Lesser-Known Gamebooks: Sagas of the Demonspawn

[Darth Rabbitt]

Go to section 35.

[Omegonthesane]

Section 35.

[angelfromanotherpin]

Fire*Wolf searched the walls. At first he thought the inscription must have been mistaken, for the stonework, ancient as it was, remained fine, with no sign at all of any secret opening.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he found it. No more than a hairline crack, but once discovered enough to investigate so that, inevitably, he found the catch. The mechanism was simple but astonishingly effective. A light pressure in the correct direction and an entire slab slid away. Behind it was darkness, but for Fire*Wolf at that moment it was as inviting as bright sunlight. It was a way out of his prison.

Mindless of what might lie in store, he plunged in. The secret door closed silently behind him.

Perhaps rash, but perfectly understandable in the circumstances. Follow Fire*Wolf now.

LORD OF THE VALLEY

He was in a narrow, stone-lined room, scarcely more than six feet wide, so that by stretching out his hands, he might have touched the walls on either side. Itshould have been pitch dark here, but a species of luminous mould clung to the stone so that when his eyes adjusted, he could see dimly, but well enough. The corridor ran straight for close on fifty feet, then ended in a flight of worn stone steps descending into Stygian darkness.

Fire*Wolf hesitated. Not even the luminous mould grew in this pit to give him light. Should he risk the stairs in total darkness? His deliberations were short. To turn back now meant at best a return to the prison chamber . . . and at worst there would be no means of opening the secret panel from this side. It was go forward or nothing.

All the same, he drew his sword.

As he placed an uncertain foot on the topmost step, the suave tones of Doombringer echoed in his mind: 'Must you fumble in the darkness like a blind beggar, Fire*Wolf ? It is in my power to give you light.'

Then do it!' Fire*Wolf growled, nervousness overcoming his instinctive aversion to the accursed sword.

'There is a small payment, fearful Barbarian. A token only...'

Fire*Wolf froze. Who knew what foul price this blade might extract. 'Payment?' he asked.

'No more than three units of your life essence,' Doombringer whispered. 'Much less than you might lose should you meet some adversary in the darkness.'

'My life essence?' Fire*Wolf hissed.

'Unfortunately,' Doombringer murmured in the depths of his mind, 'once given, those three units may never be regained. Not by time or magic or healing. But the bargain remains fair. Three units only and I shall give you light now and in the future whenever it is necessary.'

Fire*Wolf hesitated, locked in indecision.

As well he might. Three LIFE POINTS seems a small price - and yet those LIFE POINTS will be gone forever. Who knows in this land of constant dangers when three LIFE POINTS might make the final difference between life and death? And who knows what further tributes this accursed sword might subsequently demand for services? Nonetheless, a source of light might in itself mean the difference between life and death. A dilemma - and one immediately beyond the judgement of our brave Barbarian. Thus you must make the choice for him.

• Invest the LIFE POINTS?
• Proceed in darkness?

[Omegonthesane]

Sacrifice 3 maximum life points to our demon sword in exchange for at-will Light.

[SlyJohnny]

So not worth it. There's probably a lantern or something at the bottom of the stairs, anyway, and our demon sword is just trolling us.

Also, how on earth did you solve that, starmaker?

[MisterDee]

Less than 1% max health seems a fair price not to have to deal with light bullshit for IIRC 4 books?

Pay the price.

[Starmaker]

Also, how on earth did you solve that, starmaker?

Brute force looking for English numerals, with a wildcard for each of those m-like symbols. I tried frequency analysis (online solvers, and the one I wrote for a Java class), all of them failed.

[SGamerz]

2 updates in a row without the PC passing out/waking up in some manner! I'm shocked! How long will that last?

Pay the price.

[Thaluikhain]

A permanent loss for a permanent ability, presumably running over several books is novel, so buy it for that.

[angelfromanotherpin]

Very well!' Fire*Wolf growled. The bargain is struck.' For an instant he felt a tiny flutter in his chest as if his heart had missed a beat, but nothing more. At once the sword blade flared into blue-white light, illuminating the stone steps before him. Without further hesitation, Fire*Wolf moved nimbly down them.

