The Naglfar rocks to a halt by the cliff side.
A ghostly crew member appears at the rail, hailing you with a cry. Then a rope ladder is flung over the side, slapping against the twisted nails and knots of hair that form the substance of the vessel’s body.
‘If the mountain won’t come to us, we’ll go to the mountain,’ you grin, gesturing to the ladder.
Skoll looks at you incredulously, then he explodes into laughter. ‘Of course! We will sail, Bearclaw. We will sail!’ Bolstered by this change of fortune, he grabs hold of the ladder and climbs it with speed. Anise is less enthusiastic, eyeing the corpse ship with dread.
You hold out your hand. ‘All aboard,’ you smile.
‘It’s a thing of death,’ she says, glaring at you sharply.
‘As am I,’ you reply. You gesture again, taking her reluctant hand and helping her onto the ladder. Once on deck, you see that Skoll has already taken the wheel of the ship. He is looking up at the unfurled masts, already filling with wind.
‘Do you know how to sail her?’ he calls to you. ‘These are strange tides we must navigate, for sure.’
You close your eyes, reaching out with your magic. The ship has a presence, a dark pit of chill emptiness where the souls of the drowned sailors scream in torment. You push your magic into that pit, filling it with power – driving life into the hungry vessel, just as you would one of your own dead limbs. The deck rocks beneath you, the stays snapping tight as a ghostly wind, directed by your own magic, packs into the dark sails.
With a creaking groan the ship starts to lurch forward, gaining speed as it banks round towards the rift. You open your eyes, your pale gaze fixing on the mountain.
‘How fast can it go?’ shouts Skoll eagerly.
‘Let’s find out.’ Your mind directs the surging currents of magic, blasting them into the sails. Within seconds the ship is tearing across the desolate plain, accelerating so fast that the crew are now clinging to the rigging and the rails. Then the ground drops away and you are flying out across a dark nothingness, your magic managing to keep the ship airborne.
As captain of the Naglfar, you have now gained the following special ability:
Nail gun (co): Instead of rolling for a damage score, you can use the nail gun. This inflicts 2 damage dice to a single opponent, ignoring armour. It also reduces their armour score by 2 for the remainder of the combat. You can only use the nail gun once per combat.
You may use this ability, in addition to your own hero abilities, for the duration of this quest. When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 224.
672
As you retrace your steps you see a swarm of dark shapes hurtling towards you along the passageway. They have the appearance of floating pulpy brains, their undersides trailing a number of thin pale tentacles.
Caul skids to a halt, his spear-point held out before him. ‘Those are the things that attacked me,’ he growls. ‘Watch them, their armour is strong – and their tentacles will shred you, given half the chance.’
You note each creature has a shell-like carapace curving back over their bulbous bodies. Black scales glitter in the glow of your weapons and the ghoulish lightning that flickers between the four brains. As one they sweep in, tentacles lifted to reveal hundreds of tiny serrated claws. It is time to fight:
Speed Magic Armour Health
Drakaloth 5 4 5 30
Drakaloth 5 4 5 25
Drakaloth 5 4 5 20
Drakaloth 5 4 5 20
Special abilities
Hive mind: At the end of each combat round, you must take 1 damage from each surviving opponent, ignoring armour.
Stalker’s spear: Caul adds 2 to your damage score for the duration of this combat.
If you manage to defeat this dastardly swarm, turn to 40.
673
The skeleton key fits the lock perfectly. Flipping open the lid, you are met by the bright glow of gold. This must have been Jackson’s money locker and now the wealth of the White Wolf Trading Company is in your hands. You have gained 100 gold crowns. After pocketing the coins, you hurry back to the hatch. Turn to 592.
674
‘The rift walls are full o’ caverns and tunnels. Dangerous places, but you never gonna come out empty-handed.’ Hal opens up one of the crates, lifting out some braids of black hair to reveal a pair of rune-carved tablets.
Maune wrinkles his nose, taking hold of the tangled hair. ‘Troll?’
