Reunited with the blade and uncomfortable hints to its origin revealed, Hob and Verena follow the ebony-handled knife’s thread to find the assassin and break the ritual.

---

I approached Cadigan’s workshop cautiously. The shed doors were open so he must have gotten an earlier start than the day prior. I glanced back to Verena to make sure she had not followed, as we had agreed. She had insisted on accompanying me but acknowledged that if Cadigan was not yet aware of my allegiance to Cera, it was better he was not made so by the presence of one of her bodyguard. Whether she had come along out of concern for my safety or lingering distrust of my loyalties, I did not know. I guessed it was both, I thought I might be growing on her. 

Roll: Oracle, Cadigan Disposition – Friendly (well this was unexpected but I’m glad I left it to the oracle because this is maybe a bit more interesting)

I gripped the small iron box and ducked through the entry to find Cadigan firing his forge. After his annoyance during our previous meeting, I was startled by the smile that greeted me. It did not fit him. He acted pleased to see me, he acted pleasant. His eyes excitedly flashed to the box in my hand while he retrieved the blade and scabbard from a workbench. The blade cooed for me, it had also noticed my arrival.

Roll: Face Danger, Wits, why’s he being so nice? – Weak Hit, new danger/concern -1 momentum, something’s off

I had only spoken with him once before but Cadigan did not seem like a pleasant man, like one who smiles at near strangers. At first, I assumed he was just eager for his promised exchange, but he didn’t ask for the box, just admired it from a distance. Then, I thought maybe he was excited over some discovery relating to the blade’s origin or purpose, but he did not speak of it, did not even draw the blade from its scabbard. What he did do was ask me to remind him how I had found it. Asked me questions about the visions I had claimed to have seen, the auroras and towers and fog. Why the blade had brought me to Autumnrush? If I planned to remain in the port long?

I answered plainly, except the last, I had no answer to that question. And then I grasped what he was up to, he was pumping me for information. Word of Reese’s humiliation and my allegiance to Cera must have reached Cadigan and he now sought to uncover my secrets, he was skulking behind his words.  Had Sayer requested him to do so, trying to suss out Cera’s new Voice? I felt a slight foreboding at the thought of  Cera’s great rival taking a personal interest in me and learning about my blade and purpose, but there was nothing to be done about it after having already shared my tale so freely. So I changed the subject.

“Can we talk about the blade please? I don’t mean to slight but I brought you a balestone so that you might provide answers, not ask more questions.”

At that, I opened the small iron box, revealing the bundle within. Cadigan’s eyes flared, his queries forgotten. So he was also eager for the balestone and not just information. He reached for it, then caught himself and looked to me for permission. I nodded and he snatched the box, quickly but deliberately, carefully. He set the box and blade on the workbench and removed the linen bundle from its case, unwrapping it to expose a large muted quartz, intersected by dull grey veins that looked to be iron. I had never seen a balestone before. I had imagined something different, less grey. Then again, I had also thought they were supposed to produce heat, but the box had been cool, almost chill to the touch, so I guess I didn’t really know what to expect.

Cadigan shuffled through a pile of tools, mostly hammers, all different, until he found a small jeweler’s hammer. Lifting the quartz close to his face, he tapped it. The veins began to shimmer. He tapped again, harder. A faint glow at the point of impact. Then he pulled the hammer back and struck. The stripes of iron within grew a deep ember red, the quartz surrounding, a bright orange. He quickly dropped it back into the empty iron box, shaking his fingers to dispel the heat and grinning down at it. A genuine smile, no deception this time.

The glow did not fade, or, at least, faded so gradually that I could not tell. So this was how balestones worked. It appeared as if ritual, but it was just a hammer. I was beginning to understand their value, why circles would band together to protect their access and exchange, why they would send a guide and a warship to market to safeguard them.

Incredible as it was, I had not come to the swordsmith to learn of balestones. I sought different answers.

“Cadigan, the blade. I only promised exchange if you had something to offer, if you could tell me what it is, whose it was.”

Roll: Gather Information – Weak Hit

The grin briefly stretched to a sneer at the interruption but his excitement quickly resurfaced. 

“Aye, I remember.” He retrieved the blade from the workbench. “You were right, this does interest me, a curiosity, maybe even an artefact.”

It was then that I started to grasp the kind of man Cadigan was, more fickle than petty, his disposition different from one day to the next. Aloof and then animated, irritated and then impassioned.