Move with him, but first, permanently deduct three LIFE POINTS from his total. And remember that, from this point on, Fire*Wolf may use Doombringer as Lightbringer in situations of darkness without further payment, thus avoiding the automatic first blow which would otherwise have gone to any creatures of darkness encountered. There is too an added bonus which you may like to note for subsequent combat encounters. If flared in an opponent's face, Doombringer will cause temporary blindness. To activate this option, Fire*Wolf must succeed in his first attempt at throwing a double dice roll to total less than his current SKILL figure. If the opponent is blinded, Fire*Wolf may strike three blows in succession without a return strike against him.

There doesn't seem to be an action cost to attempted flaring, just that we only get one chance per combat to try.

At last he reached the bottom of the steps. The flamesword in his hand illuminated a large, circular, high-ceilinged chamber, rather like a shaft, or, more likely, the cellar of a round tower, for there was in fact a spiral flight of metal steps at the far side of the room.

But Fire*Wolf's attention was taken instantly by something else - or rather by two other things. The first was a series of open pits, each some five feet square, which were set at intervals along the floor like some monstrous distortion of a chequerboard design. The other, demanding more immediate attention, was the night-black creature crouching no more than ten feet distant from him, lithe muscles tensed as if to spring. While bipedal and vaguely manlike in appearance, it was covered head to foot in sleek black fur and the head and features were of feline cast. Amber orbs regarded him suspiciously and the creature's lips curled back in a sudden, throaty snarl.

Oh dear, oh dear! What an uncommonly difficult situation for the Barbarian. He is facing a pantherine - one of the swiftest and most deadly predators in Harn. No supernatural creature this: merely a jet-black feline of high intelligence, rudimentary speech and vile disposition, in appearance like a cross between a panther and an ape. But before you begin to calculate the outcome of this encounter, two points must be made.

The first is that there is a small chance Fire*Wolf can avoid a fight. Compare the pantherine's CHARM figure with that of Fire*Wolf. If Fire* Wolf's figure is higher, then our Barbarian may be permitted one double dice roll, multiplied by eight, against his own CHARM figure. If he scores below that figure, then the pantherine will immediately abandon its attack. But should Fire* Wolf fail, the fight is on. In this event, each blow that Fire*Wolf strikes must be accompanied by a second roll of a single dice. Unless he scores above 1 with this roll, you may take it he has fallen down a pit.

The pantherine's charm is 10, so it's actually impossible for Fire*Wolf to not qualify for the roll. It is, however, very possible to fail the roll, needing 5- on 2d6. The roll is 7, so we have to fight!

To battle!

I'm deducing that Fire*Wolf's supposed to have healed up during his epic sleep.

Score	Fire*Wolf	Pantherine
Strength	88	88
Speed	48	96
Stamina	80	50
Courage	56	80
Skill	4	25
Luck	24	40
Charm	48	10
Attraction	88	5
Life Points	429	394

First Strike goes to the pantherine, no roll needed.
Round 1: Pantherine 9+2, hits for 40+11, we're at 378. *Flare* 8, fails. Fire*Wolf 6, misses. We're drained for 10 to 368. 4, no pit.
Round 2: Pantherine 4+2, misses. Fire*Wolf 8, hits for 10+11+20, he's at 353. Lifedrain sees us at 399. 3, no pit.
Round 3: Pantherine 12+2, hits for 70+11, we're at 318. Fire*Wolf 7, hits for 0+11+20, he's at 322. Lifedrain sees us at 349. 1, down the pit!

Fire*Wolf gagged.

His fall of almost fifteen feet had ended without injury on something soft, but the sweet scent of putrefaction embraced him like a sullen fog. Hastily he scrambled upright, gasping for breath as the foul odour seeped into his lungs. He had, he found, dropped his sword when he fell, presumably in the chamber above. But there was at least some light here in the pit, a cancerous green luminescence generated by microbes and crawling insects, sufficient to show him a scene from nightmare.

The pit was full of rotting corpses.

