You nod, by way of apology. ‘Indeed. It seems I have much to learn, my Lord.’
‘Bah, don’t sweat it. You’re no different to anyone else,’ grunts the knight. ‘We all need an enemy, a monster to pit our strength against. You’ve just got to learn to choose the right fight.’
Will you:
Ask about the Keep’s defences? 130
Climb the stairs to the mage tower? 301
Return to the main courtyard 113
82
The frost forge is now yours to use. If you are a warrior, turn to 410. If you are a mage, turn to 394. If you are a rogue, turn to 428.
83
The top of the shaft is covered by a tangled mesh of wood and bark, held together by clods of dried mud and what smells like rotted meat. Grimacing from the stench, you grapple onto the edge of the rock and then push yourself up through the debris.
You clamber out onto solid ground, the blustery wind beating most of the wood and stinking mud from your body. As you look around, half-blinded by the light, you realise that you have emerged inside a giant nest, perched on top of a chimney of rock. Several large eggs lie scattered around you, as well as bones, feathers and some half-eaten remains.
Before you can clamber free, you hear an ear-piercing shriek. A shadow passes overhead, blotting out the light. You look up, just in time to see an immense black-feathered bird swooping down, its blood-stained talons spread wide to grab you. It is time to fight:
Speed Brawn Armour Health
Roc 2 1 1 25
Special abilities
Perilous plunge: If the roc wins a combat round, roll a die. If the result is or less, instead of rolling for a damage score, the roc picks you up in its talons, flies up into the air, then throws you back to the ground. This attack causes 5 damage, ignoring armour, and lowers your speed by 1 in the next combat round. (You cannot use a dodge ability, such as evade or vanish to avoid this.) If the result is or more, the roc rolls for a damage score instead.
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 9