As you pass through the room, you catch snatches of conversation. Much of the chatter appears to be focused around diamonds and an upcoming mining contract. There are also some concerns expressed over the recent quakes.
‘Everything was shaking,’ gasps a woman, fanning herself as if she might faint at any moment. ‘Even my necklace broke. Took poor Charles an age to find all those pearls.’
‘But it is something of an adventure, Lord Eaton,’ guffaws a young dandified male, his laced cuffs flapping through the air as he waves his arms. ‘Who’d have thought we’d be rubbing shoulders with whalers and other such low-lifes? It’s positively screaming scandal.’
You flinch at the man’s prim manner and flamboyant clothing, reminded of your own days back at court – back when you were a weak, sickly prince mollycoddled by a nurse.
Distracted by your thoughts, you accidentally bump into someone – a tall man in a blue velvet coat and high-necked shirt. His grey eyes regard you with disdain.
‘Who are you?’ he asks stiffly, leaning away as if from a bad smell. ‘Are you one of the servants?’
Before you can reply a woman slides her hand into the man’s arm and tugs him away. ‘Oh Fromarc, come and tell the others your story. The baron and the troll, it’s my favourite.’
‘Oh, if you insist, Lady Hawker,’ he grins, his eyes captivated by her own. They walk off together, leaving you to sigh with relief.
Next to you a man is slouched in a high-backed chair, clearly sleeping off his drink. He has a red strip of cloth tied around his upper right arm. You also note the sleeve of his jerkin is rolled up, displaying a tattoo.
Ahead of you is another doorway, with a tall dark-skinned guard blocking the way. He has his arms folded across his broad chest, eyes levelled ahead with a gruff obedience. An ivory plaque next to the doorway displays a carved image of a bottle.
Will you:
Take a closer look at the man’s tattoos? 662
Approach the cellar? 724
Leave the party? 80
254
Reaching into the snow, you pull out a glowing shard of ice. Its surface vibrates with a powerful energy, sending streamers of magic arcing around your fist.
‘What is this?’ You glance at Skoll, who is helping Anise down from the rock.
‘The heart of an elemental,’ he grins. ‘Take the magic. It will make you strong.’
You feel a sudden rush of numbing cold as Nanuk reaches into you, taking control of your body. Before you can stop him, you find your fingers tightening around the shard. The frozen glass begins to crack, its sharp edges cutting deep into your hand. Then the whole shard shatters – releasing a bright plume of magic into the air. The glittering motes are hungrily absorbed by your dead body, bolstering its strength and healing your wounds.
You have now gained the following bonus:
Elemental infusion: You may permanently increase your health by 10.
You may also remove one death penalty effect. When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 617.
255
‘Ah yes, I should thank you for bringing in the . . . specimen.’ Segg inclines his head, his bright blue eyes roving across the jars and bottles on a shelf. All appear to contain various organs and body parts, suspended in some kind of vinegary liquid.
You grimace at the grisly display. ‘Did you learn anything?’
Segg walks over to one of the jars. ‘My studies have only served to raise further questions.’ He lifts up the jar, shaking it to send a series of black scales spinning around the murky water. ‘These are drake scales – a sub-species of dragon. But I’ve not seen any creature like this. It is almost as if . . . it was made. Created somehow. I’d go as far as to say, this might have once been human. A Skard, perhaps.’
‘But why are they here?’ You glance back at the shelf – your gaze fixing on a large jawbone resting inside a bowl-shaped bottle. The teeth are almost the size of your hand. ‘Do you think there are more of these things?’
‘The Skards have many tales of the old times. There is one that refers to a Dwarf city, deep beneath the ice. They say the Dwarves and the ancient Skards were locked in a constant battle – a war against demons from the underworld. The only way they could survive was to take on the strength of their enemies, become the very demons that they sought to destroy. They became Nisse.’
‘Nisse.’ You repeat the word, struggling to make sense of it. ‘Is that Skard?’
The mage nods. ‘It means cursed.’ He returns the jar to the shelf, setting it between a floating forefinger and what looks like a blackened, human heart. ‘In answer to your question, Arran – could there be more of these? I fear the answer is yes. But what we should really be asking is this – why now? After thousands of years, why would the Nisse choose this moment to return?’
(Remove the word envoy from your hero sheet. Return to 328 to continue your conversation with Segg.)
256
‘A witchfinder? Gosh no!’ You are astonished the woman would even consider you a member of their order – a group of feared swordsmen, renowned for their bloodthirsty methods of bringing witches and other sinners to justice.
‘Please,’ you beg, determined now to press your advantage. ‘You can take the sword – it’s yours. Inscribed by a White Abbot. It’ll fetch a good sum of money – and the diamond too. Please, just some food and shelter – please?’ Hearing your own desperation shames you. Lowering your eyes, you let your shoulders slump.
Stupid fool. This sword could buy her whole damn cabin – a thousand cabins. And I offer it willingly for some supper and a blanket . . .
The woman gives a chuckle. ‘Indeed, how could I resist such a generous offer?’
