‘What has this got to do with the caves?’ you interject, still sounding sceptical. ‘You thought you’d find Titans there?’
‘We did,’ snaps the male, his brow creasing in anger. ‘There are structures, buildings, inside the caves.’
‘Dwarven,’ you snort. ‘There are Dwarf ruins everywhere in Valeron.’
The woman nods. ‘They share some common magic in their craft, yes. But these structures are different to anything I have ever seen before. We know that the Dwarves used something known as Titan blood in their magic. It gave them the ability to turn matter into stone. There are countless references in their texts to those who had been gifted with this blood – they named themselves Titans, in honour of those who came before. I wonder if there’s more to this, something we’ve yet to find. These original Titans – the jotun, frost giants – they could predate the Dwarves, predate anything we have yet discovered.’
Will you:
Ask about the rock that was found? 264
Ask about the man in the tent? 332
Ask how you might help? (starts the quest) 146
137
Everard escorts you to a draughty, cobwebbed room at the top of one of the keep’s towers. ‘I think it’s best you have your own quarters,’ the knight explains, moving to the window and pulling back a pair of wooden shutters. Grey light spills into the room, bringing with it a chill wind, laced with dancing snow. Thankfully, it appears the storm of the previous night has abated. ‘You’re still recovering,’ states Everard, ‘and prone to night fevers – that’s the story we’re sticking to. At least this way you won’t be in the barracks with the other soldiers.’
‘You said no special treatment,’ you say glumly, eyeing the room’s sparse furnishings. Just a pallet bed, a bucket and washstand, and a clothes chest underneath the window. The fireplace opposite has not been lit in an age, its grate filled with a heap of cold ashes.
Everard nods. ‘One step at a time, my prince.’
‘I’m not a prince any longer.’ You step towards the washstand – and the mirror, balancing on the shelf above it.
‘You’re right.’ Everard sighs. ‘We all need to play along, until such time as we can decide our next move. I will leave you – come find me if you need . . . want to talk.’ He bows stiffly, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
You shuffle up to the mirror, using the palm of your hand to clear away the thick coating of dust. Then you lean in close.
The face looking back at you bears no resemblance to the one you remember. Instinctively, you step away, horrified – then a perverse curiosity drives you back for a second look.
Your face is drawn, even more so than it was before, sagging off your bones and accentuating the hollows of your eyes and cheeks. The skin has a grey-green sallowness, dry like leather, and is branched with dark roots around the lips, nose and eyes.
You hold your stare, gazing into the glassy, colourless orbs that glare back at you. It is as if the life spark has gone out – and what is left is just ashes, like those lying dark and cold in the grate. Putting a hand to your hair, you tug at the gnarly strands and watch as they fall loose into the washstand, exposing the smooth scalp beneath. You stifle a sob, hand reaching for the shaving blade next to the mirror.
‘I’m a prince no longer,’ you whisper, pushing back what remains of your hair and passing the blade across the scalp. Minutes later and the washstand is filled with black curls of hair – your head now shaven to a smooth dome.
Next, your attention shifts to the chest. Lifting open the lid, you discover your previous belongings, some fresh clothing, a sword and several items of grey leather armour. You assume these are basic army issue that all recruits receive. If you wish, you may now equip any/all of the following:
Waxen leathers Dutiful watch Sentinel handwraps
(chest) (main hand: sword) (gloves)
+1 brawn +1 brawn +1 magic +1 brawn +1 magic
As you go to leave the room, you pause for a moment, eyeing the mattress and the warm-looking furs strewn across it. In times past, such a sight would have been cruel torture, its comfort promising much-needed rest, but also the dreaded night terrors . . . Now, such tiredness and cravings have gone. Instead, you are left with an icy numbness.
What’s happened to me?
You close your eyes, sensing the bear’s presence still lurking at the back of your mind, in the darkest pit of your being. His strength leaks into you, and with it the freezing chill that stills your heart. You glance down at your muscular body, its broad chest unmoving, without breath or life. You wonder if your strange connection to the beast is the only thing keeping you alive.