He enthusiastically drew the blade from the scabbard, leveling it so that the balestone’s waning glow reflected off the blue iron and flaking black blood. He had not cleaned it, and, unlike Pella, was apparently not repulsed by the dark reminder of my victory over the raidcaptain Haf, now weeks dried. The blade whimpered for my hold as it met the light.

Cadigan looked to me, checking to make sure I was attentive, before he finally began his appraisal.

“It is in the style of the Old World. The blade is longer and thinner, a difficult technique that was lost for generations after the flight. My Mother, Abella, was the first to remaster it. See how even the grip is longer to balance the taller blade?”

The blade was indeed tall, thin, and fast (why I always struck first). The grip was just long enough that I could wield it with two hands (how I could pierce and cleave even when tired). But I had not known many other swords and one of the few I had been familiar with, had looked similar to mine. Uncle Temir’s blade, Ill Tidings, carried over from the Old World and passed through the Watchers since first landing, was also tall and thin. So I had not known these things made the blade so rare, or so different.

Cadigan continued, “The odd thing is that, since it is too old to be one of my mother’s and yet is in the style of the Old World, it must predate the flight.”

I nodded that I was following.

“This blade was not forged in the Old World though, this is iron from the Ironlands. The swords of the Old World were brighter, like stars.”

He was right, Ill Tidings had been clearer, on cloudless days, glittering almost bronze or gold depending on where the sun sat.

“So,” he watched expectantly, waiting for me to appreciate the significance of his words, “this blade was forged here, and not by our ancestors. Those that could have done so never stepped foot on these shores, they were all left behind in the flight. This blade was already here when they first landed.”

I finally grasped it, my jaw fell.

“Is my blade elf forged?” I had never seen an elf, let alone one of their swords.

“No.” He shook his head as if the thought was ridiculous, “No, it’s too straight. Theirs are thinner yet, and curved, for slashing, to traverse the Wilds. This is no firstborn weapon.”

He said this cheerfully, as if unaware of the obvious implications of an Old World blade having been forged in the Ironlands before our ancestors’ arrival. Or maybe he had just not been raised on stories of those who came before, about the very first landings. Had not been brought up to fear the Broken. My jaw clenched at the thought, but I dreaded that word be spoken, so I grew silent and did not ask for confirmation.

Cadigan waited a moment before, growing bored with my lack of response, he returned to the blade.

“That anomaly led me to the next. The leather braiding wasn’t the original grip. It was new, no cord would have held up to the age of this blade. At least not without showing more wear, becoming stiff and brittle. So I removed the braids to look beneath, just to see what was under.”

At that, he sheathed the blade and, gripping the scabbard, offered me its hilt. The leather braid had indeed been removed, revealing a grip of horn (maybe?), faded and misshapen. No, not misshapen, there were engravings that had been worn down and softened by time. I looked closer and touched them. The blade hummed and sighed. It was too smooth and bleached to be horn. Bone maybe? An unwelcome thought, but I did not pull my hand away, did not recoil. The engravings were hard to make out, their smooth edges almost flattened, but they reminded me of the carvings under the Desolate Beacon, flowing and alien. These were somehow less perfect though, less fluid. 

Growing again bored with my silence, Cadigan concluded. “This blade is indeed of value, a dark value. Though it does not speak to me, I can feel its presence when I hold it.”

I looked back to him.

“Do you know these runes?”

 “I do not. A mystic might though.”

He released the scabbard and the grip fell fully into my palm, there was a warmth to it. The blade sang.

Then, moving his hands back to the small iron box and the balestone, now finally faded to its original muted quartz, “Is this fair exchange then, good?”

I nodded, “good”. Afterwards, I regretted not telling him to pass along a message to Sayer, something clever. But my thoughts were on bone grips, and Pillar carvings, and the calls of those who came before. And, most importantly (or most concerning), the warm completeness of the blade returning to my hands. So instead, I thanked him for his aid, returned the blade to my belt, across from Kormak’s long dagger (the ebony-handled knife still bundled and concealed), and left to find Verena and hopefully locate and break the ritual, to end the wasting curse on Lio the Guide.

