The Heart of Fire

by Michael J. Ward

  877

  With Avian’s grief still resounding in your ears you hurry from the chamber, following a set of stairs to a balcony of black stone. You realise that this must be the highest point of the city. Above you, the sky is blossoming into morning. Bright rays of sun rake through the thinning clouds, promising another day of stifling heat. Below, through the coiling mist, you glimpse the magma lake – its bright surface stirred with sluggish waves, as if awakening from a deep slumber.

  At the edge of the balcony, where the rock curls inward like a grasping claw, a skeleton of a demon lies sprawled in the dust. Its fingers still grasp a black-bladed sword, which has been thrust straight through its ribcage.

  Ragnarok.

  Its size almost dwarfs the skeleton – rising a head taller than a man, its hilt a macabre fusion of bone, iron and crimson thorns. Cernos stands next to it, a broken creature – a shadow of his former strength. The enchanted stone known as the heart of fire is still gripped in his scorched hand. Smoke rises from what remains of his scaled flesh. Any ordinary mortal would have been incinerated by such power, but Cernos is a demon – like yourself. He shares the same healing blood, a gift that has allowed him to bear the burden of the heart.

  He places the stone into a circular groove, where the guard of the sword meets the cold black of the blade. The moment it clicks into place the sword shudders, scraping against its bone prison.

  ‘Yes . . . yes.’ Cernos moves behind it, his hands clenching, anticipating his prize.

  ‘Cernos!’ Your voice rings out, shrill and harsh. You march forward, shoulders bunched, your immense wings flaring out from your back. In each clawed fist your armaments dazzle with magic, their light catching the raised edges of your dark scales. You see it in Cernos’ face, when he looks upon you with his one crimson eye. You see it written there in his scowl, in his fear.

  You have become him. A mirror image. Horns curve from your skull, sweeping around to frame your reptilian face. Eyes that once shone diamond blue now burn with scarlet fires. You are Cernos as he once was. And you look upon him with contempt.

  ‘You are too late!’ Cernos raises the palm of his scorched hand, dragging a claw through the ravaged flesh. ‘Ragnarok will be freed . . . it is mine!’ He places his palm to the hilt, letting the blood seep over the thorns and iron. ‘By my blood, Barahar’s blood, I free you!’

  Red light surges to the tip of the blade, igniting each of its malign runes. ‘Yes! Yes! Ragnarok awakens!’ Cernos wrenches the hilt towards him. Bones crack as the sword comes free . . .

  Then you slam into his chest, your wings carrying you forward. The sword flies from his hand as you both go tumbling over and over, towards the edge of the balcony. You come out on top, your weapons whipping down – but Cernos catches them in his hands, hissing in pain as they cut deep, spraying blood. Then he twists them from your grasp, his spiked elbow taking you across the throat.

  You roll again, clawing and raking each other, snarling and hissing like pit dogs. The ground has started to tremble – you can hear rocks breaking loose. From the lake below you can hear the bubbling lava gushing up in columns of fiery spray.

  Cernos reaches out for the sword. Its angular runes blaze with anger.

  Take me, weakling. Take me . . . .

  Its voice whispers in your ear. Getting louder, more insistent.

  You grab the demon’s wrist, yanking it away from the hilt. With an angry snarl he lunges forward, his fanged teeth sinking into your shoulder. You feel dizzy . . . from the pain . . . and a sudden sickening nausea. The blade. Its evil taints the very air. You can feel its runes, its words, crawling beneath your skin.

  Take me. Take revenge . . .

  For an instant, you see yourself wielding the blade. You are back in Durnhollow, marching through its dark halls, the warriors of the inquisition falling at your feet. You are unstoppable. A force of fury. Nothing can stop you – nothing can hold you back. Yes. Freedom. Take me. Take revenge.

  Another blow staggers you. Cernos twists his body, pushing you onto your back. Now on top, the demon raises his arms, dark fire blossoming around his fists. Desperately you flail for something, anything . . . then your hand settles around a cold hilt, its barbs slicing into your palm. In horror, you realise it is Ragnarok. It is lying right next to you.

