(talisman) (chest) (ring)
+1 brawn +4 health +1 speed +2 armour +1 brawn +1 magic
Ability: charm Ability: iron will Ability: persuade
The barrels explode, showering the room in oil and blazing shards of wood. Covering your face from the heat, you hurry through the thickening smoke, looking to grab as much from the store as you can. (You have gained two muttok pelts and a yeti pelt. Simply make a note of these on your hero sheet, they do not take up backpack space).
A wall of shelving topples down, stopping you from progressing further into the store. Instead you scramble back the way you came, the smoke and debris making it increasingly difficult to navigate. Luckily you manage to reach the hatch. As you do so, your eyes catch on a small metal locker lying amongst the wreckage. Flames are raging around the box, but the item itself appears unharmed.
Will you:
Risk grabbing the locker? 691
Leave it and escape through the hatch? 592
634
You slip into one of the alcoves, shuffling around the table to get a good view of the taproom.
If you have the keyword scripture on your hero sheet, turn to 63. If you have the keyword covert on your hero sheet, turn to 373. Otherwise, turn to 457.
635
You pass beneath the arch into a large colonnaded courtyard filled with wildflowers. It is exactly as you remember it: high trellises steeped with vines, statuary peering between trees and bushes, a row of wooden benches lining the straight cobbled pathways. You look for some flaw in the scene, but it is perfect – save for the blurry edge at the far end of the courtyard, where steps would have led down to a boating lake.
You are almost lost to the beauty and the solitude, your mind racing back to days long past – then you hear the boots and the tapping of steel. A gruff cough announces the instructor’s arrival as he steps around a trellis.
Instructor Barl. The royal weapons master. The man who had taught your two brothers to fight – and had doggedly persisted with your own training, on your father’s insistence.
He glares back at you, his look mingled with disgust and pity. ‘You’re late,’ he growls. ‘As always. Too busy reading your books, I presume.’
You go to answer, but your words are cut short as the instructor raises his sword, striking you with the flat of the blade. The blow catches you across the shoulder, knocking you against one of the benches.
‘Show me what you have learned, boy!’ he snaps, regarding you with a grim smile. ‘Come on, you puny wretch.’
You feel a weakness come over your body. Gritting your teeth, you struggle to take the weight of your weapons. It is as if time has wound back and you are that same sickly boy once again, too feeble to even wield a blade. Instructor Barl seems unconcerned by your plight. He flings himself at you, his blade raining blows with an intent ferocity. He uses the flat side once again, knocking you to the ground. He stalks around you, laughing.
‘That was your last chance, wretch. Next time, I come at you with the edge.’
Desperately you fight to lift your weapons as the instructor steps in, his sword cutting powerful and deliberate strikes. It is time to fight:
Speed Magic Armour Health
Instructor Barl 9 7 5 60
Special abilities
Enfeeblement: You cannot play any speed abilities for the duration of the combat.
Short temper: At the start of the fifth combat round, if Barl is still alive he will go into a fit of rage. This will raise his speed by 1 and magic by 3 for the duration of the combat.
If you manage to defeat the bullying Barl, turn to 71.
636
‘We are not settlers,’ explains Sura, gesturing to the blocks of ice that form her shelter. ‘It is in our blood to travel, to follow the hunt, the paths of the beasts, and live as best we can off the land. Our tribes are scattered. Like the four winds we are blown to the furthest reaches, but we are still the Ska-inuin. The people.’
Sura closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Vindsvall is our meeting place. Where all tribes become one under the Drokke. He is the one who leads us all – the one who speaks words that cannot be questioned.’ Her eyes flutter open as she releases a heartfelt sigh. ‘Vindsvall is to the north. A hall of wood and bone, the most precious we have. The rarest of buildings, for we live beneath leather and ice – and these things are cheap, and not for a Drokke.’
‘And the shamans you spoke of . . . the Asynjur, they serve this . . . Drokke?’
Sura lowers her gaze to the pipe, watching the thin tendrils of smoke curl up from the bowl. ‘They serve him, yes. They serve him in both body and soul.’
Will you:
Ask about the current ‘Drokke’? 461
Ask about the bear necklace? 545
Ask what ‘vela styker’ means? 587
End the conversation? 575
637
You leap over the final set of runes, feeling the air crackle behind you, the flames from the drake heads washing you in heat. For a second your vision is obscured by smoke, then you are stumbling forward into the chamber beyond, the cold that greets you a welcome relief.
Turning back you see the flames splutter then go out, leaving your view clear to the other side. Caul is pacing back and forth nervously, his spear tapping against the ground. He stops, his body tensing. He looks about to run . . .
‘Wait!’ You notice a small rune on the wall next to the corridor. You quickly put a hand to it, pushing your magic into its design, connecting the glyphs to activate its power. There is a distant humming sound, followed by a click. When you look back into the corridor you see that the flames are no longer burning inside the carved heads. ‘I think I did something – try it now.’
Caul rocks back on his heels then pitches forward into a run, high-stepping across the runes. They spark and crackle angrily, but without the flames at his back, Caul is able to dodge them with ease. He finally catches up with you, his boots barely singed.
‘I never want to do that ever again,’ he pants, putting his hands to his knees.
‘At least our daring has paid off.’ You look around at the stone tablets stacked on shelves around the chamber. Most have been smashed, but a few remain intact. You set about examining the stones, looking for those that might contain useful enchantments.
You may now help yourself to two of the following items:
Glyph of strength Rune of healing Glyph of power
(special: glyph) (special: rune) (special: glyph)
Use on any item to
add 1 brawn Use on any item to add
the special ability heal Use on any item to
add 1 magic
When you have updated your hero sheet, you leave the chamber through a doorway in the opposite wall. Turn to 726.
638
Quest: The dead and the damned
(Note: You must have completed the orange quest The crossing before you access this location)
The reading room shimmers around you, its curving walls becoming hazy mist at the edge of your memory. It is almost perfect, as much as you can remember of your favourite place, the hideaway that you always ran to to be alone – away from the politics and pressures of court. You shift your weight on the window seat, allowing Nanuk to rest his head on your lap. Smiling, you push a hand through his coarse grey hair. He seems much older now, his skin and muscle sagging a little from his thinner frame. It pains you to know that you are the cause – that your magic comes from him, keeping you alive in your dead body.
‘Why, Nanuk?’ You tousle his hair. The bear glances at you sleepily with his pale, amber eyes. He doesn’t answer, merely stretches open his jaws to yawn.
You look back at the reading room, shifting your thoughts to the table, correcting a mistake in the scroll-work along the legs, adding details to the chairs. In the Norr, it seems, anything is possible. Memories can become reality, if you only concentrate and work the magic. But holding it, that is the difficulty. As you focus on
the table the walls flicker and begin to fade, melting away to reveal the bleak wind-scoured landscape once again. The chair reverts to a slab of rock, scoured by the claws of some demonic creature.
You breathe in deep, enjoying the taste of the dead, cold air. A young and virulent heart beats fast against your breast, your lungs rising and falling. Just a memory. As fake as the library you had painstakingly built with your mind. But even the imitation of life is welcome – better than the dead body that awaits you in the real world.
Nanuk raises his head, sniffing the air. He gives a throaty growl, swinging round to eye the wasteland. You casually draw your weapons, expecting another demon. Following the bear’s gaze, you fix on a shadow slinking past the stunted columns of rock. Its movements are slow, predatory. Not a demon. Another animal.
You slip off the boulder, crouching next to the bear. ‘What is it? What do you see, Nanuk?’
In your mind you are given an impression of hair and teeth. And the stink of death.
The shadow passes around a lump of fallen masonry, its shaggy head edging into the pale half-light. A wolf. For a brief instant you fear it is the witch’s spirit, Fenrir. But this wolf is smaller, leaner – yet no less intimidating. One eye is shut closed, little more than a fleshy stump of scar tissue. The other shines bright, yellow and piercing.
