Hob continues pushing west through hill and mount to reach the flooded valley and blossoming aurora, encountering new foes and maybe even some possible allies on the way. 

---

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Miss (jeez, quite a journey so far, eh?), perilous event

I woke to voices! It was still night, still just the green sun, its translucent tendrils dancing across the moonless sky. They came from the path, from the campsite. I listened for a time before I dared move. 

Roll: Gather Information – Weak Hit, complication or new danger

“The pit’s been recently used but it was days ago. It was not the hound.”

“Heard. We’ll camp here until dawn. Try and get some sleep before the sun returns with its heat.”

That performer’s cadence, that projected authority. It was Sayer.

I quietly rose, gripping the scabbard of the blade, which had been resting across my lap while I slept, and crept to the edge of the hidden clearing. Peeking between a gap in the brush to reveal the campsite.

I did not like what I saw. There were at least a dozen figures in the clearing, most unpacking bedrolls. Sayer and Batah, the scout, were deliberating by the fire pit.

“There’s water up here?” it was a voice from further down the path towards the stream, out of sight from my vantage.

Batah turned towards the speaker to acknowledge, “Aye.” Then back to Sayer, “There’s wood for fire here too, but we’ll need tinder before I can get it started.”

Removing a handaxe from his belt, the scout then stepped past Sayer toward the woods, towards me!

It was time to go. As light as I could step, I retreated back to the trunk I’d been resting against to retrieve my pack. Behind me, near the edge of the clearing, I could hear the rustle of Batah reaching the bushes.

Roll: Face Danger, Shadow – Weak Hit

I lifted the bag to my shoulder, and as I did so, my weight shifted and my foot snapped a twig. A loud one!

I froze. It had seemed deafening. Surely Batah would have heard it. I waited, only silence. There was no sound from the opposite side of the thicket, as if he had frozen as well. Shit.

I looked to the blade, it was beginning to rouse from its rest. Not yet. We would wait.

Roll: Endure Stress (-1) – Weak Hit, press on (3 Spirit)

And then a voice from back at the campsite, “What is it Batah? Good?”

And him in response, “Aye, good. It’s nothing.”

Then the crack of branches and rhythmic thud of axe against underbrush. Trying to time my steps to his swings, I left the hidden clearing and slipped west through the forest, parallel to but at a distance from the path. I crossed the small stream and pushed onward until I could no longer hear the sounds of camp and thought it safe to return to the trail.

So I’m a liar. I am one that sometimes skulks. But there were a dozen of them and, after the chase and ambush by Reese and his companion the night prior, my previous bravado had seemed to have left me.

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Weak Hit, 4 Progress (3 Supply)

I pressed on through the night. I wanted to create as much of a lead as possible before morning, when Sayer’s party would break camp. I took another northern fork and then another, and with each turn, the trail became more narrow and overgrown. My leathers dripped with the night’s dew, accumulated from forging through the ferns and tall grasses that had reclaimed the path.

Though the tendrils still stretched across the sky eastward, illuminating the path enough to continue, I could tell I was nearing the end of the trail by the looming shadows, the rising mountains that blocked much of the aurora’s bright glow. The blossoming heart lay on the other side of those mountains. Pella was on the other side of those mountains.

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Weak Hit, 6 Progress (2 Supply)

As the first rays of dawn found my back, the trail grew steeper. The trees were still thick in these foothills but the mountains were growing close, confirmed by the occasional glaring reflection of sun off snowcap when I passed under a gap in the canopy.

And then, just like that, I reached a river and the path ended. Pella’s directions had said nothing of a river.  It was too wide and the current too fast to ford here, still bloated from the snow melt. I could see whole branches and logs, captured by its overflowing waters and being carried ever south, towards the sea.

Even if I could cross the river, the opposite bank was steep, its wooded slopes growing steeper still as they became mountain. The forest continued almost to the snows at the top. I still awe at how trees manage to grow so dense and robust on such slopes. I imagined I could use their branches and trunks to attempt to climb the mountain, but Pella had said there was a pass so I would search for a pass.

