[LP] DestinyQuest 2: The Heart of Fire

[angelfromanotherpin]

Gloves of SPEEED. Also, where am I?

[Omegonthesane]

Agreed - gloves and location.

[Darth Rabbitt]

'Why not take a look?' Lazlo gestures to the shuttered window. Following his instruction, you slide off the bed and make your way across the room. 'I hope the view is to your liking.'
A cold wind ruffles your hair as you push open the shutters and lean out over the sill. For a moment your breath catches, a sickening wave of vertigo almost forcing you to lose balance. Gripping the sill, you steady yourself to take in the sight.
Carvel stretches below you like a tiny crescent of doll's houses, slate roofs sparkling with freshly-fallen snow. Across from you, the spires and domes of the church rise up from the stone plaza—an impressive building at ground level, but from this towering vantage point its beauty is easily surpassed by the sweeping vista of plains and mountains that stretch the the horizon.
'The castle,' you gasp.
You lean further over the windowsill to see the sheer black stone of the building dropping away to meet a distant courtyard below. You draw back, feeling giddy from the height. 'How did I get here?'
Lazlo joins you by the window, his eyes following a circling eagle. 'I have a secret entrance to this place, at the foot of the rock. Most of it, you'll find, is old dwarf tunnels and caves. Easy once you know your way...' He gives an involuntary shudder. 'And you can handle the bats. I hate bats.'

Will you:
Ask him about the strange dream?
Ask about Carvel's 'masked crusader?'
State you wish to leave?

Name: Mr. Patio
Speed: +5, Brawn: +3, Magic: +2, Armor: +3
Health: 30

Slot	Item	Speed	Brawn	Magic	Armor	Ability
Head	White Mane		+1	+1		Charm
Necklace	Blood Iron Knot				+1	Charm
Cloak	Saddle Blanket				+1
Main Hand	Rusted Knife	+1				Bleed
Left Hand	Falk's Firestarter	+1	+1			Headshot
Gloves	Dark Vein Bracers	+1
Chest	Green Blaze	+1			+1	Haste
Feet	Sailor's Sandals	+1				Surefooted
Talisman	Wishing Well Coin					Charm
Ring 1	Pins 'N' Needles					Thorns
Ring 2	Warded Wood		+1	+1

Backpack	Item
1	Pot of Healing
2	Pumpkin Squash (2 uses)
3	Holy Water (2 uses)
4	Angelica Wreath (ability: holy protector)
5	Pot of Speed

Safe House	Item
1	Cutthroat's Carver
2	All Hallow's Ring
3
4

Prophecy
bones
sure blade
calling
prevail
mixer
gatherer
meadowsweet, lemongrass, and white willow
raven
duty
Map of Carvel
Handy Herbalist's Spotter's Guide
Red quest at 277
Money Pouch: 181 Crowns

[angelfromanotherpin]

Ask about dream, then crusader, then leave.

[Darth Rabbitt]

The strange dream:
'Yes, the forest of thorns.' Laxlo tilts his head to one side, regarding you with another smirk. 'You mentioned it quite a few times during your delirium. Have you been there? I must say, it is a place that stays in the memory.'
'You mean it is real?' you ask, surprised. 'Where?'
'To the west of here, past the Pilgrim's Road—if road you could call it. The forest is old—and impenetrable. Many have tried to fell those trees, to clear a safe passage through. But all have failed.' He turns to gaze upon a large tapestry hanging on the far wall. It shows a young man in white robes leading knights across barren moorland. Shafts of sunlight break through the dark clouds to fall on his staff, which is raised before him. 'They say Allam had dreams...visions of that place. Some believe that was the very reason he was so eager to come to these forsaken lands, to find something...hidden away in that forest.'
'And what happened?' You reach for your throat, remembering the strange beast that attacked you in the dream.
'He had another one of his grand visions,' shrugs the man, turning back. 'He took a handful of his best knights and went south. They were ambushed by stone trolls. Allam didn't survive.' He shakes his head, giving an amused snort. 'So much for being a prophet. He never saw his own death coming.'

(We now get two extra options about Allam and prophets. For the sake of speeding up this LP I will assume we ask about both of them, because they don't cost anything, and at least one of them is pretty good.)

What he knows about Allam:
'He was King Gerad's youngest son—born a weak and sickly child. Lazlo gives a sigh, lowering his gaze. 'He was an embarrassment, to his father and to his twin brothers. Around court he was nicknamed the goose. A pale boy of timid nature—he hadn't much hope.'
The man's eyes rise to meet your own. 'Then he started to have dreams. Visions. As you can imagine, they embarrassed his father even more. Gerard was a great king, much loved by his men. He was an army man and his coffers were near empty from warring with the east. He was starting to lose the support of his court—a series of defeats to Mordland and there was talk of,' Lazlo flicks his wrist, producing a sliver of steel from the sleeve of his shirt, '...replacement.' He spins the blade in the palm of his hand. 'He was desperate—and in desperate times, what else can you do?' The blade stops spinning, its tip pointed in your direction. 'You call a crusade. He convinced the church that Allam was a holy prophet and sent him west with an army. Kill two birds with one stone—remove an embarrassment from the court and take more land for the crown. For Gerard, it was the perfect solution.'
'How could you know this?' you ask, sounding skeptical. 'Allam is revered. Pilgrims flock to Carvel because of him. He was sanctified by the church.'
Lazlo gives a nonchalant shrug. 'That's just my opinion.' He slips the blade back into his sleeve. 'The outcome, I think you will agree, benefited the king and the church more than it did poor Allam.'

What he thinks about prophets:
'Ah, prophets,' Lazlo's grin spreads a little wider. 'If you're Allam and also the king's son then you get the backing of the Church—you are proclaimed a hero and sent on a holy crusade. But if you're a commoner...' The man's grin fades. 'Well, the inquisitors don't take kindly to just anyone walking around, telling people they see the future.'
'Why?' You scowl angrily. Memories of your cruel treatment at Durnhollow are still raw in your mind. 'Do many people have such ...visions?'
'If you're gullible enough to believe them,' he smiles. 'There are many false prophets in this world, proclaiming they know the destiny of our lives. People flock to them—they grow powerful, wealthy. They can become a threat. The Church doesn't like that. Understandable, I think you'll agree.
You fall silent, reflecting on the strange dreams and visions you have had. Are they just the product of a childish imagination? No—you have already seen the things you have dreamed of come to pass. Aged eleven you foresaw the death of your older brother. You tried to stop it happening, but you were too late. He fell from the rocks...and because you had warned others, they thought you were the cause. You flinch, remembering the stones that were thrown at you, the angry faces, the accusations. Still just a child, you had fled the village...
Lazlo is watching you intently and appears to read your thoughts. 'I did know one man—a true prophet. His name was Jenlar Cornelius. He could see the future. And he could change it.'
Your eyes widen with interest. 'Where is he now?'
Lazlo pulls a grimace. 'Six feet under. I guess even a prophet can't cheat death when it comes knocking.'

(I actually rather like this one, since it both gives us some backstory for Mr. Patio here and a callback to the first book.)

Carvel's 'Masked Crusader':
'Yes, I do profess to having had a hand in some of the more...unsavory clean up operations that have been going on in Carvel.'
'I heard rumors,' 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 rumor I have now put rest 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 favorite. My taste for the high life doesn't quite agree with him.'

Leaving:
You scan the room, eyes coming to rest on your belongings heaped on a plush chair. 'I should be going,' you state, crossing the room.
Lazlo watches you thoughtfully, as you strap on your belt and weapons. 'You know, defeating a margoyle is no easy task. You showed some skill back there at the bluff.'
'I saved your life, you mean?' You grin, sliding your arms into your backpack.
The prince nods and smiles. 'Agreed. But I can make you better.'
You start for the door. 'I'm fine, I'm a fast learner.'
Lazlo puts out a hand, to grab your arm—but you are quicker, anticipating the move and snatching his wrist. You grip it tightly, meeting his surprised gaze. 'I told you I was fast.'
'Your body might be—your wits, less so.' He glances down. You follow his gaze to the dagger he is holding in his other hand, resting against your stomach. 'I can train both. If you'll let me.'
You release his wrist, stepping warily away from the point of the dagger.
'Come,' smiles the prince, spinning the knife and sliding it under his sleeve. 'I have something special to show you. I think you'll like it.'

The prince leads you briskly down a series of corridors, the dark stone walls crowded with tapestries. You glimpse a few rooms off to either side, each one an empty cobwebbed space devoid of furniture—devoid of life.
'I try not to spend too much time here, if I can help it,' states the prince, throwing open a set of double doors. 'I like to travel—see new places.'
You pass through a long droughty hall, filled with racks of weapons and polished armor. Your steps falter as you find your attention wandering across the sumptuous array of weaponry. 'This is quite the collection,' you gasp. 'Are these from your travels?'
When you receive no answer, you look back to see the prince waiting for you at the end of the chamber. You hurry to catch up.
'After you.' The prince bows, gesturing for you to step through the archway.
The next room is circular, lit by rainbow light shimmering through the stained glass windows. Like many of the previous rooms you have seen, there is no furniture or decoration—only a set of stairs leading up to a raised dais. At the foot of the stairs is a wooden rack with swords, greatswords, daggers and poleaxes resting between its posts.
'What is this?' you ask, looking around warily.
'My games room,' smiles Lazlo, striding towards the stairs. He grabs a sword from the rack, testing its weight and balance. He grins, spinning the grip in his hand. 'Want to play?'
You follow him up the stairs, onto the stone platform. Drawing your weapons, you watch him carefully, suspecting a trick. The prince circles you, following the edge of the dais. 'One of my good friends made this for me,' he grins. A mage—Avian Dale.'
He utters a word of magic and suddenly the dais lifts up into the air with a grating rumble. You almost lose your footing as it ascends above the floor of the chamber, rotating slowly. Stepping to the edge, you look over to the side to see that the platform is floating on a cushion of magic.
'Neat trick, eh?' The prince clicks his fingers. Suddenly, the air around you starts to crackle and hiss, charged with powerful magics.
'What's happening?' you ask, confused, struggling to keep your balance as the circle gives a sudden lurch.
'A lesson,' says Lazlo. His eyes glint mischievously. 'Be aware of your opponent—but be doubly aware of your environment.'
At that moment, veins of lighting crackle over the surface of the stone. Lazlo sidesteps them easily, moving to a clear space. You, however, are caught by one of the bolts. You give a startled cry as a sudden shock of pain lances through your body.
'I thought you were fast?' grins the prince, advancing across the circle. 'Now, let's see what you're really made of.' Your weapons clash, as the disc starts to spin faster, sending more crackling bolts across the stone. It is time to fight:

	Speed	Brawn	Armor	Health
Lazlo	5	4	2	40

Special Abilities
Shock treatment: If any combatant rolls a double for their attack speed (before or after a reroll), they are automatically hit by the lightning and must lose 4 health, ignoring armor.
In a spin: If you win a combat round, roll a die. If you get a 1 or 2 then you have lost your balance and your strike misses its mark. You cannot roll for damage and the combat round ends. 3 or more and you can roll for damage as normal.

This guy is actually pretty tough. He's more or less a mirror match but also has a 1/3 chance to negate any hits.
Round 1: Patio 2+5 (lightning, surefooted'd, 6+5, Patio is at 26), Lazlo 12+5 (lightning, Lazlo is at 36). (Prophecy'd, no damage.) *Thorns* Lazlo is at 35.
Round 1: Patio 9+5, Lazlo 8+5. Die roll: 4, hits. Damage 5+3-2=6, Lazlo is at 29. *DoTs* He's at 27.
Round 2: Patio 7+5, Lazlo 6+5. Die roll: 5, hits. Damage 6+3-2=7, Lazlo is at 20. *DoTs* He's at 18.
Round 3: Patio 16+5 (haste'd, lightning, Patio is at 22), Lazlo 10+5. Die roll: 1, misses. *DoTs* Lazlo is at 16.
Round 4: Patio 11+5, Lazlo 9+5. Die roll: 4, hits. Damage 3+3-2=4, Lazlo is at 12. *DoTs* He's at 10.
Round 5: Patio 10+5, Lazlo 7+5. Die roll: 3, hits. Damage 4+3-2=5, Lazlo is at 6. *DoTs* He's at 4. *Headshot* Lazlo is defeated.

You try and settle into a calm state where you are reading your opponent, anticipating his attacks. Lazlo is a skilled fighter, agilely dodging the lightning and constantly throwing you off balance with his feints. But few of his measured blows strike home.
It is a long and grueling battle. Lazlo observes your performance with growing admiration, occasionally offering advice when he sees you overstepping a lunge or struggling with a parry. Eventually Lazlo makes a mistake, failing to dodge the lightning in time. He stumbles back, wincing with pain. Before he can right himself, a sudden lurch of the disc throws him forward. You dodge aside, sliding a leg between his own and tripping him over and quickly fire your pistol at him, the bullet grazing his head as he falls to the ground. He lands roughly on his stomach, with your foot resting on his back.
'Game over,' you grin, looking down at the defeated prince.
He releases his grip on your sword. 'A worthy victory,' he smiles. 'You fought well.' The prince utters a word of magic. The lightning ceases and the disc starts to lower itself back to the ground.
Lazlo gets to his feet, dusting off his shirt and breeches. 'I think you deserve a reward, don't you?' He nods towards the weapon's rack. 'Take whatever you like.'
The disc comes to a rumbling halt, allowing you to descend the stairs. The rack contains a fine array of weapons, all sharpened and polished, ready for battle. If you wish, you may now choose one of the following items:

Knot of knives (chest) +1 speed +1 brawn ability: flurry (1/combat, instead of rolling for a damage score, deal 1d6 armor-ignoring damage to all opponents).
Red mist (main hand: sword) +2 brawn +2 magic ability: bleed
Jeeves' juicer (left hand: dagger) +1 speed +1 brawn ability: gouge (increase bleed damage by 1)

I tried my best to add the surprisingly nonlethal headshot to the victory text. If we lost to Prince Batman, we wouldn't die, but we also wouldn't get a loot. Pick one to proceed.

edit: I forgot to factor in lightning on the first round with Lazlo, meaning that he should have gone down at the end of the 6th round. Fixed that.

[SGamerz]

Take Red Mist for the straight upgrade.

[angelfromanotherpin]

It's not a straight upgrade, choosing Red Mist will cost us precious Speed. Don't take any of 'em.

[SGamerz]

I mistook the rusted knife's +1 for damage instead of speed.

What does Haste do? I can't remember. Is it better than flurry?

[Darth Rabbitt]

Haste is +1d6 to attack speed 1/combat.

[Omegonthesane]

Half a vote for Jeeves' Juicer. Doubling bleed damage isn't as metal as head shot, but it's more likely to proc in fights where abilities matter.

[SGamerz]

I'm still reluctant to vote against headshot, so I guess I'll vote to take none of the items.

[Darth Rabbitt]

(2 votes in favor of taking nothing vs. half to take the juicer.)

'I hope I managed to teach you something back there,' grins Lazlo, sliding his sword back onto the rack. 'Else my bruises will have been for nothing.'

If you have a high magic score and wish to learn the path of the mage
If you have a high brawn score and wish to learn the path of the warrior or the rogue

And now we get what's probably the biggest choice in the game. Warrior, mage, or rogue?

[angelfromanotherpin]

Rogue!

[Omegonthesane]

Rogue on the assumption that it isn't secret hard mode like mage was.

[SGamerz]

Yeah, let's try something different from the last book. Rogue.

[Darth Rabbitt]

You have chosen the path of the rogue. You may permanently increase your health by 5 (to 35.) Make a note of this change on your hero sheet.

Lazlo escorts you to the courtyard, where a group of servants are busy unloading crates from a series of wagons. Jeeves appears to be overseeing the operation, furiously scratching notes into a log book whilst hurrying between wagons, snapping at everyone's heels.
'Just some extra goodies for the All Saint's festival,' smiles Lazlo, noticing your look of bewilderment. 'Fireworks—the very best.'
'And those?' you ask, pointing to a pile of smaller boxes, each one carrying the stamp of a white rose.
Lazlo stops, glancing sideways at you. 'Yes, the white rose. It's the symbol of the cardinals from the White Abbey. Those are supplies for the war effort.'
'The war effort...' you repeat, confused. 'You mean, the Church's fight against the Wiccans?'
Lazlo winces, shifting uncomfortably. 'Look, I don't get directly involved. My supplies are medicinal—potions, cures. I make sure that they go to the right people...' He scratches nervously at the back of his neck. 'On both sides. That could get me into a lot of trouble. But I trust you are the sort to be discreet.'
You shrug your shoulders. 'I try to stay out of politics.'
Lazlo's grin returns. 'And those are wise words, my friend.' The prince nods to the guards at the gate, who move aside to let you pass. 'Good luck,' he smiles. 'I hope our paths cross again, one day.' Thanking Lazlo, you leave the castle and return to the bustling streets of Carvel. Turn to the map to continue your adventure.

Where to next?

Name: Mr. Patio
Path: Rogue
Speed: +5, Brawn: +3, Magic: +2, Armor: +3
Health: 35

Slot	Item	Speed	Brawn	Magic	Armor	Ability
Head	White Mane		+1	+1		Charm
Necklace	Blood Iron Knot				+1	Charm
Cloak	Saddle Blanket				+1
Main Hand	Rusted Knife	+1				Bleed
Left Hand	Falk's Firestarter	+1	+1			Headshot
Gloves	Dark Vein Bracers	+1
Chest	Green Blaze	+1			+1	Haste
Feet	Sailor's Sandals	+1				Surefooted
Talisman	Wishing Well Coin					Charm
Ring 1	Pins 'N' Needles					Thorns
Ring 2	Warded Wood		+1	+1

Backpack	Item
1	Pot of Healing
2	Pumpkin Squash (2 uses)
3	Holy Water (2 uses)
4	Angelica Wreath (ability: holy protector)
5	Pot of Speed

Safe House	Item
1	Cutthroat's Carver
2	All Hallow's Ring
3
4

Prophecy
bones
sure blade
calling
prevail
mixer
gatherer
meadowsweet, lemongrass, and white willow
raven
duty
Map of Carvel
Handy Herbalist's Spotter's Guide
Red quest at 277
Money Pouch: 181 Crowns

[angelfromanotherpin]

Wait. In Book 1, class choice happened at the end of Act 1, in the unskippable act-ending encounter. Here it's just in a random and missable quest? That seems terrible. Unless the end-of-act mission requires this mission first, which is still not great, but is less bad.

Anyway, go to 277 for that not-on-map red quest we turned down earlier.

[SGamerz]

go to 277 for that not-on-map red quest we turned down earlier.

[Darth Rabbitt]

(Strangely, the other red quest does have a requirement to have completed the quest we just finished but neither this one nor the boss monster do. I can't recall if there's another chance to pick up the classes later; it seems like the kind of thing that should be there but this book has some pretty big flaws.)

You return to the bar and ask after the bearded warrior named Polk. No sooner have you said the words then you feel a nudge at your back. Turning, you are surprised to see Polk watching you with a grin on his face. 'Good timing,' he nods, showing you the full mugs of ale in his hands. 'You still interested?'
You follow him over to the curtained alcove. 'Any chance you could do the honors?' he asks. 'I think I spilled enough beer in this place already.'
You reach forward and pull back the curtain.

Quest: The toymaker's tower

The private area is bigger than you thought, the alcove actually serving as a low arch through into a separate dining room. Logs spit and fizz on an open fire, flooding the space with dancing shadow. At a round table a man is sat over a bowl of stew, picking at its contents with his spoon. A woman paces nervously around him, stopping and looking up as you enter.
'Who are you?' she asks with a flicker of irritation.
Before you can reply, Polk pushes past and plonks the mugs onto the table. 'I found your number four, Anse.' He appears to be addressing the man at the table, who raises his head. It is only when he leans back that you see his eyes are covered by a band of white cloth.
You take an awkward bow, acutely aware of the sudden silence. 'I can take my leave, if you prefer...'
Polk grabs you by the arm and ushers you over to the table. 'Bah, nonsense,' he grins, settling into a chair in front of a platter of steaming food. 'Like I says, I'm the chatty one.'
The woman gives a disparaging grunt. You pull out a chair to take a seat, studying her closely. She is elderly, her short-cropped hair peppered with grey. Her clothing suggests an outdoor type—layers of boiled leather, with a generous cut allowing for comfort and movement. A bow and quiver of arrows rest against the wall behind her.
'You are alone?' she enquires, toying with her necklace—an expensive trinket seemingly at odds with the rest of her make-do appearance.
'Yes,' you reply assuredly. 'Would you care to explain what's going on?'
Polk noisily clears his throat, gaining your attention. 'We're heading out at first light, to go and find a tower. It hasn't been seen...' he pauses while he downs one of the mugs, stopping only to wipe the froth from his beard '...in forty years.'
The man opposite, who Polk referred to as Anse, favors you with a tight smile.
'I don't understand,' you reply. 'How does a tower disappear and...'
'The tower is Jacob's,' snaps the woman, some private torment evident in her eyes. 'He was a toymaker—a master craftsman. As children, we used to crowd around his cart whenever it came into the village. He would always have little gifts for us...' Her gaze shifts to the crackling log fire. 'My husband apprenticed with him. He spent most of his time in that tower; spoke little of his work, only that Jacob was studying ancient texts—Elven. He wanted to make his toys...more special.'
You glance at Polk, seeing that the bearded warrior is supping on another mug of ale. He flicks his eyebrows at you. 'I sense this does not end well,' you sigh, turning back to the woman.
'There was talk of experiments,' she says with obvious distaste. And then, one day, the tower simply...vanished.' Her hand returns to the necklace, fingers tracing a ring that hangs from its silver links. A wedding band, perhaps. 'I have waited forty long years.'
'So there you have it,' smiles Polk, slamming another empty mug onto the table-top. 'We're going to check out the tower and find out what's left...' He stops, aware that the woman is glaring at him across the room. 'Find out what's happened to Joss' husband,' he corrects carefully.
'And why do you need me?' you ask, confused. 'Is this dangerous?'
Polk shifts nervously in his chair, hand reaching for his next mug of ale. 'Two things. You're number four because Anse here has a thing about numbers.'
You glance over at the man in the white blindfold. He has returned to picking meat out of his stew, placing the dripping morsels on a separate plate. It appears his sight is perfect, despite the blindfold he is wearing. You also notice that every inch of his visible skin, bar his face, is tattooed with white glowing lines of script.
'And point two?' you prompt, your eyes remaining fixed on the man's peculiar markings.
'We're dealing with the shroud,' sighs Polk, taking a noisy gulp of ale. 'And that means demons, or worse. You can fight, I take it?'

Will you:
Ask about Anse's strange markings?
Ask about the shroud?
Ask why you should risk your life?
Agree to the mission?

[angelfromanotherpin]

Ask all questions, then accept mission.

[Omegonthesane]

Agreed - all the exposition.

[SGamerz]

Ask all the questions!

[Darth Rabbitt]

Anse's markings:
'Holy inscriptions,' says Polk, his eyes suddenly lighting up. 'Paladins are anointed by the inscribers, as a means to ward away bad spirits...demons...' He gives a noisy belch as he settles back in his chair. 'It also makes them ruddy amazing at killing stuff. Which is useful.'
The man called Anse hasn't spoken. He simply lifts his stew bowl to his lips and takes a careful sip before setting it back down on the table. He gives a grunt of disgust and then pushes it away with a flick of his fingers.
'A paladin...' you gasp. The title is familiar to you—given to veteran warriors who have pledged their lives, and some say their souls, to fight for the One God. You glance past his shoulder, to where a set of weapons have been carefully laid out on a side table. Resting on the white cloth are several knives, two swords and a mace. And propped up next to them is a silver crucifix, almost a meter in length.
'He doesn't say much,' says Polk, grinning through his beard. 'But then I respect someone whose actions speak louder than words.'

The shroud:
Polk leans forward, pushing his plate away and crossing his arms. 'Look, when Judah preached the teachings of the One God, he described two places—Heaven and Hel. One place all nice and welcoming like, and the other where all the bad people go to suffer eternal fire and damnation.'
The blindfolded warrior smiles with bemusement.
'Let me guess, the shroud is the second one?' you remark dryly.
The woman speaks up before the warrior can reply. 'The shroud is dangerous!' she snaps, her voice sharp and cold. 'When Jacob started his experiments he didn't know what he was doing, what powers he was playing with. He tore a hole in our world and dragged the tower and my husband—everything in it—to that...other place.' Her face hardens as she clenches and unclenches her fists, her own expressions made menacing by the dancing flames.
'It is not unheard of,' nods Polk, speaking softly. 'A great discharge of magic—a bad event or happening—can rip away at the very fabric of our world. I've heard of whole towns, even cites back in the day, just disappearing, only to return—but different, twisted somehow.' He sighs, blowing out the whiskers of his beard. 'Nothing good comes of the shroud. I just hope,' the warrior's gaze drifts over to Joss, who is pacing up and down in front of the fire, 'we aren't too late.'

Why risk our life?
The woman stiffens at your question, looking personally insulted. Polk quickly intercedes. 'A fair question,' he proffers, nodding his head. 'Why would you risk your life for us? I asked you because you don't look like a mercenary lap dog. All of them out there,' he waves a thumb at the bustling taproom, 'got more space in their heads than a beggar's bank vault. You see, when we're talking the shroud,' he drops his voice to almost a whisper, 'we're talking treasure. Rare magic. Things you can sell on for a pretty penny or two.' His eyes flick to Joss. 'And sure, we're doing a good deed too.'
'But why not hire a whole band of mercenaries?' You frown, bunching your shoulders. 'Pay them for their muscle, not their wits.'
Polk glances at Anse—the two warriors share a knowing smile. 'And I thought you was bright, kid. Look, mercenaries talk. Once word got out that a tower—that's been missing for forty years—suddenly shows back up...every treasure hunter and thief in Valeros will be descending on it like flies on a meat wagon. And what's more, the inquisitors will soon have that place locked down when they get word of it. So we have a narrow window of opportunity, see, get what I'm saying?'

The mission:
Dawn finds you out on the moors, frost still crisp on the ground as you trudge across the undulating hills. Joss sets a brisk pace, her bow slung over her shoulder, quiver resting at her hip. You can't help but marvel at her single-minded devotion—to have waited nearly a lifetime for the return of the tower, dutifully keeping her husband's memory alive when all hope must have been lost. With the tower's sudden reappearance, you can understand her urgency as she pushes through the coarse brush, barely stopping to draw breath.
Behind her is the paladin, Anse. He is now wearing a white surcoat over a padded blue jerkin. His silver crucifix hangs across his back, his other weapons bristling from the numerous belts and wraps about his body.
And rattling along at your side is Polk. The rugged warrior is struggling to keep up, huffing and puffing through his beard. A crossbow is cradled in his arms, loaded and ready for action. 'Are we there yet?' he gasps for the umpteenth time that morning. 'I swear, when this is over I'm retiring...'
You have stopped dead in your tracks, letting Polk trudge on for several paces before he looks around, confused. 'It seems we have arrived,' you reply, pointing ahead. Polk puts a hand over his eyes, squinting over the next rise.
'Well, would yer look at that.'
The tower is a monolith of black stone, cracked with veins of spitting fire. Its pointed spires stab through the clouds, looking like a giant hand of shadow grasping for the sun. In some parts, sections of the tower have crumbled away—but, rather than fall loosely to the ground, they hang suspended in the air, captured as if in a painting.
'I guess it didn't look like that when you last saw it?' ventures Polk, glancing sideways at Joss. The woman is speechless, gazing upon the black tower with fear and apprehension.
'I have to find my husband,' she breathes at last, starting down into the valley.
Silently, the rest of you follow, wondering what horrors you will find inside this malign-looking tower.

Anse pushes on the black-iron doors, which grate and squeal in protest as they slowly slide open.
From inside the tower a searing heat rushes out through the widening gap, like a blast from a furnace. It is accompanied by a thunderous, reverberating boom, echoing from somewhere deep in the building itself.
'This is surely the moment where someone suggests we turn back,' says Polk meekly. He looks up at the cracked wall, sweeping away into the chill, white skies. 'Anyone want to suggest that now...please?'
Joss is first through the doors, an arrow nocked to her bow. Anse follows close behind, moving with a silent and careful grace. You give Polk an apologetic frown, before drawing your weapons and reluctantly following the others.
'Just remember, I suggested it...' mutters Polk, hurrying to bring the rear. 'Just remember.'
As you enter the tower, several images of what you might find flash through your mind. An opulent entrance hall, perhaps, or a cold-stone chamber filled with dusty cobwebs and shifting shadows...
And then your jaw hangs open, your footfalls slowing as you crane your head back, struggling to take in and understand what your eyes are seeing.

You are standing in a huge open courtyard, its cracked stone floor spattered with rubble. The ground is warm underfoot, gouts of steam and black smoke spewing through metal grilles set into the rock. Around the edges of the yard the walls have been smashed apart, as if by some powerful explosion. Their fragments now hang suspended in the air like a haphazard jigsaw, forming stairways and platforms that float eerily against a backdrop of purest, darkest night.
'What happened here...?' you rasp, almost frightened to speak in this strange place.
'The work of the shroud,' whispers Polk, turning slowly on the spot. 'Be on your guard. Trust nothing, no one.'
At that moment, you hear a peal of childish laughter. All eyes turn to an area of the crumbling walls, where a child sits on the edge of a fractured archway, kicking his legs back and forth in the empty space. He is wearing a patchwork cloak, which sparkles like stars against the black void. 'Look Maxi, someone came to play!'
Behind the boy, you can dimly make out a large shape. Its proportions look strange, almost a mockery of a human body. It isn't until it steps closer that you see it is made entirely of iron, the appearance mimicking that of a armored knight.
'Where is my husband?' cries Joss angrily. 'What have you done with him?'
The boy titters to himself. 'You have to play my games. You want to play, don't you?'
Suddenly, the ground starts to shake. A torrent of angry flame bursts up through the metal grilles.
'Wait! No!' screeches the boy, hopping to his feet. 'Who left the furnace open? Who left it open?'
Then the floor explodes in a churning maelstrom of heat, as some gigantic fiery elemental rises up through the seared stone, its body a blazing expanse of sizzling, hissing magma.
'Summon the doors, Maxi!' cries the boy. 'We gotta close the furnace!'
A glowing doorway appears behind him. The boy runs into it, disappearing the moment he comes into contact with the glowing magic. You notice that several other doorways have appeared in other areas of the jumbled maze.
'We've got to get out of here!' shouts Polk. You spin around, only to find that the tower doors are nowhere to be seen—replaced by an endless void of black space.
'Trapped!' you gasp, turning back to the courtyard.
The fiery beast rears up into the air, its body forming two enormous fists of fire. Anse moves casually towards it, pulling his crucifix free from its restraints. With the flick of some hidden mechanism, a row of knives punch out from the cross-piece, its surface suddenly glittering with inscribed runes. The paladin shows no fear as he approaches the monster.
Then everything turns to chaos.
The beast's arms come crashing down, shattering the stone beneath its fists. You are thrown backwards by the resulting tremor, skidding across the ash and dust to the very edge of the shattered courtyard. Above you, Anse is springing from one floating platform to the next, using them to gain height. Silently, he springs into the air, his crucifix swinging around in a white-flaming arc. He connects with the beast's shoulder, eliciting a bellowing scream. Then the paladin is rolling across its back, seemingly impervious to the heat, and starts pummeling the other shoulder with his holy crucifix. The beast twists around, trying to bat him away.
'We have to run!' shouts Polk. 'Anse is buying us time!'
Already the portals have started to flicker and fade. Polk makes a dash for the nearest one. Without looking back, he steps through and disappears, the portal winking out of existence a second later. At the other side of the yard, Joss is scrambling from platform to platform, headed for the exact same portal as the boy. The glowing doorway has begun to shrink and fade, but the speedy ranger hurls herself inside just as it snaps closed, vanishing from sight.
'Get out of here!' shouts a voice in your ear. For a moment you are so startled you find yourself looking around for its source. Then your attention shifts back to the paladin, who has made a leap for one of the floating platforms. 'I said run!'
You realize that the voice must be Anse's.
The fire demon is now spitting balls of flame from its gaping maw. They smash into the rock walls, splintering them and sending showers of stone floating out across the strange black void. You spot two remaining doorways that you can still reach—one to your left on a cracked dias of rock and another to your right, glimmering between two pillars of stone. You realize that, unless you choose one of them quickly, they will disappear, trapping you here with this enraged demon.

Will you:
Take the left portal?
Take the right portal?

[angelfromanotherpin]

Left is always right.

[SGamerz]

Seems to be a random choice, so no point delaying things with a tie vote. Left it is!