Hob reconnects with Pella and the Sustainers: sojourning, holding council, and dreaming of a means to navigate the field of arcing warpfire and uproot the blossoming aurora before its swelling radiance consumes all.
CW: Discussions of death & suffering, both animal and human
So we embraced one another for a time. And when that time had passed, Pella pulled away slightly, moving her hands to hold my face as if to confirm that it was truly me, that I had actually delved the Wilds to now stand before her. And then her eyes flashed and smile dropped as she turned my head to the side to examine my braids, frayed and coming apart from the trials of the long journey. She let out a pained whistle of concern through her teeth.
“Hob, I cherish you, but you look like shit. You’ve really been through it, huh? We need to get you off the streets.”
And at that, her and Mokhel ushered me through the tightly packed ruins, eventually leading me to the massive shell of a building that was somehow more intact than its neighbors. I could not tell what purpose it had once served, but it was as tall as a tower and wide as a longhouse. Three large stories, built from the same brown with orange and crimson veined stone as the rest of the city. The roof and much of the third and second floors had collapsed, but the walls around the foundation still stood. Seeing the lookout perched atop the last crumbling remnants of the third floor and the barricade across the broad doorway, it felt as though I approached a fortress besieged.
On sighting us, the lookout (was that Keyshia?) called down to those below, and soon I spotted figures within dismantling part of the log barricade to allow entry. And as the wood was removed, just enough for one person to squeeze through, I saw Mira, a smirk of amusement across her lips that I couldn’t tell whether meant she’d been expecting my arrival or was annoyed by it. And then sturdy Talan, who had benched behind me on the Piercing Swan, was pulling me through to the ground floor of the ruins, now a courtyard, and into a throng of Sustainers.
So many familiar and smiling faces, from the Piercing Swan and the camp on the Hill. They received me with hearty claps to the shoulder and warm grins, pleasantly surprised and welcoming. But these were the greetings of those thankful for the arrival of another ally during hard struggle. There was a weariness about them, a temporarily buried apprehension. And so I could not linger in the joys of reunion, as there were dangers to discuss, urgent threats that needed to be either faced or fled.
So soon, I sat on what remained of the second floor, holding council with Mira, Teegan, and Pella. From here, I could see over the makeshift fort’s walls to the heart of the blossoming aurora, more blinding than ever, cold and vast. We were close to the edge of the ruins, where they gave way to a large empty field with the green sun, and I assumed the Pillar and tower, at its center. It was the same as Pillar Hill back in Autumnrush, even those that had constructed this city so long ago feared to build too closely to the ancient columns. And I could see why, in addition to the dancing lights that stretched across the sky above, bright green flames burst and thundered below, flaring outward from the aurora’s heart to dash and weave throughout the empty field. My survey had to be a short one though on account of the blinding glare, so, satisfied that I now had a better grasp of what lay beyond the walls, I returned my focus to the seated circle.
Roll: Heal, Iron, +1 for strong hit on locating objective – Strong Hit, 4 Health
And around this council, I was still shaken but no longer shaking. As bad as it all seemed, I was now warm, away from the icy waters of the birthing barrow and again among comrades. All three looked exhausted, Teegan most of all, his vivid cloak of burgundy fur and verdant feathers now dusty and brown. I imagined he was not as used to the road as the others, and this road had tested us all. I’d never seen Mira scowl so deeply, as if the stress of the last few days was weighing her lips down. Pella, on the other hand, seemed alert and almost giddy, but it was the scattered energy of one who’d forgotten what sleep was, the last fuel of a fire burning brightly before it fades to embers. I’m sure I looked worse than the lot of them, but, for the first time since I’d left Cera and Verena to march west into this nightmare, I felt fortified by fellowship. By the companionship of those that spoke with words instead of growls or hisses. We all looked to each other, all having things to say but not knowing how to start, so I began.
