346
For defeating the mage, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:
Brimstone brow Pebble dash Shingle stone
(head) (cloak) (chest)
+1 magic +1 speed +1 magic +1 speed +1 armour
Ability: lightning Ability: haste Ability: might of stone
When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 141.
347
Desnar watches the frantic carnage with surprise and then admiration, barking encouragement as you decapitate the last of the abominable horrors.
Amongst the churned and bloody snow, you discover a number of treasures glowing with magic. You wonder if these strange objects may have been responsible for animating the ghoulish snow monsters. If you wish, you may now take one of the following rewards:
Scarlet scarf Rune of midwinter Frosty’s fingers
(cloak) (special: rune) (necklace)
+1 speed +2 brawn Use on any item to +2 magic
Ability: distraction add the special ability:
frost burn Ability: cold snap
When you have made your decision, turn to 208.
348
(If this is your first time visiting the training yard, then read on. If you have the keyword brawler on your hero sheet, turn to 780. If you have the keyword baited, turn to 293.)
The air rings with the dull thwack of wooden training swords as soldiers ebb and flow in lines through the wet slush, testing each others’ defences. The trainer is a head taller than any man there, his massive frame made more imposing by the polar bear pelt that hugs his broad shoulders. He flicks his riding crop at a soldier as he passes, baring his bright teeth in anger. ‘Tighter, Henson! I’ve seen goblins show more initiative. Read your opponent, watch their footing. But don’t dance. We ain’t maids a-wooing. See an opening and take it!’
You fold your arms, studying the warriors from the side-lines, admiring their dedication and endurance. When the trainer notices you, he cracks the riding crop, calling a halt. He strides towards you, a mountain of muscle and sinew.
‘What we got here, then?’
You feel all eyes upon you – and suddenly you regret coming to the yard. Too many questions, too many chances that you might be discovered.
‘This, my friends, is what I call a survivor.’ The trainer turns to address his men, his arm snapping out to level the crop at your chest. ‘The black fever. That’s an enemy that don’t care to dance. It don’t do anything but kill. And it does it well. Do you know how many survive the fever?’
He is met with blank expressions. A few are already glaring at you, as if your very presence is somehow meant to be an insult.
‘None,’ says the trainer, looking back at you with his tight white smile. ‘You should be dead. Henson, give him a sword. A proper one.’
The soldier does as he is told, taking a steel blade from a nearby stand and tossing it toward you. As you snatch the grip deftly from the air, you find yourself marvelling that you can actually lift it. Back at the palace you had always struggled with even the lightest of blades, wearing your tutor’s patience thin. But now it feels perfectly weighted in your hands. You make a few cutting motions through the air, hearing it zing.
I might even get away with this.
‘Big fella, aren’t we?’ snaps the trainer, circling around you. ‘What training you had?’
You stammer for an answer, feeling the grins and side-glances from the other soldiers. ‘I was a bodyguard,’ you lie. ‘Life has been my teacher, sir.’ Yes, that sounds good.
‘Rutus!’ The trainer calls to one of the soldiers. He steps forward, a young man about your age, short but strong, his muscles glistening with sweat from the morning’s sparring. ‘Get a sword and show this one what life has to teach us, sir.’ He calls out the last word in a mocking tone.
You glare at him angrily, feeling something stir in the pit of your stomach, a roar that you want to release. For a brief moment you sense the bear from your dream, somehow by your side, urging you on, filling you with his strength.
The guard comes at you fast, cutting his blade through the air with no fear of the consequences. His first strike knocks your sword from your grip, followed quickly by a boot to the groin. You find yourself rolling in the dirt, gasping in pain.
There are hoots of laughter from the soldiers. Rutus spits into the dirt, then raises his arms in victory. ‘That’s life,’ he shouts, to more applause.
With a look of undisguised disgust, the trainer heaves you to your feet. ‘Get back at him,’ he hisses through his teeth. ‘At least make a fight of it.’
You grab your sword as Rutus turns to face you. ‘Oh, you want another kicking, dog? I’ll give you one!’
He charges again, coming at you side on, looking to simply barrel through you and take you down. But this time you are ready for his attack and refuse to be humiliated once again. It is time to fight:
Speed Brawn Armour Health
Rutus 3 1 1 45
Special abilities
Training yard: You cannot use any special abilities in this combat.
I yield: Once Rutus is reduced to 10 health or less, roll a die at the start of each combat round. On a roll of or more, he yields to you, winning you the combat. Otherwise, the combat continues as normal.
If you manage to defeat this skilled soldier, turn to 147. If you lose the challenge, turn to 258.
349
You manage to wrestle free of the growth, dropping back to the ground with half of the decayed skeleton on top of you. Desperately, you kick it away, the jaws still snapping hungrily from its mouldy innards.
‘In future, look and not touch,’ says Anise, her back pressed against the wall.
‘Agreed.’ You clamber back to your feet. As you do so, you notice a small metal box lying in the dirt. It must have come free when you pulled the body down. The box is heavy, despite its size, made from a cobalt-blue steel. Cracking open the lid, you discover several stubs of flint inside. When the flint is struck against the steel, it creates a spark – ideal for lighting fires.