Decomposing flesh hung in ghastly strips from bleaching bones. Mouldering rags encased the horrid remnants of what had once been men, and military men to judge by the rusting swords and helmets. A soldiers' cemetery? The decaying evidence of a massacre?

The corpses moved! They undulated gently, like a sullen sea. Small, slow, unthreatening movements of skull heads and bony fingers, the gradual turning of half-rotted eyeballs in cavernous sockets. Arms reaching out towards him with the dread uncertainty of a terminal gasp.

For the first time in his life, Fire*Wolf knew real fear. In revulsion that was close to panic, he drew back and looked around to find, with profound relief, that footholds had been cut at intervals in several places into the pit walls. Fire*Wolf leaped and climbed as if the demons of Deep Hell were after him. Better a thousand pantherines than the grisly horrors of this tomb.

The undead creatures made no move to follow him, merely stretched, stared and oozed in his direction, soundless as a midnight graveyard. He neared the lip of the pit and found, set in a niche close by his hand-hold, a lamp and tinderbox. Despite the horror below him and the danger above, the seduction of good honest light proved too strong and, balanced on the wall, he gripped the lamp and struck the tinder. The yellow glow of fine oil reached out to dispel the doom. At once, the gentle movement of the corpses changed. They began to drag themselves upright, settling helmets on flayed skulls, gripping rusted swords with skeletal fingers. One after one, the undead warriors searched out the footholds in the walls. With a sound close to a whimper, Fire*Wolf scrambled up the last remaining few feet of the pit.

Immediately, at the top of the pit, he faced the snarling fangs not of the single pantherine he had so recently attacked, but of a ringed pantherine pack, a dozen or more, black demons poised to spring.

Unwelcome though the interruption may be at this point, it must be here admitted that Fire*Wolf, in his extremity, contemplated suicide.

• Turn this thought to action? x
• Consider that some near-dead spark of courage nonetheless sustains him? √

This choice is obviously insulting, and I'm not going to dignify it with a vote, not even for the sake of suspense.

For an instant there was utter stillness, a nightmare tableau with no outcome possible other than Fire*Wolf's swift and sudden death. The pantherines stirred uneasily, sniffing the air. Fire*Wolf raised the lantern high, thinking to throw it towards the pack in the hope that burning oil might cut a path for him through the ring. Behind him, sensed rather than seen, the foul head of the first undead warrior emerged over the edge of the pit.

And the pantherines fled howling.

Fire*Wolf spun round to face this even more ghastly foe. The rotting corpses were crawling from the pit in large numbers now, halting to range themselves in a nightmare satire of military precision. Skin crawling, instincts howling for flight like the pantherines, Fire*Wolf nonetheless prepared himself for his final battle.

And the growing Undead Army raised their arms to him in silent salute.

For a moment, Fire*Wolf remained rigid with shock. There was no mistaking the gesture of subservience. Or was there? Carefully he eased out of his crouched fighting posture. Again the Undead saluted, and again. One took a single pace forward. The tattered rags and rusted breastplate bore the. faded remnants of a Sergeant-at-Arms insignia.

'Your orders, Commander!' the creature said.

Orders? Would these ghastly creatures really obey his orders? 'Go back!' ordered Fire*Wolf promptly. At once the army turned and began to climb back into the pit.

'Stop!' shouted Fire*Wolf, his courage totally restored (and his curiosity greatly aroused, if the truth be known). 'Who are you?'

'We are the Castle Guard. We serve the Lord of the Valley.'

'But I am not - ' Fire*Wolf began, then stopped. Rash he might be, but never stupid. If these monsters had mistaken him for the Lord of the Valley, then it was scarcely in his best interests to disabuse them of the notion. He coughed, then called out with great confidence: 'Return whence you came, Castle Guard, and await my further orders!'

'At once, Lord,' the Undead Sergeant replied. Before the last of them had disappeared, Fire*Wolf was running for the spiral staircase, casting a mental prayer of thanks to the Wilderness gods who had delivered him from the jaws of Hell.