I did not tell them about the barrow, about the blade’s birth, or the visions of the ancient city from the coiling thicket and the forge mates’ grudges. Not because I did not want to, but because I had not truly come to terms with these revelations. I did not yet grasp the magnitude of their consequence and could not find the words to explain their significance. In truth, I was terrified to speak on them and return to the horror and haze of the night prior.
I shared everything else though. Occasionally stealing glances to confirm that Pella truly sat beside me, that she who I had journeyed to find had indeed been found, I gave account of my journey. I spoke of Sayer’s party, of Reese and his companion and their boar tattoos, and of the Varou and masked, even showing them the visage of red wood and relating what little I remembered from wearing it. I described the coiling thicket and its writhing heart, the ancient stone mural and its wyvern riders, the wretched iron blighted deer drowned on the valley floor and their kin that scattered Sayer’s band. And lastly, I warned of the masked hunting troupe I’d barely escaped the previous night.
At the mention of the stone landscape and the wyverns, I swore I’d seen Pella’s eyes widen and head cock to the side, the tell that she had just been reminded of a boastful tale. She bit her tongue though, as this was a council not a campfire. But I had been right, she did have one to tell! And knowing that Pella held some unbelievable story about defending a circle from a wyvern or tracking the beast to its lair that would soon rouse laughter around meal and drink, bolstered my spirits further. All was not lost, not yet.
They had few questions, or at least few that were pressing. It was the time for speaking and not yet for asking. And so it became their turn to share.
Roll: Gather Information, Wits, +1 bonds with Pella and Mira – Weak Hit, information complicates quest or adds new danger
Pella spoke first, and I was happy to no longer need to steal glances to assure myself that she was by my side. She told of their climb up the foothills, uneventful outside of the campsites on the path showing signs of recent use. Recent enough that she guessed the Resurrectors only had a few days head start.
Mira spat at the mention of Scarred Ishana and her annihilators. Pella spat. Teegan’s weathered face pinched into a frown. And, with that out of their system, Pella continued.
They’d hiked through the pass and camped at the entrance to the valley, pausing to observe the ruins and flooded waters below in attempt to better grasp the rhythms and depths of the strange tides before wading into them.
That was the night, while they sat surveying the hills of the valley at the lowest point of flood and fog, that the budding pyre erupted. They had no idea what created the aurora, to what purpose it served, or to where the dancing translucent tendrils reached. But the timing was clear, the Resurrectors must have awakened it somehow.
Another round of spits and scowls.
Realizing the tides would return with the sun, they broke camp and entered the valley that same night, managing to reach the heart of the city before morning and thus avoid getting stranded on some hilltop turned island like I had. But the valley was calmer back then, safer and easier to traverse with just the floods to contend with. Before the transformations started and the firstborn arrived. Before they had need to barricade themselves inside a makeshift fortress. They’d reached the end of the ruins and the empty field but could go no further, unsure of how to contend with the arcing green flames that barred their advance. And so they had been here ever since, for three long days and nights, observing and scouting and trying to make sense of things.
Then Mira took over,
“And as we waited and witnessed, the valley began to change. It grew angrier. And we watched it all. First came the tendrils, the trees twisted and warped wherever their lights kissed. Then animals started coming down from the mountains, always at night, always descending to the valley floor. Never to climb back up when the tides returned.”
“So the blighted deer didn’t arrive until after the aurora blossomed?” Was it the aurora that caused their suffering?
“Aye, it was like they were drawn here. Every night a new herd, each herd lost to the floods.”
Pella looked like she was about to say something but stopped herself, and so Mira continued.
“And then last night, the wolfen showed up, howling from the ruins all around us. Keyshia spotted a few from a distance, but they never approached and I’ve no idea where they’re holed up now. I’m glad to hear that they may not be foes.”
So the wolfen had arrived. I’m not sure whether I felt relief or concern from the confirmation. But I did know for certain who I was truly anxious to learn of.
“The masked will be nearby now as well, they are swift and had a good lead on me. You’ve seen no sign of them?”