You glare back sullenly, wondering if she mocks you. But her beaming smile seems genuine enough. ‘I am Sylvie.’ She turns, gesturing to the log cabin. ‘And this is my humble abode. Nothing special, I might add, but it serves me well enough.’ When the woman looks back, her smile has faded. ‘You will leave your sword on the doorstep, understand me? Now, come – let’s see if we can’t put some meat on those bones.’
You nod quickly, unstrapping the scabbard from your belt as you follow her to the front door. Turn to 269.
257
The ledge brings you to the entrance of a large circular chamber. Carved into the stone floor are a number of circles, arranged in an arcane pattern around the edge of the room. Lines and whorls twist away from the outer motifs, snaking towards a central circle where a podium of black stone rests inside a ring of runes.
Caul draws back, sniffing the air as if detecting some unpleasant odour.
By contrast, you find the complex work fascinating. There is a residue of magic still locked in the circles’ design, one which you may still be able to put to use.
You follow the complex patterns, trying to ascertain their nature. Segg taught you some basics but the rest seems to come to you instinctively, as plain as reading words on a page.
‘These are used to call spirits,’ you declare, following the path of one of the spiralling whirls. ‘I think they are summoning runes and those,’ your eyes drift to the runes surrounding the podium, ‘are words of binding.’
Caul is still hovering by the doorway, looking shiftily around the room. ‘I don’t care what it does – is it safe?’
‘Oh yes,’ you reply, with a dark grin. ‘For now . . .’
If you wish to place a weapon or item of equipment on the central podium, turn to 403. If you have a plain glass orb and wish to place it on the podium, turn to 1. If you would rather not tamper with this strange magic, you may leave the chamber and continue on your way. Turn to 732.
258
Rutus folds his arms, looking down at you with a smirk. ‘Had enough, dog?’
You are too busy rolling around in the slush, gripping your stomach where his punch had landed. Clearly, strength is no substitute for experience.
‘It’s the maids for you,’ snorts the trainer, gesturing with
his crop to a line of straw practice dummies. ‘You can dance with them a while, until you’re ready.’
‘Could have gone worse,’ grins Rutus, offering out his hand. ‘Guess the fever took more than your looks, eh?’
You ignore his gesture, pushing yourself back to your feet. ‘Next time,’ you promise, meeting his gaze.
‘I’ll be ready,’ he replies guardedly. ‘You know where to find me, rookie.’
You watch him join the rest of the men, jealous of their comradeship and back-slapping. Feeling once again the outsider, you march over to the practice dummies, determined not to run and hide like you always have in the past. Straw and wood go flying as you hack and chop at your target, secretly wishing it was Rutus and the cheers were all for you. (Record the keyword baited on your hero sheet.)
When you are ready to leave the yard, turn to 113 to revisit the main courtyard or 168 to climb the stairs to the battlements.
259
The guard removes the two of moons 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 two of stars:
The guard is still grinning to himself. ‘Queen’s wave again,’ he whispers to you. ‘I’m sure we’ve won this.’ Turn to 570.
260
For defeating the captain, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:
Naglfar anchor Whelk walkers Cross bones
(left hand: grapple) (feet) (cloak)
+2 speed +3 brawn +2 speed +2 armour +2 speed +2 brawn
Ability: knockdown Ability: haste Ability: malice
When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 479.
261
After reclaiming your sword, you leave the cabin and head out 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. (Make a note of the keyword blade on your hero sheet, then turn to 155.)
262
A service hatch opens in the wall, where you can see a tray filled with various wolf-skin garments. You are surprised to see a glimmer of magic around them; evidently the materials have been imbued with some minor enchantments, which probably even Jackson isn’t aware of.
‘How much?’ you ask, leaning cautiously over the line to take a closer look.
‘Sixty gold,’ snaps Jackson. ‘Top quality company threads those, so don’t you be turning your nose up at ’em. Too good for the stinking likes of you, I wager.’
The following items are available for 60 gold crowns each:
White wolf mitts White wolf treads White wolf jerkin
(gloves) (feet) (chest)
+1 speed +1 armour +1 speed +2 brawn +1 speed +2 magic
Ability: frost guard Ability: sidestep Ability: insulated
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).
263
Filling the barrels is a dirty, stinking and laborious task. First, the thick tar is scooped into smaller buckets, which are then used to pour it into the seemingly bottomless wooden barrels. Once the barrels are full, Kirk twists a lid into place and then he and Lawson roll them back to the cart.
After an hour you are dizzy from the stench, the protective leather gloves doing little to keep the tar from getting on your skin and over your clothes. Henna spends most of her time muttering about her armour and how long it will take to clean. Then eventually even she falls quiet, focused on getting the grim task completed.
With half the barrels filled, Kirk nudges Lawson then nods towards the far side of the canyon. Lawson gives an answering nod, then goes to retrieve his bow and quiver from the nearby rocks.
‘You girls okay for a while?’ Kirk removes his gloves and drops them onto a rock. ‘Me and Lawson got some business to do. Just scouting out the canyon, you know. Soldier stuff.’ He taps the side of his nose. ‘So, you noobs stay together. And don’t talk to strangers, okay?’