Hal grins. ‘Yeah, little memento from those critters you laid to rest. Never waste anything, I says.’ He lifts up his cloak to reveal the tresses sown into the cloth. ‘Warm as me wife’s embrace. I’ll sell ’em to yer too, if you want.’
You may purchase any of the following for 100 gold crowns (Note: you can only purchase one of each item):
Rune of healing Troll’s tresses Rune of nightmares
(special: rune) (special) (special: rune)
Use on any item to
add the special
ability heal Use on a cloak, chest or
boots item to add the
special ability insulated Use on any item to
add the special
ability fear
You may now purchase first aid supplies (turn to 639), view Hal’s weapons (turn to 728), trade your own items (turn to 95) or leave and return to the quest map.
675
As you hurtle along the earthen tunnel you see the wall ahead crumble, then start to topple inwards. You dodge around the raining debris, glancing back over your shoulder to see what may have caused the cave-in. A huge scaled foot pushes through the hole, tearing and ripping with its claws. You bank away down another tunnel, seeing a distant circle of daylight ahead.
‘Faster! They’ve found us!’ calls Skoll.
The tunnel starts to collapse behind you, raining down a torrent of rock and sand. A skull-like snout spears through the billowing cloud, green eyes illuminating the darkness.
You aim for the end of the tunnel as fast as you can. Behind you there is a deafening roar, followed by a sharp intake of crackling breath. Suddenly a violent heat is at your back, rushing along the passageway and threatening to engulf you in flames.
In order to outrun the dragon’s fiery breath, you will need to pass a speed challenge using your transport’s speed:
Speed
Wrath fire 14
If you are successful, turn to 715. If you fail, turn to 640.
676
Caul strides over, shaking his head. ‘It’s just a pretty decoration. There’s better ones, at the end of that tunnel.’
‘A lot of effort for a pretty decoration . . .’ You squat down next to the carved head, running a hand over the cold stone. In place of the serpent’s eyes, there are two large hollow depressions. You wonder if some sort of object should be placed within each of these, to activate whatever secrets it might hold.
If you have two flawless emeralds and wish to use them, then turn to 690. Otherwise, you are unable to interact with the carving. Grudgingly, you are forced to leave the chamber and follow Caul into the tunnel. Turn to 775.
677
The circle starts to fade. You reach out, grasping for the gossamer thread that links your spirit to your old life and your dead body. Then you are travelling, streaking across the chill wasteland, your body trailing sparks of frost in its wake. The light ahead grows bright, blinding in its brilliance . . .
Eyes snap open. The wind and dust blast against your face. Anise is pulling at your sleeve, tears in her eyes. With a gasp she snatches her hand away, its leather mitten now cracked with ice.
Her voice carries fear. ‘Arran! What have you done?’
A giddy laughter issues from your lips. ‘Reborn. I’m reborn . . .’
Nanuk’s magic fills every pore of your being. The cold of the Norr pulses through you, searing away the dead skin, consuming the deceased organs, the muscle, the tissue – melting away your very bones.
You stumble, falling forward, barely catching y
ourself before you hit the ground. As your fingers splay in the dirt, hands stretched out for balance, you see that they are now translucent, infused with a green luminescence. You turn your head to watch as your corpse finally disintegrates to dust – whipped away on the wind, leaving your clothes and armour to drop in a tangled mess onto the rocks.
You turn your hands over, eyes moving along your arms, across the bunched muscles to your broad chest. Everything is now alight with a green radiance – throbbing with the graven cold of the Norr.
Anise stumbles away, horrified. She finds Skoll’s arms. ‘Help him,’ she begs.
The Skard is silent, equally transfixed by the sight before him. His face is unreadable, its many welted scars made ghoulish by the green light.
You rise to your feet, hands gesturing towards your armour. The pieces rise up on currents of magic, spiralling towards your body, where they snap into place around the glowing limbs. Within moments you are clad as you once were, but between the chinks of armour and the trim of your clothing the green light continues to spill into the haze.
‘No flesh or bone can pass. But a ghost . . .’
Your voice is different. It sounds like the old Arran, but with a deeper resonance. A commanding tone. You turn back, to face the surging wall of stone and sand. ‘I will destroy the source of this magic; then I will create safe passage for you. Heed my sign.’ You raise your fingers, drawing them back through the air. Their path leaves a glittering trail of lights: the claw-marks of a bear.
‘Arran, please! Stop!’ You hear the scuffle of boots – Anise trying to break free.
You do not look back. With your gaze set firmly ahead, you march into the eye of the storm. Turn to 85.
678
The fight is short and easily won. Three thieves lie dead, sprawled in the mud. The last, the tattooed leader of the gang, turns and makes a run for it. Phantom claws leap from your hand, piercing straight through his exposed back. When the claws retract back into your fingers, his lifeless body drops to the ground.
You turn your gaze on the monk, who is still lying amongst the bloodied snow.
‘What . . . what are you?’ he gasps, his horrified features illuminated by your weapons.
‘Death,’ you hiss, standing over him. Your eyes flick to the book of scripture, hooked by a chain around his neck. ‘Yours. Unless you give me what I want – the book.’
With trembling hands, the monk lifts the chain over his head and holds it up to you. ‘Yes, yes, take it!’ he splutters, averting his gaze as if the hurt of losing his prized possession is too much to bear.
You snatch the book, then step away. ‘Now, run along and pray to your god. Pray for my soul, if you think it’s worth saving.’
The monk scrambles to his feet, then beats a hasty retreat.
(Congratulations! You have gained Judah’s Book of Canticles – simply make a note of this on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space.) Turn to 659.
679
To the astonishment of the crowd you throw your trophy onto the ground, glaring around at the circle of surprised faces. Desnar bows his head, his expression pained by the chorus of gasps and exclamations from the assembled Skards.
‘The ancestors have spoken,’ proclaims Sura, a smile cracking her aged lips. ‘Nanuk’s strength is with you.’ The old woman offers out the end of her staff. You unhook the bear necklace and place it over your head. The moment the chain rests proudly across your chest each and every Skard puts a hand to their own breast, speaking some vow or mantra in unison.
Then the young boy steps forward, peeling back the hide bag he is carrying. You see that it is filled with treasures.
‘These belonged to past chiefs,’ states Sura, noting your awkward confusion. ‘You have the right to claim what is yours.’ If you wish, you may now take one of the following rewards:
Chieftain’s spirit Chieftain’s strength Chieftain’s guile
(talisman) (main hand: spear) (necklace)
+1 magic +2 health +1 speed +3 brawn +1 brawn +2 health
Ability: shatter Ability: skewer Ability: trickster
(requirement: mage) (requirement: warrior) (requirement: rogue)
If you are a warrior, turn to 620. If you are a mage, turn to 302. If you are a rogue, turn to 240.
680
Nanuk’s magic floods into you, powering your strikes with a savage frenzy. As the last of the beast’s heads goes sailing across the ice, showering the ground in black blood, you notice the creature on the slab start to convulse, as if experiencing some sort of pain. Fearing it might break free of its shackles, you jump up onto the ice, straddling the monster’s body with weapons raised.
The stone mouth cracks open, emitting a wheezing gasp. Stay your hand, mortal. I am Fafnir. Last of the Titans. The chain links rattle as the creature tries to lift its arms. I left my brothers. I wouldn’t make the sacrifice. The Dwarves needed me. We had to stand together, against the horrors from the shroud. I had to defend them, defend the land.
Your magic pools into your hands, running along your weapons and sparking in the chill air. ‘They used your blood, didn’t they? Mixed it with the drakes to make a race of . . . monsters.’ You can still picture the horrific creatures that assaulted Bitter Keep.
The Nisse. We had to be stronger. We had to . . . survive.
