The Eye of Winter's Fury

by Michael J. Ward

  Speed Magic Armour Health

  Melusine 14 8 10 100

  Special abilities

  Petrifying gaze: Roll four dice at the end of each combat round. For each or result, you must take damage equal to the roll, ignoring armour. For example, if you rolled two ’s and a you would take 16 damage. All other results are ignored. If you have an ability that lets you reroll dice (such as charm), you may use this ability to affect the outcome.

  Fimbulwinter: If you have the Titan shield, Fimbulwinter, you only take damage from each result you roll for petrifying gaze. For example, if you rolled three ’s, you would take 3 damage. All other results are ignored.

  Insulated: If you have the insulated ability, you can reduce Melusine’s damage score by 3 (Note: this does not affect Melusine’s petrifying gaze).

  If you manage to defeat the witch, turn to 706.

  155

  You walk down to the banks of the stream, looking forward to washing away the grime from the past few days. However, as you kneel beside the waters, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Further down the bank, a man is lying on his belly, splashing water on his face. He wears no armour, just a tattered white tunic and breeches stretched taut over hard muscle. Apart from a dagger in his belt, he carries nothing else of note. As you ponder what to do next, the man pushes himself back up and then looks your way. Surprise hits you both as your eyes meet and recognition dawns. The puckered scar, the hard chiselled features. It is Inquisitor Hort. The holy warrior who was meant to be your bodyguard.

  He starts towards you, wincing as he shifts his weight, favouring his right leg. ‘Arran!’ he hisses, fumbling for the dagger. ‘May the One God curse you and your family! I will finish what I was sent here to do!’ He limps closer, his eyes gleaming with fury.

  Will you:

  Confront him about what happened on the road? 287

  Run back to the cabin? 312

  Run into the nearby woods? 244

  156

  The rotted wood crumbles away as you break open the lid. For a second you are presented with a writhing mass of worms and maggots, pushing their way through hunks of rancid grime – then the overwhelming stench hits you, forcing you to reel away, your stomach heaving.

  ‘Ugh! What is it?’ Anise is already back in the corridor, covering her nose with her arm. She waves for you to join her as the room starts to fill with a foul-smelling green vapour.

  ‘I don’t know, but it smells bad.’ As you stumble half-blind through the cloud of mist, you are almost thankful that your body is still able to react to such a stench.

  Some life left in me after all . . .

  ‘Come on!’ Grabbing your arm, Anise hurries back to the stairs that lead to the next level of the tower. Make a note of the keyword methane on your hero sheet, then turn to 111.

  157

  (Note: You must have completed the orange quest The bitter end before you can access this location. If you have visited this location before, turn to 106.)

  The frozen ice creaks worryingly beneath your feet, offering a cruel and constant reminder that you are no longer walking over land. Should the thin ice break, you would plunge through into the freezing depths of the ocean. It is an unsettling thought – but the trapper had assured you that this was the only way to reach Ryker’s, an island only accessible by foot when the waters are frozen.

  Ryker’s Island. It had been a penal colony once, where the worst criminals in the kingdom had been confined. The hangman’s noose should have been their punishment, but your father’s predecessor – King Hark – had been a church man. He believed every soul was worth saving.

  Even mine? you wonder bitterly.

  According to Everard, there had been an uprising some time ago – the prisoners had broken out of the prison, but instead of fleeing back to the mainland they had remained at the island, forming their own ragtag community. You can understand why. As the ice groans beneath your feet, the heavy skies clouded with snow, you can’t imagine a more remote place to live. Far away from authority – far away from the church and the King’s army. Who would want to bother with a prison, out here in the middle of nowhere?

  As you press onwards, the land turns from ice to hard-packed snow. Edges of black rock begin to cut through the customary whiteness: a comforting assurance that you have finally reached dry land.

  Ahead, a dark shape looms menacingly out of the haze – a high wall of black iron. Torches flicker at regular intervals along its spiked length, their light catching on the barbed wire frills that curve cruelly against the bleak skies. This is truly a prison, built to keep the world out as much as to keep those within confined behind its walls.