Both Mira and Pella shook their heads, nothing. Then, breaking his silence, Teegan had a thought.
“Hob, you said you had understood them, that you had lived as them when you wore their mask? You said that they come to douse the torch?”
“Aye. They seek to stop this, same as us. But also to punish any and all for our trespass while doing so. We won’t find allies in them. They are to be either avoided or fought.”
He gave a disappointed smirk, pausing to run his pinched fingers along the feathers on his cloak to remove the brown dust and reveal the leafy green beneath. With limited success. He sighed and continued.
“No, there’s been no hint of the masked. Nor Ishana and her ilk. I know they must be in there but we’ve seen no sign. The lights are too blinding to stare into, so we don’t have any clue what’s happening within.”
So much had transpired, and yet there was still no clear path forward. Maybe the answer lay in the landscape and not the actors, so many different groups having been drawn to the aurora that it was growing hard to keep track of them all.
“And in three days, what have you learned? Do you know anything of these ruins? Who lived here? Any hint towards the purpose of the tower maybe?”
Teegan and Mira both looked to Pella. She glared at them for putting her on the spot before taking a long breath and finding the resolve to speak on something unpleasant.
“While scouting yesterday, Mokhel and I found something truly awful in a giant collapsed hall just to the west. The basement was intact and inside was a mass grave. Hundreds of skeletons, all piled and tangled amongst each other, as if they’d been embracing one another while they passed. All of them had some sort of iron growth, like metal roots were erupting from the crumbling bones. It was how you described the drowned stag.”
It had to be the same sickness. “Can you show me?”
“No, Hob. It’s horrible.” Then a flash of committed resolve. “I don’t want to.”
I had seen my share of horrible things recently and guessed this could be no worse, but I did not press. I accepted her choice. “Okay.” There was likely little to be learned from yet more corpses anyways. Corpses that might also have a guard like the one I sang with in the barrow. So I changed the subject.
“Has anyone tried to enter the field, do we know what might happen if we do?”
Mira shook her head. “No, no one is so foolish. Especially after seeing what it did to the stone.”
“The stone?”
Teegan, shielding his eyes from the lights and turning towards the field, “Yes, I threw a stone to see what would happen. You can just see it, *pointing* just past the edge of the ruins.”
The field was empty, just dirt and arcing flames, devoid of even grass, but where Teegan pointed, I could indeed make out what looked like a milestone. Or maybe it was a sapling? It was hard to tell with the green sun’s glaring silhouette.
“You hurled that? That doesn’t look like a stone.”
“Well, yes. But it was just a rock when I threw it, smaller than my palm. Before it even landed, it was struck by the flames and transformed. Twisting branches and roots of stone burrowed down into the earth while still in flight. No one should go anywhere near that field until we understand those fires or figure out how to weather them.”
More unwelcome news. I would not let my spirits be dampened after having been so recently renewed though.
“But how might we understand them though? Surely there must be a hint somewhere among the ruins, or maybe in the journal?”
Mention of the journal reminded Teegan of something. Something he must have felt so minor that he would not have mentioned it unprompted.
“Well, I did speak with Kodroth, he helped me to grasp his notes, a little.”
Pella, in the tone of one so tired that they’ve become unsure of once certain truths, “Wait…isn’t Kodroth dead?”
And me, no less confused, “We saw the man’s blood?”
A simple response. “Yes, Kodroth is dead.”
Even more puzzled, we waited for further explanation. Finally realizing one was necessary, Teegan clarified.
“Through his journal. It was only pieces of him, ripples of his spirit through the memories of the book, but it was him. He tried to tell me much but I could understand little. It was a weak connection.”
Our jaws fell. “You spoke to the dead?”
“It was not truly speaking, I could not hear his words, more just ideas, flickers of intentions or fears or insights. It’s not clear yet how helpful he was though. I could not be sure what was knowledge and what was mere speculation.”
Mira nudged him. “Tell them his thoughts. It was they who found the journal and saw the carvings. Maybe it is they who can find meaning.”
