The Heart of Fire

by Michael J. Ward

  You rip the paper from its nail and toss it away into the mud. Fixing your gaze on the village, you continue down the wooded slope into the valley. No king’s document is going to stop you from finding food and warmth this night. Turn to 100.

  34

  You fling open the chest and root through its contents, finding a number of war trophies and pieces of jewellery wrapped in linen. With your only exit closing rapidly behind you, there is no time to waste.

  You may grab any two of the following items:

  Blood iron knot

  Troll’s bones

  Chieftain’s guard

  (necklace)

  (backpack)

  (head)

  +1 armour

  These might prove valuable to the right person

  +1 brawn

  Ability: charm

  Ability: might of stone

  When you have made your choices, turn to 95.

  35

  Anna grabs the curtain and tugs it along the rail, covering up the crates. ‘They are much needed supplies,’ she explains hurriedly, looking slightly flustered for the first time. ‘I’m lucky to have a benefactor who believes in what I do.’ Anna glances over at her patient, wringing her hands with worry. ‘There have been many casualties in this war . . .’

  ‘War?’ you ask in surprise. ‘What war?’

  The woman raises an eyebrow. ‘The Church and the Wiccans. Neither will back down – the Wiccans want their lands back; their ancient sites. The Church wants to convert their people; make them change their heathen ways. Do you really see any solution other than war?’

  Will you:

  Ask about the patient? — 115

  Ask about the strange object on the table? — 92

  Ask what you need to do? — 130

  36

  A crowded mass of bodies files through the streets and cobbled squares, where the endless cries of hawkers compete for attention. You are drawn to a row of stalls, where skewered lizards are being cooked over hot coals. Nearby, a woman is spooning stew into small wooden bowls. A cage of live rats hangs from a post beside her, making you wonder exactly what type of meat has made its way into the sloppy-looking gruel.

  ‘Fancy some of me finest hot pot?’ asks the woman, offering you a bowl.

  Grimacing, you move on, your attention settling on a group of traders. One has a table, strewn with an odd assortment of objects. They appear to be charms and bracelets, made from woven straw and wood and what looks like . . . finger bones. Next to the charm-maker a tinker has set up shop, with a gleaming array of weapons and armour displayed on racks.

  Behind them, a rickety-looking building leans over the street. A newly-painted sign sways in the chill wind, proclaiming it as ‘The Pilgrim’s Rest’. The image shows a rosy-faced woman, supping from a pewter tankard. Sounds of music and merriment drift out from the smoky interior.

  Will you:

  Examine the charm-maker’s wares? — 41

  Investigate the tinker’s shop? — 22

  Visit ‘The Pilgrim’s Rest’ — 47

  Follow the crooked street to upper town? — 17

  Leave Carvel? — Turn to the Act 1 map

  37

  The robbers clearly have no combat experience, their ragged clothing and crude weapons suggesting that this was not their primary choice of career. Your first blow sends the leader staggering back, your second severs his rake in two. Twisting around, you parry an incoming strike from behind, swinging your knee up to hit your attacker in the groin. He gives a gasp of pain – time enough for you to slam your elbow into his back, sending him sprawling into the mud.

  You turn to your remaining assailant – the youngest of the three, 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 drops the club and backs away, arms held out wide.

  ‘We thoughts you were a Wiccan,’ he begs, his voice breaking on the words.

  ‘Should that make a difference?’ you growl angrily.

  ‘They took everything from us,’ says the leader, the eldest of the three. He throws the broken stumps of his weapon into the mud. ‘They burnt our farmstead to the ground. My wife . . .’ He shakes his head, his words sticking in his throat.

  You sheathe your weapons, then walk over to the robber who is still lying on the ground, groaning with pain. ‘I find it hard to sympathise with those who would prey on travellers,’ you reply harshly, offering a hand. The robber takes it and stumbles to his feet. He is a few years older than the boy, with broad shoulders and thick-set arms. This one, at least, might make a decent fighter – with some training.

  ‘You’re the first, honest,’ says the youngest, looking around nervously. ‘We’ve not had a decent meal for days. We got desperate . . .’ He clutches his arms to his chest, shivering with cold. You notice that his clothes are torn and threadbare, caked in mud. It is a sorry sight – one that makes you marvel that they have managed to survive at all, out in this harsh wilderness.

  Will you:

  Ask them to tell you more about the Wiccans? — 162

  Ask about Raven’s Rest? — 319

  Tell them to find charity some place else? — 107

  Give them a gift of 5 gold crowns? — 326

  Leave and continue your journey? — 199

  38

  The woman plants her hands on her hips. ‘Now, what you doing asking me about a place like that for, dearie? Look around you – this is a home of merriment and cheer; me very own church of joy. But that place . . . I know what it is. It’s where the inquisition take those they don’t like; those that don’t play by their rules.’ She dabs at her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘You got a friend there, me dear? Someone you missing?’

  You shake your head. ‘No, I was just curious.’