  Your eyes scan the expanse of smooth dark metal, looking for a gate or a doorway. Then you hear a voice from high above.

  ‘Who goes there? You a damn Skard?’

  You look up to see a man leaning over a section of the wall. His long hair streams in the wind, a thick cloak bunched around his shoulders.

  ‘Not a Skard,’ you reply, raising your hands. ‘A trapper – come to sell furs. I seek shelter.’

  You hear a squeal of rusted metal, then part of the wall swings inwards, revealing a previously hidden doorway. Relieved, you start towards it, but back away again when you see two men marching out, both holding oil lamps. One is short and wiry, stinking of drink. The other is taller and heavier, his wind-burnt face illuminated by the wash of light. Both have bands of red cloth tied around their upper right arms.

  ‘He smellsh like a Skard,’ drawls the thin one, slurring his words.

  They look warily around, as if expecting you to be accompanied by others. The man from the wall is still watching.

  ‘Just stick ’im and take his stuff,’ he shouts down. ‘Leave the body for the wolves.’

  The smaller guard licks his lips nervously, his eyes flicking to your weapons. ‘Easy for you to say, Bert,’ he shouts back. ‘You wanna come down ’ere and try?’

  You pull back your hood. Both men draw away with startled gasps. The heavier-set guard is the first to speak.

  ‘Hel-fire, what happen’ to ya? How long yer been out there?’

  ‘A long time,’ you reply, knowing that your frost-bitten, deathly countenance must paint a ghoulish picture. ‘I ask only for shelter. I am no Skard. Please . . . ?’ It pains you to beg these men, but after days of solitude on the ice the sudden desire to be amongst people is almost overwhelming. Perhaps you crave a reminder of what life was like – news from home, the life you left behind.

  ‘Agreed,’ nods the thin man, moving aside. ‘Me head’s too pickled to be fightin’ and arguin’. Come on, Gupp, let the man inside.’

  The giant complies with a surly grunt, leaving you free to enter the settlement of Ryker’s Island. Turn to 288.

  158

  You remember Kirk’s words when you discovered the body lying in the grass – ‘if there was anything of value, the birdman will have got it now.’ Perhaps there is a secret stash of treasures hidden away somewhere in the eyrie.

  It doesn’t take long to find – a large nest perched on top of a flat boulder, fashioned from mud and twigs, and other things you’d rather not think about. Inside, wrapped in the remains of a mouldy cloak, is an assortment of odds and ends.

  As well as 50 gold crowns, you may also take any/all of the following:

  Bristle band Brave deeds Stone dragon

  (ring) (special: feather) (backpack)

  Ability: agility Use on a head or chest

  item to increase its

  brawn or magic by 1 A stone-carved idol

  of a ferocious dragon

  When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 177.

  159

  The vines hook around your legs and waist, pulling you towards the gigantic plant. Angrily you tug your weapons loose and begin hacking at the thick tentacles. Just as you are about to be fed to the hungry mouths, you manage to sever the last of the vines – twisting at the last moment to avoid a lu
nging set of teeth.

  The reprieve is short lived. A rustling crack alerts you to another growth of vines, spreading and twisting out of the plant’s bulbous stem. With barely a chance to recover, you are forced to duck beneath the flailing onslaught whilst your weapons swing blindly to keep the snapping mouths at bay. Clearly, this plant is gripped by a frenzy, and will stop at nothing to gobble you up! It is time to fight:

  Speed Magic Armour Health

  Jogahh 8 9 10 80

  Special abilities

  Spit it out!: If you win a combat round, instead of rolling for damage you can dive into one of Jogahh’s mouths and attempt to remove an acorn. Roll a die – on a result of or more, you have successfully removed the acorn, lowering Jogahh’s speed, magic and armour by 1. If the result is or less, you fail – and must automatically take 4 damage (ignoring armour) from Jogahh’s acidic secretions. You may remove up to three acorns over the course of the combat.

  If you manage to defeat this virulent growth, turn to 562.

