The Heart of Fire
Page 60
764
As you continue, a thick mist starts to roll in from the surrounding forest, settling like a shroud over the crumbling ruins. You draw your weapons, gripped by a growing sense of unease – one that has you convinced you are no longer alone . . .
A clatter of stones.
You spin around, but catch nothing save a subtle ripple in the curtain of mist, disturbed by someone’s passing. Then you hear another clink of stone followed by a sharp, hooting cry. Answering calls suddenly rise up all around you, fast becoming a din of wailing screams and chattering noise. Turn to 769.
765
Kicking the doll from the witch’s grasp you deliver a backhanded strike, knocking her to the ground. For a moment, mercy stays your hand, but as the witch starts to summon black flames to her gnarly fingers you bring your weapons down in a brutal arc – silencing her spell.
With the witch defeated, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:
Voodoo doll
Bone shaker
Bone bracelets
(main hand: doll)
(left hand: wand)
(gloves)
+2 speed +2 magic
+2 speed +1 magic
+1 speed +1 brawn
Ability: curse
Ability: fear
Ability: trickster
(requirement: mage)
(requirement: mage)
Searching the rest of the caves, you find little of value save for some gold coins scattered amongst the dirt. (You have gained 30 gold crowns.) At the back of one of the smaller chambers is a tunnel that winds away into the earth. If you wish to follow this, turn to 747. If you would prefer to leave the cave and climb the canyon wall, turn to 776.
766
Avian leads the way across the bridge, his glowing staff held aloft like a beacon. Halfway across, you spot the hunched shape of Cernos limping towards the other side, the iron casket still clutched tightly to his chest. He looks back over his shoulder, baring his teeth.
‘Cernos!’ Avian’s voice booms like thunder, amplified by his own magic. ‘Barahar is dead – and Ragnarok is broken. Do you desire a similar fate, demon? You will find nothing here, but your own end.’
Cernos shifts around on his hooved feet, his appearance now a mockery of his previous grandeur. The once broad shoulders are now stooped, the broken wings hanging limp like tattered curtains. Black ichor weeps from a hundred angry wounds where the scales have been ripped away, exposing stubs of bone and withered flesh. And yet, despite his ravaged countenance, beneath the grime-stained horns that puncture his brow, a single eye still burns bright from its dark hollow. ‘I have the heart of fire, fool!’
Avian takes a sharp intake of breath as the demon lifts up the iron casket and pulls back the lid. A blinding white light explodes from the cavity, its heat rippling outwards in shimmering bands. You see the stone around the demon’s feet crack and buckle. Avian draws back, covering his face – Virgil gives a cry, averting his gaze.
You can feel the searing heat, but you are able to hold your ground, narrowing your eyes against the bright assault.
‘What are you doing?’ cries Avian, peering between his raised gauntlets. ‘That thing will kill you!’
Cernos grips the ball of light in his fist, tossing away the casket. ‘I have suffered much as its bearer. But now, my journey nears its end . . .’
A scream pierces the air. It is followed by a chorus of wails, distant at first but rapidly gaining volume. All eyes turn to the walls of the city, where a flock of ragged shapes are sweeping down through the steamy haze. As you watch transfixed, hundreds more break away from their makeshift perches, taking to the air on bat-like wings.
Then a series of slobbering growls add to the crescendo. You spin around to see a pack of devilish hounds clambering up the struts of the bridge, their black bodies cracked with veins of molten magma.
With a triumphant snarl, Cernos breaks into a loping run, heading for the far side of the bridge. The black swarm parts around him, shrieking and squawking, then proceeds to rush toward you in a chaotic tumble of wings and claws. You glimpse human faces perched on the straggly, hairy shoulders.
‘What are they?’ you hiss, your hands bunched around your weapons.
‘Furies!’ Avian takes his staff in both hands and pulls the ends apart, revealing two bright blades. They dance with magical fire as he strides towards the fast-approaching tide. ‘They’re the souls of the damned, released when Ragnarok. . .’ The rest of his words are drowned by the cacophony of shrieks.
Behind you, Virgil is facing off against the pack of hounds. Against their flaming bright bodies he is a rapier of shadow, two pistols cutting smooth silhouettes from his gloved hands. ‘Evil will be purged,’ he bellows. ‘By the fire of justice!’
Will you:
Help Virgil to defeat the molten hounds? — 564
Help Avian to defeat the furies? — 538
767
You place the snake tablet into the hole. There is a sharp click as it slots into place – and for a second you believe you have made the correct choice. However, when the stepped pyramid starts to collapse back into the stone pedestal, leaving just a flat surface behind, you realise it was the wrong decision. Despite several attempts to prise open the pedestal it remains tightly closed, guarding its secrets.
If you haven’t already, you can search the main chamber (turn to 508) or leave and continue your journey (turn to 563).
768
You successfully reach the ledge. After taking a moment to recover from your ordeal, you proceed to follow the path to the top of the rock face. As you near its summit, the path widens into a set of worn stairs, leading to an open doorway in the side of the building. Warily, you follow Virgil inside. Turn to 875.