  Take me!

  You draw your hand away instinctively. The blade is cursed. A dark thing from the underworld, carried to the surface by a Skard hero who dreamt of power. A dark thing that carries a Skard name, given to it by the very people it was meant to save. Ragnarok. The destroyer of worlds.

  Cernos’ first blow drags a scream from your broken lips. His second almost knocks you into unconsciousness. ‘Fool!’ he screams, lifting his fists once again. ‘The sword is mine! MINE!’ Unable to summon the strength to defend yourself, you realise that you are defeated . . . Cernos has won. Your eyes are already starting to close as you twist to look upon the blade one more time.

  Will you:

  Take the sword? — 892

  Refuse the sword’s power? — 864

  878

  Congratulations, for defeating Erkil while hexed you have won the following rare item:

  Prowler’s cowl

  (head)

  +2 speed +4 brawn

  Ability: vanish, prowler

  (requirement: hexed)

  Once you have updated your hero sheet, return to the quest map to continue your journey.

  879

  Virgil retracts his blade grudgingly. ‘Then you’re responsible for this one. I’ll have no part of it.’

  You watch as the spirit struggles to rise, tendrils of smoke curling about its body. ‘Any hint that this is a trick and . . .’ You nod to Virgil’s blades, making your indication clear.

  The spirit nods quickly. ‘Yes, yes. You lead the way and Aether follows. Keep out of the way, yes?’

  Aether has now joined your party. Make a note of the keyword escort on your hero sheet. The following rules apply:

  Escort: Aether has 40 health. Make a note of this on your hero sheet. You must protect the spirit until you reach the rune gate. In future combats, each time you lose a round and take health damage, roll a die. On a result, the spirit has also been injured and must lose 10 health. Once the spirit has been reduced to zero health, it has been destroyed. You must then remove the keyword escort from your hero sheet. A result of or more and Aether has avoided injury. (NOTE: Aether counts as an ally. Therefore you may use abilities, such as heal, regrowth and greater heal, to restore Aether’s lost health during combat.) The spirit cannot heal between combats.

  When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 875.

  880

  Your weapons and magic smash through the spectres’ shield, hurling the dwarf against the stone shelves. He clutches at his wounds, black slime oozing between his rotted fingers.

  ‘You betray me . . .’ spits the dwarf. ‘Let Barahar take you and be damned!’

  He dives past you, looking to grab one of the potion bottles from the table. But you are faster – your weapons swinging around to catch him mid-step. The dwarf gives a shriek, then his body explodes in a black shower of ash and slime. All around you the ghostly spectres flicker like candle-flames, then fade to wisps of smoke.

  ‘A death long overdue . . .’ Virgil picks a string of gloop from his coat, flicking his fingers in an attempt to get rid of it. ‘Told you it’d be messy.’

  You walk over to the bottles, intrigued to discover what the dwarf was after. You may now take one of the following items:

  Spectral syllabub (1 use)

  Molech Tov’s volatile cocktail (1 use)

  (backpack)

  (backpack)

  Use any time in combat

  to restore your health to full

  Use instead of rolling for a damage

  score to inflict 10 damage, ignoring

  armour, to all opponents

  If you have the key word clean up on your hero sheet, turn t
o 752. Otherwise, turn to 847.

  881

  Unable to reach the ledge, you are forced to find an alternative route back into the dwarven city. This quest is now over. (Return to the map to continue your journey.)

  882

  ‘The archdemon.’ Avian gives a disgruntled sigh. ‘I wish more records of that time had survived. Alas, the Skards have never been renowned for their love of words.’

  Virgil gives an accompanying snort of agreement.

  ‘From what I could glean, Barahar was once a Skard hero from one of the western tribes. During the Great Cataclysm, when Skardland was torn asunder, he ventured into the underworld, looking for a means to end the incursions.’