  160

  The svardkin have led you into a winding maze. The pathways are tight and narrow, twisting and crossing back on themselves in an infuriating manner. Soon you have lost all sense of direction. Of the svardkin there is no sign – and no tracks in the ice to follow.

  ‘We should go back,’ pants Anise. ‘Whatever they had isn’t worth breaking our necks over.’

  Skoll gives a disgruntled snort. ‘Agreed, we didn’t come here to chase after svardkin.’

  You try and retrace your steps back to the main cave, but the twisting maze has left you disorientated and lost. After several tiring hours, you finally emerge from the tunnels into a larger cavern dominated by a pool of melt water. You decide to make camp on its banks and resume your journey once the others have rested. Turn to 467.

  161

  The trees eventually thin, giving way to hills blanketed with rocks and wildflowers. Back in the open, the wind now returns in force, buffeting against your stubborn advance. Its chillness lashes with a bitter sting, forcing you to hug your cloak protectively about your body. By now, there is little warmth or comfort to be gained from your sodden clothing. Instead their wet folds chafe and cut at your skin, while the blisters on your feet make every footfall an eye-wincing agony.

  You swallow back the tears, determined not to give into despair. And yet, hope is fading fast, as is the grey sullen light. It will be dark soon and with it comes the dreadful prospect of another night spent out in the open. If only Lazlo was here, or Captain Tarlow. They would know how to build a shelter, make a fire, hunt for food. You know nothing of living and surviving outdoors. The dragon leaf will only last for so long. And when that runs out . . .

  You clamber up a rise of boulders to get a better view of your surroundings. Part of you wonders if heading back into the forest would be a safer idea – at least there you have some shelter and a better chance of foraging for food. A night spent out in these bleak open hills, especially if another storm rolls in, will offer nothing more than misery and hunger.

  As you scan the hills, your attention is caught by a thin column of smoke rising into the sky. Its source is obscured by another ridge of boulders. Your first reaction is relief – surely it must be a campfire, and that means warmth and food. But then, you also realise it means the presence of strangers. Will they be friendly? They could even be Wiccans, sent to finish the bloody business they began on the road.

  You decide it would be foolish not to take a closer look. Scrambling down the boulders, you hurry across the intervening moorland to reach the opposite ridge. As you pass around its moss-covered rocks, your heart leaps with joy when you see a log cabin nestled at the bottom of the slope. It looks homely enough, with vegetables arranged neatly in a garden, firelight flickering between the window shutters, wisps of cooking smoke rising from its chimney.

  Without hesitation you hasten towards it, your stomach rumbling at the thought of warm, cooked food and proper shelter. You pay little mind to who the cabin might belong to – or whether they would be willing to share their home. I’m a prince, you remind yourself. They have to offer me succour. It’s the king’s law.

  As you near, you see the front door is decorated with a thorny-looking wreath – some charm, perhaps, to ward away danger. You knock, but there is no answer. After knocking again, you reach for the handle of the door. You pause, wondering if it is right to enter a stranger’s home uninvited. A brief tug confirms that the door is unlocked.

  Will you:

  Open the door and enter the cabin? 196

  Take a look around the outside? 150

  162

  The very air seems to vibrate as a cold shadow stretches across the courtyard. It is accompanied by a rumbling thunder clap – drowning the cries of the bewildered onlookers. Your eyes are drawn upwards, to the immense black cloud of falling rubble. Segg’s tower. In horror, you realise the whole building is collapsing, its peaked steeple spinning through the debris, flames licking around its edges.

  There is chaos as soldiers and monsters run for cover. You make for the main hall, hoping the doorway will provide some safe haven, but a sudden tremor causes you to stumble and fall. One of the ember wilds streaks past you, arrows and weapons protruding from its body. Bright blood spatters across the stone . . . sizzling and smoking.

  ‘No!’ You struggle to your feet, looking around for support. ‘Stop it! Stop it before . . .’

  The creature hurls itself against the wall . . . and explodes. The resulting blast wave blows you backwards, through dust and smoke and screaming bodies. Turn to 320.

