The Heart of Fire

by Michael J. Ward

  Will you:

  Ask about the traveller’s gift? — 429

  Ask about ‘the truth’ they seek? — 394

  End the conversation? — 496

  492

  The scholar inspects the map with his bespectacled eyes. ‘This is . . . perfect,’ he gasps. ‘A most splendid job. A first!’

  ‘And the reward?’ you query, as the scholar starts to turn away.

  ‘Oh yes, how bothersome. Let’s see.’ He unfastens a purse of money from his belt and carefully counts out twenty gold crowns.

  ‘It was a hundred,’ you remind him, with a polite smile.

  Tutting to himself, he proceeds to hand over the rest of the gold. (You have gained 100 gold crowns.) You pocket the gold, shaking your head with disappointment. ‘Not much, is it? I did risk my life out there. Those cannibal monkeys . . .’

  The scholar rolls his eyes. ‘Bloomin’ mercenaries. Okay, accompany me back to my office and I’ll give you something more . . . scholarly for your efforts.’

  You follow him down to the beach, where a ragged-looking tent has been set up beneath a clump of trees. ‘Take your pick,’ he says, gesturing to the crates and books scattered across the sand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me – I’ve got a book to write!’

  You may choose one of the following as a reward:

  Bogglespiff’s digest

  Scholar’s seal

  The don’s cuffs

  (left hand: spell book)

  (ring)

  (gloves)

  +2 speed +2 magic

  +1 magic +1 armour

  +1 speed +3 brawn

  Ability: insight

  Ability: confound

  Ability: sideswipe

  After thanking the scholar for his generosity, you return to the harbour. Turn to 571 to continue your journey.

  493

  The runes dim and then fade as the wounded creature attempts to crawl back to the stone coffin. You watch the futile scrabbling with contempt. Planting a boot on its side, you push it over onto its back. The face beneath the hood is not human – it is covered in blue-black scales, marred by deep scars. The thing hisses from its lipless mouth.

  ‘It must stay . . . in the forest . . . you don’t . . . understand . . .’

  You kneel beside the dying creature, leaning closer to catch its last wheezing gasps.

  ‘The forest . . . the forest is . . .a . . .’

  Its breath rattles in its lungs as the deformed body shakes and convulses. Then the creature lies still, its yellow eyes staring sightlessly past your shoulder. As you rise to stand, you hear footfalls echoing in the passageway behind you. A second later and your companions file into the chamber, looking shaken but unharmed. Searching the creature’s body, you find 30 gold crowns and one of the following rewards:

  Twilight sceptre

  Dawnlight

  Hood of the night fiend

  (main hand: wand)

  (left hand: sword)

  (head)

  +1 speed +2 magic

  +1 speed +1 brawn

  +1 brawn +1 armour

  Ability: wither

  (requirement: mage)

  Ability: blind

  Ability: fiend’s finest set

  You also find a small stone figure in one of the creature’s pockets. It is carved to resemble a laughing dwarf, its enormous belly bulging over its squat legs. If you wish to take the household spirit then simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space.

  If you have the word Wiccan on your hero sheet, turn to 428. Otherwise, turn to 404.

  494

  You race through a fog-shrouded jungle, following something dark and elusive. Whatever it is, it stays just out of sight, winding between the dense tangle of trees. As you run faster, so does your quarry – leading you ever deeper into the steamy forest. And then, in a heartbeat, the dream shifts, becoming grey-stone corridors, swathed in cobwebs and vine-like creepers. They are never-ending, forming an endless, disorientating maze. And still the creature eludes you. Breathing heavily, you start to slow . . .

  Then you see it, lurking in the shadows. A flicker of purple light picks out its misshapen body. You go to draw your weapons, but they have gone; your clawed hands scrapes against empty sheaths. Instead you back away as the creature steps out into the light. Its twisted frame is swaddled in grey cloth, embroidered with strange runes. As it lifts back its cowl, you give a gasp of horror as you look upon your own face staring back at you. Slowly, it opens its mouth – your mouth – revealing a dazzling array of glittering fangs.