  The woman blows out her cheeks. ‘I don’t need to tell you this, dearie, I’m sure there’s a smart head on those shoulders, but don’t be prying into the affairs of the inquisition. Their way of answering ain’t going to be as sweet as mine, if you get my meaning.’

  Return to 52 to ask the bar woman another question.

  39

  ‘Yes, I do profess to having had a hand in some of the more . . . unsavoury clean up operations that have been going on in Carvel.’

  ‘I heard rumours,’ you add. ‘Some masked vigilante . . . the stories sounded a bit . . .’

  ‘Fanciful?’ Lazlo raises an eyebrow. ‘I did hear one story that I was actually a vampire – a fanged assassin, preying on the weak and vulnerable. That is one rumour I have now put paid to. Or should I say, you did.’

  You frown. ‘I did?’

  ‘The margoyle,’ he prompts with a grin. ‘They normally don’t come this far north and they certainly don’t come near settlements. But this one was ranging further afield, attacking pilgrims on the roads and even venturing into the town at the dead of night.’ He winces, rubbing at his bruised face. ‘I was able to guess at its lair. And that is where you found me. And the margoyle.’

  ‘So the mask,’ you enquire. ‘That is a disguise?’

  Lazlo nods. ‘Of course. It wouldn’t do for my dear father, the king, to know his son is running around the streets of Carvel, fighting criminals and hoodlums .’ He sniffs, smoothing down his silken shirt. ‘I’m not his favourite. My taste for the high life doesn’t quite agree with him.’

  Will you:

  Ask him about the strange dream? — 62

  Enquire as to your whereabouts? — 9

  State you wish to leave? — 167

  40

  As you clamber up the hill you are surprised to hear an old woman, muttering and cackling to herself. You can’t make out the words, but they sound like part of a chant or a rhyme.

  At the top of the mound you see that an intricate pattern of runes has been burnt into the grass. A woman, old and hunched over, is hobbling around its
edge, pulling black candles from a sack that she drags behind her. These are being placed in various chalk circles. Most of the candles are already lit.

  At the centre of this bizarre display, a large hollowed-out pumpkin rests on a bed of stone. Two slanted eyes and a jagged mouth have been cut into one side, and a candle burns within it, giving off a ghoulish glow.

  The woman sniffs the air, then suddenly whirls around, pointing a gnarled finger at you. She spits out a curse, her eyes narrowing to dark slits. Your first reaction is to raise your hands, to prove you mean her no harm, but the woman’s scowl is a clear sign that she sees you as her enemy.

  ‘Must finish the ritual,’ she hisses. ‘Sacred land must be protected!’ She lunges forward, her long bony fingers crackling with magic:

  If you defeat the deranged witch, turn to 7.

  41

  (If you have the word bones written on your hero sheet, then turn to 56.)

  The weasel-faced trader makes the sign of the cross as you approach. ‘Ah, the One God bless you, my friend. You walk in Saint Allam’s footsteps. They say he stood on this very spot, to proclaim ’imself the reincarnation of Judah.’ His eyes dart from side to side, then he leans over the table, stroking the band of charms around his neck. ‘I tells you the truth, my friend. These charms are made from the finest of materials, none of that charlatan nonsense. Here, tell no one this . . .’ He drops his voice to a whisper. ‘I got it on honest word that these here bones are saint’s bones, from out on the moors. You want a piece of the saints, right, to bring you good luck, yes?’

  You view the unsavoury collection of charms and relics, noting the different-sized bones used in their construction. It seems unlikely that any of these bones could possibly have belonged to a saint. ‘Isn’t that goblin?’ you ask, pointing to a short, stubby finger bone. ‘And that one looks like a troll . . .’

  The trader gives a heavy sigh. ‘Yeah, I sees yer a smart one. Look, I’ve had ta diversify; times are ’ard, right? But might be some work in it for yer, if you fancy a bit of bone collectin’?’

  Will you:

  Examine the items on sale? — 59

  Ask about the ‘bone collectin’? — 70

  Return to lower town? — 36

  42

  Quest: The light and the dark

  (Note: You must have completed the blue quest Behind the mask before you can start this quest.)

  You leave the settlement of Raven’s Rest, striking south along the well-worn track that will take you out of the moors and into the lands beyond – the grassland plains known as the Saskat Prairies. It is time to move on – something you have always been good at, aware that your strange powers can often draw the wrong kind of attention. The last few weeks have taught you that your gift, your ability to glimpse the future, has been changed somehow by your exposure to the Elysium. It has made you faster and more agile in combat, a second sight that always keeps you out of harm’s way. As for the other visions, they come and go, but are always the same – a vast forest of thorns and some presence beckoning you from its darkest depths.

  A light rain begins to spatter off your cloak as you make your way through the bleak hills. You will not be sorry to trade this wet and wintry northland for the warmer climes to the south. Lowering your head to the chill wind you pick up the pace, hoping to reach a settlement or inn before nightfall.