I looked to the north, along the bank. This side of the river was less steep. I thought I could even see where others had already stomped through and bent the brush. The runoff’s source appeared to be from the next mountain over, to the north. Maybe there was a passage between the two mountains and, if not, there had to at least be a safer place to ford somewhere upstream.

I knelt and dipped my palms in the water to splash and clean my face. It was freezing! I was now wide awake and fully committed to avoid attempting to wade across or swim the icy runoff. So I pressed northward along the bank of the river, towards its source, hoping to find a pass there.

My progress along the overgrown and occasionally flooded riverbank was slow though and by the time the sun had reached its full height, fully consuming the dancing green tendrils and reflecting directly off the river, I needed to pause for rest. 

Regardless of how cold and swift the current was, there were fish in these waters. I swore I had seen the reddish orange of salmon while I refilled my waterskin. I thought to unpack my hook and line but I could not risk a fire to cook a catch with Sayer on my trail. 

So instead, I removed yet another salted herring and eyed the yellow berries that grew thickly along the bank. I was pretty sure they were mustard berries, though I’d only ever seen them dried and that was years ago. Things like that could not grow on Sota’s Gate but sometimes, rarely, old Reema would bring them back from her trips to Stoneharbor. Their bite went well with herring, and I’d never heard of another berry with that striking color, so I gathered a handful and risked that they were not poisonous.

Roll: Resupply, Wits – Miss

I bit into one and immediately retched and spit it out. It tasted like Willa’s paste smelled, acrid and sharp. That was the biting stench from her ointment, she used mustard berries! The thought of eating any more made me sick, I would rather waste and starve. But Willa had included them in the paste for some reason, hence they must have a medicinal purpose of some sort. So I folded the rest of the berries I had gathered into a cloth, added it to my pack, and continued following the river. 

The berries being misidentified and poisonous from the missed resupply roll seemed too obvious and less interesting of a consequence than introducing some new danger (which will manifest later).

My progress remained slow and by the time I’d climbed to the gap between the mountains, it was early evening. And with evening, fog began to descend from the snow caps, filling the gap and cascading down the river into the foothills I’d just left.

I pushed upward, into the fog, and as the slope began to gentle, the blossoming light of the aurora returned, hazy and blunted by the mist but no longer obscured by the mountains. I could barely see, all around me shrouded in the fog’s cloudy green glow, but my spirits were renewed. I had found the pass! The gap led to the lights, and if I just followed the glow, I would eventually reach its heart.

And then the howling started, from behind me, from the base of the northern mountain to my right. I had never heard a wolf’s cry, not truly, not up close and alone, as they did not prowl Sota’s Gate or the barren surrounding isles. But I had heard all about them from the old stories and those that lived along the coast: a menace to livestock and the occasional threat to travelers. The wail was more chilling than I could have imagined though, sapping my warmth, freezing the sweat from my climb. Then another howl, a lamenting response from deeper up the pass, from the way I was going. The wind caught in my throat. I was amongst them now, between the two.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart – Miss, things get worse; Endure Stress (-1), Heart – Weak Hit, press on (2 Spirit)

I tried to step forward, to keep climbing. But the chill would not release my breath. I was unable to move.

Then came the panting and footfalls, the gallop and scrape of paws on dirt. They were close but still veiled by the fog. Would they attack me? Were they hungry enough that I was worth the risk?

The blade whined and I finally found my wind. Answering it’s call, I gripped the bone with both hands and leveled it towards the pack. Let them know I was fanged as well.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, there’s easier meals than I – Miss, the current situation worsens; Endure Stress (-1), Heart – Strong Hit, shake it off (2 Spirit), Opportunity (ohhh, things aren’t as they seem)

The padded gallops continued, many of them, passing swiftly on my right and then, as if just noticing me, they slowed and paused, lingering before me.  There were shadows in the green mists, large shadows. Then soft scrapes and panting from my left, between me and the river. Some had continued to circle, just out of sight. They meant to surround me.