  ‘There is no escaping your fate,’ the beast-like you snarls. ‘No escaping what you are!’

  ‘No!’ you shake your head, looking for a route of escape. ‘This is not real . . .’

  ‘Demon!’

  With a snarl the creature leaps across the passageway, its fangs closing around your throat. You scream as you are flung backwards, your head bursting with hot searing pain . . .

  You are jolted forward, sucking at the air. It is hot and dusty, forcing you to choke. Something cold is suddenly held to your lips – you greedily gulp down the refreshing water, feeling it ease your sore throat and swollen tongue.

  Words are spoken, but you don’t recognise the dialect. You feel a hand, firm but reassuring, pushing against your chest, forcing you back down onto the bed of soft pillows. Then a sudden panic drives you forward again, as you realise you can’t see – everything has remained dark. Your hands go to your eyes, where you feel a cloth or bandage restricting your vision.

  Angrily, you tug it away.

  For a moment you are blinded by light, forcing you to squint against the pain beating in your head. A shape moves at your side, edging away. You follow it, trying to focus on the details, struggling to make sense of what is happening.

  ‘Where am I?’ you croak, barely recognising the sound of your own voice.

  ‘Safe.’ A dark figure leans over you. Gold teeth sparkle in the brightness.

  You jerk away instinctively, your hands grappling over fur blankets. To your left, sunlight streams in bands through a shuttered window. A man leans next to it, watching you with dark eyes. The slatted light picks out the bones and feathers sewn into his tanned leathers. Groggily, your attention blurs back to the other figure – the one with gold teeth. The witchfinder is watching you with a thin smile.

  ‘Welcome to the land of the living,’ he says, his gold smile broadening.

  You try and slide up the bed, desperate to put distance between yourself and that malign-looking face, but you are brought up short in a fit of coughing, the pain from your chest and shoulders almost overwhelming.

  ‘What happened to me?’ You pull away the blankets to gaze down at your naked torso. Ugly red scars cut deep furrows through the skin, moving up from your stomach in jagged parallel lines. The scars end at your left shoulder, where you notice the skin blackening as if bruised, forming patches of reptilian-looking scales. You screw up your eyes as you prod the scaly-looking flesh.

  ‘You were lucky,’ states the witchfinder, his one steely eye flitting to the man by the window. ‘And for that, you have Modoc to thank. The finest healer in all of Valeron.’

  The stranger bows his head in greeting. A band of sunlight dances across the runes and sigils tattooed into his blood-red skin.

  You look back at the witchfinder, begging for answers. He appears to read your mind, folding his arms and flashing you another gold-toothed smile. ‘I am Virgil Elland. I imagine you have some questions for me, prophet?’

  Will you:

  Ask about your whereabouts? — 488

  Ask who he is? — 397

  Ask about the demon? — 175

  Ask about your wounds? — 271

  Ask what happened to your companions? — 424

  495

  You pull back the curtain of lianas and enter the interior of the pagoda. The smell that hits you is almost overpowering – a sour reek of mould and decay. A quick
glance at your surroundings confirms that every inch of stone, from the floor to the arched dome ceiling, is covered in scabs of thick, yellow fungus.

  ‘Lycanth’s lair,’ whispers Boom Mamba, pointing to the far side of the musty-smelling space. ‘Spirit of rot.’ At first, you assume the shaman is mistaken – it looks to be nothing more than a heap of mould, crawling with maggots. But then it moves, lifting up off the ground on bowed, hairy legs. A single bloodshot eye blinks in the darkness of its crusted hood, below which a wolf-like muzzle sniffs at the air. Then the beast gives a gargling howl of rage, its mouth distending into a row of jagged fangs. You quickly step forward to protect the shaman, as the creature advances. It is time to fight:

  Special abilities

  Miasma of decay: At the end of each combat round you must automatically lose 3 health from the cloud of stench that surrounds your foe.