Shivering, you turn and leave – determined to find distraction from your melancholy thoughts. Turn to 113 to begin your exploration of the keep.
138
You are unable to interact with the spirit. With nothing else of interest in the room, you take the unlit lamp (make a note of the word lamp on your hero sheet) and then continue into the next passageway. Turn to 385.
139
Caught by one of the spinning fists, you are thrown backwards into a snow drift. You struggle to rise, the powdery granules pulling at you like quicksand. With an eldritch screech the beast surges forward, raising its arms to bring them down in a crushing blow. Desperately you try and break your weapons free – your eyes held fast by the rapidly descending fists . . .
A guttural cry.
Desnar slides beneath its swing, thrusting a dagger into the creature’s chest. As the beast rears back he follows up with a second strike to its neck, connecting with something vital and sending the beast’s body exploding outwards in a billowing cloud of snow and ice.
The battle is over.
Desnar throws a curse into the chill wind, his long braids of hair flapping loose about his shoulders. He turns his head, sparing you a cursory glance; disappointment is written in every line of his weathered face. ‘Weak,’ he grunts. Turn to 208.
140
You clamber ashore, using an overhanging branch to help drag yourself out of the thick mud. As you lie, cold and shivering, on the banks of the mire, you turn to watch the snake’s body slowly sink beneath the surface. You were lucky to have survived – and as you glance around at the bone-covered clearing, it becomes clear that the snake’s previous victims were not so fortunate.
Once you have recovered, you decide to search through the remains. As you suspected, there are some human bones as well as animal – possibly lost travellers like yourself, who blundered into the mire. Picking through their belongings, you find 5 gold crowns, a leather cap and a plain silver ring, which you may now take:
Murk loop Forest cap
(ring) (head)
Ability: vanish +1 armour
Your muscles ache and your body is tired. All you want to do is lie down and sleep, to curl up and pretend you are back home – back in the safety of the royal palace. But you are too fearful to rest; you must keep moving in the hope of finding a proper shelter. After chewing more of the dragon leaf to bolster your strength, you head up the bank and back into the forest. Turn to 161.
141
The jubilation is short-lived. More of the creatures are flooding into the yard through the breached walls, like a swarm of rats escaping a fire. The reptile warriors seem unstoppable, their bodies hardened by scales or coated in stone armour. Behind their ranks, Dwarf-sized mages in tattered robes fashion monstrous creations from the very rubble of the keep, mashing them together into crude mockeries of warriors. Elsewhere you see the rock itself turned to liquid, drawn through the air by dark magics to form fists and hammers, slamming into the remnants of the keep’s defences.
You struggle through the melee, dodging and parrying the incoming blows, trying to keep on the move. Once again, your thoughts turn to Anise. Perhaps she has already fled the keep – the only sensible choice, and one you consider taking yourself.
A white warhorse barrels through the thronging bodies,
resplendent in plated barding, while its armoured rider hacks at the reptilian monsters, taking off heads and limbs with a butcher’s precision. ‘For Valeron! For Glory!’ The voice manages to resonate across the yard, despite the confines of the rider’s helm. It is unmistakably Everard. A horn bounces at his side, glowing with scripture.
‘To me! Rally, men, rally!’ The horse rears up on its hind legs, the steel-shod hooves smashing down to crush the scaled bodies beneath. The rider turns in the saddle, scanning the battlefield. Then his eyes alight on you. Tugging on the reins, he turns his horse, urging it forward. ‘The prince,’ he calls. ‘Defend the prince!’
It takes a moment for the words to sink in – to realise that your identity has now been revealed to the surrounding soldiers.
‘Prince?’ You look to your side, to see a female knight glaring at you with suspicion. You barely recognise Henna. Blood spatters her face and speckles her once bright armour. She is shaking visibly from exhaustion, half-dragging her dust-caked sword through the dirt. ‘You never said you were a prince!’
Before you can answer, Everard breaks from the throng, his horse tearing up mud and stone as he circles around you. ‘The prince! To the prince! This is Arran – the heir to the throne of Valeron. The blood of Leonidas. Prince Arran!’
