The Heart of Fire

by Michael J. Ward

  Will you:

  Ask him about the strange dream? — 62

  Ask about Carvel’s ‘masked crusader’? — 39

  State you wish to leave? — 167

  10

  Nervously, you grip your weapons and approach the child. Although you fear the worst, there is always a chance that this child might have survived the strange blight that has affected the rest of the village. Your foot knocks into one of the wooden toys, sending it scraping and clattering across the floor.

  The child’s back straightens. For a moment, there is a heavy unsettling silence. You stand frozen, not even daring to breathe. Then the child spins around, hissing and snarling – its face drawing a shocked gasp from you. It is no human child – it is a goblin! The creature staggers towards you, wrinkled fingers raised, displaying sharpened claws. From its blank expression and shambling gait, it is clear that this creature is now a zombie like the others. You must fight:

  If you manage to defeat this gruesome creature, turn to 20.

  11

  All of a sudden, you find yourself being tugged backwards off your feet, shoulders brushing past roots and earth. You land roughly on your back, aware that you have fallen inside an earthen passageway. As you look back towards the snarling wolf, you see the opening that deposited you here is starting to close. The wolf races forward, snarling and growling with anger. But its shoulders are too wide to break through the rapidly closing gap. Within moments you find yourself looking upon a wall of gnarly roots and dark soil – the opening nowhere to be seen.

  Your first reaction is relief at having escaped the dire wolf. Then a cold dread settles over you, as you contemplate your new predicament.

  You see that you are in a shadowy passageway. The air is moist and hot, reeking of mould and decay. A few metres ahead of you a torch rests in a sconce on the wall, spluttering blue-white flames that spark and hiss in the silence.

  With no alternative you set off down the passageway, your ragged breathing echoing back from the damp walls. After several minutes, you find yourself stepping out into a wide circular chamber. Torches are interspersed along the rough-hewn walls, filling the space with dancing shadows.

  Then you hear a noise. It starts out as a soft rustling, quickly growing louder into a slithering hiss. You spin around, looking for the source of the noise, but all you see are the shadows – bending, curling, winding about you.

  Then a voice whispers in your ear. The words seem guttural, barely human. ‘You do not know the Wiccan. You do not know our ways.’

  You jerk sideways, batting the air next to you. But there is nothing to hit. The voice continues: ‘I see your strength, old one. But your head is heavy. Filled with stones. I fill with memory.’

  Suddenly the dancing shadows streak towards the centre of the room, where they billow upwards into a column of darkness. As you watch the column takes on shape, becoming a giant humanoid creature. It has no features, but the outline is clearly recognisable – a troll with muscular shoulders and arms, a broad chest, and a bow-legged gait. From its right hand the shadows distend outwards, forming a spiked club.

  The voice whispers: ‘My people’s blood nourishes this soil. They have always known war; our lands forever overrun by the beasts from the dark.’

  The troll stomps towards you, its club raised. Although the creature is made purely of shadow, you know instinctively that this foe presents a very real and deadly threat. You must now fight:

  Special abilities

  Regeneration: At the start of each combat round, the troll regains 2 health. Once the troll’s health has been reduced to zero, it cannot heal. (Note: This ability cannot take the troll’s health above its starting value of 15.)

  If you defeat the shadow troll, turn to 67.

  12

  You find your eyes drawn to the grisly trophies that adorn the wall. The centrepiece is a stag’s head, with enormous spiked antlers stretching across the ceiling. There is also a grey wolf, a brown bear and a ghost lynx’s head. Each one has its mouth agape, teeth bared – their twisted visages as menacing in death as they must have been in life.

  ‘It’s an impressive collection,’ you remark, leaning closer to the brown bear. You could almost fit your head inside its fanged jaws. ‘Are you a hunter?’

  ‘I am, yeah,’ sniffs the shopkeeper. ‘I sold a few of my best, but those are for keeps.’