  Disease: Once Lycanth’s damage score inflicts health damage to your hero, you must automatically lose an additional 2 health at the end of each combat round.

  If you manage to defeat Lycanth, turn to 207. If you are defeated, you may return to 510 to choose a different foe to battle.

  496

  ‘This is it!’ The monk at the table snatches up the still-wet parchment, waving it in the air. He points to the ragged traveller, who is still muttering to himself, rocking back and forth in agitation. ‘Listen, listen!’

  Everyone crowds around the table, craning forward to hear the man’s words. ‘Causeway of stone . . . where the pillars rake the sky. Causeway of death to the black place, the dark place . . . temple . . . where the light is prisoner. The holy light of the God. The One God . . .’

  You look to the others in confusion, the man’s words making little sense. However, they seem to have struck a chord with the dean. He takes the parchment from the monk, his eyes quickly scanning the spidery writing. ‘Duerdoun. I should have known. It’s Duerdoun.’

  ‘The dwarf ruins,’ gasps Ventus. ‘Why would Allam go to that place? It is evil – cursed.’

  The dean crumples the parchment in his fist. ‘He went there to find answers. And we must do the same.’ He spins on Ventus. ‘You should leave at first light. Do not delay.’

  Ventus bows. When he rises, his gaze meets your own. ‘I could do with your aid, traveller. Few here would be willing to walk the causeway of Duerdoun.’

  Before you can respond, the dean strides forward, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. ‘If it is your wish, then I suggest you prepare. Say your prayers and gather your blessings. Duerdoun will test the faith of even our strongest.’

  If you wish, you may now return to the map. When you are ready to continue this quest, turn to 410.

  497

  The witch raises a hand, summoning a pale green light to her palm. She leads the way as you descend deep into the mountain. ‘We thought that the traveller we found might have had some answers. The monastery was working hard to keep his movements a secret from us.’

  ‘You mean the elderly man by the roadside? He looked a little crazy to me.’

  ‘He was,’ she replies curtly. ‘Which is why we decided to release him. He mumbled scripture and stared at walls. There was nothing to be gleaned from him. I cannot fathom why the monastery held him in such high regard. Ah, here we are.’

  The stairs bring you out on a narrow ledge, overlooking a vast cavern. Its floor dips away to form a basin, where black roots twist and snake across the stony ground, radiating out from an ancient tree at its centre. Directly above the web of branches, a shaft of golden light breaks from the ceiling, shimmering over the tree’s gnarled boughs and coating it in dripping leaves of light.

  ‘That is an elder tree – one of the sacred guardians that protects this land. We keep it alive . . . as best we can.’ Damaris leads the way around the ledge, to where a sloping path leads down into the crater. She stops at its edge, craning her neck back to look at you. ‘You are a Sanchen. The spirits will speak to you.’

  Damaris points to a cleft in the side of the tree. ‘You are of this world and the next, Sanchen. You can tread where we cannot. Now go.’ She places the palm of her hand against your back and pushes you out into the maze of roots.

  You step warily between them, noticing that several of the thicker roots seem to be trembling and shifting, as if alive. A constant creaking sound accompanies your advance. On reaching the cleft you duck your head and pass through, pushing past grey and mottled fronds, to find yourself standing inside the hollow trunk. The golden beams spill through its upper limbs, forming a curtain of coruscating light. Standing within this magical radiance is a woman. She beckons you with a delicate hand, her long pale fingers sparkling with jewels.

  As you approach, you can’t help but marvel at the woman’s timeless beauty. Her skin is perfectly smooth, her golden hair cascading about her shoulders in shimmering ringlets of light. Mesmerised, your eyes drift across the curves of her gown, woven from a myriad of leaves and flowers, to finally settle on the bright sword hanging at her waist.