Fire*Wolf mounted the first tread of the spiral staircase at a run. For what had seemed to be a deserted castle, this one was proving far too dangerous for comfort. His haste was a mistake. In a heart-stopping instant,
the staircase spun on its own axis, gathering speed with a mechanical whine. Instinctively, he tried to jump off, but already it was too late. His surroundings blurred and the whine, growing higher and higher in pitch, seemed to invade his very brain. His senses reeled and carried him, still spinning, into darkness.

An unpleasant surprise and one which might betoken sorcery at work. Where Fire* Wolf will end up now, lies in the lap of chance. Roll one die.

There's a different destination for each outcome. The die is a 6.

For a mind-wrenching moment he seemed suspended in space. Fragmentary visions flitted before his eyes, fleeting as dreams. Armies in battle. A great stone circle. A giant anarchid, larger than a greathound. An ancient on a granite throne, emaciated, pale and wrinkled as a corpse. A rock pool around which sported naked women.

Fire*Wolf fell in a slow spiral. As he fell it seemed that he was presented with a choice of two doorways, both ajar. Through one he could see the inviting form of a woman of breathtaking beauty. Through the other, a hand beckoned, an old hand, skeletal with parchment skin, on one finger of which was a huge, imposing seal ring.

And his choice is real, although symbolic.

• Fire*Wolf is attracted by the woman.
• The beckoning had piques your curiosity.

[Darth Rabbitt]

Fire*Wolf's libido is what got him exiled in the first place so I think that he should probably stay away from the pretty lady. Check out the spoopy skeleton hand.

[Omegonthesane]

Agreed, the hand won't seduce us.

[Omegonthesane]

Agreed, the hand won't seduce us.

[angelfromanotherpin]

Something was happening to Fire*Wolf's mind.

Without knowing how or why, he found himself walking in a dream. Events took on a fluid, shifting quality that was at once perfectly real and quite unreal. He felt no fear, no more than a marginal unease and walked forward bravely, his right hand hovering close to the hilt of the Doomsword.

Images flitted across the field of his perceptions like the ghosts of past events. A woman of great beauty who might, or might not, be walking at his side . . . Living corpses in a deep, wide pit... A prison chamber and a runic message .. .A sullen lake ... Death and danger...

Were these things real? He did not know and found no means of knowing. Something was happening to his mind. He could only walk onwards, drawn by a sense of purpose that might, or might not, be connected with his destiny.

It seemed he reached a long, broad, high-ceilinged hall, colonnaded with granite pillars, slabbed with well-worn granite flagstones. The hall was at once empty and crowded. Shades of noble lords and ladies moved about their silent business, fading, disappearing, reappearing like the phantom manifestations of a will o'the wisp. Fire*Wolf heard distant conversation, distant laughter, distant music. ..

His mind cleared. There was total silence. The ghostly shades had disappeared, although the great hall remained. Fire*Wolf found himself dressed in a rich, full-length, silken robe, similar to those worn by the nobles he had seen. He was standing in the centre of the granite colonnades. And he was not alone.

Fire*Wolf stared along the sweep of the great grey pillars to an elevated granite throne. Upon it sat a solitary, hunched figure in the rich, dark robes of a practitioner of the Mystic Arts. The face was wrinkled like a wizened prune, the hand clutched on the armrest was little more than a skeletal claw. But the dark eyes, fastened on Fire*Wolf's own, glittered with fierce purpose and the voice, when the figure spoke, was strong.

'Approach me, Fire*Wolf!'

Fire*Wolf felt his legs move of their own volition as he walked reluctantly to the foot of the throne. He sensed menace in this wizened figure, or, if not menace, at least power. For the first time, he dearly wished the Doomsword was in his hand, but his arm remained immobile, as if paralysed. He reached the bottom step of the dais and stopped.

'I am the Lord Xandine,' the figure said without preamble. 'You see me in the process of dying.'

'Dying?' echoed Fire*Wolf in his mind, although his lips remained still.

'Aye, dying,' said the Lord Xandine, as if he had heard the thought. 'I have been engaged in dying for three centuries or more. It is a difficult task for one such as I, but my time has almost come. Thus I called you to me.'

'Called me?' This time Fire*Wolf spoke aloud.

