The Temple of Flame
by Dave Morris and Oliver Johnson; illustrated by Leo Hartas
Roll: 9 (5,4)To determine just how good an adventurer you are, you must use the dice:
Roll two dice. Add 20 to this number and enter the total in the VIGOUR box on your Character Sheet. This score represents your strength, fitness and general will to survive. Any wounds you take on your quest are subtracted from your VIGOUR score - if it ever reaches zero you are dead.
Roll: 5 (5)Roll one die. Add 3 to the number rolled and enter the total in the PSI box on your Character Sheet. The higher this score, the better you are at resisting spells cast at you and the more sensitive you are to psychic impressions.
Roll: 4 (4)Roll one die, add 3 and enter the total in the AGILITY box. This score reflects how nimble you are. You will need a high AGILITY to scale walls, leap across chasms and so forth.
BackgroundCharacter Name: ????
VIGOUR: 29
AGILITY: 7
PSI: 8
Items:
-Magic Sword
-Armor
-Knife
-Backpack
-Hipflask of Water
There were three of you in the dark, damp chamber - you, Valedor and the man known as Damontir the Mad. The mists of Time disperse and seem to fly away as the scene comes sharply into focus before you again. Around you are the crumbling statues and peeling murals of that forgotten tomb. Your comrade at arms, brave knights of Palados, are stiffening corpses pierced by steel or crushed by stone somewhere in the crypts and tunnels above.
Valedor holds forth his sword and a bright lance of light illuminates a carbuncle on the face of the grotesquely carved sarcophagus. Damontir lurks mysteriously in the shadows. Suddenly there is a click and the lid of the sarcophagus swings up to reveal a bejewelled crown on the brow of the mummified corpse within. But the light from Valedor's enchanted sword has activated an ancient trap, and before you can move toward the treasure, the ground beneath you gives way and you begin to fall. You reach out and just manage to seize hold of the lip of the dark pit, but Valedor disappears into the depths with a piteous scream. You cry out to Damontir to help you. With a warm feeling of gratitude you sense him standing over you in the darkness. Then the warmth turns to a chill as you see the flash of his teeth in a wicked smile. His booted foot crunches down on your desperately clutching fingers. You can hold on no longer - you fall back into the void, blackness reaching towards you...
You come awake with a start, the pounding of your heart sounding in your ears like a jungle drumbeat. You are soaked in sweat and have to struggle to free yourself from the blanket that clings to your body. From outside comes the twittering of exotic birds and the flash of dawn sunlight off the river as your ship gently wends its way upstream. You have merely dreamt how, many years earlier, the sorcerer Damontir nearly put an end to your life - how, instead of following Valedor into the abyss, your fall was broken by a hidden ledge; how, though badly wounded, you climbed back to the tomb chamber to find the crown and Damontir gone. Silently, you repeat the vow you have made to yourself every morning since that far-off day: never to rest until you have avenged yourself upon the evil sorcerer.
The green banks of the jungle slide past you on either side. Occasionally a long, black shape launches into the water with a dull splash and drifts idly toward the ship. The sailors mutter that the crocodiles of Anku can bite a man in half. The crocodiles stare up at you with blinking inscrutability, then drift off like logs in the muddy ochre water. Brightly colored birds screech and cavort over the treetops. The wind slackens as you pass a bend in the river. Ahead, rising straight out of the shimmering water, stands a thin spire of crystal reaching up almost a hundred meters into the azure sky. You call to the sailors to lower the sail and drop anchor. Noon approaches - the hour which the ancient texts appoint as propitious for beginning the quest. Your steward reverently fastens the buckles and clasps of your armor - for you are the Dragon Knight of Palados, greatest warrior in the known world. His is barely able to lift your gleaming broadsword, though you take it from him and swing it without effort before sliding it into your scabbard. In the white, staring faces of the sailors you read awe and a little fear. You climb down into the rowboat by the ship's side and, standing at its prow, call for your men to cast off. As the rowers stretch and grunt over their oars, you concentrate on what lies ahead: the temple of the flame god, Katak, lost for eons in the mosquito-ridden depths of the forest, obscured by vines and creepers, surrounded by impenetrable swamp. Only a moldering libram in the archives of Achtan, capital of great Palados, revealed the hints and clues which enabled you to deduce the temple's location.
A dark shadow obscures the sun. You look up; it is only the first of the branches overhanging the river as your boat approaches the bank. According to the age-stooped librarian in Achtan, one other person had consulted the book from which you gleaned your information. And he had visited the archives just a few weeks before you did. The old librarian could not, however, recall the man's face - as though a magic spell had been used to cloud his memory. You ponder this as you step nimbly from the boat. The rowers look around nervously at the rustling treetops where brilliantly hued parrots fly and monkeys crash from branch to branch. 'What this spot,' you tell them. 'I will signal you from here when my quest is over and I have the golden idol of Katak!' With obvious relief they push away from the bank and head back to midstream where the ship lies at anchor. You take a last look, then turn and make your way into the waiting jungle....
NOW TURN TO 1
1
In the depths of the jungle, the thick canopy of foliage filters the sunlight into lush green and golden hues. You struggle onwards, slowly hacking with your knife through the heavy vines and creepers that block your progress. The ground underfoot squelches with mud that soon covers your boots. Mosquitoes and fantastically coloured dragonflies swarm all around in the murky, drenching heat. Snakes, basking in the midday warmth, hang in loose, lazy coils from the branches and hiss disinterestedly as you pass. A gentle breeze stirs the treetops and the sunbeams dropping through sudden chinks in the leaves are like a cascading shower of liquid gold. A parrot shrieks and flutters through a shaft of sunlight, almost dazzling you with the sudden blaze of scintillating colour as it does so.
Eventually the going gets easier. After a while you decide to take a rest. As you crouch down to sip a little water from your hip-flask, your gaze alights on an extraordinary tableau which is being enacted only a few paces away. A tiny red-faced spider monkey squats on a flat rock, staring with wide eyes at the swaying head of a large viper that is slowly weaving towards him. The monkey is frozen in terror, and is certain to die unless you choose to intervene. If you wish to save him by killing the snake, turn to 11. If you decide to ignore the incident and continue on your way, turn to 18.