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Learn the age and Ironlands origin of the blade; discover the bone (!?) grip and flowing rune engravings

---

CW: Darkness, Corpses, Dismemberment, Sickness 

We were in the Hovels, east of the Grain Market, past the weaving narrow streets, past Pillar Hill. Though if I looked back over my shoulder, I could still see the Twin Pillars, towering over the widening paths and gardens on the outskirts of Autumnrush. It was difficult to be so close to the Pillars, so close to Pella but unable to see her. But it was too dangerous for me, bannersworn to Cera, to be recognized visiting the Sustainer camp and reveal Longbridge’s ties to them, not with assassination attempts and curses afoot. We had faced enough danger together, I wanted to see Pella joyful when I saw her next. I did not want her involved in all this.

“And?” It was Verena, she was impatient.

I refocused and turned back from the Pillars, looking forward again, towards our task. I had been wandering, idly strolling, as if I’d known the paths well enough that I did not need to heed them to find my way. But I did not know those streets well, they still terrified me, and I had never been to the Hovels. I should have been lost, the thread must have carried me.

“Why did you stop? Is it back on the hill? Are you sure you didn’t lose the thread?” Impatient AND annoyed.

I wasn’t sure why I had stopped. I had been thinking about Pella, but I had been thinking of her for a long while now, since before we had left the narrow streets that veered north towards the Pillars. Why had I paused and looked back now, long after we’d passed them?

“I do not know. Let me try to find it again.”

I removed the linen bundle from my belt and unwrapped the ebony-handled knife. As I did so, the blood-stained blade began to growl. It was not pleased with the newcomer. It had done the same in front of Cadigan’s workshop, when I had first unwrapped the knife to find the thread. As before, the knife hissed in response, a threatened warning.

Roll: Gather Information – Miss, unwelcome truth or dire threat?

And then a third voice, a pining response to the knife from the hovel in front of us. The thread tightened in that direction. There was another at the end of the strand and they were pulling on it. As if they knew the thread was short, as if they knew we were here!

Roll: Pay the Price – It is stressful; Endure Stress – Miss, Shaken debility (uh oh, I probably should have given myself more opportunities to rest but making a camp or sojourning didn’t seem appropriate for the few hours of sleep Hob was able to snatch after last night’s visit to Mouth’s Watch. So here we are, shaken)

“I stopped because we are here, at the end of the thread.”

The thread tugged at me, the knife clamored and heaved towards the longing reply. The blade’s growl grew to a roar. It no longer begged, it demanded to be drawn. I could not refuse, but I pleaded to let me rebundle the knife first, to let me silence it. The blade howled but accepted, waiting for me to wrap the linen back around the knife, muffling its cries, and shove it back into my belt, before it yanked my hand to the bone grip and drew itself.

Verena leapt back as the blade slid from scabbard, startled and alert.

“They know we are here!” I warned.

Hand to hilt, she turned to the hovel. It looked like the other shacks, stone and then timber and then thatch. A well planted but poorly maintained garden lie between it and us, dry and weedy. A woman tending a neighboring plot stood from her work, watching us openly now that blades were free.

Verena had noticed her as well. “What do we do? Enter?”

“They want us to, the thread is pulling.” The blade wanted to. The blade was pulling…and I could not but follow. So I stepped forward, allowing it to carry me through the garden, the most direct path. Verena grumbled but trailed after.

Discover a Site: Hunter’s Hovel, Troublesome – Hallowed Tanglewood/Pass (bolster memory/hunt?) 

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Weak Hit, Find an Opportunity – Mark progress and Find an Opportunity; Find an Opportunity – Locate a secure area, take action now

Reaching the hovel, I tested the door, expecting it to be barred. It was not. I lifted my boot, kicking it open and quickly readying myself to confront whatever was at the end of the thread.

It was dark beyond the door, as if the sun outside could not pass the threshold. Not completely black though, not like under the Beacon. There were still shadows within the shadows, like the boundaries of twilight, where things become more night than day. The sun was high enough in the sky that it should have lit the interior, but past the doorway lay only shroud and shadows.

“Is this ritual?” The first time I had heard Verena’s voice betray worry.

“Yes.”

