The Heart of Fire (93 page)

In this combat, choose one of the sprites to attack. If you win a combat round, you may strike against your chosen sprite (or multiple sprites if you have an ability that lets
you do so). If you lose the combat, your chosen sprite will strike against you as a single opponent.

If you manage to defeat these high-spirited sprites, turn to
792
.

602

As your hands settle around the shaft of the spear you cry out in alarm – you feel some ancient evil reaching forth, grabbing you and pulling you down into the
weapon’s darkness. You try and release your hands but they are stuck tight to the runes, which are leeching your energy, tugging at your very being. In desperation, you attempt to lock wills
with the dark entity, calling on every last reserve of mental strength to push the force away.

Then, all of a sudden, you feel a change. The barrier you were pushing against starts to recede, drawing itself back to whence it came. Warily, you lift up the spear, realising that the
spirit’s attempt to take you over has failed. However, in touching the spear, you have become
hexed
. The effects are as follows:

Hexed (pa)
: You can only use a maximum of
eight
special abilities in a combat (including modifier and passive abilities). No more than eight abilities can ever be
played in one combat – you get to choose those that are activated/used and those that are not – even those that would ordinarily happen automatically. You must remain
hexed
until
you find a cure for your affliction.

If you wish, you may now equip and wield the black spear of Mortzilla, the
glaive of souls
(
NOTE
: this item can only be equipped if you are
hexed
. If you
are cured, the item will break and must be removed from your hero sheet):

You leave the ruins and head back into the jungle, aware that Cernos now knows you are tracking him – and that the demon may have further traps in store for you. Return to the quest
map
to
continue your adventure.

603

You swing your legs over the hole and drop onto the stairs. There is a sickening squelch as your boots sink into something wet and slimy. Holding your breath, you descend the
stairs into the fetid darkness, the glow from your enchanted weapons providing a weak light to see by.

At the bottom of the stairs you find yourself in a windowless passage, running parallel with the bridge. The air is heavy with the sour reek of detritus. Avian joins you, the bright radiance
from his staff throwing your surroundings into starker detail.

Bones cover the floor, piled in mounds against the walls. Some hang from the ceiling like grisly mobiles, dangling on cords of green slime. Virgil gives a dissatisfied snort as he reaches the
foot of the stairs.

You advance along the passage, squinting into the shadows that squirm beyond the circle of light. Boots crunch through bone and dust, sending fragments clattering and skittering in the grim
silence.

Avian puts a hand on your arm, bringing you to a halt. You are about to glance his way when your eyes catch on the crooked shape shambling in the dark. A voice whispers, hoarse and rasping, like
an old man’s.

‘Who’s that trip-tapping on ma bridge?’

You hear the ring of steel as Virgil draws his weapons.

‘I smells yer, little ones. I smells yer tasty blood . . .’

Avian steps forward, raising his staff. Its brilliance extends out, across the clutter of bones, to the skeletal shape moving towards you. In life, you assume it was once a troll, its elongated
skull bristling with curved tusks. But what it is now, you are less sure. Mottled fronds of fungus hang from its shoulders and ribcage, forming a tattered coat of foul-smelling decay. The growth
extends along one of its bony arms, thickening into a club-like appendage.

‘We’s be hungry, yes . . .’ rasps the creature, snickering with wheezy laughter. ‘Been so long . . .’

The troll raises his arm, the monstrous club scraping the ceiling of the passage. As the light illuminates the growth’s underside, you give a gasp of horror. The fleshy club is punctuated
with hundreds of tiny mouths, all silently opening and closing with needle-like teeth.

‘Come ’ere little ones. Ya gonna feed da shiny fings!’ The undead monster swings his club, its many glittering mouths drooling with voracious delight. It is time to fight:

Special abilities