Nanuk is bounding forward before you can stop him.
You move to follow, but immediately feel a jolt as the bear pushes you away; trying to send you back to the waking world. You struggle to resist, failing to understand the reason for his rejection.
‘We fight together,’ you protest, trying to throw up walls to block his energy.
There is a pull on your shoulder. A voice.
Wake up. Don’t sleep.
Angrily, you shrug it off. The bear and the wolf are circling each other, hissing and snarling. You want to stay, to fight beside Nanuk’s side. But another tug forces your surroundings to blur.
Wake up!
‘I’m not going back!’ You snarl with rage, spinning round to find the source of the voice. It seems familiar, but that was another life – surely. There is only the Norr, the here and now. ‘I have to stay,’ you blare at the darkness. ‘I don’t want to come back!’
You are thrown into spasm, legs kicking into the dirt. A hand is gripping your shoulder. You knock it away, rolling awkwardly onto your side, knees tucked to your chest as you continue to shake and convulse.
‘We cannot sleep here, Bearclaw. The Norr is too close. Much danger.’
Skoll is knelt beside you, looking for all the world like a corpse himself. Bedraggled hair hangs across his pale, pinched face. Stubble has turned to an uneven beard, scraggly and patched with grey. His eyes are sunken, encircled by dark rings. The scars that criss-cross his body seem all the more vivid in the blue torchlight.
Skoll stands and moves away, leaving you to beat and kick at the ground, gouging great holes out of the crumbling red stone. ‘A wolf,’ you hiss, trying to spit the words past clenched teeth. ‘There was a wolf.’
Skoll looks back at you, eyes widened. ‘Fenrir?’
‘No.’ You crawl onto all fours, taking a moment to let the last of the shivers pass. ‘Something else. But I sense it is of this place. The mountain.’
Skoll shakes his head. ‘I told you, do not go to the Norr. We are shaman. We cannot sleep here.’ He gives a ragged sigh, his shoulders slumping. It is evident there is nothing more he would rather do.
‘Come. I have something to show you.’ Skoll moves to the far wall, his torch throwing light across an intricate carving. Just one of the hundreds that litter the caves and halls. ‘What do you make of this?’
You struggle to your feet and start to hobble over. Looking down, you realise your left leg is dragging. Furiously you push magic into the joints, teasing it around the muscles, reconnecting the nerves. Grimacing, you flex your toes, then put the leg straight, feeling it take your weight. ‘Each time it gets harder,’ you grumble, taking a tentative stride. ‘I fear I will not last much longer.’
Skoll is still staring at the carving.
You join him, your eyes searching the shapes and lines, looking for meaning. ‘Nine worlds,’ you whisper, passing a finger over the nine orbs lined in a circle. ‘And this, I don’t know.’ At the centre of the circle is a symbol, almost rune-like – two crescent moons joined by a crossbar.
‘Balance,’ says Skoll. ‘It’s the rune for balance.’
You nod. ‘And the flame?’ You point to the symbol drawn beneath the rune, evidently indicating a fire of some sort.
‘The forge.’ Skoll raises his torch higher, illuminating the peak above and the curling flames that reach to the ceiling. ‘The Titan forge, where we must remake the shield. It is above us, at the top of the mountain.’
Your eyes drift to Anise, curled in a tight ball beneath a fur blanket, head resting on her rolled-up cloak. Her breathing is shallow, her features grey. No food or water for days.
‘We have to leave her.’
Skoll’s words startle you. For a moment you fail to find words. ‘We . . . we can’t,’ you splutter, half in shock and half in desperation.
‘The girl slows us down.’ Skoll speaks firmly, holding your stare.
‘We can’t . . .’
‘It is the only way. ’
‘No, Skoll! That’s the Skard way. To leave the weak behind. Throw them aside. I won’t have it. Anise is one of us.’