And then the knife’s thread and the blade’s call were pulling me through, into the shades. I shuddered as the darkness took me, a hollow chill. There was no light behind me, no door back to Autumnrush. I started to reach for my pack, for a torch. But I had not brought it, had thought I had no need for one, had thought the darkness could not find me under such a bright sun. As my eyes adjusted I found my sight again, almost. I could just barely make out hazy flowing shadows in the distance. Trees? No, of course not. This was a hut, granted a large hut but not that large. But that was unmistakably a breeze I felt, a far off wind, the rattle of dry leaves and old branches. It was not right, it did not fit. The thread tugged, the blade pulled onward. But I did not want to follow, I wanted to go back! I pleaded with the blade,  “not further into the dark!”

And then I heard the crunch of Verena’s boot behind me. I could only just see her, a shadow among shadows, but I could see her. I was not alone in the darkness, not truly, not alone and sightless. She had followed and I will be forever thankful for that single act.

“What is this?” She no longer tried to mask her fear.

“I do not know. But the blade and the thread draw me deeper.” 

I breathed and allowed them to pull me forward, but not at the run that the blade expected, slowly, scanning the shadows for threat or landmark.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits, +1 take action now – Strong Hit; Find an Opportunity – Locate interesting or helpful object, gain insight or prepare

I wished for a torch, I wished for the balestone, exchanged with Cadigan not an hour prior. I felt the crunch of brittle leaves beneath my boots. Then the crisp snap of twigs and fallen branches. So those had truly been trees I’d seen in the distance, it was truly an old forest within a hovel. I could hear Verena behind me, following close so as not to lose me in the shadows.

The blade dragged me into the underbrush. It was not gentle with the path it chose and sapless fingers scratched at my face and hands. I smelled the smoke before we reached the clearing and found the smoldering glow. The remains of a campfire, almost perished. It was too weak to light the clearing but it was light! Verena began collecting and heaping dried leaves to reignite the fire. The flames from the leaves, though small and short-lived, were bright enough to reveal the stacks of fallen branches piled nearby. We began adding branches to and stoking the fire until it was strong enough to set us aglow. Fear still showed on Verena’s face, but her pride would not allow it to control her.

I caught her eyes, “Thank you for following. I could not weather this place alone, it is horrible.” I stumbled on my words, “Why did you, how did you step through, without being dragged into it like I was? I wanted to turn back.”

She looked at me gravely, “I am sworn and tasked as well. Cera wants this stopped and so I shall stop it.” Then a strained chuckle, “Besides, I’m not sure how to go back. Can we go back? How would we even find the door?”

That was when I first came to know the other side of Verena, the one without the puffed chest and wounded pride. Normally, she took offense to small slights, almost sought them out, but when in true danger, in the face of real threat, she was a grimly pleasant companion. Dark humor for a dark place. It was fitting, honest. It helped make sense of the circumstances, helped one to come to terms with them.

She grew thoughtful, “Why are you no longer being pulled? Is this our destination?”

“I do not know. The knife’s thread still tugs but the blade has stalled. I think it has led us here for some reason.” 

As the leaves burned away and the branches caught, the smoke began to clear and flame brighten, illuminating the rest of the clearing. Revealing the altar and the bodies.

The altar was hacked from a forked maple branch, peeled and chiseled. It was asymmetrical but ornate, with carvings along its entire surface. Antlers were tied to each fork, strings suspended between them like a web, woven around a pair of large jagged teeth. 

And below, slumped against the altar’s base, were two bodies. The corpses were old, pallid and wasted. They reminded me of Lio. Maybe this would be his fate if the ritual was not broken. Maybe it already was his fate and he had succumbed to the curse since I had seen him the night prior.

I shuddered at the state of the corpses, at the webbed string, at memories from a different dark forest. And then the flames grew again as another branch caught and we saw what was over the altar, pelts and flayed animals hanging from the trees above us. It was a hunter’s altar, but not to any of the Old Gods. Ilona the Adept would never have considered these wilted corpses to be worthy sacrifice. 

I could now see that the carvings were runes, they seemed to flow across the wood. The blade drew me closer. I planted my feet, I did not want to approach it, but my protest was ignored. The runes were similar to those under the Beacon, to those on the bone hilt, though it was still too dark and the grip’s engravings so worn down that I could not easily tell if any of them matched. I refused to examine closer to find out,  I did not welcome a connection to a place such as this. 

Verena stepped past me, studying the bodies.

“You don’t suppose these might be the owners of this hovel, do you?”

I did. “They are dressed as farmers.”