Teegan nodded, moving his hand to rest over the pack at his side, the journal surely contained within.
“He shared how the runes on the Beacon had been carved after its creation. How the Pillars predate the very crafting of runes, predate even the arrivals of the firstborn. He dreamed of old kingdoms without names. Of ancient feuds and the ascension of gods. Fragmented visions of all the peoples in the Ironlands making their marks on and, in doing so, becoming marked by the Pillars.”
Sustainer talk, dreams interpreted through the voice of faith. I was skeptical, having always been told the Pillars could not be scratched or dented, not even by the sharpest tool, let alone carved into.
“But all peoples haven’t made their mark. We haven’t. We don’t even understand what they are.”
He nodded. “Not yet. But we are not the first of our kind here, are we?”
The wind cooled in my chest. “Those who came before…” The Broken. “They made the carvings in the Beacon?”
“As I said, it was hard to parse truth from suspicion. If he was right though and the carvings on the Beacon were made by the firstborn or those who came before, then we should be able to find those runes elsewhere, some other ruins or book or signage. And we should be able to one day learn their purpose and substance.”
I could feel Pella’s eyes on me. She would be glancing down at the blade now. Inquiring if I would tell Teegan of the runes engraved across its bone hilt? Of the similar ones I’d found carved on the hunter’s altar in the twilight forest?
I avoided her gaze. Mention of the Broken inspired unease. I did not want to speak more on them. Not yet. Not until I’d put a few hours of rest between me and the horrors of the barrow. Not until I had a chance to try and come to terms with the blade’s cruel origins. To come to terms with the blade itself.
She accepted my choice, for now, and her eyes ceased to linger. Most words having been spoken, a silence fell across the council. The sounds of camp were calling and so we concluded, knowledge having been shared and leaving each of us with much to ponder.
It was nearing dusk, and though the green sun would light the night, there was a foreboding anxiety when it reigned without rival. So we would stay within the makeshift fort until the true sun returned and then, tomorrow, we would continue searching the ruins for any hint towards the aurora or the arcing flames. Maybe, if I could even find them, I would approach the wolfen. Maybe the blue braids already had a plan.
Roll: Sojourn, Heart, +1 for numerous bonds – Strong Hit, hearten (clear shaken!, 1 spirit), equip (clear unprepared, 1 Supply), consort (3 spirit) => focus, consort – Weak Hit, 4 Spirit
Roll: Resupply, Wits – Strong Hit, 3 Supply
Wow, I’m really thankful that all of the recovery rolls have been going so well. Hob will probably need all the health and spirit she can get for whatever they are about to face.
Roll: Oracle, Would someone have a spare shield I could borrow? Unlikely, they did not know they were marching into war – No (was worth a try)
Returning down to the camp in the collapsed courtyard, Pella, though she should clearly have been resting, busied herself tending to my needs. I must really have looked quite horrible indeed for her to fuss over me such. But I was thankful for it, thankful for any time with her.
She helped me unpack and spread out my bedroll, still soaked from my swim in the barrow, to dry before the rot set in. She insisted on assisting to remove my armor (these walls felt safe enough to do so), setting the warcrew leathers under what was left of the sun to burn away the sweat and lingering barrow damp. And then we were finally free to walk the camp while waiting for supper.
The Sustainers had packed for a long expedition, but, holed up in the ruins and besieged by the valley itself, they’d been unable to supplement the rations with hunting or fishing, and so their provisions were beginning to dwindle. Not desperate yet, but close enough that plans to either resupply or abandon the fort would soon need to be made.
Before long, seeing the council concluded and me among them, folks began asking me of my journey and experiences outside the walls, wary but hopeful eyes seeking answers to questions raised through strained but resolved voices.
Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart, rally the Sustainers, +1 hard truth from Honorbound – Miss, Complication (whoops); Pay the Price – Something unexpected
And I answered them. I was honest about the threats in the valley but affirmed that they were surmountable, that they could be overcome. If I could navigate the perils of the Wilds alone, we, as comrades, could surely best any dangers or obstacles thrust before us. At first, my words were welcome, they emboldened, but then I mentioned the masked and my attempts to rally the camp came undone. Eyes lowered, brash smiles fell, and a subtle despair filled the air. The veteran sailors and adventurous faithful would not voice it, but they felt fear. Everyone knew the fates that befell those who ventured too close to the masked’s woods, swift death from silent foes. We were now in one of those cautionary tales ourselves, and I realized that, though committed and competent, these folk could not be allowed to face the masked in battle. They had already conceded the loss in their hearts. They were already envisioning the arrows in their backs.
As I struggled to find encouraging words beyond simple assertions that the masked could indeed bleed and die just like anyone else, we were interrupted by Keyshia’s call from above. A party was returning with water, a journey only risked in the evening, when the tides were at their highest and thus the trip down to reach them was at its shortest. And as people rushed to remove the barricades to allow entry, Pella gave me a pained shrug as if to say, “Nice try, but that was terrible.”
I countered with an apologetic grimace, “Well they need to grasp what awaits us out there.” But, in truth, I knew there must have been a better means to prepare them for the masked, though I could think of no other way to have done so without being dishonest about how dangerous they really were. The tales were true and false confidence would get one slain faster than honest fear.
Well that didn’t go great. The impact of this miss will be that many of the Sustainers are so terrified by tales of the masked that they will be at a severe disadvantage if forced into a fight with them. It was a miss with a match, so it will take something truly inspirational to help them overcome this despair (if it is even possible at all). The additional consequence from the complication will be that the threat advances again (time has passed). That roll will happen at the end of the session though.
Soon after, the porridge had been made and those not on the wall began to gather around the campfire. Not for warmth or light, summer’s heat and the green sun’s ceaseless glow already satisfying those basic needs, but for comfort, for familiarity, for normalcy.
And I was thankful for Pella. For her launching into her recently reminded tale before most had even finished their supper. The story of how she and a loose fellowship of wardens and local hunters stood guard over a herd of cattle and flock of sheep for six straight days. Sentries of the Meadow, they slept in turns, repelling the ravenous wyvern with volleys of arrows every time it approached. But on the sixth day, the beast had grown so desperate from hunger that it was no longer deterred by the archers. And, as it made its final dive down towards the herd, she claimed (to an eruption of incredulous laughter) to have pierced its wing with an arrow, almost causing it to crash to earth and forcing its retreat, a limping flight northward back to the Veiled Mountains, never to bother the meadows of Sweethill ever again.
It was as good a tale as anticipated, and possibly close to truth. Almost believable to those that sat around the fire, all of us having at some time witnessed her skill with the bow. But, most importantly, it lifted the spirits, helping to undo the fearful mess I had previously made. A tall story from Pella the Brash around the campfire was comforting. It was something familiar to embrace, to forget about the unknowns surrounding us for a time, a moment of respite from the masked and the Wilds and the field of green flames.
And soon, a weary but festive mood settled as we reminisced on victories achieved and trials overcome. And then a cheers to our fallen. To Eos and Namba, who had been claimed by the Wilds while aiding Brokefall against the encroaching harrows. To Kaivana, committed to the seacaves below the Desolate Beacon during the expedition that discovered Kodroth’s journal and its promise of knowledge. And to those lost aboard Haf’s great longship, turning hunter to prey as we not only repelled the raidcaptain, but also took his ship, both her sail and cargo. To Katania, Sendra, Zhan, Muna, and Parcell. And to Jihan, who could not make the journey and had to remain on Pillar Hill, though it pained him to stay, because of the injuries he’d sustained from that battle. That victory which had allowed us to reach Autumnrush and the crew of the Piercing Swan to return home.