‘She was a Skard. She will understand.’ There is a savage look to his eyes, no doubt fuelled by weariness and hunger. The last days have been hard, forcing him to draw on every last ounce of strength. He has muscle and endurance. Anise only has you.
You kneel by her side, pulling up the blanket and tucking it beneath her chin. A smile crosses her ashen lips as your fingers brush against her cheek. So soft.
‘I was having a nice dream,’ she whispers. Her eyelids flutter for a moment. ‘We were in the kitchens . . . Segg was being all grumpy. Old Segg. You were helping me bottle the . . . wine. Do you . . . remember . . . ?’
‘Yes, yes I do.’ You stroke a lock of hair, watching it curl around your finger.
‘You’re a . . . good man,’ she sighs. ‘You were . . . kind to me.’
You choke on your reply, unable to speak past the pain.
‘We have to move.’ Skoll is almost pleading in his insistence. ‘This place is not safe, Bearclaw.’
You snap round in fury. ‘Do not call me that! My name is Arran. Prince Arran!’
Skoll takes his turn to startle at your words. His hand moves to the heft of his axe, hanging from his belt. You read his action, calling magic to your fists.
Then you hear a deafening screech from the adjoining chamber – a bird-like cawing, followed by the slap and squelch of something being dragged and hit against the stone.
Anger is quickly forgotten. Skoll takes up his axe and hurries into the passage. You draw your weapons and follow. Turn to 246.
639
Hal flips open the lid of a small box, revealing a number of vials and gourds carefully packed between wads of cloth. ‘I can spare a few of these. Fofty shinies each.’ He glances at your face, pulling a grimace. ‘Although, for some of you, might be a little late in the day for tonics.’
You may purchase any number of the following for 40 gold crowns each:
Flask of healing
(1 use) Elixir of swiftness
(1 use) Flask of might
(1 use)
(backpack)
Use any time in
combat to restore
10 health (backpack)
Increase your speed
by 4 for one
combat round (backpack)
Use any time in combat
to increase your brawn
or magic by 3 for one
combat round
You may now ask to view Hal’s weapons (turn to 728), inspect his treasures (turn to 674), trade your own items (turn to 95) or leave and
return to the quest map.
640
Flames and smoke start to obscure your vision. Frantically you struggle to maintain your speed, seeking to stay ahead of the dragon’s breath. The circle of daylight grows larger, its bright light competing with the flames and smoke – then you are finally free of the tunnel, hurtling away from the island as fast you can. Behind you an entire section of the hive explodes outwards in a fiery tumult, raining fragments of charred rock across the gulf.
Unfortunately, you don’t have enough momentum to outrun the blast. Caught in a cloud of debris and fire, you suffer significant damage. (You must lower your transport’s toughness and stability by 4.) Turn to 729.
641
Sam produces a pair of picks and sets to work on the lock. Within seconds, the storage locker is open. After Sam has taken his cut of the treasure, you are left with 50 gold crowns. (Remove the locker from your hero sheet.) If you have the hunters’ chest and wish Sam to open it, turn to 8. Otherwise, you continue your journey. Turn to 563.
642
Your hands move across the console, activating the runes and throwing the orb’s magic against your advancing opponents. They stumble through the onslaught, their enchanted stonework blasted and pummelled by the energies channelled against them. As the surviving statues near your location, you vault over the balcony and charge into the fray, using your own weapons to finish off their crumbling forms.
Amongst the smoking rubble, you discover glowing fragments of stone imbued by the magics that have been unleashed. If you wish, you may now take one of the following special rewards:
Frost spark Earth spike Shadow noose
(talisman) (main hand: sword) (necklace)
+1 magic +1 speed +2 brawn +2 brawn +2 magic
Ability: silver frost Ability: fatal blow Ability: vanish
When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 737.
643
The rush of cold is sudden and fierce, punching through your chest, freezing your heart and stealing your very last breath. It fills you, numbs you, a coldness so intense that it burns the stone beneath your feet, cracking it to frozen splinters.
If you wish, you may now learn the revenant career. The revenant has the following special abilities:
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 55