  ‘You sold this one?’ you ask, tapping your finger on an empty plaque where you assume a head had once rested.

  ‘That space is reserved,’ growls the hunter. ‘For the black shuck. A hellhound that stalks the western fens. I seen it only once – a terrible thing it was, the biggest hound you ever saw, with eyes of fire and a hide black as midnight. I’d give my right hand to get close to that one again.’ He slams the point of his dagger into the counter, twisting it round with a cruel sneer.

  If you have the hound’s head turn to 305. Otherwise, you may ask to see the shopkeeper’s wares (turn to 235) or leave the shop (turn to 199).

  13

  (If you have the word mixer on your hero sheet then turn to 328.)

  A rope ladder has been strung over the side of the well shaft, offering a route down into the smoky depths. Steeling yourself for what you might find at the bottom, you slide over the side and start clambering down the ladder.

  As you descend, the air grows thicker, reeking of brimstone and sulphur. When the ladder ends, you are forced to drop the last few feet, landing up to your waist in a sickening-looking sludge. You assume that this was once the well water, before it became poisoned.

  Through the putrid yellow smoke you spy a circular side-passage leading through into a larger chamber. From inside you can hear the sound of glass smashing, accompanied by a series of dull-witted mutterings. Drawing your weapons you wade through the slime, cautiously emerging from the passage into the next room.

  It appears to be a laboratory. Steps rise up out of the yellow sludge to a stone-paved platform. Here, a number of tables have been arranged in a semi-circle, covered with a complex array of scientific apparatus. A large creature is currently shuffling around the space, knocking over bottles and vials. You can’t tell if it is human, undead or both – its body is swollen, covered in vile blisters and pustules. From its back, yellow tentacles writhe back and forth, their lengths covered in dripping slime.

  The creature appears to sense you, twisting its head around to reveal bulging bloodshot eyes. Around its wobbling neck is a metal dog tag, engraved with the number thirteen. The monster emits an inhuman roar, then charges forward, flinging tables out of the way in its haste to clobber you. It is time to fight:

  Special abilities

  Unlucky for some: Each time you roll a for your hero in this combat, you are hit by the creature’s flailing tentacles. This automatically inflicts 2 damage, ignoring armour. If you have an ability that lets you re-roll dice, then you can use this to try and avoid the damage.

  If you manage to defeat this grotesque creation, turn to 300.

  14

  Quest: King of the hill

  Ahead, dark shapes loom out of the mist: a series of earthen mounds, carpeted with moss and heather. In the distance a solitary wolf howls. It is a sad, mournful noise, which seems perfectly in keeping with this drab and remote area of moorland.

  The traveller had convinced you this was a good idea. ‘Yeah, the barrows, my friend. If you’re looking to get some fast treasure – get yourself suited and booted – then those ancient graves are just offering it up.’

  As you gaze upon the eerie collection of mounds, many ringed by standing tablets of stone, you start to wonder if the traveller had been a little crazy.

  ‘Well, I’ve come this far.’ Gritting your teeth you trudge onwards through the high grass, into the thick veil of fog. You haven’t gone far before the wind starts to pick up speed, beating about your body and ripping at your cloak. As you stagger back, losing ground to the onslaught, you suddenly sense the windstorm shift direction. />
  The mist is now whirling and twisting on the powerful currents, turning faster and faster until it has become a huge rippling tornado. Black lightning crackles around the funnel-shaped cloud as it spins furiously towards you. It is time to fight:

  Special abilities

  Celestial charge: Each time you deal damage to the raging storm, you are struck by the lightning and must lose 2 health.

  If you defeat this strange apparition, turn to 25.

  15

  You take a gamble and push off from the tree, attempting to grab one of the thicker boughs further around the trunk. For a second you are free-falling through a frightening emptiness, then your hands grab a hold on the wood. Skilfully, you swing yourself up onto the branch, twisting your body around to sit astride it. From here you are able to shuffle back to the trunk, where you can now see a previously hidden set of handholds, carved to look like clumps of leaf mould. You clamber up this last distance in no time at all, flinging open the tree house door and pulling yourself up onto its polished floor. Turn to 425.