It was more than honoring the fallen, it was an acceptance of the risks we faced, of the chance that any of our names might be added to the next round of cheers. The strength that comes from acknowledgement, from shared loss and shared uncertainty. And as those now rested left to relieve those on the wall for their turn at supper, a calm settled across the camp, many retreating to their bedrolls while those that remained gazed up at the dancing lights, reconciling their personal anxieties with a renewed collective resolve.
Both exhausted, Pella led me to our spot, away from the others, laid out in a corner under what remained of the second floor. I knew this was a bad place to rest, it’s foolish to spend any time under already toppling ruins. The walls were crumbling to dust and the floor’s collapse was only a matter of time (either hours or years), but it seemed sturdy enough to last the night, and so desperate were we to find shelter from the endless glowing sky that it felt a risk well worth taking.
And as we readied to settle into our bedrolls, mine thankfully now dry from the evening’s warmth, Pella’s earlier reprieve from the council expired.
“You should tell Teegan of the runes and let him examine the blade. Maybe he can help to understand the carvings and the journal.”
“I know…I will, I just…You didn’t tell them already?”
She flashed a wounded glare at the thought. “Hob, those are not my stories or secrets to share. But I am telling you that you should share them. Maybe Teegan can help you as well. Your blade might be the key to all of this.”
She was right, more than she knew, and I could no longer hide these truths from her, she who I had journeyed to find.
“Pella, I think the blade has some connection to this valley, some link to the Pillar and tower. I don’t know how to explain it or find the words, but the blade and knife were both born in this city. Both hold a history and power here. And that history is dark.”
Her eyes widened at the admission and then, recovering, she placed her arm on my shoulder and captured me within her mossy gaze.
“Before I left Autumnrush, you told me I would learn the Ironlands’ stories here. You said I would learn her stories, and then I would tell them to you. I believe you, I will. But you are also learning stories here, the same stories you’ve sought since you first stepped aboard the Swan. Share them with me, Hob. If you don’t know how to word them, just speak and let me listen.” That reassuring smile. “I promise, I’m a forgiving audience.”
And then it all came out, a cluttered jumble of memories and thoughts. I told of the visions seen in the heart of the coiling roots, the hunter’s repeated rhyme, the ghost of the city, and the tendrils and threads that connected it all. Of the blade and knife’s shared resentment towards the tower and jealousy towards those that wielded its power. And then I spoke of the birthing barrow. The horrible understanding that the blade had been born there. That, in its creation, it had taken all those lives, hundreds of them. I spoke of my meeting with the barrow’s guard, the churning mass of skulls and bones, and our shared keen and mourning for their sacrifice. I explained how the blade still ruled over the fallen, how the shifting chorus had moved aside so that we might pass. And then I showed her the blade itself, drawing it from the scabbard to reveal the glimmer of oily green, still glowing, still remembering.
As promised, Pella listened, and then she embraced and held me for a long time. And I felt better for having spoken of these things, having shared them and, by giving them voice, acknowledging and moving closer to coming to terms with them.
“Thank you, Hob. You should not have to carry these stories alone.”
Eventually, she released me, and, exhausted now that I had unburdened myself, we promised to speak on it again tomorrow. To share the knowledge with Teegan and Mira and allow them to examine the engravings on the bone hilt and the still glowing blade to see if it provided insight.
And though now calmed and tired, I drifted to sleep pondering questions. Speculating on the blade’s true purpose, to what it pushed towards. Wondering what it had recognized and what it might know of the engraved tower and Pillar and blossoming aurora. The last thing I remembered before slumber claimed me was the light murmur of the blade purring from where it lay by my bedroll. I moved my hand to rest on its scabbard. It was dreaming while it slept.
Roll: Gather Information, Wits, dream with the blade, +1 Blade-Bound, +1 bond with the blade, – Weak Hit, information complicates quest or introduces new danger; Endure Stress (-2), Heart – Weak Hit, press on, 2 Spirit (I think this might be the first time I’ve used this Blade-Bound upgrade since I got it forever ago)
And then I was back in the twilight forest, among the chill winter winds and pelting snow. The air was biting cold, and so I pulled my cloak tight to shield me from the squall. Before me lay a clearing, the blinding glare of green reflecting off white. I’d reached the heart of the blossoming aurora.