  ‘Incursions?’ Your knowledge of Skardland history is scanty at best – mostly snatched from rowdy tavern songs, poking fun at the Skards’ bloodthirsty customs and short-tempered nature.

  ‘Caused by the cataclysm.’ Avian clicks his tongue, looking irritated at being interrupted. ‘It allowed the creatures of the underworld – goblins, trolls, giants – to break out onto the surface. Much of Skardland was destroyed; even today it is little more than a barren, frozen wasteland.’ He pauses, studying the scrawled writing carved at his feet – you wait patiently for him to continue. ‘Barahar did not return with the means to free his people. He returned a demon – one of the greatest and most powerful the realms have ever known.’ His eyes stray to your glittering black scales. ‘Perhaps he believed power would be his salvation. Alas, he merely became the slave to a much darker evil – the demonblade, Ragnarok.’

  Return to 590 to ask another question, or turn to 766 to continue your journey.

  883

  Your weapons shatter the golem’s crystals, causing it to stagger drunkenly. Seizing his chance Virgil darts behind it, his blades crossing in a bright blur. A moment later and the golem’s head hangs loose from its shoulders, bouncing up and down on a half-mangled spring. There is a dull clang from somewhere inside the rusted body, then the monster grinds to a halt, hissing jets of steam.

  The witchfinder sheathes his blades, offering you a lazy half-smile. ‘Battling tin pots. There’s one for the ballads.’

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

  Golem oil (2 uses)

  Spark plugs (1 use)

  Dull gladius

  (backpack)

  (backpack)

  (left hand: club)

  Increase your speed by 4

  for one combat round

  Ability: shock treatment

  +2 speed +3 brawn

  Ability: slam

  You notice that the golem’s belly is fashioned from two plates of hinged metal, with a large keyhole at its centre. If you have a black iron key or are a thief, turn to 843. Otherwise, the panels remain locked and you are unable to prise them open. Turn to 870.

  884

  You exit the building via the heavy stone doors. Outside you find yourselves at the top of a colonnaded platform, with wide stairs leading down to a courtyard. Several deep craters have been ripped into the ground, branched with fissures. Rubble and ash litter the space.

  If you have the keyword escort on your hero sheet, turn to 828. Otherwise, turn to 872.

  885

  A sharp hiss draws your attention to the nearest pew, where the black snake is watching you from a crack in the stone. You crouch next to it, coaxing the serpent out of its den with the magic of Kaala’s scale. If you wish, you may now take:

  Black taipan

  (left hand: snake)

  +2 speed +3 brawn

  Ability: convulsions

  Once you have made your decision, you leave the chamber and resume your journey. Turn to 731.

  886

  The moment your hand touches the rune, black lightning arcs across the face of the door, sending you reeling backwards in pain. Clearly, you have chosen the incorrect rune, and have triggered some hidden trap woven into the magic of the door.

  You have been inflicted with the following curse:

  Curse of weakness (pa): You must lower your brawn and magic by 5 until you next roll a double in combat.

  Return to 871 to choose another rune.

  887

  You drive your weapons into the demon’s chest, watching as its immense form unravels into ribbons of black smoke. They dissipate on the air, leaving the hammer and the anvil to slam back to the ground, sending a cloud of dust billowing across the forge.

  Virgil waves a hand in front of his face, choking and coughing through the smoke. ‘Looks like that’s the end of it.’ He walks over to the anvil, moving his hand over its runed face. ‘And no harm done.’ He turns and glances towards the cauldron. It now rests silently atop the glowing hearth, contents steaming. ‘The forge is ours, my friend.’

  You are only half-listening, your attention having wandered to the charred skeleton lying spread-eagled next to the bellows. Its bones are black as coal, its clothing nothing more than tattered scraps of twisted metal. The proportions seem more human than dwarf.