I could no longer look at the altar. I turned away, back towards the fire, and I finally noticed the trail. The rekindled flame had revealed a footpath, leading away from the campfire into the darkness, opposite to where we had first entered the clearing. This was the direction the knife’s thread tugged from. The blade, as if my discovery had reminded it of its purpose, as if the hunter’s altar had only been a detour now satisfied, began to pull to match the knife again.

“The thread leads down this path and the blade now wants us to follow.”

We debated taking wood from the campfire as torches but could now see just how many dried leaves and fallen branches covered the forest floor, seasons’ worth. One fallen ember would set this place alight and the darkness was preferable to a world of flames, so instead we fed the campfire, making a beacon, and cleared the surrounding area of any leaves or twigs that could catch. And then we left the bright flames and followed the path back into the darkness.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Weak Hit, Mark progress and Find an Opportunity; Find an Opportunity – Terrain favors you, Prepare

The path was straight, and so the flames stayed at our backs. Providing just enough light that the shadows separated, trees became trees, and the trail was clearly a trail.

Roll: Locate Your Objective, 9 Progress – Weak, unforeseen hazard or complication

There was another flame ahead, small but bright. The path was curving but only slightly as we could still see the glow from the beacon behind us. The thread tugged, the blade pulled, I continued. And as we neared the new light, me dragging against the blade to move at a more cautious pace, the path opened into another clearing with a small campfire in its center.

On the far edge of the clearing, on the other side of the fire, a figure knelt over two more bodies. Two children! An older boy, not many years younger than me, and a young girl. They were living, though bound and terrified. The figure kneeling over them, covered in a cloak of many furs, had been doing something to the boy, pouring something onto his lips. He looked pale, sickly and wasting, not so frail as Lio but close.

Rising, the figure turned to face us, wild eyes flashing from behind tangled hair. She wore a vest of woven leather. The pelt of a fox draped over one shoulder and a wolf over the other, their mouth’s meeting at the cloak’s clasp. This was the hunter.

The hunter cocked her head to the side and smiled, a look of pleasant surprise. “So you’ve returned Lightdrinker to me?”

“Lightdrinker? The knife?”

In response, she thrust out her arm and an object, a dark sheath, that which she had been forcing to the boy’s lips, holding it upright as if raising a drinking horn for toast. This was the end of the thread, the knife’s muffled cries grew louder from my belt.

Then, she tipped the sheath to its side and poured out a liquid, whatever it was she had been forcing the boy to drink. And, as the poison hit the dry leaves on the clearing floor, the fire went out.

Mark Progress: Keep Lio alive so that he may uphold the truce – Locate the ritual

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, the darkness – Miss; Endure Stress – Weak hit

Not really sure what I was thinking by making Hob endure more stress here, her already being shaken and all. But I wanted to see, would Hob give herself fully to the blade when she had no other option? I am very thankful that I rolled a weak hit and she didn’t become corrupted though…yet, at least.

The darkness again, hazy shadows, the weak glow from the beacon far behind us. Verena gave a despondent groan. I froze. Then I heard the crunch of leaves from the darkness. I wanted to swing the blade, but Verena was at my side, I could not do so blindly and risk hitting her or the children. I felt I could do nothing but wait for what was to come. But the blade didn’t need light, it had no eyes, it only desired  to follow the thread, to arc towards the blood. It would not allow me to freeze, it dragged me forward and I did not resist.

Roll: Enter the Fray, The Hunter, Formidable, Wits, ambush, +1 Bladebound – Weak Hit, take initiative (She would normally be extreme in this darkness but the blade helps even the odds and Verena might be able to do a thing to assist…we shall see)

Roll: Strike, Iron – Strong Hit, 3 harm; Strike, Iron – Weak Hit, 2 harm

I don’t think the hunter expected the blade to so easily find her, I don’t think she had even sensed its thread, only the knife’s. Or at least, that is how I explained the howl of shock, the hum and sigh, as the blade pierced her. I didn’t know where she had been wounded but the crunch of more leaves and blade yanking me in pursuit meant it had not been fatal. 

She was running and the blade insisted we follow. But I could not see the stones or branches on the forest floor, so I stumbled and tripped. As I fell, the blade continued its clumsy arc forward. Another shocked cry of pain, another sigh, and then the impact of my face hitting floor, the rustle and scrapes of dried leaves and breaking twigs. The blade flew from my hand and, as I scrambled to my feet and lunged for where I thought I’d heard it land, I felt the thread again. From the knife, tugging towards its sheath, somewhere to my right. I had lost track of it in the fray, drowned out by the blade’s chittering growls. But I could sense it now, could sense her.

“Hob! Are you ok?” It was Verena from behind me

“Yes! Stay back! I can find her.”

“Can you, though?” The hunter’s voice!

I thrust my hands into the leaves in front of me, desperately probing for the blade, following its calls. As my hand found the bone grip, I again heard the crunch of leaves as the thread pulled further right, stretching. She was fleeing. The blade would not allow it.

Roll: Oracle, Does the Hunter flee into the woods?, Likely – Yes

Roll: Face Danger, Edge – Strong Hit (That’s the second Strong Hit on a Face Danger, Edge in a row, last one being the escape at the docks. I had expected a miss. It turns out Hob can be fast when she needs to.)

The blade drew me onward, into bushes and branches. At first I tried to slow it, to drag my feet, but I almost fell over again as my boots planted to a stop and the blade continued to pull my arm forward. So I surrendered to it. I quit dragging and I ran, trusting the thread’s path, the Hunter’s path, to be of safe footing. The blade’s momentum carried me to the hunter. I was almost upon her when I heard the scraping leaves as she slid to a halt. She was turning to face me. As the thread shortened, I lifted the howling blade to strike her down.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Miss, Complication => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit, +2 harm from Swordmaster, 5 harm, fill progress track

Roll: End the Fight, 10 progress – Strong Hit (Wow blade, great job! That was way too easy for a formidable fight, all lucky dice and good momentum. Too smooth, so I think I’ll use that complication from the last strike roll, even though it was mechanically erased by me burning momentum, to make things more interesting.)

I roared to match the blade’s and swung down. A scream, momentary resistance, and then the thread fell to the forest floor. For a short breath, I thought I had slain her, that her body lay at my feet. Then a small giggle from the darkness and again the crunch of leaves as she retreated further into the forest. But the knife’s thread lay on the ground? The blade demanded to follow her but I refused, pleaded. “It was the thread we sought first. That’s why we are here.” The blade listened. It began to calm, ever-hungry but sated for the time.

I knelt down and, reaching for the end of the thread, found a hand! An arm and hand gripping the knife’s sheath. The blade had taken the Hunter’s arm before she fled. As I touched the sheath, prying it from the fingers, the darkness left. Well, it didn’t leave so much as it was supplemented by light. The twilight shadows of the forest still surrounded me, but my hand now cast a soft grey glow. Her lost arm as well. So did my body and the blade. Even the trees, though their outline was softer. And, looking up, so did the fleeing hunter, barely visible for a moment before she pushed through a thicket and was lost from sight. I had seen two arms though. One empty, pulling the branches aside, while the other, hacked at them with a short sword to clear the path. 

The blade tugged but it was tired, sedate. I was also tired. We had ran a long ways and I (though I would not admit it at the time) had lost my will to fight, too wary to continue against a foe that appeared to regrow limbs and regenerate wounds.

So I turned back to prying the hand apart. Finally releasing the sheath from the fingers, I removed the knife from my belt and unwrapped it. The blade was too exhausted to growl, even as the unmuffled cries of the knife grew more eager and the sheath squealed in greeting. Still on my knees, I lifted the knife and the sheath over my head and reunited them. And as hilt reached sheath, the thread was closed, and with it the ritual ended and curse broken.

Mark Progress: Keep Lio alive so that he may uphold the truce – Break the Ritual

Roll: Fulfill Your Vow, Keep Lio alive so that he may uphold the truce, 10 progress – Strong Hit, +1 XP Bannersworn, 3 XP

Or at least I hoped I had broken the ritual. With the thread now gone and the knife and sheath silent, I could only hope. I looked up to cries in the distance, from the way I had come. It was Verena calling for me. I tucked the ebony-handled knife and sheath into my belt, stood, and returned to her.

I found her back in the clearing. She had already unbound the children. Both stood in silence, fearfully watching the shadows, while Verena attempted to reignite the fire. It seemed like the hunter’s magics (or was it the sheath’s magics?) had fully extinguished it though.