‘You call this surviving?’ You glance over at the mangled remains of the drake. ‘They used you, the dwarves. They bled you dry.’
I put my soul into the stone. Old stone, from another age – another world. Veins of it, brought to the surface by the cataclysm. We thought the magic within would be the power to defeat the demons. The Dwarves took the blood, yes – but they wanted it all. And when I refused, they shackled me.
‘So you tried to escape. You put your soul into a new body . . . the drake.’
The dwarves left the city. Corruption . . . the magic . . . It twisted them. Twisted their minds. They went deeper. The dark places below. Left me here . . .
‘Left – but now they’re back. The Nisse have resurfaced.’
The Titan pauses before speaking again, its voice weaker, barely more than a rasp. They know what is coming. They know and they . . . fear . . . .
‘What is coming?’ You put your weapons to the Titan’s chest. ‘Tell me!’
The creature opens its mouth, giving a last wheezing sigh, then there is silence. Angrily, you hammer against the cold stone, demanding further answers – but whatever life force was beating within the Titan, it has now departed.
If you are a warrior, turn to 411. If you are a mage, turn to 296. If you are a rogue, turn to 543.
681
The creature unfolds itself, limbs creaking and grating as they stretch out one by one. The circular disc, which was once the centre of the circle, flips forward to rest on a spindly body, revealing a head that is little more than a cluster of stake-like prongs. With a screech, the creature drags itself out of the hole, a multitude of roots serving as its legs.
You can see no eyes, but the monster has obviously sensed you. Tilting its head, it launches itself into a full-on charge, the crown of spikes lowered like a bull’s horns. You manage to dodge aside, leaving the creature to rocket past. As it skids round, you sight a mouth-like aperture at the centre of the crown. Suddenly, a thorny vine whips out of the hole – a tongue that is attempting to wrap itself around you. Again, you manage to sidestep the attack, preparing yourself for the monster’s next charge. It is time to fight:
Speed Magic Armour Health
Hyperbole 7 5 4 60
Special abilities
Crown charge: If Hyperbole rolls a double for its attack speed, it automatically charges you with its pronged crown. This does damage equal to its current armour score, ignoring your armour. (Note: This damage is in addition to any further damage Hyperbole might cause by winning the round.)
Thorn tongue: At the end of each combat round, roll a die. On a or result, you are hit by the creature’s tongue and mu
st take 2 damage, ignoring armour. This also lowers your speed by 1 for the next round of combat only. A result of or more means you have dodged the attack.
If you manage to defeat this frenzied thicket, turn to 608.
682
Skoll leads the charge, an axe in one hand, magic in the other – chopping and blasting through the bodies that block his way. Behind him Anise hollers a defiant cry, swinging her sword to sever heads from bodies, clipping limbs and frozen weapons, leaving a trail of ice and writhing corpses in her wake. Turn to 761.
683
Quest: Eye of the storm
(NOTE: You must have completed the blue quest The dead and the damned before you can access this location)
You drag your wrecked body over the rocks, blinded by the whirling red dust. All around you the incessant heat presses close, a wrongness that seeps from the dead, cracked earth. Through the crimson veil, you can dimly make out Skoll. The Skard is pulling himself up the last of the tumbled boulders, his grit and determination driving him ever onwards – ever north.
Since abandoning your transport and advancing on foot, your body’s deterioration has become worryingly evident. Your arms and legs drag like lead, wracked with frequent convulsions that leave you kicking and squirming in the dirt. Black blood continues to stream from wounds that refuse to heal, whilst torn muscle and cracked bone throw even the simplest movements into dizzying lurches.
Your body, your dead body, is finally giving up – the magic that once nourished it no longer able to stave off its inevitable decay.
Keep it together. You hiss the mantra through cracked lips while your rictus-hardened fingers scrape across the rocks, futilely attempting to pull you across the endless desolation. You look back, reminding yourself of your one last hope – the inspiration that keeps you going . . .
The Eye of Winter's Fury Page 58