The Eye of Winter's Fury (96 page)

If you manage to defeat this dastardly swarm, turn to
40
.

673

The skeleton key fits the lock perfectly. Flipping open the lid, you are met by the bright glow of gold. This must have been Jackson’s money locker and now the wealth of the White Wolf Trading Company is in your hands. You have gained 100 gold crowns. After pocketing the coins, you hurry back to the hatch. Turn to
592
.

674

‘The rift walls are full o’ caverns and tunnels. Dangerous places, but you never gonna come out empty-handed.’ Hal opens up one of the crates, lifting out some braids of black hair to reveal a pair of rune-carved tablets.

Maune wrinkles his nose, taking hold of the tangled hair. ‘Troll?’

Hal grins. ‘Yeah, little memento from those critters you laid to rest. Never waste anything, I says.’ He lifts up his cloak to reveal the tresses sown into the cloth. ‘Warm as me wife’s embrace. I’ll sell ’em to yer too, if you want.’

You may purchase any of the following for 100 gold crowns (Note: you can only purchase one of each item):

You may now purchase first aid supplies (turn to
639
), view Hal’s weapons (turn to
728
), trade your own items (turn to
95
) or leave and return to the quest map.

675

As you hurtle along the earthen tunnel you see the wall ahead crumble, then start to topple inwards. You dodge around the raining debris, glancing back over your shoulder to see what may have caused the cave-in. A huge scaled foot pushes through the hole, tearing and ripping with its claws. You bank away down another tunnel, seeing a distant circle of daylight ahead.

‘Faster! They’ve found us!’ calls Skoll.

The tunnel starts to collapse behind you, raining down a torrent of rock and sand. A skull-like snout spears through the billowing cloud, green eyes illuminating the darkness.

You aim for the end of the tunnel as fast as you can. Behind you there is a deafening roar, followed by a sharp intake of crackling breath. Suddenly a violent heat is at your back, rushing along the passageway and threatening to engulf you in flames.

In order to outrun the dragon’s fiery breath, you will need to pass a speed challenge using your transport’s speed:

If you are successful, turn to
715
. If you fail, turn to
640
.

676

Caul strides over, shaking his head. ‘It’s just a pretty decoration. There’s better ones, at the end of that tunnel.’

‘A lot of effort for a pretty decoration . . .’ You squat down next to the carved head, running a hand over the cold stone. In place of the serpent’s eyes, there are two large hollow depressions. You wonder if some sort of object should be placed within each of these, to activate whatever secrets it might hold.

If you have two
flawless emeralds
and wish to use them, then turn to
690
. Otherwise, you are unable to interact with the carving. Grudgingly, you are forced to leave the chamber and follow Caul into the tunnel. Turn to
775
.

677

The circle starts to fade. You reach out, grasping for the gossamer thread that links your spirit to your old life and your dead body. Then you are travelling, streaking across the chill wasteland, your body trailing sparks of frost in its wake. The light ahead grows bright, blinding in its brilliance . . .

Eyes snap open. The wind and dust blast against your face. Anise is pulling at your sleeve, tears in her eyes. With a gasp she snatches her hand away, its leather mitten now cracked with ice.

Her voice carries fear. ‘Arran! What have you done?’

A giddy laughter issues from your lips. ‘Reborn. I’m reborn . . .’

Nanuk’s magic fills every pore of your being. The cold of the Norr pulses through you, searing away the dead skin, consuming the deceased organs, the muscle, the tissue – melting away your very bones.

You stumble, falling forward, barely catching yourself before you hit the ground. As your fingers splay in the dirt, hands stretched out for balance, you see that they are now translucent, infused with a green luminescence. You turn your head to watch as your corpse finally disintegrates to dust – whipped away on the wind, leaving your clothes and armour to drop in a tangled mess onto the rocks.

You turn your hands over, eyes moving along your arms, across the bunched muscles to your broad chest. Everything is now alight with a green radiance – throbbing with the graven cold of the Norr.

Anise stumbles away, horrified. She finds Skoll’s arms. ‘Help him,’ she begs.

The Skard is silent, equally transfixed by the sight before him. His face is unreadable, its many welted scars made ghoulish by the green light.

You rise to your feet, hands gesturing towards your armour. The pieces rise up on currents of magic, spiralling towards your body, where they snap into place around the glowing limbs. Within moments you are clad as you once were, but between the chinks of armour and the trim of your clothing the green light continues to spill into the haze.

‘No flesh or bone can pass. But a ghost . . .’

Your voice is different. It sounds like the old Arran, but with a deeper resonance. A commanding tone. You turn back, to face the surging wall of stone and sand. ‘I will destroy the source of this magic; then I will create safe passage for you. Heed my sign.’ You raise your fingers, drawing them back through the air. Their path leaves a glittering trail of lights: the claw-marks of a bear.

‘Arran, please! Stop!’ You hear the scuffle of boots – Anise trying to break free.

You do not look back. With your gaze set firmly ahead, you march into the eye of the storm. Turn to
85
.

678

The fight is short and easily won. Three thieves lie dead, sprawled in the mud. The last, the tattooed leader of the gang, turns and makes a run for it. Phantom claws leap from your hand, piercing straight through his exposed back. When the claws retract back into your fingers, his lifeless body drops to the ground.