Henna’s shakes her head in disbelief. ‘It can’t be.’
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell . . .’ Your words falter, your attention now caught by a figure staggering through the mist. A thin girl with flamered hair. Her torn dress hangs off her scrawny shoulders, exposing pale skin, scuffed and bleeding. She is gripping a kitchen knife in trembling hands.
‘Anise!’
She doesn’t hear you, staggering as if in a daze, oblivious to the soldiers and monsters locked in combat around her. You push back into the melee, desperate to reach her – but then you hear a deafening, monstrous rumble. A terrifying, gut-wrenching noise.
‘One God protect us.’ Everard lifts the horn to his lips, blowing a single brazen note. You follow his gaze to the shadow crawling over the remnants of the keep wall. Its size is difficult to comprehend, dwarfing everything – blotting out the sky as it rears up then smashes down, tearing through the walls’ foundations like they were paper. Your first impression is that of a beetle, with a shiny chitinous shell and thin splayed legs. But then you realise this is a much darker creation. The head is a gaping hole, a tunnel lined with hundreds of circles of teeth. And above the mouth a bony crown sweeps back, the spiked ridges flickering with magic.
‘Hold fast!’ Everard blows another note on the horn. ‘Believe in the light. Have faith!’
You watch in horrified amazement as the beast’s armoured plates shift apart, like the dark petals of a flower opening to the sun. From between the exposed cavities black fleshy pillars emerge, each one bulging as if seeking to expunge something inside. Then, as one, the spiracles launch an oily black substance into the air. It falls like rain, landing indiscriminately – a hot acid that burns through armour, stone, flesh.
‘Rally men! Hold fast!’ Everard fights to control his bucking horse, a glob of acid sizzling through his helm. He tugs it free, casting the melted metal away. ‘Form up. We can take it down!’
The frightened soldiers are holding back, cowering beneath their shields as the acid spatters around them. Henna shifts beside you, taking the grip of her blade in both hands. Then she starts forward alone. You hear her uttering the words of a prayer, her sword blossoming with white light.
You look again for Anise, but she is gone – perhaps taking cover amongst the rubble. The ranks of monsters are thinning now, melting into the ruins. It strikes you as odd that they are not pursuing the battle. There seems a sudden urgency to their flight, as if they have a sense of forewarning, a knowledge that something bad is about to happen.
Or perhaps they know their demon will finish the work that they have started.
Turning back, you see Henna still advancing across the emptying courtyard, dwarfed by the monstrous immensity that towers before her. Her courage moves something inside you.
Gritting your teeth, you hurry forward, falling into step beside the young knight. She glances your way, offering a tight smile. An unspoken thank you.
‘My prince.’ You turn to see Everard following on foot, with the rest of the soldiers fanning out beside him. You see Rook and trainer Orrec amongst their ranks. Everard bows his head. ‘We stand together.’
As you near the giant monster, you notice its crown of spines start to glow brighter. A moment later and your head is pounding with a blinding agony, like hot knives being driven into your skull. The line of soldiers wavers, a tirade of grunts and curses coming from beneath their helms.
‘Fight it!’ hisses Everard to his men, frowning against the pain. ‘It’s trying to weaken us!’
Henna raises her glowing sword, then charges forward with a defiant cry. You follow her lead, your own magic forming a shimmering halo around you. It is time to fight:
Speed Brawn Armour Health
Gargax crown 5/3 (*) 2 2 20
Gargax thoras 5/3 (*) 2 2 20
Gargax legs 3 1 2 20
Special abilities
Nip ’n’ tuck: If Gargax’s legs are reduced to zero health, the head and thorax speed are reduced to 3 for the remainder of the combat. If the thorax is destroyed, the acid rain ability no longer applies. If the crown is destroyed, you no longer suffer from mind fumble.
Acid rain: At the end of each combat round, you must take 2 damage, ignoring armour.
Mind fumble: You cannot play any speed or combat abilities while you are inflicted with mind fumble.