  You slow when you hear voices ahead. Through the blanket of drizzle you see a covered wagon lying askew across the water-logged track. Your hands immediately go to your weapons, your quick eyes flitting between the three visible travellers: an elderly-looking man sat hunched on a boulder by the roadside, and a man and a woman talking by the wagon. All three are dressed in mud-splashed coats and hats; possibly pilgrims or trinket sellers.

  The woman has already spotted you, her hands dropping to the long swords resting against her hips. Curtains of blond hair tumble out from beneath her wide-brimmed hat, framing a pale face dominated by piercing blue eyes. The man next to her appears to be weaponless, but the cuffs of his coat are long and wide, covering his hands. He stiffens, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  You nod your head in greeting, approaching cautiously. It is the woman who drops her guard first, her face splitting into a wide beaming smile. ‘Well, lookee here. If it isn’t my woozy fainting friend.’

  For a moment you frown, trying to place her. Then you remember – the woman who came to your aid when you first had your strange vision in Carvel. ‘You’re a long way from town,’ you state, noticing that the man is still tensed, his posture emanating distrust.

  He scowls. ‘Someone else you courted with that tongue of yours?’ he says, aiming his statement at the woman. She gives him a hurt expression, before lowering her eyes.

  ‘The priest will come good,’ she says. ‘He wanted to help.’

  You notice that the elderly man by the roadside has not looked up or shown any interest in the conversation. He is muttering to himself, wringing his hands together as if trying to rid them of something unclean.

  Will you:

  Ask what happened to the wagon? — 274

  Ask what is in the wagon? — 223

  Ask where they are travelling to? — 178

  Ask if you can help? — 141

  43

  ‘You’re no fun, no fun at all!’ squeals the child. You hear angry thumping sounds, reverberating along the metal walls. You can almost imagine the child beating his fists in some juvenile frenzy. Then there is a grating squeal, coming from behind you. You spin around, to see one of the wall panels sliding open to reveal a glowing doorway.

  ‘An exit at last . . .’ you sigh with relief.

  You step through. There is a bright flash of white light, accompanied by the dizzying sensation of movement, then you find yourself stumbling out into a small square room. A quick scan of your surroundings confirms you are back where you started, with the trapdoor opening in the floor ahead of you. You step around it, eager now to explore the noisy workshop below. Turn to 398.

  44

  With the pillars destroyed, the stone giants are weakened – making it easy for you to smash through their rock armour and extinguish whatever dark magic had once given them life. You may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

  Charged breastplate

  Rock fist

  Stone spike

  (chest)

  (left hand: fist weapon)

  (main hand: dagger)

  +1 brawn +1 armour

  +1 speed +1 magic

  +2 brawn

  Ability: lightning

  Ability: surge

  Ability: critical strike

  (requirement: mage)

  (requirement: rogue)

  If you have the word Wiccan on your hero sheet, turn to 354. Otherwise, turn to 400.

  45

  The priest reins in his horse in a flurry of mud and water. ‘You!’ he sneers, raising his staff. ‘At last, the One God delivers you to me.’ A white fire leaps along the length of the staff, mirroring the fire that burns in his fanatical eyes. ‘The bishop died because of you. And now you will pay!’

  If you have the word papal on your hero sheet, turn to 282. Otherwise, turn to 315.

  46

  You emerge in a small square room made from riveted plates of iron. It is devoid of any furnishing or decoration, save for a giant metal wheel set into the floor. Your feet clang noisily on the metal panels as you step closer to examine it. The wheel is reminiscent of those you might find on a ship, with a series of spokes radiating out from a centre point, each one ending in a wooden handle. You assume that the wheel is meant to be turned – but for what reason, you cannot fathom. There does not appear to be any exit from the room, other than the door you used to enter.

  Will you:

  Turn the wheel clockwise? — 385

  Turn the wheel anti-clockwise? — 320

  47

  It is difficult to get a sense of your surroundings, as the tight press of bodi
es and the hazy clouds of pipeweed obscure much of the cramped taproom. From somewhere to your left you hear drums and flutes, and an orator retelling a story about Saint Allam. Onlookers are clapping along to the rhythm, offering occasional hoots or boos at opportune moments in the story.

  You head for the bar, passing a group of bedraggled travellers who are gathered in a corner. They look pale and shaken, their clothes grime-stained and weather-beaten. They are recounting their own story in hushed tones to a smaller gathering, who are all listening intently.

  At the bar, a plump woman is serving drinks to the clamouring patrons. She is laughing and joking along with their banter as she hands over frothing mugs of ale. As you near, you realise that it is her face that adorns the sign outside the tavern.

  Will you:

  Speak to the tavern keeper? — 52

  Join the travellers? — 63

  Listen to the orator? — 75

  Leave and return to lower town? — 36

  48

  You make short work of the headless horseman, while Eldias gives the skull a firm kick, punting it over the nearest building.

  ‘And good riddance,’ he growls.

  You find 10 gold crowns and may now help yourself to one of the following rewards: