Hob continues her delve through the strange tides of the flooded valley. Remnants of a forgotten power and memories of a cursed birth.

CW: Animal suffering, death, corpses

---

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Weak Hit, 3 Progress; Reveal a Danger – You lose your way or are delayed

Oracles: Unstable exit, ruined valuables, collapsed architecture, fading murals, stagnant waterway

So I left the twisted warpwood and the coil of roots that once contained its pulsing heart, pushing on through the rising waters and crumbling walls until I finally found dry land. A small island, the collapsed remnants of a large circular building in its center. The waters grew deeper beyond this point, no more ruins surfacing in the fogs ahead, just the tops of trees where branches thinned, their trunks fully submerged beneath the floods.

The strange tides were much higher than before. The shadows of the misshapen thicket, still barely visible in the distant mists behind me, looked half drowned now. I guessed there would be no retracing my steps until the waters receded, if they even did recede in a place such as this.

It began to sink in that, unless I wanted to swim, I was likely stuck here for a time. I would need to survey the island completely before I felt comfortable enough to rest though. So I walked the circle of shores before finally turning inward to investigate the collapsed ruins.

Most of the structure had long ago fallen, leaving a mound of stones of all shapes and colors. Only one of the walls still stood tall, rising from the rubble of its toppled kin. I carefully climbed over their remains to reach the lone survivor.

It was beautiful. A mural of stones. No, not a mural, there was no paint. It reminded me of the beaded wall in the Watcher’s Fort back home, but this was not composed of glass embedded in earth, it was instead piled stones. Every size of flat rock and pebble, set and stacked atop each other, reds and blues and greys and greens. Segmented shapes flowing across a jutting landscape.

It was a portrayal of the valley. There, to the right, was the grey Pillar and the foreboding tower. Above them spread a blue sky over the red longhouses of the ancient city. And in the sky were shapes, stones of both vibrant and muted greens forming bodies and wings. Wyverns, but not like the vermillion banner of Longbridge, these were the verdant lizards that were said to soar above the Deep Wilds. At first, I thought they were attacking the city, that the scene related the history of some tragedy endured or peril overcome. But then I saw the smaller pebbles stacked atop their wings and necks. Were those people riding them? I stared in awe. I had heard no stories, old or new, that mentioned anyone who had tamed the beasts! But here were depictions of just that, from whoever it was that once resided in this valley, in this city that had become ruins well before the ancestors had even arrived from the Old World. 

I wondered if Pella and the others had come this way. If she had seen the wall. If not, she would be excited to hear of it. I imagined the boastful tale she might tell about stalking and slaying a Wyvern or something equally far-fetched. She would definitely have a story. I smiled at the vision of her feigned sincerity when challenged about the details. Of the moment she could no longer sustain the act and broke into a swaggering grin before joining in with the laughter. I missed her, but I knew I would find her soon. I was certain of it.

The gnawing soreness from my side eventually dragged me from my reverie. From where the warping root had slammed into me and thrown me over the wall. I gingerly removed the warcrew leathers, setting them across the pile of rubble, and lifted my shirt to examine the injury, finding a large bruise across my flank, bright red growing dark. I timidly prodded my ribs to test for sharp pains. Thankfully, just tenderness, only bruises.

And then I had a thought. I dug through my pack to retrieve the folded cloth, unwrapping it to reveal the mustard berries I’d collected by the first river at the base of the mountains (had that been only yesterday?). If Willa had used them in her pungent paste, they must have had some healing property. Her medicine had numbed and soothed my bruises previously, from the axhandle Reese’s companion had wielded the first time I’d faced her, so maybe the berries alone would help now? I took a handful, already half-mush from riding around in my pack, and smeared them across the reddened skin before carefully lowering the shirt and moving on to inspect my armor and remaining supply.

Roll: Heal, Wits, DIY paste – Weak Hit, 4 Health

My bruises soon tingled and warmed. The pain did not fully numb but it did soften a little. I silently thanked Willa for her unintentional gift of knowledge. I even welcomed the biting odor for once, anything to mask the stench of wet wood and soaked earth.

The fogs seemed thicker now, the general glow of the sun less prominent. I guessed that meant evening had arrived. I was not ready to swim the icy floods though, not yet. I would wait and hope that the islands again became hills and a path forward was exposed. I still had some torch oil but there was nothing here dry enough to burn. So, leaning against the stone landscape, I pulled my still damp cloak close for meager protection against the growing chill and succumbed to my fatigue.

Roll: Make Camp, 1 Supply – Strong Hit, relax (2 Spirit), recuperate (5 Health)

---

I woke invigorated. The mashed berries had worked! The soreness was gone and the now blue bruises were fading. 

It was night, dark skies behind dancing lights. I stepped from the stacked stones and collapsed ruins to assess the flooding. The waters had receded while I slept, and with them the fogs, revealing land both the way I had come and the way I went, northward towards the heart of the glow. 

The distant aurora was still too bright to look at, but, with the haze withdrawn, I could finally see the mountains that flanked the valley, the translucent tendrils dancing across their steep walls. And below them I could make out other hilltops, dozens of islands rising above the sea of mists that had settled across the valley floor.

The air was crisp and the path sodden and treacherous, but I knew I needed to push for the next hilltop before the strange tides returned and again stranded me. So I retrieved my gear from beside the stone landscape and its wyvern riders, quickly refitted my armor, and set off down the hill, every step bringing me closer to Pella and the green sun.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Miss; Reveal a Danger – Ancient evil resurgent

Oracles: Unnatural sign, surrender hate, something unusual or unexpected, debt comes due

My respite from pursuers, granted by the flooded landbridge, would now have expired. With the tides retreating, they would be free to enter the valley. I glanced back to the pass to confirm that they were not already upon me and realized just how far I’d traveled from where the second river spilled out from the mountains. I guess I had not truly appreciated how wide and deep the valley was when it was covered in fog. 

Once more came the ceaseless urge to look over my shoulders, but, after so long within the haze and mists, there was a comfort in being able to again trust my eyes to warn me of approaching danger. So, confident that they had not yet found me, I pressed on, continuing my slow descent down the slick hillside.

And then I spotted the fallen stag, its antlers half buried in the muddy earth. I assumed it had perished and been carried and deposited by the strange tides, but I still approached with caution. Something seemed off about its shadow, the green glimmers as the tendrils danced over it. Was that light reflecting off metal?

Roll: Gather Information, Wits – Strong Hit; Oracles: Reject survival

I put my hand to hilt and crept closer. And that’s when I saw the iron. Segments and patches of grey metal, peeking from under rust colored fur, growing and spreading across limb and antler. It was as the tendril kissed thickets, transformed and expanded, unnatural and cruel. I peered into the stag’s eyes and saw only pain and fear. The poor beast was sick and tortured, bloated and weeping water from the wounds around the metallic growths. The tides had not carried him. He was too heavy, almost more iron than flesh. He had fallen here and the waters had risen over him. The iron stag had been drowned.

I would look at the stag no longer. And so, tearing my eyes from his, lifting my gaze past his tormented carcass to the path before me, I found the rest of his herd. A whole field of drowned deer, blighted corpses and the flicker of green across grey. The blade was stirring now. This was ritual. This was a cursed place. I should not be here.

A mournful howl from deeper in the valley roused me from my spiraling thoughts, reverberating off the mountain walls and calling me back to purpose. It seemed the wolfen may already have reached the green sun? I braced myself and pushed on, through the field of diseased and drowned bodies towards the hill to my north, avoiding looking at the wretched animals for fear of again meeting that frozen terrified stare.

And it was not long before howling again filled the valley. But this time it was not the wolfen, it was not mournful. It was rasping and pained. There was no beauty to it, only suffering. And then came the clash of armor. Not armor, something different. Something I had heard before but could not place. Or was it something from one of the blade’s dreams? Metal scraping and smashing against metal, but at a slower cadence than ironclad marching to battle. The crashing rang out from the eastern wall of the valley, and I could just make out the figures in the distance. The faint glimmer of reflected greens off branched antlers. More of the wretched beasts were coming to the field to drown!

I started running.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Edge, reach the fogs before the iron wracked beasts enter the valley – Miss; Endure harm (-2), 3 Health – Strong Hit, shake it off (4 Health), Opportunity; Oracles: evade desolation

It is difficult to sprint across soaked earth, even harder to do so downhill. Drowned grass tore and uprooted with each step, ripping and sliding over the mud. And so I soon fell, skidding across the cold mire. I pushed myself back to my feet and more carefully proceeded, willing myself to escape into the fogs on the valley floor before the herd reached the field. 

More howls and more crashing, roars of challenge as the beasts collided with each other. So consumed were they by their suffering that they lashed out at their own kin. And then the herd stilled, a pause to their clash of iron, before lifting their heads to bellow in unison. A noise I do not wish to remember but will never forget. The scream of collective despair and hunger. And as the wail faded, the entire herd broke into a gallop, the clatter of one thousand pans being smashed against one thousand stones to one thousand different rhythms, racing away from me, south towards the second river.

Cries of surprise arose from the direction they charged, terror-stricken figures atop a nearby hill scattering and fleeing back the way they’d come, back towards the pass. Figures that swore and panicked in words I understood. Ironlanders. It was Sayer’s party, finally catching up to me but stumbling upon these blighted beasts before they could locate their prize. I took no joy in their misfortune, but I’d be lying if I said I found no relief in it. I turned back to the field and continued my wary hike down to the valley floor, back into the mists and away from this horrible place.

The opportunity rolled from enduring harm brought Sayer and friends into the scene and presented a closer target for the iron blighted beasts. I felt that this resolved the immediate danger enough to allow Hob to move forward without requiring any further moves.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Weak Hit, 4 Progress; Oracles: Narrow path through fetid bog

As I descended into the fogs, the crash of iron and pained howls eventually faded. And soon I found the retreating tides. They were shallow enough to ford, here on the valley floor. I did not understand how that could be possible. Where had all the water gone? The waters that had flooded all but the highest hills just hours prior? I tried not to think on it, as the answer likely involved ritual, curse, or both. 

I squeezed and stretched my wrists. They, along with my ankles, were growing sore from my run and fall in the mud. That mud, it reeked of death and covered everything, from boots to leathers to cloak. I dreaded to do it, but I needed to clean myself of the mire, to remove the stench of terror and suffering. So I unshouldered my pack and held it before me, braced myself with a long deep breath, and allowed myself to fall backwards into the waist deep waters. It was freezing, provoking coughs and gasps, but I arose cleansed, finally freed from the stag’s fearful gaze.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Weak Hit, 5 Progress; Reveal a Danger – Roll twice, denizen hunts, disturbing evidence of ancient wrongs 

Oracles: Ancient artistry or craft, collapsed habitation, find idea, abandon strength

I finished fording the waters and hiked out of the valley floor onto the base of the next hill. As I ascended, the fogs again thinned and, with my vision restored, I found the bone. A rib, embedded in the mud and half disintegrated from age. And then another. And then one longer, a leg maybe? And then the skull. The skull of a person, decayed and fractured, as if its owner’s head had been caved. They were more frequently found the higher I climbed, beginning to crowd together as I neared the top of the hill. All were scattered and ancient, all of the skulls crushed or split. Each an unsettling discovery and unwelcome reminder that this valley was a place of death. But these bones were all old, too old to be anyone I knew, so I pressed on, hiking with care to avoid stepping on any of the strewn remains.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, weather the past – Weak Hit, dispirited or afraid; Endure Stress (-1), Heart – Miss, 1 Spirit

And so I reached the crest of the hill, where the bones became so numerous that they piled atop each other, only to discover that it was not a hill at all but a hollow mound. A massive buried dome, the roof having long ago collapsed to reveal a cavernous chamber underneath. I looked to the stacked bones along the pit’s edges and knew that this must be a barrow.

I cautiously peered over the edge of the caved ceiling to find reflections of greens dancing across blue deep below.  Maybe the floods had carried the remains from within, if that was even possible since I was fairly certain that skeletons could not float? If the waters had indeed somehow lifted the bones high enough to spill out from the barrow’s collapsed roof though, then that meant this mound would be no island once the tides returned, and I would need to push on for the next hill before that happened.

But as I readied myself to leave, the blade stirred and yawned as if waking to something familiar. Then, fully roused, it started its chitter and growl. And as I placed my hand on its bone grip to calm it, a hideous understanding swelled into focus, a grim realization of who resided in the barrow, a terrible recognition of whose remains were now scattered atop it. The blade remembered. They were an offering. They were a sacrifice.

I drew the blade. The flashes of oily green gleamed brighter than before. I told myself it was just because we were above the fogs, where the lights danced more freely, but I knew it was something more. The blade was remembering the offering, it was savoring their scraps. The remnants of those hundreds sacrificed so that it might ascend into being. This was the place of its birth!

I began to lose myself to the horror. It could not be. Threads must of have gotten crossed, confusing nightmare with recollection. I tried to sheath the blade, to quiet its depraved nostalgia, but it refused to be still, its growls growing more agitated and frantic as it dragged me from my desperate avoidance.

There were more than just memories of its birth here, there were other things as well. Things that still drew breath, nearby, on the barrow with us. The blade tugged down towards the fogs we’d climbed out of. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. And so I knew it must be the masked!

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Shadow, sneak away before the masked find me – Miss (no surprise there)

The blade pulled for the mists below, I refused. We were here for Pella and the aurora’s heart, both which lay ahead of us and not behind. But the blade would not listen, it was still stuck in its memories and sought its sacrifice.

And while I heaved and argued with the blade, we lost our opportunity to slip away before they discovered us. A cry of warning, of prey found, erupted from the mists, shortly followed by echoing replies. I did not recognize the cry, but I knew that it meant “maskless” and that it was a slur. And I knew that the first call belonged to Gezerra, my close friend. No, a flicker of recognition from when I’d worn the mask taken as trophy from the slain ambusher. She was Dotani’s close friend. This was the voice of his companion, the archer that had escaped the blade in the fogs. She’d found us and would try to slay me where I stood.

Then arrows started to fly and shadows broke from the fogs, already close and moving quickly up the hill of bones towards us. And I knew that I could not outrun them, not if all masked were as swift as Gezerra, not with the blade tugging and dragging for a fight. But we could not stand and fight, there were too many of them, a full hunting troupe. Warscouts with archers and me, again without a shield.

So I did something foolish, something foolhardy, something that made Pella whoop and clap with pride when I told the tale. I leapt through the collapsed roof of the barrow, plunging into the darkness, the blade hissing in frustration as it was dragged from its promised feast.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, I didn’t want to go in here – Miss, it is wasteful; Endure Harm (-1), 3 Health – Miss, 3 Health, Complication

I crashed into the icy waters, losing my vision and hearing for a time as the impact and chill robbed my wind. And then I was swimming, in any direction into the darkness, towards anything I might reach to cling or climb onto while I was still able. And as I my hands gripped stone and I heaved myself out of the freezing floods, I realized that I no longer gripped the blade, it’s concerned murmurs now faintly bubbling from the center of the pool. From deep under the water. From the floor of the flooded chamber.

Then cries of annoyance from above as my pursuers reached the pit, shadows peering over its edge in search of their escaped prey. But they would not find me. I’d swam to the outer edges of the chamber and was now perched amongst the darkness, where the lights dancing through the collapsed ceiling could not reach. 

Shivering but breathing, I took a moment to survey where I’d dragged myself out of the water. It was a stone platform, encircling the large chamber, with numerous recesses carved into the walls. Similar platforms lined with alcoves were layered above and below me, submerged beneath the floods. I looked to my gear, the pack was drowned. I cracked Lightdrinker’s sheath, attempting to open the thread and paint the greys, but the knife would not wake. The flames it had previously consumed were all now burnt out. Before anything else, I would need to retrieve the blade.

Out of Supply (-1) – Unprepared

I waited in silence before acting, watching the shadows above and listening. They did not seem willing to follow me down into the barrow, either believing me doomed already or having other prey to hunt. So soon, after the swearing and arguments ceased, they moved on.

When I felt confident that they had truly left, I set to removing the warcrew leathers. I’d learned the hard way that they would do nothing to keep me warm in these frigid waters. And then, accepting that it was a horrible idea but knowing of no other way, I dove back into the flooded barrow.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, retrieve the blade – Weak Hit, you are tired

I was a good swimmer. As children, Bastien and I used to leap from the rocky outcroppings of Sota’s Gate into the winter currents and swim back to shore before the cramps took hold. I told myself this was little different, just deeper and darker. I lied, it was much different. I was a strong swimmer, but it was a struggle to keep my wind in these chill waters. I ignored the rising panic and kicked downward, towards the chamber’s floor and the blade’s confused bubbling, towards the beacon of green reflecting off iron.

And as my hand finally closed around the bone grip, the blade cooed, happy to have found me. It still had its memories but was no longer lost among them. Visions remained of the hundreds slain to birth it into this world, of the feast in its honor, of the strength it had been gifted from the sacrifice. But it was here with me now, and it also remembered its grudges, the engraved tower and miswielded blossom. Our purposes were aligned and it was thankful for me to again carry it forward.

Roll: Endure Harm (-1), Iron – Miss, 2 Health

We surfaced and reached the platform. Pulling myself back out of the icy water, I lay on my back atop the cold stone, gasping and shivering, willing my wind to return, until eventually my breaths filled and calmed. I rubbed my limbs to warm them and refitted the stripped armor, still frigid and wet, and then set to unloading my pack to survey the damage. The barley was soaked, just sailor’s cheese from here on out. The flask of oil was unbroken, though the torch cloth was drowned. I wrung out the bedroll as best I could, but it would still need to be set out to fully dry before the damp turned to rot. Lastly, Dotani’s mask appeared undamaged, and I shuddered at the sight of its expressionless visage. 

And it was at that moment, as I recoiled from the greens reflecting off red wood, that I realized the blade had been lighting my inventory. We were in the shadows, away from the collapsed ceiling and the dancing sky, but the oily green reflected nonetheless. They weren’t just reflections, the blade was glowing on its own, feeding off the barrow, the place of its birth. A foreboding power that I could no longer ignore or explain away.

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Learn of the blade’s birthing, 1.5 Progress (this whole scene has been an absolute disaster but I think, through the missed rolls, important knowledge was revealed)

So I had originally thought the Birthing Barrow would be its own site, but now that I’m in it, I think it makes more sense to treat it as the same delve through the valley that I’ve been on. This portion will just have a different domain than the rest (barrow). Nesting delves within delves seems too complicated mechanically to be much fun.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Weak Hit, 6 Progress; Reveal a Danger – Denizen guards this area

Oracles: Burial chambers, inaccessible water, defend home 

Repacked and dressed, I turned to the alcoves. I would need to find a way out of the barrow before the tides returned. Circling the platform and casting the blade before me as a torch, I eventually spotted the mouth of a tunnel in the back of one of the recesses, just tall enough to walk through upright. I carefully stepped into the passage. I knew not which direction it faced, having lost my way when I’d plunged into the icy pool, but hoped it led to an exit.

I soon reached a fork in the tunnel, but my path forward was clear. The passage to the right led down into the floods, while the one to the left sloped upward. Then another fork. There must have been a whole network of tunnels branching outward from the chamber. I again followed the climbing path.

And then I heard the clatter. The rattle of bones. I knew the sound well, triggering clear memories of the skeletal giant Pella and I had faced below the Desolate Beacon to rescue Mira and Mokhel. The stretched horror that reconstructed itself as if bound by invisible threads. But this was somehow worse, more dense, an entire chorus of scraping rattles. Something very bad was in here with us. 

I turned to retreat back down the tunnel, back to the chamber, but the blade refused. It did not chatter or growl but it held its ground. And as I pleaded and pulled, the barrow’s guard showed itself, pouring into the blade’s light.

It was indeed much worse than the stretched horror. A mass of skulls and bones piled before me, churning and flowing forward, filling the entire passage. I begged the blade to move. Still it ignored me. The oily green grew brighter as the terror approached, shifting and surging forward in bursts.

This is bad, I rolled really poorly on the denizen chart and my path is now blocked by a bonehorde, an extreme ranked foe. I have an idea though. And I really really hope it works.

The mass was almost upon us, and still the blade would not budge. Did it think it could carve through waves of bone, in this tunnel that was too narrow to even swing? We were doomed. I am ashamed to admit it but, for a moment, I considered dropping the blade, to flee and return for it later.

But then I remembered the masked. I remembered the blade’s warnings. I remembered that I had been the one to bring us to this place, to plunge us into the darkness just to avoid a fight. A fight against mortal foes who could bleed and die, unlike the churning horror I’d delivered us to. When I’d clashed with the blade, I’d embraced disaster. We needed to act in harmony or both of us would fail. Our threads were tied, like those of Lightdrinker, like the knife and sheath. And so I would not abandon the blade. I would again place my faith in it, not just heed its warnings, but trust it to navigate the place of its birth.

Roll: Learn From Your Failures, 8 Progress – Strong Hit, 3 XP (just enough for a new asset)

Advance: Purchase Asset – Keen, roll +Heart for +1 harm

The clatter and dry snaps of shifting remains was deafening, the looming mass of churning bones swelling to engulf us. And as I stilled myself, as I quit trying to drag the blade and finally accepted its oily glow, the names began to spill forth.

“Odyvarr Guella Taskul Birgata…” 

And I was singing them. A mournful wail, a weeping chant. So many names surfacing from the depths of the icy floods.

“Galbran Egill Pirja Eskil…”

A howling keen for the fallen.

Roll: Keen, Heart – Weak Hit, +1 Harm

I did not recognize the names, but the mass of bones did. With each chanted, a skull or rib or vertebrae calmed and the clatter faltered. These were the names of those that resided in this barrow, of those who had been sacrificed for the blade’s birthing, and as they heard their address, their fragments joined in the song, adding their voices to the wail. They were reminded of the blade, reminded that it was to be allowed passage here. It was not what they guarded against. They would not stop us, but they would still mourn that which the blade had taken from them.

And then the keen took on a life of its own, carrying itself forward, even as my voice dropped from the chorus. I felt my bones vibrate, my body shaking as if trying to unravel itself. The glimmer of oily green, the thread of the blade, was all that kept me tied.

The churning mass began to retreat, away from the glow. The song remained.

“Yngvi Jaara Audyr Torvu…”

And the blade followed the rattle of bone, the clatter of death, the mourning fallen. Up the tunnel until we reached another fork. The jumble of remains took the lower passage and stopped, half submerged in its pooling waters, shifting and churning and wailing.

“Espe Inge Hillbjorn Indrida…”

Just inside the flooded tunnel, the mass waited. As if it had withdrawn to the fork just to allow us passage. And the blade accepted its offer, tugging forward along the upper path, upward and away from the birthing barrow and its grieving guard.

Roll: Endure Stress (-2), Heart – Miss, 0 Spirit, Shaken (this stress is from the weak hit on the Keen roll)

And as the keen faded behind us and the oily glow led us to an exit, a heavy iron door that lay inward, as if the weight of the rising tides had previously burst it open, I became lost in my thoughts. Lost in one particular thought. One horrible realization. That these were not just the names of those sacrificed, but also those of the blade’s first victims. It had made its own sacrifice. All within this barrow, the bones on the hill and the churning mass, every cleaved or caved skull, had all been taken by the blade for its birthing feast.

And I was shaken by the thought. The blade’s thread had prevented my flesh and bones from unraveling but my spirit was wholly unwound. Shattered by the knowledge that my bonded companion, that which had saved me, had caused such suffering and carnage in its very first act on this world.

Well that sort of worked but not well. Hob is now shaken on top of being unprepared, but at least she was not dashed and consumed by a bonehorde, added to the churning mass.

---

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Strong Hit, 7 Progress; Find an Opportunity – Take action now, a clue offers insight or direction

Oracles: Visions of a place in another time, ancient remains, advance loss

I moved in a haze, dragging the threads of my unraveled spirit behind me, my senses numbed by the ever present green sun. When I came to, the true sun had returned, shining high. I must have stumbled and climbed through the night and half of the new day. I paused to take it all in. We had ascended out of the fog and were now upon fully dry earth, its dirt crunching beneath my boots. We had escaped the reach of the tides!

We were among the ruins now. Tall crumbling walls and collapsed buildings to both sides, all crafted from the same brown rock as the rubble by the thicket, patina over veins of orange and crimson. The rows were as tightly packed as the winding streets that led to Pillar Hill back in Autumnrush. We had made it to the city proper.

The radiant heart of the aurora was still before me, though the tall ruins sheltered me from its glare. In my daze, I’d at least managed to walk in the right direction. The shade helped to clear my senses. It felt like years since I’d escaped that blinding glow.

I realized I was still holding the blade, low and forward. The glimmer remained, retaining memories of its brutal birth place, but its shimmer had slown. The blade was tired. It must have pulled me forward in my shock, towards that which it knew we both sought. So I let it rest, returning it to its scabbard and dropping my pack to the ground to stretch my arms skyward and arch my aching shoulders.

Roll: Gather Information, Wits, +1 from take action now – Weak Hit, complicates or adds new danger

And then I spotted it, the pillar of smoke coiling upward through the dancing tendrils.

