268
Murlic spins his daggers, their green magic trailing through the snow-whipped air. ‘Why are we fighting demons, witch?’ he snarls at Damaris. ‘You brought us here! How does this help save our people?’
Conall growls, baring his teeth. ‘Hold your tongue, cur, or I cut it from your throat.’
‘Enough!’ Damaris raises her staff, its feathered head splintering into shards of dark light. ‘Do not fear this aberration. It is a servant only – bound to do its master’s bidding. It doesn’t know why we’re here. It doesn’t care for motives. It is protecting the forest.’
Conall glares at the witch. ‘Then give me the magic.’
Damaris points her staff at the giant warrior. Spears of darkness streak out from its tip, slamming into the brigand’s bared chest. It ripples across his painted runes, flowing across his whole body. Then he starts to change. His muscles bulge as coarse black hair pushes out of his skin, spreading quickly to cover his broad shoulders and swollen arms. He howls with pain, throwing back his head, as an enormous muzzle pushes out of his face, settling into a grim scowl filled with glittering fangs.
The warrior has become a bear – a black shadow of fur and claw. With a bestial roar, the bear bounds forward towards the giant, swiping at the tangled roots with its leathery paws.
As if in answer, the thorn colossus brings its fists hurtling down through the air, ripping deep furrows in the earth. Conall is caught by one of the barbed limbs, blood splashing across his fur as he is sent sprawling back onto his haunches.
‘How can we defeat it?’ cries Murlic, torn by fear and indecision. ‘It’s too powerful!’
Damaris swings to face you. ‘The relic,’ she shouts. ‘Use its magic!’
You raise the relic and charge forward, hoping to drive it into the creature’s twisted body. But mud spatters into your eyes as one of its fists slams into the sodden earth. You stumble back, temporarily blinded – and fail to see the other fist whipping in behind you. Barbed tendrils strike your arm, sending the relic spiralling away into the marsh. By luck rather than the quickness of your reflexes, you are able to avoid the full force of the blow, tumbling over onto your back. Murlic is less fortunate, however – the rogue is picked up in the beast’s barbed fist and carried high into the air. His screams are deafening, chilling you to the bone, as his body is crushed within the prison of thorns.
‘No!’ Tears blur your vision as you lurch back to your feet. Frantically, you scan the marsh for signs of the relic, but the muddy banks offer up no clues – clearly the relic’s headpiece must have closed, hiding its bright light and making it impossible to see. Angrily, you turn back to the battle. Damaris has now summoned a group of earth golems, their bodies fashioned from mud and rock. They lumber forward, punching and battering at the giant – but their blows seem ineffectual, the bewitched roots moving quickly to reseal any wounds. Grimly, you realise there is no escape – and worse, the thorn giant appears to have no obvious weakness.
‘Free me!’ insists the demon, shaking its chains. ‘Your pitiful magic will not prevail.’
‘Free a demon?’ you laugh bitterly.
‘You were a prisoner once, prophet,’ it snaps, crimson eyes staring you full in the face. ‘We have much in common, you and I. But if you are too blind to see it, then go . . . see what your puny strength can achieve.’
Readying your weapons, you charge back into the fray – hoping that, together, you and your companions will find a way of besting the thorn giant:
Special abilities
Deadly thorns: At the end of each combat round, you must automatically lose 3 health from the creature’s barbed body.
Earth golems: The magical golems inflict 2 damage to Orgorath at the end of each combat round. If you lose a combat round, you can sacrifice the golems instead of taking damage. This means the golems’ damage ability will no longer apply for the duration of the combat.
Furious roar: Instead of rolling for a damage score, you can use Conall’s furious roar ability. This boosts your speed, brawn and magic score by 1 for the next three combat rounds.
If you are able to defeat Orgorath, turn to 308.
269
‘I don’t see we have much choice in this matter,’ you reply grimly, your eyes ranging across their sizeable force. ‘As you say, a fight would not favour us.’