I thought to draw Lightdrinker, to open the thread. But this was fog not darkness. Its painted greys would not save me. So instead, I swept the blade, widened my stance, and prepared myself for what was to come.

A whimper, a growl, and then more panting. One shadow came into focus, advancing from the others, closing, approaching. And then it stepped from the fog, a massive grey wolf. No, something else. Something more beast than person, pacing to my right on four legs, it’s golden eyes focused, it’s maw in a snarl.

Firstborn!

The blade pulled, I held my ground. If I advanced on it, I would become encircled by those on my flank. So I watched the creature, following its movement with the blade.

Eyes never leaving me, it stopped its pacing and rose to its back legs. Standing almost as a person. A very large person, at least as tall and wide as Reese had been. As it lifted itself, I noticed the long ornate braids hanging from neck to tail. The braids’ tips were a murky blue, the color of water under shade, as if they had been dipped in dye. Beads and small bones, wooden carvings and pieces of plants had been woven into them. Braids so long and ornamented that I did not at first see the numerous belts and packstraps hidden beneath them. 

The front legs held no simple paws, rather strong arms and hands with four slender clawed fingers. It moved its hands back to rest on the hilts of two short curved blades strapped to its side and appeared to be sizing me up. I watched the beast, waiting for it to draw the blades. I listened to my sides, for ambush from the fogs. There was nothing. Those on my flanks were no longer circling, now just watching. Fine, then I would continue to watch as well.

The beast before me lifted its head (its snout?) and sniffed the air, it’s nostrils flaring and lips rising with each inhalation before finally lowering its gaze, again catching me in its focused amber eyes.

And then it addressed me, a low and slow grumbling growl. Almost the sound Uncle Temir’s hounds used to give when annoyed by the clumsy pawing of an excited child, an excited Hob. The tone did not seem hostile, more questioning than aggressive and at odds with the fearsome eyes and snarled teeth. And then I heard the words in it. Well, almost words, close enough to make them out. A rhythmic rumbling likeness to the speech of Ironlanders.

They were speaking to me!

“– — mask less – – – – has been hunting” 

Maskless? Hunting? Had they smelled the blood from Reese and his companion?

“– hunt — — – – green sun as well – — – — to free the moons?”

Roll: Compel, Heart, pacify, +1 hard truth from Honorbound – Weak Hit; Gather Information, +1 from Compel – Weak Hit

I responded slowly, trying to match their cadence if not their tone. I did a poor job of it, they were hard to follow, some noises seeming to just be growls and others to be words.

“The green sun? The aurora? Yes, I seek its heart, to uproot it.”

Their golden eyes sparked and snarl turned to grin.

“- – and if – — – the masked hunt – – — will you slay?”

The masked?

“I will slay all that stand between me and the heart.”

The smile widened, showing more fangs. They were pleased.

“– good – — – the masked hunt – — but first — – – – — we run them down”

“And after you run the masked down, you will hunt the green sun?”

“– – — hunt the sun — – — free the moons – – — all of them”

I did not fully understand what they meant. Free the moons, run down the masked? But it was difficult to parse their words from their growls, and I feared confusion might create conflict, so I did not ask more questions. Instead, I lowered the blade and wished them well.

“Then I wish you luck in your hunt. May one of us succeed if the other falters.”

“– — yes luck — – — one succeeds” 

And with that, they lifted their maw to the sky and howled, an eager and chilling call. And as their pack replied in kind, they returned to all fours and loped back into the fog, towards the green glow, the galloping padfalls of their companions following. 

And then I was alone again in the mists. Surprised and confused. The wolfen. Firstborn. Those villains from the tales of raided farms, of circles besieged. But they seemed to share my goal, to extinguish the blossoming aurora.

Who were the masked they warned of though? I didn’t like the obvious answer. Every child knew stories of the elves and their wooden veils. Yet more firstborn. I’d truly reached the Wilds and was beginning to understand that I had no rightful place in these woods.

Other problems were more pressing though. With the fog had come the cold. The sun must have been setting though I could not see it through the mists, likely again eclipsed by its green rival. Sayer’s party was also still on my trail and so this was a poor place to rest. I would need to push on through the pass or at least find better shelter before the chill set in.