The wizened figure sighed, as if the weight of ages rested on his shoulders. 'Your coming here was no accident.' The skeletal hand stirred, pointed, and Fire*Wolf found himself staring at a chair which he could have sworn had not been there before. 'Please sit down, Fire*Wolf the Barbarian, and I shall tell you my story, for it will become of great importance to you.'

Cautiously, Fire*Wolf sat. The chair proved perfectly solid.

'I am called Xandine,' the figure said. 'It is not a name you will recognize. I was born far from this place, in a land beyond the mountains. My family is an ancient line of the Delai, a race which has long devoted itself to the exploration of strange paths of knowledge. I have a certain interest in sorcery myself, as you may have guessed from my attire.

'I was a noble among the Delai, not a ruler, but one of the aristocracy. The ruling House was called Harkaan. Between the Xandine and the Harkaan, there was sometimes friendship, sometimes enmity. At the time of which I speak, there was actual war - rebellion, you might say. The war was the instigation of the head of the House of Xandine, my elder brother, Darkwood. I was young then, disinterested in politics, but I was caught up in the conflict and fought my share of battles when I could not avoid them.

'The rebellion proved a disaster for my House. In its second year, the Xandine forces were routed and my brother forced into exile. He travelled across the mountains into Harn and eventually established this fortress in this valley.

'There the story might have ended, but Darkwood was ever ambitious and harboured dreams of returning to Kaandor, the land of the Delai, and toppling the House of Harkaan. He dispatched spies and even mounted the occasional sortie when the snows thawed in the mountain passes. He never after became a great danger to the Harkaan, but he was certainly a great nuisance. Furthermore, his activities created a focal point for various crackpot dissidents. Eventually he grew to be such an irritation that Harkaan again moved against the remnants of the Xandine in Kaandor.

'I was at the time the ruling Lord Xandine The fortunes of my House were, of course, greatly depleted, but the Harkaan had recognized my fundamental disinterest in the early conflict and permitted me to retain certain of my estates.

'The Harkaan then moved brutally. They slew my wife and kidnapped my son, a baby boy then. They delivered an ultimatum that unless I put a stop to my exiled brother's activities, the child would be killed.'

The ancient figure sighed at the memory. 'I had little option. I crossed the passes into Harn, came to this valley and slew my brother. It was an act of great treachery, for he trusted me, but it was a necessity - or so I thought at the time. But the Harkaan did not release my child. They clearly thought of him as hostage to my own good behaviour now that Darkwood was dead. So, for the first time, I laid my own plans.

'I decided to put my lifelong interest in sorcery to good account. I had been a student only until then, but now I became a practitioner. First, I set up protection for my brother's former demesne, this valley, using a magical operation so potent, so dangerous that it had not been used for three thousand years. I placed a Time Lock on the valley. It meant that those within the Lock could not truly die while the magic endured. Intruders, by contrast, could die all too easily.

'Next, I worked to secure the safety of my child. This was even more difficult, since the boy was in the grasp of the Harkaan. Nonetheless, I was inspired to lay a subtle spell upon him so that even the Harkaan sorcerers believed him dead.

'They acted precisely as I had calculated. A substitute child was found in order to maintain the illusion of a hostage and the body, as they believed, of my true son was taken secretly from Kaandor and hidden in the Wilderness beyond Kaandor and Ham.

'But the boy was not, of course, truly dead. Aided by my craft, he was found by a tribe of Wilderness Barbarians and raised as one of their own. I was content to have it so, since he would, I knew, be safe in the Wilderness from any interference by the House of Harkaan.

'Meanwhile, I continued my subtle warfare against the royal house of Kaandor. For the most part, they did not even realize they were under attack. The finest among them fell prey to mysterious illnesses, curious accidents. Thus, gradually the dynasty weakened, and in weakening, began to lose control of Kaandor itself. Rebellions, revolts, internecine wars erupted with increasing frequency - and became more and more difficult to put down.

'For almost thirty years it has been so. In that single generation, I have brought the House of Harkaan almost to its knees. But now, in an attempt to unite the realm, the House has declared a new crusade into Harn. Such crusades have been mounted in the past, with success and the present Lord Harkaan is convinced another may restore the fallen fortunes of his line. In this I fear he may well be correct, for an external enemy will always unite a people and the spoils of battle leave men at least temporarily content.'