769
From out of the haze a set of stone stairs swim into view, leading up the face of an immense ziggurat of black rock. Small figures are clambering over them, hooting and jabbering to each other. Monkeys. Hundreds of them. The majority are small, almost like squirrels, with large round eyes and red whiskers. Others are larger, with white bodies and coal-black faces.
You halt at the foot of this peculiar temple, looking around at the excited mob of monkeys. They settle on the stairs, their heads turning in unison to face you. Then a heavy silence descends – almost as unsettling as the earlier din – as the monkeys glare at you, their bright eyes keen with intelligence. Suddenly one of the black-faced monkeys bares its teeth, hissing. Another beats its fists against the ground, hopping and leaping in an agitated dance. A second later and its anxiety has spread to the rest of the group, who quickly resort to screeching and hollering, deafening you once again with their angry, savage noise. From somewhere above a stone comes whipping through the air, catching you on the cheek and drawing blood.
A final warning, perhaps.
The monkey temple presents a dangerous challenge – and one that is likely to be far beyond your powers to defeat. If you do not wish to battle this foe yet, make a note of this entry number and return here at any time during Act 2 when you feel up to the challenge. If you wish to take on the monkey temple, turn to 596. Otherwise, you carefully retrace your steps and find a safer path through the ruins. Turn to 667.
770
Amongst the remains of the drake, you find one of the following special rewards:
Black talon hood
Death blades
Spark stone
(head)
(feet)
(ring)
+2 speed +3 brawn
+2 speed +3 brawn
+2 brawn +1 armour
Ability: vanish
Ability: fatal blow
Ability: lightning
When you have made your decision, turn to 551 if you still need to choose rewards, or 844 to continue.
771
The demon has suffered since your last meeting. Half of his body is a black crust of scabs and lesions, as if it has been exposed to a monstrous heat.
One eye is closed permanently, where the melted flesh has seeped down his face, twisting his features into something even more malign and hellish.
Resting on his lap is a black iron chest. You recognise it as the one from Duerdoun, which once contained the heart of fire – the white orb, encased in the runed hammer. Cernos clutches it protectively with one hand, whilst the other plays with a black stone, glimmering with runes.
There is a heavy silence as you regard each other – both changed by your experiences since the forest of thorns.
‘Why?’ hisses the demon at last, fixing you with his one good eye. ‘Why come here? You live – is that not enough?’
You tug open your clothing, exposing the black scales covering your flesh. Since you entered the jungle, they have continued to spread. Now they cover your entire torso and arms, forming bony ridges along your spine. ‘Look at me!’ you scream in anger, beating your chest. ‘You did this!’
Cernos seems unmoved by your plight. ‘Tell me. How does it feel?’
For a moment, his question disarms you. Then the bitter fury returns. ‘I am turning into a monster! Look at me!’
Cernos rises to his feet, his immense wings flexing behind his broad shoulders. ‘I was once like you – exactly like you. Although . . .’ He pauses, glancing down at the iron casket, now cradled at his side. ‘I suppose I had a choice.’
‘What choice?’ you growl, fists clenching at your side. ‘Why are you here, demon? Why come to this accursed place?’
‘You and I are linked now,’ replies the demon, a cruel smile twisting his features. ‘So, let me show you.’
Before you can answer you feel yourself being thrown backwards, your head exploding with pain. You crash down onto your back, gurgling and crying in agony, hands scraping over broken stone. Then you hear voices – raised in anger. In the distance, you can hear screams. A horrible discordant wailing.
Blinking through the pain you open your eyes, trying to focus – colours and shapes coalescing around you. An elderly man in stately robes is shouting at a girl, not much older than sixteen. She is beautiful, with braided locks of dark hair. She is trying to get away, frightened by the man’s crazed fury.
‘Let me go!’ she begs, pulling to break free.
The man – who must be the king – backhands her across the face, flinging her to the ground. ‘I will not leave! None of us will leave! The dwarves will come! They will save us!’
‘Listen to them, Father! People are dying! Everyone’s dying!’
The king raises his fist.
‘Nephele!’
A young man strides into the throne room, his tanned body clad in blood-soaked armour. He removes his helmet, tossing it away, revealing blond hair and a handsome face.
‘You!’ snarls the king, stabbing a finger at the young warrior. ‘Get out of my sight! You would dare touch my daughter – dare to think she would choose you over Ixion? You! A commoner!’
‘No, Father, please!’ begs the girl, sobbing. ‘Cernos is a good man. He was your spear – your trusted general.’
‘He is exiled!’ snarls the king, his eyes wide with madness. He points back down the hall, towards the sound of screaming and bloodshed. ‘Leave the city – or prove your loyalty and defend your king!’
The young man hurries to the girl’s side, kneeling and putting his arms protectively about her. ‘Nephele. Come with me. We have to go! The demon spares no one – the city is in ruins!’
A dark shadow passes over the room, throwing everything into darkness. Hooved feet crunch through stone, ragged breaths thundering like the bellows of a forge. A demon stomps into view – huge, a towering giant of darkness – rippling with fire, its skin scoured with spiteful runes. In one hand it carries a sword as long as the demon is tall; an immense black blade, its own runes glowing with a sorcerous evil. And there, gripped tight within the sword’s hilt, is the heart of fire – the glowing stone, giving off heat like the surface of the sun.