A brief moment of triumphant elation. Was it Pella!? But then I remembered the masked hunting troupe. If I had hiked this far, they would have hiked further, having moved on ahead of me while I was still trapped in the terrible barrow. It could be their camp ahead and, even if not, if it was the Sustainers, the masked might already have reached them.

So, anxieties renewed, I reshouldered my pack and pushed on through the packed ruins. Towards the smoke, towards the heart of the aurora, towards I feared what I might find.

Things are getting close to dire. My health is at 2 and I have both the shaken and unprepared debilities. Considering how the dice have treated me thus far on this journey, I don’t know if I can risk to Delve the Depths again to mark more progress before making the Locate Your Objective move. Rolling another miss and facing even more perils might result in Hob wounded or even worse. So I think it’s time to gamble on finally finding Pella.

Roll: Locate Your Objective, 7 Progress – Strong Hit, YAYYYYY!!! I don’t know what I would have done if I had missed that roll!

And as I staggered through the crumbling city, sometimes losing sight of the plume of smoke while I weaved through the tight ruins, the blade began to stir. More of a waking purr than agitated warning, but someone or something was nearby. I moved my hand to the bone grip as a precaution. And then I heard the slightest shift of rubble and spun to face it.

Standing behind a pile of collapsed wall was a figure with bow drawn. I looked past the arrow to who wielded it, and her mossy eyes finally shone upon my face. Her grim sneer, of one prepared for violence, dropped into a goofy surprised open mouthed grin. And then came her whoop of joy.

“Hob!”

My hand fell from the bone. I staggered forward. And as we met for embrace, both the blade and I sighed.

“Pella…”

And then, as I grasped Pella, too tired to sob, too tired to laugh, just cling tightly, I heard another voice beside us. 

“Sharp looking armor.” It was Mokhel, the good sailor. I had not even realized he was there. And so I embraced him as well. I had found my kin.

Mark Progress: Find Pella and make sure she is safe – Find Pella, 6 Progress

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Navigate the strange tides to reach the heart of the city and find the Sustainers, 4 Progress

I’m really happy for Hob. The journey was rough and the delve rougher, but she finally found Pella, apparently safe as well. I’ve definitely had scary rolls in the past, but I’m not sure if there’s ever been as much on the line as that last Locate Your Objective roll. I only had 7 progress, so the likelihood of a weak hit (and finding her in danger while I was already battered) or, even worse, a miss (not finding her at all and having to restart the delve at a higher rank) were very real. That strong hit elicited a very vocal sigh of relief that even woke my cat who was sleeping on her perch by the desk.

I’m also thankful to hopefully have a chance to recover a bit before facing whatever climax we are drawing towards. Hob really felt out of her element this whole journey and delve. She was raised on a barren island, where she’d lived until just over a month ago when she set off on her big adventure. So she isn’t the greatest wilderness survivalist. I mean, she doesn’t even know how (yet alone have the tools) to hunt. And with no supply and low spirits, things would likely rapidly worsen if she didn’t find an opportunity to Sojourn.

Though stressful, it was nice to hazard the Wilds without an ally. A new type of challenge. It also created opportunities to truly explore the blade as a companion, something long overdue. The hints toward the blade and Lightdrinker’s past and connection to the ancient city were also exciting to learn, and might not have happened if Pella or Verena or Elstan had been with Hob to draw the story’s focus.

The matching 1s rolled to create an opportunity against the coiling thicket last episode was one of the more exhilarating rolls of the game, and I’m ecstatic with how that played out. But also, now that I’m looking at it through the rear view, the way the stars aligned when Hob faced the bonehorde in the barrow was just neat. Her having enough progress on the failure track to make the Learn From Your Failures move, then rolling high enough on the move to earn enough XP to purchase a new asset, and finally rolling a hit to activate that new asset (Keen), all allowed that narrative gamble to pay off. I had kind of backed myself into a corner where, had that succession of rolls gone worse, there’s a chance I would never have escaped the barrow, returning the blood-stained blade to its birthplace as Hob’s final act (a cool tragic story for sure, but I’m glad it’s not the one we’re telling).

Also, thanks to Eric Bright’s Ironsmith expanded name oracles. Enough characters have been introduced to the story that I’m running out of unique names from the Ironsworn base oracles to use. Having hundreds of more setting matched names to pull from for the bonehorde keen scene saved a lot of time.

https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/351813/Ironsmith