  16

  You make your apologies and move away, aware that a sudden hush has fallen over the room. ‘I asked yer a question,’ calls the woman, her gravelly voice cutting through the silence. ‘I asked yer what yer gawping at!’

  With a sigh, you turn back to the table. ‘That coat,’ you gesture with a nod of your head. ‘I knew its previous owner. I was just . . . curious.’

  ‘Curious, eh?’ With a snarl the woman kicks over the table, sending pots and mugs flying. ‘Come on boys, time to show this one what happens when yer bait the fish!’

  There are screams and shrieks from the crowd as people scatter to a safe distance. ‘No fighting!’ bellows a voice from behind the bar. Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice – the ruffians run at you as a pack. You must fight:

  Special abilities

  Motley crew: The ruffians add 3 to Bilhah’s damage score for the duration of this combat. If the ruffians are defeated, this bonus no longer applies.

  In this combat you roll against Bilhah’s speed. If you win a combat round, you may choose to strike against Bilhah or her ruffians. If Bilhah is defeated first then the ruffians will immediately surrender, winning you the combat.

  If you defeat this cruel band of mercenaries, turn to 194. If you are defeated, turn to 244.

  17

  (If you already have the word calling written on your hero sheet, then turn to 31.)

  As you make your way through the crowds, you suddenly start to feel faint. Someone knocks into you, sending you into a dizzying spin. There is an angry curse as you stagger into another pedestrian, who pushes you away, forcing you to lose your footing. You topple backwards onto . . .

  Thorns.

  You cry out in pain as their sharp points rip through your clothing. All around you, thick branches snake through the dark as if alive. A forest – pressing in on all sides, making you its prisoner. You struggle to free yourself as the barbed tendrils slash and cut at your flesh, but you are powerless; trapped. Then you see a beacon of light glowing through the wall of thorns; a pale radiance that beckons to you. With eyes fixed solely on the light, you find yourself floating towards it, the thorns parting for you like a curtain. The light is everywhere now, pushing back the infernal forest and guiding you to safety . . .

  You awake to find yourself lying spread-eagled on your back. A crowd of people have gathered, muttering and gossiping to one another. One woman, with long blond hair and trinkets about her neck, is kneeling beside you. She offers you her water skin, which you take in trembling hands, greedily gulping down its contents.

  ‘What happened?’ you ask hoarsely, handing back the skin. ‘I don’t remember . . .’

  ‘I think you had a dizzy spell,’ she smiles. ‘I saw you collapse; no one else seemed that concerned about helping.’ The woman nods to the nearby crowd, who are already starting to disperse.

  Taking her hand, you stumble back to your feet. ‘Perhaps it’s the altitude,’ she grins, flicking a stray hair from her eyes. ‘Take it easy, okay?’

  You thank the woman, watching as she heads back into the bustling throng, a sword swinging on each hip. Still shaken by your peculiar vision, it is some minutes before you are able to regain your composure. Write the word calling on your hero sheet, then turn to 31.

  18

  ‘That would be a pretty picture, wouldn’t it?’ The woman chortles. ‘No, I think I’d remember a set of golden gnashers, sweetie. Though – come to think of it – we did have one witchfinder in, only two days past. He was asking questions about that Blight Haven, down south.’

  You frown, urging her to say more.

  ‘He didn’t look well, pale and shifty, like all his kind . . . and didn’t stay long. Not welcome here.’ Her hand strays to a crucifix hanging about her neck. ‘I told him to stay well away from that village. It’s cursed – haunted. Really, someone should’ve done something about it long ago, cleanse it or whatever those inquisitors do.’ She releases a heavy sigh. ‘Humph, let’s not talk of such things. Spoils the mood, dearie.’