‘What?’ Bea looks at you angrily. ‘We can’t surrender!’
‘You do not speak for us, stranger,’ snaps Ventus, his face twisting with derision. ‘We will lay down our lives if we must.’
The Wiccan woman nods. ‘That is regrettable, but changes nothing. And what do you say, Sanchen?’ She appraises your weapons with interest. ‘Will you lay down your life for a Church that chose to imprison you?’
Bea shifts away from you warily. ‘You were a prisoner?’
Suddenly, the loud blare of a horn reverberates across the moorland. It is followed by a hooting call from one of the Wiccans. Some kind of warning. They all turn as one, weapons leaping from scabbards and belts, as the first bright explosion rips into their ranks. Turn to 442.
270
‘Holy inscriptions,’ says Polk, his eyes suddenly lighting up. ‘Paladins are anointed by the inscribers, as a means to ward away bad spirits . . . demons . . .’ He gives a noisy belch as he settles back in his chair. ‘It also makes them ruddy amazing at killing stuff. Which is useful.’
The man called Anse hasn’t spoken. He simply lifts his stew bowl to his lips and takes a careful sip before setting it back down on the table. He gives a grunt of disgust and then pushes it away with a flick of his fingers.
‘A paladin . . .’ you gasp. The title is familiar to you – given to veteran warriors that have pledged their lives, and some say their souls, to fight for the One God. You glance past his shoulder, to where a set of weapons have been carefully laid out on a side table. Resting on the white cloth are several knives, two swords and a mace. And propped up next to them is a silver crucifix, almost a metre in length.
‘He doesn’t say much,’ says Polk, grinning through his beard. ‘But then I respect someone whose actions speak louder than words.’
Will you:
Ask about the shroud? — 238
Ask why you should risk your life? — 89
Agree to the mission? — 24
271
‘You were lucky to have survived,’ states the witchfinder firmly. ‘Few, if any, recover from a demon attack – and I think we can both agree, it was not Cernos’ intention to leave you alive.’
You scratch at the itchy scales on your shoulder, perturbed when one of them comes off in your fingers. ‘What is happening to me? Is this a disease?’
Virgil is silent for some time. It isn’t until you press him that he snaps out of his thoughtful reverie. ‘No, not a disease,’ he replies softly. ‘You have a taint. And left unchecked, you will become . . .’ He glances sideways at his companion, who remains silent by the window.
‘Become what?’ you ask tensely, turning the dark scale over in your fingers.
The witchfinder takes a deep breath, straightening his back and brushing down his grey coat. You can tell this topic has made him uncomfortable. ‘We will do what we can,’ he says, shifting his gaze to avoid your own. ‘But not all wounds can be cured by a medic’s tonics and balms.’
Return to 494 to ask another question, or turn to 433 to continue.
272
‘A riveting display!’ You twist around to see an elderly mage in a red silk robe, floating down from a high balcony. ‘Really, I haven’t seen such an admirable show of magic by a novice for a long time.’
‘Ignatius Pyre!’ you rasp, still panting from your exertions. ‘What . . . what was this?’ You look down to see the creature’s body starting to decompose, releasing a sickening green smoke into the air.
The mage’s grin remains fixed. ‘Your movements were so fast, so agile. It was almost as though you were anticipating each strike. Fascinating.’ He s
naps his fingers and the door in the far wall swings open. ‘Come. You have passed the test. Now your training will begin.’
You follow the mage up another set of stairs into a small room, which appears to be a study. A desk occupies most of the space, surrounded by boxes and shelves filled with books.
Wincing with discomfort, Ignatius lowers himself into a chair. ‘Ah, that’s better. Now stand before me. Good. Let’s begin.’
The old man proceeds to instruct you in the finer points of magic, demonstrating through a number of simple mental exercises how you can channel your powers more effectively. Each challenge you are given, you complete quickly, drawing surprise and admiration from your tutor.