It took me a moment to remember that they could not see me, that only I could see the glows painted across shadows. So I announced myself, startling all three, and told them we were safe and I knew how to lead us out of the forest. The children were too shaken to speak. The boy could barely walk, wasted and weak from the hunter’s poison, so Verena placed his arm over her shoulders and mostly carried him. Then, with the blade still drawn in case the hunter came back, we returned down the path towards the still burning beacon.

Roll: Escape the Depths, Heart, listening to the knife’s whispers – Weak Hit, A denizen plots her revenge, The Hunter

The children were so dazed and overcome that Verena and I were able to carefully steer them around the fire, away from the altar and sight of their parents’ bodies. We left the clearing and returned to the shadows until I eventually found the light, the boundaries of the darkness less firm now that the thread had been closed. And then, stepping out of the hovel door and back into the mid-day sun, we were blinded by the glare and surrounded by people.

The neighbor woman, who had witnessed us enter the hut with blades drawn, had alerted others and a crowd had now gathered in the garden, apparently too fearful to enter the darkness. The woman rushed to the children, “Kuron! Artiga! What has happened to you!?”

Then the questions started. Who were we? Where were Amar and Nia? (the parents?) The Hovelers noticed the hunter’s blood on my blade and arms and grew silent, suspicion turning to fear. The neighbor woman pulled the children back into the crowd.

“Oh, oh no.” I quickly sheathed the blade and raised my hands to show they were empty.

Crap. Roll: Compel, Heart, pacify/convince innocence, +1 Honorbound – Weak Hit; 

 “Amar and Nia are gone, taken. But it was not by us. This is the blood of their killer. She was poisoning the boy when we found them and we fought her off. She was able to escape though. Have you seen her, tangled dark hair and a cloak of many pelts?”

They listened, but seemed unconvinced. While I spoke, I began to notice how many carried hatchets, or hoes, or sickles. The blade tugged at my hand, it hummed, but it was sated and lazy, easy to decline. I would not draw it against these people, but I wasn’t sure what else we could do if things deteriorated further. The darkness seemed to have faded, showing now just the interior of a shack. Maybe we could bar ourselves in the hovel until the crowd calmed?

“She speaks the truth!” It was the girl, Artiga? “She tied us up in the darkness and took mam, and then pap away. And then she made Kuron drink something and he got sick, and she made him drink more and he got sicker!” Everyone looked to the boy, now having slumped to the ground, even more pallid and sickly in the sunlight. She continued, “and then they came *pointing to Verena and I* and they chased her off and brought us back.”

The crowd believed her and the questions began anew. I tried my best to answer.

“Who was their killer?” “I don’t know.”

“Why did she do it?” “I think to harm another, it was ritual, a curse.”

“How do you know?” “Because her knife brought us here, we were sent by a mystic to end her ritual.”

Eventually the questions faded. They were still anxious because their neighbors had been slain but no longer agitated. Delkah, the neighbor woman, introduced herself and asked of the poison. I asked if she was a healer. She said she was not, but she would find one. I explained how it had caused the wasting, gradually, eventually killing their parents. I hoped the boy might recover now, free from the hunter and her poisoning. There was still residue of the toxin in the sheath so I drew the knife and wiped it across the linen I had previously used to bundle it, folding the cloth so the poison was on the inside and offering it to Delkah. 

“This is the poison. Maybe a healer can make use of it. I will return tomorrow to see how the children are doing. I don’t know how else to help, we are not healers. Will they stay with you?”

She nodded, they were not her family, but they were kin, her daughter was Artiga’s playmate.

“Why would someone do this? Amar and Nia were kind, they did not make enemies.”

Verena spoke, the first time since we had left the darkness. 

“Because someone is willing to sacrifice some to hurt others. You people should tend to each other, it is no longer safe.”

She was right, still the stoic observant version of herself that had faced and accepted her fears in the forest. Dark and insightful. I wondered when the haughtiness might return.

And then I also spoke plainly, they deserved to know why their kin had been taken.

“She speaks truth. She who slew your kin is the same that attacked Lio the Guide. The assassin still breathes though, if you see or hear of her, or the children tell you anything, her name, her purpose, please come to the grounds of Cera of Longbridge. She wishes this ended and we hope to do so.”

Artiga had grown silent again and both children, still visibly shaken, just watched us. I tried to smile, to reassure them, as Delkah recruited the strong from the crowd to help carry Kuron to her hovel. And then, having no aid left to offer, Verena and I left the hovels to retrace our steps and make our report.