I heard a giggle to my side. The hunter lingered by the edge of the clearing watching something, eyes gleefully aflame. I followed her gaze to find a fox and wolf playing nearby. Spirited growls and excited squeals as they lept and pounced in the snow. The wolf was the shade of ash and cinder, matching the painted greys across the trees. The fox, a spotted blend of autumn browns and reds. It darted and bounded so swiftly that it was difficult to be certain, but I thought I saw a narrow wooden mask affixed atop its eyes and snout.
And then the hunter giggled again and gestured towards the pair, “I like them, they follow their memories, just like us.” Her giddy whisper barely heard over the surging winds.
I tried to ignore her, I was not here for more riddles. And as the wolf chased the fox out of the clearing and into the barren trees, the hunter’s whispers turned to rhymes.
“That which hungers, that which feasts.”
And I could see through the tendrils, through the blinding flashes, to the center of the clearing where stood the tower from the blade’s dreams. The engraved spire from visions of the past. And I knew that it was more than just a tower. It was also a temple! Like the hunter’s altar but on a grander scale, from a time when now forgotten gods demanded greater glories and taller monuments. The massive iron doors, almost gates, were ajar, and as I peered through them, I stared directly into the radiant heart. A stirring of recognition arose from both the blade and Lightdrinker.
That Which Hungers!
But it was just a fragment, an echo of wild power chained to the lights. A resentful yearning swelled within the blade and knife. A brief flash of joy on seeing that which first wielded them, followed by the sustained bitterness of remembered betrayal. And I could tell that it recognized them as well, that it also recognized me, and that it yearned for release. And I felt the fear of being known, the terror of connection.
I stood transfixed, the dancing lights erupting from within began to gather and join with each other. I did not at first grasp what was happening, staring in awe as the tendrils collected and weaved before me. And then I realized that they had ceased to flow outward from the heart, that they were converging, arcing and bending as if drawn to me. I looked down to my chest, expecting to see the green flames pierce my heart, but that was not what drew them. It was Lightdrinker! The tendrils were flowing and feeding into it, inhaling the light from the aurora, from the fragment of That Which Hungers, and swallowing it within the sheath. And then the last of the translucent greens had been devoured and the forest returned to its familiar greys painted across shadows.
And the last thing I heard as those greys were also consumed, leaving only the veil of twilight, was another giggle and another line of the hunter’s rhyme.
“That which thirsts for flames to drink.”
And then I was awake, bolting upright and throwing off Pella’s embracing arm in the process.
She stirred in alarm, “What is it!?”
“I know how to douse the flames. I know how to cross the field.”
Mark Progress: Blade Vow – I have seen an echo of That Which Hungers, a fragment that wishes to be freed, 1.75 Progress
Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Connect with allies, share our stories, and dream of a path forward, 5 Progress
I had not used this kinblade upgrade since purchasing it all the way back in Episode 11 (the one that allows me to listen to the whispers of my kinblade for the price of 2 Stress). There was no clear path forward and things felt urgent, as if they would continue to grow more dire the longer we delayed. Supplies are dwindling and every day a new peril arrives. So instead of leaving our fate to Teegan’s study, or the wolfen’s plan, or stumbling across some clue in the ruins, it felt like the right time to pay the stress cost and seek answers from the blade directly.
Roll: Advance a Threat – Danger Escalates, 2 Menace; Oracles: Leave its mark on an inhabitant or visitor (seems grim)
The threat is advancing again because of the complication rolled earlier while trying to bolster the Sustainers’ spirits. Narratively, time has also continued to pass. Which inhabitant or visitor the valley has now left its mark on will likely be revealed later, though I have my guesses.
So I think this might be it, the last respite before taking action. Before the final push towards either triumph or tragedy. I hope we are adequately prepared.
Hob's Edge 