For the first time, Fire*Wolf spoke. 'But why, "Venerable Ancient," do you not use your sorcery again in this matter?'

Lord Xandine actually smiled. 'The answer is contained in your very question. You call me 'Venerable Ancient', yet in truth I am no more than twenty-eight years older than yourself. What you see in my body, in this castle, in the valley itself, is the ravages of the Time lock. It is powerful sorcery and like all power exacts a fearful price. The Lock has almost run its course and for nearly a year now has been crumbling. Death is already possible within the valley and soon, for every creature here, death will be inevitable. The Lock absorbs our substance and makes monsters of us, each in our own way, before we perish completely.'

'So the House of Harkaan must triumph,' Fire*Wolf remarked.

Perhaps not,' said Xandine. 'My war is almost over, that is true. But the new Lord Xandine may succeed where I have failed.'

The new Lord Xandine?' Fire*Wolf asked. 'This son of whom you have spoken?'

The wizened figure moved painfully on the granite throne. 'You, Fire*Wolf,' he said. 'You are my son.'

A shock indeed for our Barbarian. Fire*Wolf has always known he was not truly Wilderness born. But the son of a Kaandor noble? Can this really be true?

Bitch, it better be true, I transcribed too much text to put up with it being misinformation.

'I?' Fire*Wolf echoed. He was stunned by the news, yet somehow did not think to question it. He knew, after all, that he was not Wilderness born. And this ancient had no reason to lie.

The hooded figure nodded. 'You are my son. Fate decreed that we should be separate, one from another, throughout most of your life and now that we have met, Fate decrees that we must soon part, for as I told you, I am dying. Thus I expect nothing from you, neither love nor affection nor any of the emotions that our relationship might have brought. But this I do say: the Xandine blood flows through your veins. That you cannot avoid. It is the blood of a sorcerous race, so mayhap you have a talent for sorcery you do not suspect...'

No!' Fire*Wolf cried in horror. He had a dread of sorcery.

Lord Xandine shrugged. 'Perhaps not. It is of little import. But I have stared into the currents of Time and Space and while no amount of sorcery can part the mists completely, this I tell you. Your Fate and mine are inseparably interlinked. You are Delai by blood and Xandine by line. On my death you will become the new Lord Xandine. That I know. What you do as Lord Xandine is your own choice and decision. But it is a decision I will seek to influence in the small time that is left to me.'

Fire*Wolf stood dumb. The dreamlike quality of the moment had not left him. Was he really here, in this colonnaded hall? Or was this whole experience drug magic? Had the woman somehow fed him plants that would create a waking dream?

The ancient figure sighed. 'Naturally it is my hope that you will continue my war against the Harkaan, that you will avenge the wrong done by that House to your own. But it is my hope only. I would not force you even if it were still within my power. There is, however, one matter of which I have not
yet told you. It may persuade you to tread the road I seek for you. That is the matter of the Demonspawn.'

Something in Xandine's tone, or in the word itself, made Fire*Wolf's skin crawl. He waited.

'In this castle,' Xandine said, 'if you search it thoroughly, you will find a laboratory. Built off that laboratory is an oratory. Although the crumbling of the Time lock must by now have given both the appearance of long disuse, you may still discern circle drawn on the oratory floor. Within that circle there is presently trapped an entity from the nether planes of Hell itself. It is a fearsome creature, called up by myself in the course of a sorcerous operation, but at least its powers are limited on this plane.

'In Kaandor, men of the Delai race have long communicated with entities such as this. More than seven thousand years ago, according to our written records, a Lodge of Sorcerers, allied to the denizens of Hell, created a new race of beings which partook of the characteristics of both planes - the Infernal and the Physical. This race, this artificial creation, proved intensely dangerous to humanity. Because of their origin, the race became known as the Demonspawn and the scriptures of the Delai show that for eight hundred years they were a pestilence in the land where they were created.

'It might have been that the Demonspawn would have subdued the Delai totally. The Spawn were by comparison few in number - they do not breed like natural stock, but work to create others of their kind by blood magic and it is a slow process. But few or not, they were virtually invincible and thus their power grew.'