Congratulations! You have now learnt the path of the mage. You may raise your health by 10 (to 40). As you go to leave the tower, Ignatius leads you back to the room where you fought the fungus. Nothing remains of the creature now, save for a rotting patch of mould.
‘Magic is a fickle ally,’ explains Ignatius sadly. ‘Even the best can succumb to the lure of a demon.’ His rheumy eyes scan your face thoughtfully. ‘There is something different about you, mage. I feel you will do great things. I will not confine you to these walls, but use your power wisely. Or else . . .’ His eyes shift to the mould.
Heeding the mage’s warning, you leave the tower and return to upper town. Turn to 77.
273
The bugs have been defeated, but you are the only one from your party left standing. Sheathing your weapons, you hurry to the captain’s side. His breathing is laboured, teeth clenched tight against the pain from his wound. The bodies of Surl and Vas are sprawled nearby.
‘Go on,’ gasps the captain, gripping your arm. ‘To stop the flood . . . you must go straight to the source. Find out. . .what is causing this.’ He gives a shudder, his eyelids flickering. ‘Avenge us . . .’ Then his eyes darken and his hand goes slack, dropping to his side. Gently, you lower him back to the ground, before rising to your feet. Turn to 355.
274
The woman pipes up immediately. ‘We came a cropper; well and truly stuck in a rut.’ She taps the side of the wagon with her boot heel. ‘Water here makes it impossible to spot the deep holes. Think our axle may have gone with the weight.’ The woman pats her belly, grinning. ‘Not mine, I hasten to add.’
Her companion continues to scrutinise you with predatory eyes. ‘That hole was there by design,’ he mutters. ‘Probably the work of Wiccans.’ He emphasises the last word, watching carefully for your reaction. ‘This is their territory and, right here, we’re sitting fools for an ambush.’
You notice that there is no horse or pony tethered to the wagon. The woman appears to read your mind. ‘Oh, we sent one of our companions ahead to fetch aid. They won’t be long now.’
Will you:
Ask what is in the wagon? — 223
Ask where they are travelling to? — 178
Ask if you can help? — 141
275
You find Eldias sprawled on the floor, his back against one of the pews. The corpses of the ghouls lie all around him, in tangled piles of stinking, charred flesh. He appears unharmed, but his breath is little more than a rasping wheeze. You kneel at his side.
‘The books, the journals . . .’ You glance back at the altar, where the fire has burnt itself out, leaving behind a heap of ashes. ‘I’m sorry.’
The witchfinder offers you a half-smile. ‘I said I’d go out in a blaze of glory . . . the irony is not lost on me.’ His voice trails off into a fit of coughing.
‘I might have a healing tonic. Wait . . .’ You remove your pack and start to rummage through your belongings. Eldias leans his head against the pew.
‘Your potions won’t work on me.’ He nods to the window opposite. You see that the storm has abated and a pale shaft of moonlight is now flooding in through the shattered glass. ‘I will await the dawn. I think it is a fitting end . . . of sorts.’
Moonlight catches on the witchfinder’s fangs. Without blood to sustain him, Eldias is too weak to go on. Come the dawn, his body will turn to ash.
You rise to your feet, determined not to give up on the witchfinder. If the herbalist, Rorus Satch, was close to creating a cure, then surely he must have left some clues behind. Or perhaps the Reverend was hoarding more of the herbalist’s possessions elsewhere in the village.
Will you:
Find and search the herbalist’s cottage? — 224
Return to the reverend’s home? — 210
Investigate the wishing well? — 13
276
You hear the clink of metal behind you. Spinning around, you see an armoured figure staggering through the mist. They are mumbling to themselves, stumbling from one boulder to the next in an effort to stay upright. You hurry toward them, concerned it may be a wounded traveller. But as you near, you recognise their silver plate armour and tattered riding cloak – and the reek of filth and beer. It is the vagrant inquisitor who you met in the alleyway.
He reels forward, losing his footing. You catch him as he knocks into you.