Before anyone can argue the two men are gone, laughing and joking to each other – leaving you behind to fill and transport the rest of the barrels to the wagon.
An hour later and your patience starts to sour. ‘If they don’t return soon we’ll be here until nightfall.’
‘I’m lodging a formal complaint,’ Henna scowls, watching in disgust as the tar drips from her gloves. ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’
You tip another bucket of sludge into the barrel, half-choking on the overpowering stench. ‘Sooner we’re done, sooner we can go home.’
As you reach down to refill your bucket, a sudden chorus of shrieks alerts you to the nearby hills. A group of petrels have taken flight from a thicket of long grass, squawking overhead as they wheel across the lake.
‘What spooked them?’ Henna goes to draw her sword, then hesitates when she remembers the gloop on her hands. ‘Oh, let’s ignore it. I’m sure it’s nothing.’
You scan the hills, fearing there may be a hidden predator using the tall grass for cover. Or perhaps it’s just your imagination getting the better of you.
Will you:
Decide to search the hills? 70
Continue to fill the barrels? 306
264
The woman ducks into the tent and returns with a bundle of leathers clasped between her mitted hands. You take the bundle and peel back the cloth. Inside you discover a black shard of rock, smooth as glass, with veins of green branching beneath its surface.
‘We don’t exactly know what it is,’ says the woman, looking back at her companion. ‘A type of metamorphic rock, not unlike marble. Its dense structure suggests a strong heat source, possibly magma. I suppose it could have been brought to the surface following the cataclysm.’
‘Or brought here from elsewhere,’ mutters the male, gazing skywards.
‘This is magic,’ you reply, touching the stone and watching as the green veins pulse, brightening then dimming once again.
‘It has some . . . energy, yes,’ Reah says uncertainly. ‘We can’t be sure if there is something else trapped within the sample – it may even be a living organism.’ Reah takes the stone from you, wrapping it tightly in the leathers. ‘I’d rather you didn’t get too close. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.’
Will you:
Ask about the Titans? 136
Ask about the man in the tent? 332
Ask how you might help? (starts the quest) 146
265
You gesture to the bearded man in the blue velvet coat. ‘I’m here on Baron Fromark’s orders. He says he’ll be most honoured to cover any costs.’
The guard glares at you for a moment, then with a huff he moves aside. You nod in thanks then hurry past him, taking a short set of stairs down into the cellar. Turn to 43.
266
‘The book?’ Harris looks down at it, momentarily confused – as if he’d forgotten he even had it. ‘Yes . . . I . . . I took it. One of Segg’s, he won’t miss it. Was just left lying around.’ He moves a hand across the cover, tracing a brass motif with his fingertips. ‘A book of spells. That’s it.’ He nods to himself, seeming more certain. ‘I thought it might be useful.’
‘Ain’t nothing useful in one of them,’ scowls Brack, leaning away as if the book might suddenly bite him. ‘I don’t even touch the things. Ugh!’
Harris tucks the tome back under his arm. ‘Hmm, why does that not surprise me, Brack?’ (Return to 86 to ask another question or turn to 297 to continue on to the tower.)
267
You cut through the chain, taking a smug satisfaction in seeing the boisterous racer go tumbling away in a flurry of snow. Focusing back on the track, you see the nearby racers swerving erratically.
Rocks and thick chunks of ice have broken loose from the mountainside and are now raining down across the track. You suspect one of your competitors may have used magic or some other weapon to start the r
ock fall. Your only hope of survival is to ride through the chaos as quickly as possible.
You will need to take a challenge test using your speed racing attribute:
Speed
Rock fall 14
If you are successful, turn to 716. Otherwise turn to 756.
268
With the spectral guardian defeated, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:
Swift tusk Mammoth tresses Forget-me-knot
(main hand: sword) (cloak) (necklace)
+1 speed +3 brawn +1 speed +2 brawn +1 speed +1 brawn
Ability: deep wound Ability: malice Ability: exploit
When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 339.
269
You follow Sylvie into the cabin, relieved to feel the rush of heat the moment you are through the door. A fire crackles in the hearth, sending dancing shadows across the walls.
‘Make yourself at home.’ Sylvie offers you a smile.
The main room of the cabin is small and cluttered, dominated by a table covered in pots, plants and jars of herbs. Most of the walls are taken over by shelves, where books and scrolls are pushed into every available space.
Sylvie makes room on the table for her basket, lifting back the blanket to reveal a number of freshly-picked mushrooms. She catches your eye, then gives an apologetic sigh. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests. Here, take a seat.’ The woman pulls out a chair, then quickly removes the spiked plant that had been left there. ‘Unless you’d rather change first. Those clothes must be wet through, you’ll catch your death.’ She nods to a side-room. ‘I have some old clothes . . .’
‘I’d rather eat,’ you smile ruefully, eyes fixed on the pot heating next to the fire.
‘Dinner it is, then.’ Sylvie pulls back her hood and removes her coat, hanging it next to the fireplace. She then proceeds to busy herself by chopping mushrooms, before lifting the lid from the pot and adding them to its bubbling contents. Turn to 191.
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 24