  The woman does not speak. Instead she simply takes your hand . . . and suddenly, your eyes jolt open as your mind is assaulted with images. You can’t tell if it is the future or a dream that now races through you, but you see yourself standing on a causeway of cracked black stone. There are pillars of splintered rock and a circle marked with runes. A heavy lid is being pushed aside. A warhammer rests on a bed of glowing coals. Your hand reaches out to touch it . . .

  Light surrounds you. A blinding white light. It leads the way – you lead the way – passing through the forest of thorns, towards the voice. The voice that beckons you from the dark.

  Then you are stumbling back, frantically sucking in air as you gasp for breath. When you are finally able to recover, you see that the woman and the light have gone. In their place there is nothing but a weathered old stone, coated with creepers and brambles. If you have chosen the path of the mage, turn to 403. Otherwise, turn to 476.

  498

  The iron golem drops to its knees, rocking back and forth dizzily. Then, with a mournful-sounding groan, it slumps backwards, its metal body ringing against the cracked stone.

  You may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

  Gratuitous maximus

  Defendus maximus

  Adam’s core

  (main hand: sword)

  (left hand: shield)

  (talisman)

  +1 speed +1 brawn

  +1 speed +1 armour

  +1 brawn

  Ability: fatal blow

  Ability: deflect

  Ability: iron will

  Overcome with grief, Joss throws herself on the crumpled body of the fallen golem. ‘Adam!’ she cries, beating at its metal chest. ‘Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare!’

  You move to her side, putting a hand to her shoulder. ‘We have to go.’

  ‘No!’ The word is spat out like venom. Joss turns and pushes you away, her face twisted with rage. ‘You killed him! You killed my Adam!’

  You shake your head, backing away. ‘There was no choice . . .’

  Suddenly, you hear a grating rumble coming from behind you. Sparing a glance over your shoulder you see the chasm has now expanded, cleaving the hall in two. As its crumbling edges slide away from each other, you see a yawning whirlpool of darkness below. It is starting to suck everything towards it – dragging the broken hall down into some infernal abyss.

  ‘We have to get out of here!’ you cry, moving towards Joss.

  The woman backs away, still quivering with rage. ‘You— You killed him! How could you?’ With an inhuman scream, she springs at you. The ground lurches, throwing her off course – her momentum taking her kicking and screaming over the edge of the chasm.

  ‘Joss!’ You try and grab hold of her, but it is too late. The woman tumbles away through the black void, rapidly becoming just another floating speck that is caught up in the fast-spinning currents. (Make a note of the keyword blood debt on your hero she
et.)

  The floor starts to tip dangerously. You try and scrabble for some kind of a hand hold to stop yourself slipping away. Then you see a pair of white boots walk into view. You look up to see Anse standing over you. The paladin is breathing heavily, but appears to be unharmed. ‘Time to go,’ he says, offering out his hand. You take it, holding onto him for support as you struggle back to your feet. Turn to 469.

  499

  Bill opens a trunk and lifts out a blue crystal dagger and a black-bladed cutlass, its hand-guard embedded with rubies. ‘If these beauties don’t take your fancy – and you have the way about you – perhaps this might interest you instead.’ He flips open a basket with the toe of his boot, revealing an emerald-scaled snake, coiled on a bed of straw. ‘A taipan. The true king of the jungle.’

  You may now choose one of the following special rewards:

  Emerald taipan

  Crystal dagger

  Ebon cutlass

  (left hand: snake)

  (main hand: dagger)

  (main hand: sword)

  +2 speed +3 brawn

  +2 speed +3 brawn

  +2 speed +3 brawn

  Ability: venom

  (requirement: venommancer)

  Ability: gut ripper

  Ability: piercing

  Bill also hands you a purse, containing 100 gold crowns. After making your exchange, you bid the hunter farewell and leave. You may now explore the rest of the camp (turn to 744) or return to the quest map.

  500

  You decide to make for the river, hoping it will provide an easier and more navigable route through this tangled forest. Thankfully, it isn’t long before you find yourself crunching across its pebbled shore – the roiling, murky water rushing past at speed, carrying logs and other debris downstream.