‘Gairn, is it you?’ he mumbles. His red-rimmed eyes struggle to focus.
‘Your friend has found peace,’ you state slowly and firmly, hoping that the drunken man will understand your words. ‘I suggest you do the same.’ You prise the hip flask from his fingers and toss it away.
The inquisitor looks up at you, his face going slack. ‘You mean . . . the curse is lifted? He no longer . . .’ He sways as he attempts to survey his surroundings. His eyes catch on the knight’s armour, scattered over the rocks. His expression of confusion slowly turns to one of wonderment. ‘Yes . . . he is at peace now.’
He shifts around to face you, grunting as he struggles to draw his sword. You back away, wary of his intentions. After several awkward minutes of fumbling, he finally yanks the blade free, its inscribed runes glittering with white light. Then, to your surprise, the warrior drops to one knee, bowing his head and offering out the sword.
‘I am no longer worthy of this blade . . . take it. You have faith in your heart where I do not – its steel should sing in your hands now.’
If you wish, you may take the inquisitor’s blade:
Faith
(left hand: sword)
+1 speed +2 brawn
Ability: immobilise, faith and duty set
If you refuse his kind offer, then the grateful warrior offers you a purse of money instead, containing 20 gold crowns. You thank the inquisitor and agree to accompany him back to Raven’s Rest. Return to the map to continue your journey.
277
You return to the bar and ask after the bearded warrior named Polk. No sooner have you said the words then you feel a nudge at your back. Turning, you are surprised to see Polk watching you with a grin on his face. ‘Good timing,’ he nods, showing you the full mugs of ale in his hands. ‘You still interested?’
You follow him over to the curtained alcove. ‘Any chance you could do the honours?’ he asks. ‘I think I spilled enough beer in this place already.’
You reach forward and pull back the curtain. Turn to 135.
278
The robbers clearly have no combat experience, their ragged clothing and crude weapons suggesting that this was not their first choice of career. Quickly, you despatch your first assailant, who is too slow to defend himself. The others, who seem little more than boys, halt their attack – their mouths going slack at the sight of their fallen companion.
‘We thoughts you were a Wiccan,’ says the youngest, barely old enough to be sporting his fuzz of beard. He clutches the wooden club tightly, holding it out before him like some magical talisman to ward you away. You take a quick step forward – and the boy’s resolve crumbles. He turns and runs back off into the trees, his companion hurrying after him.
Sheathing your weapons you search the robber’s corpse, wrinkling your nose at the reek of mud and sweat. He has no possessions or gold, other than a broken silver locket in a pocket of his breeches. (If you wis
h to take this item, simply make a note of it on your hero sheet. It does not take up backpack space.)
Hoping that the rest of your journey will be less eventful, you continue along the track, towards the welcoming lights of Raven’s Rest. (Record the word raven on your hero sheet, then turn to 199.)
279
As you place the cloth pieces onto the pattern you hear a cackle of delight from the unseen child. ‘Oh yes! They like to play games, Maxi!’
At first you look around with disappointment, having hoped that some form of reward would be forthcoming. Then you spot a wooden trunk resting underneath one of the arched windows. You don’t remember it being there before. You hurry over, crouching down to push open the lid. Inside you find what appears to be a child’s dressing-up clothes. Several of them glimmer with special enchantments. If you wish, you may take one of the following rewards:
Hat of stars
Medic’s uniform
Barbarian chest wig
(head)
(chest)
(chest)
+1 magic +1 brawn
+1 speed +1 magic
+1 speed +1 brawn
Ability: charm
Ability: heal
Ability: fear
You also find a leather case that contains a number of blank sheets of parchment. You can’t fathom their significance but decide to take them with you anyway. (Make a note of the parchment on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space.) As you close the trunk, your eyes settle on the half-open door that leads deeper into the tower. Determined to find the child and the rest of your companions, you head through it into the passageway beyond. Turn to 391.
The Heart of Fire Page 22