First, we detoured to the Tidewater Warehouse, where we found Nisas’ companion, the lanky woman. She told us to wait outside and entered the warehouse, returning shortly with Nisas and their other companion, the impassive young man. 

We told Nisas what had transpired, that the ritual had been ended but the hunter had escaped. He was cynical, asking how I could be so sure that the curse had been broken. I answered that I could not truly explain how, but I thought that it must be so. And then I offered him the ebony-handled knife, telling him it still contained some of the poison used on the family and should be brought to Lio’s healer immediately. Maybe if the person behind the ashen curls could identify the toxin, they might better know how to cure him. 

Nisas still seemed doubtful but jumped at the chance to take productive action, the investigation in the docks having been frustratingly unfruitful. He took the knife and, unlike the blade, it did not complain when it left my hand, content so long as it was within its sheath, so long as the thread remained closed. And then we parted. They returned to the warehouse to find someone with a boat to ferry them back to Mouth’s Watch and we hiked back to Cera’s grounds, through the Grain Market and up the river path to the Overlook.

While walking, Verena and I tried to make sense of all that had occured. I told her how I had heard messages behind the knife’s muffled cries, stories that I had been unable to make sense of in the moment but now seemed clearer in memory. How I thought they meant that twilight forest had all somehow been inside the knife (had the hunter not called it “Lightdrinker”?), or maybe the sheath. I could not recall the actual words of the stories though, so it was more feeling than fact.

Verena, still observant, “So since Lio was stabbed by the knife, by poisoning the family with the sheath, she was also able to poison Lio? Even though he did not consume the poison himself?”

“I think so. Do you think Lio or the boy will recover now?”

“I do not know. I would like to know the hunter’s motive though, whether she was tasked by Sayer.” 

So did I, it was not yet over. I was thankful for the reminder. 

“Aye, we will learn it. I would also like to know whose altar that was, though I fear the answer.”

We found Cera on the grounds and provided our report. She stopped us frequently to clarify details, asking two new questions for each answer we gave. She wanted to know everything and seemed to accept our theories as likely, again trusting our combined judgment. She smiled as I told her how the blade sought the assassin in the dark.

“So it was needed, a cursed blade to defeat a cursed knife, eh?”

“Aye, thank you, Cera. Without the blade, without the balestone, we might never have left that dark forest, would likely have been poisoned to death, sacrificed to finish Lio off.” 

She laughed, as if pleased to have played some part in our victory, and returned to her questions, until she could think of no more and promptly retreated to her quarters to contemplate. She was satisfied with the result, the breaking of the ritual and hopeful saving of Lio’s life, but knew the threat remained. She needed to plan her, our, next moves.

Mark Progress: Regain Cera’s Trust – Report to her that the ritual was broken

Roll: Fulfill Your Vow – Regain Cera’s Trust, 9 progress – Strong Hit, 1 XP

Since we had been left untasked, and were hungry and exhausted from the few hours of sleep the night before and harrowing trials of the day, Verena and I ate and shared a drink. We spoke of what we had faced and tried to prepare for what would come next. By the time we’d finished the drink, we were both yawning so we retired to our rooms. The sun was still high and hot when I laid down, but I was so tired that I did not care and quickly fell asleep.

Roll: Forge a Bond, Verena – Strong Hit, +2 Momentum

Roll: Sojourn, +1 bond with Cera and Verena – Strong Hit, Hearten, Consort, Plan;  Focus, Consort, +1 bond – Miss (Whoopsie, shouldn’t have made the gamble. Guess that brings me back up to a whopping 1 spirit, but at least I’m no longer shaken.)

I slept poorly. I dreamt of a fox and wolf playing. Of bones and antlers and teeth. Of blood, flowing and written. Of auroras and towers and fog. And grass. I dreamt that I was lying, that I could not rise. I dreamed the dreams of the blade, slumbering, sated for now.

Upgrade Asset: Bladebound (+1 Gather Information with Kinblade, +2 Momentum on hit, 2 Stress)

I think after learning to follow the knife’s thread (even taking 2 Stress from the ordeal), becoming Shaken, and then losing so much control to the blade’s whims all narratively justifies this upgrade. I’m not sure if Hob yet knows how to initiate or control this connection (guess we’ll find out through play) but all of the foundation pieces are in place for her to use this asset upgrade at some point down the road.