  ‘As I suspected,’ says Virgil, frowning down at the corpse. ‘An elf. Guess he thought he could master the forge – and got a nasty surprise. If you can’t handle the heat . . .’ He kneels beside the burnt remains, pulling the clothing apart to reveal a metal container clutched in the skeleton’s hands. He prises it loose, turning it around to examine it in the flickering firelight. The container is shaped like a pyramid, with an odd array of dials and wheels imbedded on the underside. ‘An elven lock.’ He tosses it to you, wiping his hands on his coat. ‘See if you can get it open – might be something useful inside.’

  If you have the words fire quencher and wind breaker on your hero sheet, you will have an associated number for each. Total these numbers and turn to the corresponding entry number to unlock the container. If you do not have those two keywords, then your attempts to open the container prove unsuccessful. Turn to 755.

  888

  You break through the demon’s manacles, releasing the charred cadaver. It slumps to the ground, hoarse breath rattling from its seared lungs. ‘The suffering,’ it rasps. ‘End the suffering . . .’

  You gladly oblige, watching as the demon’s blackened skin starts to burn, consumed by a bright white fire. From the ashes, a wisp of smoke rises up into the steaming mist. Peace, whispers a voice. I find peace.

  The wheel continues to rattle across the island, but is gradually losing speed – as if its own black spirit has now been exorcised. Reaching the edge of the rock, it finally grinds to a halt, cutting a grim silhouette against the gleaming red magma.

  If you are a warrior, turn to 823. If you are a rogue, turn to 812. If you are a mage turn to 592.

  889

  The stairs bring you to a wide corridor. One of its walls has been completely blown away, revealing an open vista of crumbling rooftops. At the end of the corridor are a set of arched bronze doors – and hurrying towards them is a black-clothed figure. A pack and coil of rope bounce against their back.

  The figure hesitates, head half-cocked – then they twist around, sending a dagger spinning through the air. Thankfully your sixth sense gives you ample warning, allowing you to dodge out of its path – leaving the blade to clatter harmlessly against the rock behind you.

  With a snarl, you throw yourself into a full-on charge – looking to close the distance between you as quickly as possible. The thief looses another dagger, which you agilely avoid, your speed drawing a gasp from your would-be assassin.

  Then you bowl into him, taking you both crashing down onto the ground. As you kick and struggle his hood falls back, revealing his identity.

  ‘Quito!’ There is no mistaking the short, shifty-eyed traveller who shared your journey aboard the Angel’s Bounty.

  Your surprise disarms you, giving the thief the opening he needs. Quito punches you in the ribs, sliding his knees beneath your chest and flipping you away. As you scrabble back to your feet, he moves in, ready to deliver another blow – a poisoned dagger f
licking into each of his hands.

  Suddenly, a piercing screech rends the air. You both turn to face the ravaged opening, sensing something large approaching, clawing its way up the outside of the building. Turn to 827.

  890

  Your magic blasts chunks from the demon’s body, your weapons cutting crimson bands through its saggy flesh. Each blow forces the unconscious mage to jerk and twist in pain, his body still pinned to the stone. The demon is powerful, but no match for your strength. When it finally collapses into a mound of flesh and bone, you hear a horrifying peel of agony ring out across the chamber.

  ‘No! No!’ Avian has been released from his invisible restraints. He now lies at the foot of the obelisk, scrabbling like a blind man. ‘My magic . . . I’ve lost my magic.’

  You hurry to his side, offering out a hand to help support him. But the mage bats you away, hissing like some rabid animal. When he finally lowers his arms, you catch sight of his face . . . and draw back in dismay.

  It is as if he has aged a hundred years.

  His skin is now grey and wrinkled, stretched taut over crests of bone. Where once there was a shock of white hair, now there is only a bare pate, peppered with liver spots.

  ‘No . . .’ Avian looks down at his hands. They are trembling uncontrollably, withered with age. He draws in a long wheezy breath, then starts sobbing. ‘My magic . . . my magic . . .’

  You rise to your feet, your eyes wandering back to the remains of the flesh golem. Both of your companions have now fallen to this cursed city. You are the only one left who can stop Cernos. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way – a demon against a demon.

  If you are a warrior, turn to 791. If you are a rogue, turn to 608. If you are a mage, turn to 728.