The opportunity I rolled earlier in the scene while enduring stress coupled with the NPC disposition oracle roll of “cooperative” led to quite a different encounter than I had originally expected.

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Weak Hit, 8 Progress, 1 Supply

So I followed the river deeper into the fog, towards the green glow at the end of the pass. And as the fog not so much thinned as settled, collecting and pooling across the ground so I could see further over it, I found the river’s source. A lake, tucked against the base of the northern mountain. A dip at the top of the pass had created a basin for the snow melt to gather before running down into the foothills.

As I reached its shores, where it overflowed and the runoff began, I found the marking, freshly etched into the trunk of a tree where lake became river. It was a rune, but different. More flowing than those we had brought from the Old World but also more brutal, carved by claw or knife. It must have been left by the wolfen. But whether it was a territorial claim or made by some scout, a signal to the pack that followed, I hadn’t a clue.

And then I tied the threads, a chilling realization. I drew the blade from my belt and looked to its bone grip for confirmation, rubbing my thumb across the engravings on the hilt. One of the runes, near where grip met guard, was almost a match to the marking on the tree, its edges less jagged but comprised of all the same parts. Another connection, another question raised.

Maybe I would have some future opportunity to ask the wolfen with the blue braids what the rune meant, if we again crossed paths. Until then, there was little to be gained from pondering, so I resheathed the blade and began to follow the lake’s shore, away from the river towards the northern mountain. I would circle around the basin and avoid having to ford the river’s icy waters, even colder at their source.

It was quiet here, still and crisp, only interrupted by the occasional burble of runoff melt from the mountain or the soft splash of fish surfacing nearby. The salmon had reached the lake and, under the aurora’s misty glow, they were hunting.

I removed my back and retrieved my hook and line. With my lead gained from hiking through the previous night, it was unlikely that Sayer’s party had yet entered the pass. I hoped they would be too wary to weather this fog and instead choose to camp for the night at the base of the mountains. But even if not, the fog might mask a fire, assuming I could light one. I would try and catch some supper and risk resting here until morning.

Roll: Resupply, Wits – Miss; Pay the Price – New danger or foe; Oracles: weapon strength

Do they unknowingly stumble upon me in the fog? Unlikely – No (ambush it is then)

And so, perched atop a rock, hunched over the lake with a fishing line, was how they found me. If not for the blade, if it had not stirred at their silent approach, they would have had me. It startled and terrified me, screaming to be drawn when there was no threat present, nothing around at all. The fogs had begun to thicken as the night grew more chill. I could see little but the shadows of trees and hear nothing but the soft murmur of runoff. But if the blade warned that something was there, something was there. So I answered its call, entrusting myself to it, and in doing so, allowed it to save my life.

Roll: Battle, Heart, allow the blade to save me – Strong Hit

Bone to hand and blade from scabbard, I spun and leapt from the outcropped stone, back to the shore and into the fog. And with my leap came the twang of a bow and the hiss of an arrow flying behind me, to where I had been perched a moment prior. The blade was right, there were foes here, and we had taken them by surprise. The blade cleaved the fog, and with it a person. A startled scream and satiated sigh.

Roll: Does the archer escape? 50/50 – Yes

And then the blade pulled to my right, deeper into the mist, towards where the arrow had been loosed. I heard a gasp of shock and then light and rapid footfalls. They fled. I allowed the blade to follow, offering them to it. But they were swift, much faster than the blade could carry me, and soon I had lost them to the mist. No more footfalls, just the frustrated growls as the blade slowed and eventually gave up the chase. Dragging to a stop, I paused for a moment and listened. Still just silence. They were gone. I left the unsatisfied iron unsheathed and returned the way we’d come.

I almost Entered the Fray to do a more drawn out fight, but the situation seemed like it would happen in a foggy blur, so Battle felt like it made more sense. More importantly though, gambling the entire outcome of the fight on one roll seemed more fitting for a situation where I placed my trust in the blade (i.e. did a trust fall, let it take the wheel, etc.). I think placing my faith in and depending on my longest companion justified using Heart instead of Iron for the roll.

I heard no sound of the wounded as I returned to the outcropped rock. It took me a moment to find the body of the first slain ambusher in the pooling fog, crumpled beside a bow and spear. Had I misjudged my lead, had Sayer’s scouts caught up with me? Kneeling down to check the body, I realized the situation was much worse.

The masked!

A mask crafted from wood of deep and dark reds. It was flat and expressionless, plain except for the elegantly carved engravings of roots and branches and flowers, flowing and weaving together across the entire face. Three large gashes scarred the left cheek, the only mar to its haunting beauty.

The blade had found the wearer’s chest, cleaving through and staining the armor of leather and layered leaves. Thick and sturdy leaves that appeared almost as flexible scales. On their belt were numerous bags and pockets, hanging amongst them were long braids of gray and black. Braids with pieces of wood and bone amongst them. Wolfen braids. Trophies.

My hands reached for the mask, I needed to know. As I removed the wooden visage, the first thing I saw were his eyes. Large, dark, and glistening, reflective even in their stillness. All of his features matched his eyes, all were prominent. A flat broad nose, a wide mouth, and protruding ears that came to a point. His skin a dull and coarse green, almost a grey iron or cloudy silver. This was the face of an elf. I’d always heard bark and leaves were hidden beneath their masks, but he looked almost like an Ironlander, just exaggerated, alien yet captivating.

I looked to the spear he’d wielded. A long piercing head with a cross at its base. This was a weapon for keeping a skewered foe at a distance, for keeping out of claws’ reach. The only iron he wielded, the only obvious metals he seemed to carry at all, were the heads of spear and arrows, now splayed across the ground from where they had spilled from the quiver on his belt. 

I turned my attention to the pouches and pockets, seeking anything useful or informative. I hoped for food.

Roll: Resupply, Wits – Miss; Pay the Price – It is stressful, a person/community you care about is exposed to danger.

Well shit, that’s four missed resupplies in a row, including the one before I started the journey, which I burned momentum on to stock up for the road. I’m down to 1 supply so I’m starting to get a little anxious over it. These Pay the Prices will manifest in a bit.

I found a thin and curved hunting knife tucked among the pouches, sharp and long. The pockets held no food, only what appeared to be trinkets or items that I otherwise did not grasp the value of. There was a carved wooden stag, finely whittled; numerous feathers, from different birds each; and many smooth flat stones, the kind Bastien and I would favor for skipping as children. I returned the items to his pouches. I would not rob trinkets from the dead. I would have my trophy though, I would take the mask. How else would anyone believe my tale?

I wondered if all elves were like this, silent ambushers in the night. The wolfen had clearly thought as much. I hoped not, but regardless, I would more readily trust the blade on these matters down the road.

For now though, I needed to move. The longer I remained with the slain elf, the higher the chances that his companion might return. I retrieved my pack from the shore, the fishing hook and line having been lost to the lake as I’d drawn the blade, and pressed on, circling around the northern shore to reach the other side. The fog continued to thicken and, on reaching the western shores, I discovered another river pouring out of the lake and flowing westward, towards the aurora. The lake must have lain across the highest point in the pass, splitting it’s waters to each side.

The air was growing too cold and the fog too dense to continue. I was too wary to push on through the night. I would need to camp here, at the head of the second river, and rely on the blade to warn me if the masked returned. Placing my back to the waters and facing north, to where I had come and where they would likely follow, I removed the torch and bottle of oil from my pack. I tore off some of the torch cloth for tinder and doused it and the driest sticks I could find in oil. They steamed and crackled as the mist and gathering dew was burned away but the fire caught.

I gathered water from the river and set the pot to heat. Adding the barley I had packed from Cera’s longhouse, Longbridge barley, I tore off and stirred in strips of my remaining herring as well as some of the golden brown crusted sailor’s cheese I had brought. I usually found the cheese too pungent, the reason it had stayed in my pack since my arrival to Autumnrush,  but the Wilds have a way of flattening your tastes and eroding your preferences.

With the porridge finished and eaten, I pulled my cloak tight and sat as close to the fire as seemed safe. I removed the mask I had taken from the slain elf and again examined it, turning it over to its backside. How could one wear such a thing? The eye holes seemed wide but still so narrow that they would tighten your vision, limiting its boundaries to that which was directly in front of you. I lifted it to my face to find out.

And as the wood kissed cheek, I was fully consumed. Fractured and fused, drowning in a maelstrom of visions and truths, few of them my own. A scene flashed and then another, the shuffled memories of every elf that had ever worn the mask, dozens of lives tangled together.

All of their tragedies and loves, all of the atrocities committed and suffered during their forever war with the wolfen, and the last moments and fears of every elf that died wearing the mask, both peaceful and violent. From Tuhata the warscout, to Matissa the forager, to Aralu the weaver, to Dotani the hunter, the last wearer of the mask. He who was slain by the blade on the eastern shore of the lake. 

The memories did not flow in order though, they jumped from one wearer’s to another’s, older and younger in age. I clung to Dotani’s. Reliving my inheritance of the mask as a youth when Mintinu the binder had finally surrendered to the rusts. Celebrating the first braid I’d taken, hard won from a desperate wolfen. Recalling my friendship with Gezerra, my archer companion, stalking the Wilds together for years. And then, my final moments of shock and fear as my prey, a young maskless with blade and whirling braids, dodged Gezerra’s arrow and leapt through the fog towards me. The attempt to raise my spear, the bite as the blade entered my chest.

As I relived my death at my own hands, I became ill, dropping the mask from my face and retching. Heaving on all fours until I collapse to my side, writhing and panting. I had been shattered. Who was I? And then I was nothing. The void again.

Roll: Endure Stress (-2), Heart – Weak Hit, press on (0 Spirit); Gather Information, Wits – Weak Hit, new danger

Roll: Make Camp, 1 Supply, passed out – Weak Hit, relax into oblivion (1 Spirit)

I woke with a start, the memories from the mask already fading but a single piece of retained knowledge still screaming its truth. 

They knew the maskless lit the torch. Maskless who corrupted and poisoned the Wilds, twisting and toppling it from balance. They came to slay the maskless and douse the torch, any maskless that had trespassed. They came to slay us all! They would even come for Pella!

I would not allow it. I quickly packed my meager camp under the competing morning glows of green and gold, and left the lake, pressing westward along the banks of the second river. And by mid-day, as the sun finished burning away the lingering fog, I finally reached the end of the pass. The flooded valley and the heart of the blossoming aurora. Pella!

The stress of wearing the mask and learning of the elven threat to Pella and the Sustainers satisfies the previous miss rolled while trying to resupply.

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Strong Hit, 10 Progress; Reach Your Destination, 10 Progress – Weak Hit, unforeseen hazard or complication (likely time to advance the threat again)

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Find the flooded valley, 2 Progress

Mark Progress: Find Pella and make sure she is safe – Reach the flooded valley, her destination, 3 Progress

I finally made it!!! I’m not sure yet what I’ll find or how the unforseen hazard or complication will manifest, but I’m suspicious a delve may be in our future.

I had been wary of introducing the firstborn for fear of doing so poorly (the reason it took until chapter 16). I was scared of overly relying on tropes or insufficiently thinking out what truly separated them from the Ironlanders. But I’m really pleased with how the Varou and Elves joined the story and the people that they are starting to flesh into. 

Masks containing memories of previous wearers is something I couldn’t help but steal from my gaming group’s Brinkwood campaign (an excellent Forged in the Dark RPG about fighting back against oppressive vampire lords with the help of fae masks). Extrapolating memory masks to an entire culture, mortals that live on and merge with their descendents through immortal masks, was a really exciting breakthrough for me. It would potentially help explain the longevity of the elves’ conflict with the Varou, as they are a people whose wounds and traumas do not dull with the passing of generations, remaining always fresh. I’m excited to see where it all leads.