  163

  Your weapons slice through the moth’s wings as if they were paper, dragging the creature to the ground. Once prone, the moth has no defence against your attacks, its bright dust pumping into the air in a last desperate effort to blind you. It is too little, too late.

  You step away from the remains of the insect, noticing that its dust is now sticking to your clothes, sparkling like glitter. You have now gained:

  Spectral dust

  (special)

  Use on a cloak, gloves, boots or chest item

  to add the special ability deceive

  Anise retrieves her torch, the blue flames hissing and sparking as they catch the dust still whirling through the air. ‘My people call them death lights. They bring ill-luck to those who see them.’

  ‘No kidding. I figured that out when the thing tried to eat me.’ You stoop down next to the body of the moth, studying one of its broken wings. The thin membrane still pulses with a silver light, forming some kind of runic pattern or map. If you wish you may take the moth wing (simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it does not take up backpack space).

  When you re-enter the chamber, you are surprised to see the door to your left creaking open of its own accord. From the room beyond you hear a man’s voice, raised in anger. ‘No! I will not serve you, Zabarach! I will not!’ There is a cry of pain, then the sound of metal scraping across stone. You share a look with Anise, before tentatively edging towards the next room. Turn to 548.

  164

  ‘Good, good,’ grins the thief. He opens out his patched-cloth bag, tilting its contents towards you while his eyes rove shiftily from side-to-side. Rummaging through the proffered items, you discover a tattered dirt-stained book, a makeshift knife fashioned from a chunk of granite, and a bundle of shimmering grey cloth. ‘Only twenty gold apiece,’ says the man, shaking the bag. ‘Hurry up or we gets in trouble, yes?’

  You may purchase any of the following for 20 gold crowns each:

  Stones & Bones Prison break Great escape

  (backpack) (main hand: dagger) (cloak)

  The ultimate strategy +1 speed +1 brawn +1 speed +2 health

  guide (game of the

  year edition) Ability: first blood Ability: getaway

  To continue chatting to the thief, return to 288. To explore the rest of the compound under your own steam, turn to 106.

  165

  �
�You assume I know something, then?’ Sylvie flips an egg, leaning back as the fat spits in the pan. ‘All I know is what Randal told me or I’ve managed to deduce from my studies. There’s an old Skard word, Norr. It means crossing, the state between waking and sleeping. Some minds are able to dwell there, to walk that place as a spirit body.’

  ‘Norr?’ You frown, trying to recall ever having heard the word.

  ‘It’s the thin line, the meeting place between our world and the shroud – the realm of magic.’

  You feel the cold in your stomach intensify. ‘The shroud.’ You have always been forbidden from mentioning such a thing. To the Church it is a blasphemous evil, a hell where demons and other malign spirits dwell. ‘I . . . I never knew. No one ever told me. They can’t have known.’

  ‘It’s a rare affliction, boy.’ Sylvie meets your troubled gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

  You close your eyes to stop the room from spinning, still giddy from the dream. ‘This can’t be happening to me . . .’ Instinctively you reach for your pouch, relieved to find it is still attached to your belt. You have enough dragon leaf to keep the dreams away, for a while at least . . .

  ‘That won’t help you.’ Sylvie puts a hand to her hip, the other pointing with her knife. ‘That is the coward’s way. You need to become stronger, boy. The mind is like a muscle. It must be exercised. Avoiding the dreams will only make it worse.’

  Will you:

  Ask her why she tricked you? 295

  Leave the cabin? 261

  Agree to fetch the water? 78

  166

  Using the rocks for cover, you wait to ambush the hunter, hoping the element of surprise will help you to defeat the bigger and stronger Skard. After a tense wait, you hear the scuff of boots outside the cave. Then a musty animal stink wafts past you as a shadow edges along the tunnel wall. You grip your weapons tightly, waiting for the hunter to come into full view. His broad shoulders scrape the rock, his hair hanging in a matted, greasy curtain across his face. He doesn’t see you until it is too late. Confined by the tunnel walls, he staggers back, struggling to raise his axe and knife as you launch into him with a flurry of strikes. It is time to fight: