So that's either 1 1/2 or 2 1/2 for keeping the ring on vs. 1 for removing it.
Elanor, today dressed in a silver gown of gossamer silk, turns to look at you searchingly as you walk underneath the hawthorn arch. She smiles and asks if you are feeling brave today.
You sense a somber urgency behind her words and, imitating a courtly bow, you reply, 'My lady, I have never felt more heroic!'
'Good. Do you dare to glimpse your future, my hero?'
You have always avoided fortune-tellers. You have noticed that if a fortune-teller gives good news, people go away happy and expect good fortune to turn up on a plate without them lifting a finger. If the soothsayer prophesies misfortune a sense of helplessness comes over people and they all too often sink into a despairing inactivity which leads to their downfall through sloth. Thus their prophesy is self-fulfilling. It is a well-known fact in Godorno that those soothsayers who always give good auguries are never short of custom, leading you to concluded that they often lie, pretending to see happy events when they should be giving bad news, good fortune when they should be giving bad tidings.
Your worry on this score, however, is soon gone. Looking in the basin of smooth clear water it seems as though an artist is hurriedly painting a picture of ghoulish horror.
'The water shows what will come to pass if you do not succeed in your quest.'
The picture is complete now in terrible detail, as if you were actually looking at the burnt remains of the forest. The trees have been chopped down as far as the eye can see. An infernal engine of some kind belches black smoke. Two hundred paces away you see a forge where a gigantic cauldron is suspended over a bonfire; six men constantly feed the fire with wood and charcoal. All the men working there have very pale skins, their faces long and thin, like hatchets. They shout to each other over the din of the engine in a language you don't understand.
Teams of horses harnessed together pull logs to where groups of men cut them up ready for burning. A row of children sit nearby; they are darker skinned than the men and have been set to toil over sharpening the saws.
Where the trees have been felled and stripped, men are torching the underbrush. They seem intent on killing everything that lives in the forest. A pall of smoke hangs like a storm-cloud over the scene.
Then the vision shifts and the men have gone, leaving behind nothing but the grey ashes of death. All that remains of the forest is a few blackened stumps.
Note the codeword
Crabclaw on your Adventure Sheet.
'You have seen what will come to pass if you fail in your quest: death and nothing but death. Now let us see whether your future holds something different in store.'
Elanor takes your hand and brushes the surface of the water with your fingertips. A new picture forms and your eyes grow round with wonder. Something that looks like a hill set between tall dark trees is stirring and turning to look at you. It is a dragon, the oldest of the ancient beasts, not quite immortal. Its red eyes contrast horribly with the smooth jade green scales of its body. It snorts and a cloud of green gas rolls towards you. You jerk back from the vision in horror, before you remember it is just a picture on the water. You see yourself darting away from the cloud. Later, the vision shows you riding astride the creature's back while it flexes its wings in flight.
'You must win over the dragon, the most powerful of all the forest's denizens,' says Elanor. 'Then it will fight for you against the Westermen.'
Elanor takes your hand once more and brushes the surface of the water again. The water is icy to your touch this time. A shiver of indefinable apprehension runs through you.
A new picture forms. Elves with bows throng the depths of the forest. They have pale green skin and hair the colour of rich red wine. They are sniping at the Westermen, unseen. Men fall in swathes, pierced by the elves' arrows, but the Westermen come on and on, advancing towards some unseen goal. The elves fall bavck; it seems they are looking to you to do something decisive.
A terrible figure stalks into view. You can't tell whether it is a man or some infernal magical machine. It looks like a full suit of armour, large enough for a giant of a man, that hisses steam at the joints. It bears a great sword which whistles through the air as it strides mechanically towards you.
The vision fades.
`Your moment of truth, hero. You must be prepared to fight the smoking man. Remember this vision, saviour, it shows the way to success in your quest,' she says.
She pauses before continuing. 'Tomorrow will be Midsummer's Day. It is time for you to go in search of the elves. But, my hero, you must be careful. Tell them you are a friend of mine and they might not kill you, for they sometimes shoot a man dead with a single arrow before the hapless wanderer knows he is being watched. Harm neither hide nor leaf of the forest. Only by your feelings for nature will the elves judge you. Aside from that they are impartial. You could be a saint or a murderer among men, yet it would count for nothing among the elves.'
When she is sure you know the way she bids you farewell with one last warning. "The flute will be of no use to you, for I cannot save you from the elves if you anger them. Farewell.'
(We have neither the
Waterbearer nor the
Bullhorn keywords.)
The hairs on the nape of your neck begin to bristle as you step quietly between the Greenbark trees. You sense you are being watched.
You can
hide,
stop and look about you, or
call out that you are Elanor's friend come in search of the immortal elves.
Adventure Sheet:
Name: ??
Skills: CUNNING, FOLKLORE, SPELLS and WILDERNESS LORE
Life Points: 10
Possessions:
1) Magic Wand
2) Maple Flute
3) Emerald Ring
4)
5)
6)
7)
8)
Money: 9 gold pieces
Codewords: Crabclaw