  Return to 52 to ask the bar woman another question.

  19

  Quest: Curse of Crow Rock

  The narrow street lurches dizzily from side to side, forcing you to cling to the nearest wall. You feel sick; every inch of your body burning as if on fire. Sweat stings your eyes, your head pulsing with pain. The guards thought you were just another drunk, thrown out onto the streets at closing time. But a passing pilgrim had taken pity on you, giving you directions to the local apothecary.

  Letting go of the wall, you stagger onwards up the street. You focus on the lanterns hanging either side of a wooden door – its surface daubed with the symbol of a bottle.

  A carriage rattles past, pulled by a team of horses. Their clattering hooves are loud as thunder in your ears. You cover them with your hands, stumbling dazedly towards the door. Several times you lose your footing and fall painfully to your knees. But you manage to drag yourself up, determined to find a cure for your malady.

  Elysium. You know that your body is craving more.

  You raise a trembling hand and knock on the door. There is a painful wait while you hug your cramping stomach, teeth grinding noisily together.

  From inside you hear muttering, then a catch being released. The door creaks open far enough to reveal a woman’s face. She is elderly, with tousled grey hair spilling out of a white bonnet. A small pair of spectacles rest on the end of her nose. After taking one look at you, she opens the door wide and gestures for you to enter.

  The room is small and filled with various bottles and pots. Before you can speak, the woman is already moving towards a side room. ‘What is it?’ she asks hurriedly. ‘I doubt I can help you.’

  ‘Elysium,’ you croak, closing your eyes as the room tips wildly.

  The healer freezes mid-step, glancing back at you with a frown.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ you wheeze, forcing back another wave of nausea. ‘Please, I need your help . . .’

  ‘Indeed.’ The woman gestures for you to follow. ‘My name is Anna. This way, please.’

  You follow her into a dimly lit room, cut from the grey rock of Carvel’s hillside. A pallet bed rests against one wall, where a male patient lies on sweat-soaked sheets. He squirms in a feverish delirium.

  The rest of the room is dominated by a wooden table, covered in more bottles and containers. A curtain divides this room from another area, where you glimpse a stack of crates piled high to the ceiling. Each one has the symbol of a rose stamped on the side.

  Anna is already selecting various bottles from her collection. ‘Elysium is very rare and very expensive. Did you expect me to just have some lying around?’

  You rest your back against the wall, clutching your arms to stop them shaking. ‘I had no other choice.’

  The woman adds a series of fine powders to a trestle bowl. ‘I don’t need to ask how you came in contact with such a devilish concoction.
’ After crushing another ingredient with a mortar she mixes the parts together, before pouring them into a bottle and adding a green-tinged liquid.

  ‘You know, these ingredients aren’t cheap.’ Anna shakes the bottle, watching as the contents dissolve. ‘One of these powders alone is five hundred gold crowns.’

  You balk. ‘I . . . I can’t pay you . . . I . . .’ Feebly, you try and locate your money pouch, hands grappling at your belt.

  The woman watches and shakes her head.

  ‘Enough. I knew you would not have the funds. So you can do me a favour instead, agreed?’ She raises the bottle, which now contains a bubbling pale-green potion. ‘This is not Elysium. But it is the next best thing. It will relieve your symptoms – your addiction. This potion is your true freedom.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever you ask,’ you croak, reaching out for it. ‘Please . . .’

  Anna hands you the potion and watches intently while you drink its contents. The liquid tastes like sour apples with a hint of cinnamon. Once you have emptied the bottle, you feel your temperature starting to subside. The room has stopped spinning.

  ‘Good,’ smiles Anna, taking the bottle from you. ‘Now, you’re going to repay me by helping this man.’ She nods to the patient, who is tossing and turning, gripped in a fevered nightmare.

  ‘You couldn’t cure him?’ you ask, surprised.

  ‘I need something first.’ Her eyes wander to an object lying on the table. It looks like a charred and blackened piece of wood.