You have now gained flint and tinder (make a note of this on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space). Using your newfound item, you quickly set to work, lighting the candle inside the lamp you found. (Replace the keyword lamp with the keyword flame on your hero sheet.) Stepping carefully around the remains of the skeleton, you press on into the tower. Turn to 366.
350
The fight is a panicked frenzy – mostly spent dodging the yeti’s powerful arms as they are swung back and forth looking to hit anything in range. You manage to land a few lucky blows, as do your companions. Eventually, after a tiring ordeal, the beast staggers then slumps to the ground, the tar steaming off its arrow-riddled body.
You immediately hurry after Henna, who is running to where Mitch was thrown. When you catch up, the knight is already turning away, shaking her head. You look past her to the crumpled body.
The boy is dead. Killed either by the Yeti’s attack or the rock that broke his skull. There is no bringing him back.
‘Ah, that’s a shame,’ sighs Kirk, talking as if it was an everyday event. ‘We’ll get him on the cart. Take him back once we’re done.’
You bow your head, tortured by the knowledge that it was your decision that led to this.
‘Don’t let it worry you. Accidents happen out here.’ Kirk hands you a knife. ‘Least take a trophy home.’ He jerks a thumb in the direction of the shore. ‘Might be tarred, but that’ll only make it warmer, eh?’
If you wish, you may now take the following item:
Tarred shoulders
(cloak)
+1 speed
Ability: charm
Make a note of the keyword resolve on your hero sheet. Then turn to 263.
351
The size of the depression immediately puts you in mind of the statue that you found in the birdman’s eyrie. You take it out of your pack and push the statue’s base into the angular holl
ow (remove the stone dragon from your backpack). There is a loud click as it drops into place, fitting the hole perfectly. The eyes of the dragon start to flicker, then settle into a pale green glow.
The ground shudders. You grip the pedestal, sure that you are experiencing another quake. A second tremor rattles you, vibrating through the stone and the bronze circle you are standing on. Then you hear a thud, the whistle of something moving fast, a clatter of metal then a dull rumbling coming from somewhere below.
Your stomach gives a sickening lurch as the bronze platform starts to lower, scraping and squealing against the accumulation of dust and grime. It drops quickly, taking you down into a shaft of smooth stone. After it has gone fifty metres or more the platform grinds to an abrupt halt. It continues to judder violently, screeching in protest as if seeking to break through some form of obstruction.
You look around at the shaft. The walls are smooth, making a climb back to the cave impossible. Then your eyes alight on an opening to your left, where the platform meets the rock. You scramble over to it, realising that it is the entrance to a passageway, but whatever is obstructing the platform is stopping the lift from lowering far enough to make it properly accessible. There is a chance you could squeeze yourself through the tight opening.
As the thought comes to you, the lift shakes and then starts to rise, taking you back up to the cave.
Will you:
Quickly try and slip into the passageway? 499
Leave it and return to the main cave? 483
352
Your enchanted weapons draw shrieks of agony from the ghost-like shapes. With each frenzied strike the incessant wind appears to grow a little weaker, until you are finally able to stand your ground, cutting through the mist and stilling its wail to silence.
After taking a moment to recover from your ordeal, you press on into the mountain.
Further along the tunnel you discover a body sprawled on its stomach. The creature appears humanoid, covered in a thick, bristly white fur. A fallen stalactite has pinned it to the ground, having passed straight through its lower torso. Blood stains the ice.
With a mighty shove you manage to push the body over, surprised to discover that the creature is a giant ape. In life it would have stood a head taller than you, its shoulders at least twice as wide. There are ugly scars cutting across its face – one eye-socket is empty, displaying only a blackened hollow.
You lean closer, looking for anything that might explain its origins. There is evidence of some advanced intelligence – a sparkling ring adorns one finger, while a dented chest plate is attached by threaded sinews around the beast’s neck and waist. Your hand settles around the broken stalactite, pulling it free. There is some dark magic still coursing within the ice. If you wish, you may now take one of the following items:
Aldo’s ruin Primate plate Frost fang
(ring) (chest) (left hand: dagger)
+1 brawn +1 magic +1 speed +1 armour +1 speed +2 magic
Ability: deceive Ability: reckless Ability: frostbite
(requirement: mage)
You also spot a glass sphere, resting on the ground nearby. Purple flames are trapped within it, crackling and sparking as they pulse with energy. (If you wish to take the shadow orb simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it does not take up backpack space). When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 220.
353
(If you have the keyword fractured on your hero sheet, turn immediately to 58.)
The library is almost as impressive as the one in the royal palace. You believe you may have finally found a home away from home – somewhere you can be alone . . .
‘Ugh! What’s that terrible stink?’
You spin round, to see a young boy seated at one of the tables. You hadn’t spotted him before, hidden behind a stack of books. Several lie open in front of him, their neat rows of runed glyphs sparkling against the yellowed parchment. ‘You smell worse than Brack, and that’s saying something.’
The boy looks no older than thirteen, dressed in plush green robes trimmed with white fur. His face is narrow and pale, dominated by a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles resting on the end of his nose. He continues to glare at you, with a look of obvious distaste – as if you have invaded his own personal space and he wants you to leave.