The glittering orbs in the wizened face misted as if Xandine stared directly into the distant past of his own tale. 'Then there appeared among the Delai a woman of great power. Her name was Selina of the Lance and Orb - two mystic weapons of which she made much use. It is said she was no mortal woman but a goddess. Perhaps she was. Certainly she bound the Demonspawn, confining them to caverns in the frozen mountains dividing Kaandor and Harn. Having saved humanity from this curse, she disappeared.

'Matters of magic are never simple, Fire*Wolf. The structure of Time itself ensures that nothing may be considered absolute, nothing permanent. Thus, though the Spawn were confined and remain confined to this day by the ancient power of the Lance and the Orb, there have been periods when small numbers of them managed to release themselves to wreak havoc in the upper land. Sometimes they attacked Kaandor, sometimes Hani. Always they have been halted, because their numbers were few, but at fearsome cost. There is no doubt in my mind that should the day ever come when all the Demonspawn were loosed, that day would spell the destruction of humanity.'

He leaned forward on the granite throne. 'That day draws near, I fear.'

Fire*Wolf's head jerked up, his gaze locked on the eyes of his father. 'Say on.'

'I spoke of a crusade - a crusade to be mounted by the present head of the House of Harkaan. My Arts have told me something of his plans. In this crusade he seeks to ally himself with the Demonspawn, thinking to make use of them until his objective is achieved, then to confine them again as before. In this he is mistaken. Once loosed, the Spawn will turn against
him.'

'Should you not rejoice at this?' asked Fire*Wolf sourly. 'It will mean the end of the Harkaan.'

'It will,' the ancient figure nodded. 'But the end too of all the Delai and of all humanity in Harn and in the lands beyond. There will be no Goddess Selina to rescue our breed a second time. The Spawn must be stopped and since the Spawn cannot be stopped, then the plans of the House of Harkaan must be thwart, before the Spawn are released. There is little time and I am dying. Thus I called you.'

For a moment, Fire*Wolf remained silent, speechless. Then he said, 'You want me to stop Lord Harkaan?'

Lord Xandine, the wizened sorcerer who claimed to be his father, nodded.

Yet another decision for Fire*Wolf- and surely the most fateful of his life. But not a simple decision. For he has no means of measuring the truth of the words of this hooded wizard. And further, he is already under obligation to find and rescue Baldar's daughter. What then can he say? What will he say?

• Agree?
• Refuse?

[SGamerz]

Refuse.

[Darth Rabbitt]

"Potential destruction of humanity" seems like a more pressing issue than "a damsel in distress." So I'm going to have to vote for accept.

[angelfromanotherpin]

Well, it seems like that last textwall killed some players, but it's been long enough that I'm going to break the tie in favor of the vote cast first.

Fire*Wolf turned and began to walk silently from the great hall, his back crawling at the thought of what magic Xandine could hurl towards him. Father or no, he did not trust this sorcerer.

But Xandine only called, 'Hold!'

Fire*Wolf hesitated, then stopped. As he turned, he said, 'I cannot do as you say. I am bound on another course.'

That,' said Xandine, 'I know already. But let me say this: the Time Lock, as I told you, has already begun to crumble. Only a sorcerer can survive the disaster that will follow. I am dying and can protect you, this castle and this valley only a little longer. If you leave now, you are doomed.'

Interesting information... if it is true. Fire*Wolf has an opportunity to change his mind.

• Change your mind?
• Insist on going your own way?

The 'change mind' reference here is distinct from the 'accept' reference in the previous section.

[Darth Rabbitt]

Change mind.

[MisterDee]

agreed

[Omegonthesane]

But Thou Must. Change mind.

[angelfromanotherpin]

INTO THE CRYPTS

There is little time,' Xandine said. 'Already I am aware of the Time Lock crumbling and I can do less and less to sustain it. We must at once begin your education as a sorcerer. Nothing less can stand against the Demonspawn and even with sorcery to aid you, there is no guarantee you will overcome them. But we must try...'