If you have any tar barrels recorded on your hero sheet, you can use them at the end of a combat round. Each tar barrel causes 1 damage to all opponents, ignoring armour. You can use up to four barrels per combat round. (Remember to remove any used tar barrels from your hero sheet.)
If you manage to defeat this demon of the underworld, turn to 445.
142
It takes half an hour to load the last of the barrels onto the cart. Once the task is complete, you step back, muscles aching from the hard labour.
‘All in and ready to go,’ says Kirk, wiping his brow. ‘We did good today.’
The team managed to fill 12 barrels of tar. (Make a note of this on your hero sheet then turn to 315.)
143
Branch and bark scatter across the chamber as you chop through the last of the saplings to reach the elusive Ratatosk. With every step, the dark magic pouring out of the splintered remains fills you with a newfound vigour. You have gained the following special ability:
Shadow thorns (dm): Summon barbed roots to rip and tear at your opponents. This causes 1 die of damage to each opponent (roll once and apply the same damage to each). Shadow thorns can only be used once per combat.
Ratatosk tries to scamper past you, but his many wounds have taken their toll. Your foot catches him in the side, sending the rodent tumbling back against the wall. Before he can recover, your weapons cross at his throat.
‘Spare me,’ he snorts breathlessly. ‘You have power . . . to defeat . . . the witch. I see it, rata-rata-tosk.’
‘Why should I spare vermin like you?’ Your weapons press deeper, cutting into the skin. Ratatosk flinches, his eyes shifting nervously from side to side.
‘I help you,’ he rasps. ‘I know secret ways. I show you, like I showed her . . . trust me.’
‘You’re asking me to trust you, after what you’ve done?’
The squirrel licks its teeth with a pale tongue. ‘I only do what I have to,’ he grins weakly. ‘Nature teaches us . . . to adapt and survive, rata-rata-tosk.’
Will you:
Spare the creature’s life? 99
Finish him and take his treasures? 727
144
The guard removes the one of hearts from his hand and places it face down on the discard pile. He reaches into the pouch and takes another stone at random. He has now gained the t
wo of stars:
The guard rubs his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, just a fool’s pair,’ he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Let’s hope it is enough to win.’ Turn to 570.
145
‘Ah, my plants.’ Sylvie rolls her eyes, giving a whimsical sigh. ‘I don’t know where I’d be without them. So much to learn, so much to discover.’ She walks over to the window, where a purple-flowering plant is growing among thorny shrubs. ‘Plants are like teachers. Take this one, for instance. The death rattle.’ Her fingers caress the purple, bell-shaped flowers.
‘Death rattle,’ you echo in surprise. ‘Odd name for a flower.’
‘It’s actually a parasite,’ she replies. ‘It gains its nutrients from other plants. It takes what it needs, and then it kills them.’ Her fingers drift to the barbed shrub that surrounds the flowers. ‘But not the dwarf thistle. The thistle has spines that offer protection, keeps predators away. So the death rattle lets it live, to benefit from its natural defences, leeching only what it needs to keep them both alive. The two co-exist as one.’
Sylvie looks back at you, the firelight dancing in her eyes. ‘But you’re right, everything comes to an end eventually. The death rattle, by its very nature, is the more aggressive of the two. It can’t help itself. And when it finally oversteps its bounds . . .’
‘It kills the thistle.’ You finish her sentence, glancing back at the bright shock of purple blossom growing amongst the dark thorns. It is hard to imagine something so beautiful being so deadly. Sylvie nods and returns to the table.
‘You should take a greater interest in the world around you, boy. Nature tells us a story, teaches us valuable lessons. That’s why I dedicated my life to its study.’
Return to 191 to ask another question, or turn to 207 to end the conversation.
146
The man steps forward, lowering his eyes. ‘We are not fighters – we are explorers. Our best men and women went into those caves. We all knew the danger – the risk they were taking. But I know Blair, our leader – he would have taken every precaution.’ He lifts his gaze, the hollows beneath his eyes giving him a ghoulish visage. ‘Please, will you go look for them?’
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 14