‘Barahar!’ The name is whispered by the king as he falls back against his throne, face aghast.
Dark spirits roil around the blade, shrieking and hollering. Behind the demon you see a whole host of the ghostly creatures crawling in its wake, filling the corridor with an endless procession of death.
‘More souls for the sword!’ booms the demon, his voice like that of a God, rattling every wall, every stone, every bone. ‘Ragnarok still thirsts.’ Turn to 782.
772
Relying on your fast reactions you throw yourself into a charge, ducking and weaving past the giant’s clumsy swings. As you close with the hunter, his club comes smashing down, throwing up a thick cloud of dust. The giant pulls back his arms ready for another swing . . . then gives a grunt of surprise when he sees that you have vanished.
‘Thanks for the lift!’
He looks up, to see you balanced precariously on the end of his club. Before he can react, you leap off your makeshift platform, weapons cutting down through the air. It is time to fight:
Special abilities
Knockdown: If your hero takes health damage from Nelson, you must reduce your speed by 1 during the next combat round.
(NOTE: You cannot heal after this combat. You must continue this quest with the health that you have remaining. You may use potions and abilities to heal lost health while you are in combat.)
If you manage to defeat this burly hunter, turn to 447. Otherwise, turn to 664.
773
After ten days aboard the Angel’s Bounty you are grateful to finally sight land. This has been your first experience of sea travel and – you hope – the last. After falling sick on the first day from the constant lurching of the high seas, you have spent most of the journey below decks, lapsing in and out of feverish dreams filled with nightmarish demons.
The air is thick and moist, almost suffocating, as you stagger onto the deck to join the captain. Below you, the glittering turquoise waters break in curls of white foam against the sculptured prow, where a grinning cherub points eagerly towards a green smudge of land. The Emerald Isle. You had been imagining an island, as the name suggested, but you discover it is actually a narrow finger of forest, linked by a hump of sandbanks to the mainland.
The helmsman turns the wheel, guiding the ship around a natural rock wall and into the harbour. Ahead, you see other ships bobbing at anchor – most are ragtag vessels, looking barely sea-worthy, while a few are more imposing, bristling with cannons and mounted crossbows. Military or mercenaries, you cannot tell.
‘All hands! All hands!’ barks the captain, a weather-beaten ex-soldier forever patting his rotund belly. His crew scurry across the deck, while others clamber the rigging, seizing cables and hauling the sails to the masts.
As you glide into the harbour you see a portly man in a red bandanna scuttling along the pier, shouting similar orders to his scruffy-looking team. Within moments mooring cables are hissing through the air and boat hooks are being raised, to guide and secure the ship in dock.
‘Here yer go!’ The captain slaps you on the back, a little more forcibly than you would have liked. You squint through the heat haze at the ramshackle buildings that form a line along the shore. They look like they were erected overnight, after a few too many drinks – and are now competing with each other to see which will stay standing the longest. ‘Ah, would yer look at her,’ sighs the captain wistfully. ‘She’s paradise – the place dreams are made of. ’
You look back at the shabby hovels, competing for space against the encroaching jungle. ‘Yeah, paradise,’ you nod with a little less conviction.
The gangplank is lowered. After retrieving your paltry belongings you step down onto the wharf, grateful to be finally standing on a surface that isn’t rearing and bucking like a wild steed. Of the other passengers on board, you note only one disembarking with you – Quito, a short man with black, straight hair and shifty eyes. He has thankfully kept to himself for most of the journey, cleaning and sharpening his endless supply of daggers.
Laughing, he starts away down the wooden pier, towards the sorry-looking muddle of buildings. As your eyes stray across the harbour, to the forested mainland, you start to wonder exactly what you have let yourself in for. Turn to 571.
774
Red light courses through hidden channels in the door, forming an intricate pattern of whirls and symbols. An instant later and the two panels grind inwards, opening out onto a vast circular chamber – and a cacophony of screams.
You hurry inside, squelching through a spongy carpet of red slime. It appears to cover every surface of the chamber, dripping from the ceiling in thick bands of crimson rain. Through the spattering curtain you see a circle of runes, burnt into the ground – and a stone obelisk, facing inwards towards the circle. Avian is pressed against it, his arms and legs spread to each corner. There are no visible restraints, but clearly some magic has him pinned in place. He squirms and writhes to free himself, his screams intensifying.
A white light is spreading through grooves in the obelisk, emanating from the tortured mage. They flow like liquid along the channels, branching out to meet the runed circle scoured into the ground. When the light meets the runes the circle flares with a blinding radiance, forcing you to avert your gaze.
‘My magic!’ screams Avian, his voice raw. ‘It’s taking my magic!’
When you look back at the circle, you see a creature rising up out of the murk. It appears human, but fashioned from stringy clods of muscle and bone. You stand transfixed as a skull-like head thrusts out from its broadening shoulders, whilst its torso explodes into an array of arms, all ending in serrated scythes of yellow bone.