You turn your gaze on the monk, who is still lying amongst the bloodied snow.

‘What . . . what are you?’ he gasps, his horrified features illuminated by your weapons.

‘Death,’ you hiss, standing over him. Your eyes flick to the book of scripture, hooked by a chain around his neck. ‘Yours. Unless you give me what I want – the book.’

With trembling hands, the monk lifts the chain over his head and holds it up to you. ‘Yes, yes, take it!’ he splutters, averting his gaze as if the hurt of losing his prized possession is too much to bear.

You snatch the book, then step away. ‘Now, run along and pray to your god. Pray for my soul, if you think it’s worth saving.’

The monk scrambles to his feet, then beats a hasty retreat.

(Congratulations! You have gained
Judah’s Book of Canticles
– simply make a note of this on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space.) Turn to
659
.

679

To the astonishment of the crowd you throw your trophy onto the ground, glaring around at the circle of surprised faces. Desnar bows his head, his expression pained by the chorus of gasps and exclamations from the assembled Skards.

‘The ancestors have spoken,’ proclaims Sura, a smile cracking her aged lips. ‘Nanuk’s strength is with you.’ The old woman offers out the end of her staff. You unhook the bear necklace and place it over your head. The moment the chain rests proudly across your chest each and every Skard puts a hand to their own breast, speaking some vow or mantra in unison.

Then the young boy steps forward, peeling back the hide bag he is carrying. You see that it is filled with treasures.

‘These belonged to past chiefs,’ states Sura, noting your awkward confusion. ‘You have the right to claim what is yours.’ If you wish, you may now take one of the following rewards:

If you are a warrior, turn to
620
. If you are a mage, turn to
302
. If you are a rogue, turn to
240
.

680

Nanuk’s magic floods into you, powering your strikes with a savage frenzy. As the last of the beast’s heads goes sailing across the ice, showering the ground in black blood, you notice the creature on the slab start to convulse, as if experiencing some sort of pain. Fearing it might break free of its shackles, you jump up onto the ice, straddling the monster’s body with weapons raised.

The stone mouth cracks open, emitting a wheezing gasp.
Stay your hand, mortal. I am Fafnir. Last of the Titans.
The chain links rattle as the creature tries to lift its arms.
I left my brothers. I wouldn’t make the sacrifice. The Dwarves needed me. We had to stand together, against the horrors from the shroud. I had to defend them, defend the land.

Your magic pools into your hands, running along your weapons and sparking in the chill air. ‘They used your blood, didn’t they? Mixed it with the drakes to make a race of . . . monsters.’ You can still picture the horrific creatures that assaulted Bitter Keep.

The Nisse. We had to be stronger. We had to . . . survive.

‘You call this surviving?’ You glance over at the mangled remains of the drake. ‘They used you, the dwarves. They bled you dry.’

I put my soul into the stone. Old stone, from another age – another world. Veins of it, brought to the surface by the cataclysm. We thought the magic
within would be the power to defeat the demons. The Dwarves took the blood, yes – but they wanted it all. And when I refused, they shackled me.

‘So you tried to escape. You put your soul into a new body . . . the drake.’

The dwarves left the city. Corruption . . . the magic . . . It twisted them. Twisted their minds. They went deeper. The dark places below. Left me here . . .

‘Left – but now they’re back. The Nisse have resurfaced.’

The Titan pauses before speaking again, its voice weaker, barely more than a rasp.
They know what is coming. They know and they . . . fear . . . .

‘What is coming?’ You put your weapons to the Titan’s chest. ‘Tell me!’

The creature opens its mouth, giving a last wheezing sigh, then there is silence. Angrily, you hammer against the cold stone, demanding further answers – but whatever life force was beating within the Titan, it has now departed.

If you are a warrior, turn to
411
. If you are a mage, turn to
296
. If you are a rogue, turn to
543
.

681

The creature unfolds itself, limbs creaking and grating as they stretch out one by one. The circular disc, which was once the centre of the circle, flips forward to rest on a spindly body, revealing a head that is little more than a cluster of stake-like prongs. With a screech, the creature drags itself out of the hole, a multitude of roots serving as its legs.

You can see no eyes, but the monster has obviously sensed you. Tilting its head, it launches itself into a full-on charge, the crown of spikes lowered like a bull’s horns. You manage to dodge aside, leaving the creature to rocket past. As it skids round, you sight a mouth-like aperture at the centre of the crown. Suddenly, a thorny vine whips out of the hole – a tongue that is attempting to wrap itself around you. Again, you manage to sidestep the attack, preparing yourself for the monster’s next charge. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Crown charge : If Hyperbole rolls a double for its attack speed, it automatically charges you with its pronged crown. This does damage equal to its current armour score, ignoring your armour . (Note: This damage is in addition to any further damage Hyperbole might cause by winning the round.)
	Thorn tongue : At the end of each combat round, roll a die. On a or result, you are hit by the creature’s tongue and must take 2 damage, ignoring armour . This also lowers your speed by 1 for the next round of combat only. A result of or more means you have dodged the attack.