'Lord Xandine,' Fire*Wolf said tentatively, still unwilling to use the appellation 'father', 'I have no taste for sorcery, nor any knowledge of the Arts.'

That I know full well. And there is too little time to train you as I myself was trained. But there is a way - not without risk, but swift.'

'What is this way?'

'All sorcery,' said Xandine gravely, 'is no more than the application of power. Power itself is universal, but so diffuse that it is useless for any practical purpose. When a man becomes a sorcerer, he learns to draw the universal power into himself and, so to speak, condense it within his body. Once this is achieved, the rower may then be drawn upon as necessary. The more power a man has managed to accumulate, the greater sorcerer he becomes.'

'But how,' asked Fire*Wolf, 'is this power accumulated?'

'In normal circumstances very slowly,' Xandine told him. 'The human body is unused to power and can disintegrate completely if too much is fed in too quickly. But these are not normal circumstances. We have to find a means of completing your training in hours or days rather than years. And that leaves only the Ordeal.'

'The Ordeal?' echoed Fire*Wolf.

'It is a method used in certain cultures, most of them quite primitive. When a man is seen destined for sorcery, he is subjected to a ritual Ordeal which makes him at once receptive to a massive inflow of power and at the same time toughens his mind and body sufficiently to receive it. But it is the essence of the Ordeal that it is a test of mind and body - and a dangerous test. Most fail it and die.'

'And if I fail?' asked Fire*Wolf.

'Then we are all doomed,' Xandine said.

They walked together from the audience hall, through an ante-chamber and down a broad flight of stone steps to a marbled entrance hall. Twin doors stood before them, but Xandine turned in another direction.

'Within this castle,' he said, 'are many areas fraught with danger to the unwary. But none so dangerous as its Crypts. These I have personally designed, through ingenuity and Art, to provide the ultimate test of any man.' He paused before a stout oakwood door, bound in iron, and produced from the folds of his robe a heavy metal key. 'Beyond this entrance is a flight of steps downwards. They lead to the Crypts. This is where you must enter, Fire*Wolf: and you must enter both naked and unarmed.'

'I cannot leave the Doomsword,' Fire*Wolf said. 'It is bound to me by some magic I do not understand.'

'Your sword will not accompany you into the Crypts, even if you wish it,' Xandine told him confidently. 'The forces which play below would not permit it entry. However, if you survive, the sword will await you when you leave — although you will have less use of it then than hithertofore.'

'When I enter, what must I do?'

'Simply survive,' Xandine told him. 'Seek the exit, which will lead you not only beyond this castle, but beyond the valley. You may then discharge your obligation to the hermit with your quest for his lost daughter. After that you must seek out and face the Spawn. If you survive the Crypts, you will be better equipped for both tasks. If not.. .' He left the sentence incomplete, nor did he need to finish it.

Fire*Wolf took a deep breath. 'Open the door,' he said.

Thus, almost casually, our hero embarks on a new adventure which must change his life or put an end to it entirely.

The oak door closed behind him with a sound like the first great crack of doom. Fire*Wolf had expected darkness, but the stone staircase was dimly illuminated by some leprous, hidden light. As he descended, the light level actually increased, taking on a greenish hue until he reached a large, circular chamber with five exits. In the centre of the chamber was a large stone statue of an old man, bearded, half crouched, dressed in ragged robes and hand outstretched - the representation of a market beggar.

Fire*Wolf approached the statue cautiously, well aware that in this place he could not afford to take asingle chance, nor assume anything was what it appeared to be. But the statue was simply stone, although close up he saw that imbedded in the outstretched palm was a glowing, pale blue crystal of a type he had never seen before.

Fire*Wolf stared at it in a long moment of indecision.

And already his first choice has arrived. Should he attempt to take the glowing crystal, or simply ignore it?

• Take?
• Ignore?

[SGamerz]

This is an "ordeal of mind and body", so maybe this is supposed to test our resolve in restraining greed.

Ignore.

[Darth Rabbitt]

Put the crystal on Ignore.

[MisterDee]

Yeah, the crystal can spend its time with shadzar.

[Omegonthesane]

Show that we can ignore loot - ignore crystal.