Will you:
Talk to the mage? 16
Ignore him and look for a book? 577
Talk to Segg? 328
Return to the main courtyard? 113
354
The last Skard falls back into the snow, blood seeping from his many wounds. You stand over him, noting that he is the white-haired warrior who Gurt referred to as Aslev.
He bows his head, as the others have done.
You put your weapon to his neck, then lift his chin. ‘You will bow to no one. Come with me.’
He shows his teeth in warning. ‘We gave our word,’ he hisses. ‘You cannot go back. You will shame us!’
‘I can,’ you reply defiantly. ‘And I will. All I ask is that I am given a chance to prove myself. I think I’ve made a promising start, don’t you?’
For defeating the einherjar, you may now help yourself to one of the following special rewards:
Dark mail coat Habrok’s perch Rune of weakening
(chest) (head) (special: rune)
+2 brawn +1 armour +1 speed +2 magic Use on any item to add
Ability: iron will Ability: focus the special ability curse
(requirement: mage)
When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 119.
355
You choose to fight, digging your heels into the ground and preparing to meet the Skard in battle. His companions hold back, watching with a mix of amusement and interest as their burly companion bounds straight into you.
There had been a plan in your mind – a set of moves, a feint to the left, a low blow to the right, wrong-foot him, then quick slices to the chest and arms, where his defences seem weakest. Perhaps Nanuk will pour his magic into you, giving you the fatal edge . . .
But such plans are quickly smashed out of you as the Skard sends you flying back into the rock shelf. You don’t even get a chance to recover. A dagger punches through your shoulder. Another into your stomach. You hear a sickening ripping sound – then smell something foul. Another blow across the face, perhaps an elbow.
He clambers off you, snorting back snot and spittle. ‘Fegis,’ he grunts, shaking his head. He turns and gestures to the shaven-headed hunter. ‘Slur den.’
The other Skard saunters towards you, his axe resting back on his shoulder.
Add two defeats to your hero sheet. Then turn to 656.
356
The bird is relentless in its attacks, driven by a natural instinct to protect its eggs. But luck favours you, as a wild swing pierces its feathered body, delivering a killing blow.
The bird crashes down onto the nest, narrowly missing you by inches. It seems the pursuing Skard was less fortunate, however. From the rocks below, you hear a momentary scream, then a loud bone-cracking thump. He must have been trying to climb out of the shaft when the bird hit him.
From this height, you don’t rate his chances.
For your victory over the giant roc, you may now take one of the following rewards:
Butcher’s bill Dashing talons Virile plumage
(head) (gloves) (chest)
+1 brawn +1 magic +1 brawn +1 magic
Ability: bleed Ability: sideswipe Ability: charm
If you are wearing the tarred shoulders, turn to 415. Otherwise, turn to 205.
357
The hand dashes between your legs, disappearing amongst a stack of crates. For a moment, you contemplate hurling them aside – anything to get at that annoying limb – but Anise’s sigh of impatience draws you away.
‘Chasing hands . . .’ The girl gives you a wearisome look. ‘Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to get us out of here, is it?’
Will you:
Open one of
the barrels? 156
Climb the rubble to the room above? 272
Retrace your steps and use the stairs? 111
358
Night has fallen – and with it comes a frigid wind, blasting across the camp, forcing you to stagger against its fury as you follow Sura into one of the ice homes. Inside, you are surprised by its immediate warmth. A number of stone lamps flicker on a bed of leathers, casting golden shadows across the tight-packed walls.
You suspect this is Sura’s home. There are charms and other magical trinkets set out on ice shelves. In one corner you see several carved staffs half-wrapped in bear furs. A simple pallet bed, some horned cups and a leather sack filled with clothes complete what you assume are the woman’s worldly belongings.
‘Sit.’ Sura motions to one of the furs spread across the ground.
You take your seat, awkwardly aware of the tightness of the space. Sura lowers herself with a groan onto the pallet bed, a hand to her back. When she catches your look of concern, she gives a wheezing chuckle.
‘Not seen an old lady before, son?’ She settles onto the bed, setting her staff aside to rub at her legs.
‘You speak common . . . well,’ you stammer, wondering if you might cause offence. ‘I mean, the Skards I have met – they have difficulty . . .’
‘Think us all savages, then?’ The woman grunts, putting a hand beneath one of her fur sheets and pulling out a bag. ‘Might surprise you, but we’ve taken your kind in before, in times past. They taught us the tongue. We don’t gut all you southlanders on sight.’
You grimace, not entirely comfortable with the compliment.
‘Why?’ you ask, watching as the woman opens up the bag.
Her eyes fix on you, then narrow. ‘Why what?’
‘Why bring me here? I am an outsider. Who was that . . . that warrior who challenged me?’
‘That was Desnar, who made himself leader in Taulu’s absence. They were brothers.’
‘So he challenges me?’ You snort, shaking your head. ‘I don’t want to be part of these games. I’m not after power. He blames me for Taulu’s death – but he can have the stupid necklace. I don’t want it.’
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 32