Hob and the Sustainers finally confront the lurking hunters to face the field of arcing warpfire. 

CW: Description of strobing lights, death, violence, suffering, transformation

---

We woke Teegan and Mira to hold council before the true sun had yet crested the eastern mountains. Under the green lights, I shared the story of the blade. The dreams of aurora and tower and fog, now truths; the engravings on the bone hilt, flowing similarly to the carvings sketched across the Desolate Beacon; and the dark altar and its runes that matched the bone. I described the visions I’d had in the coiling thicket, of the ghost of the city and threads of recognition. I spoke of the horrors discovered in the flooded barrow and the blade’s memories of birth and sacrifice.

And then I told them of that night’s dream. Revealed how I knew that the aurora was a fragment of That Which Hungers, chained to service. A remnant of dark power bound to the engraved tower. And, most importantly, that I now understood how to quiet the field of arcing flames.

I presented them with Lightdrinker and the blade to examine. Teegan became immediately enthralled by the flickers of oily green, clear evidence of its great power. He shivered as he held it, taking in it’s grim potential. He confirmed that some of the runes across the bone hilt indeed matched those on the Beacon. And then he drew and studied Lightdrinker, its humming different but equally loud.

He’d wished to examine them further, to commune. To connect with the ripples of spirit within the blade and knife as he had with Kodroth’s journal. But that ritual could only occur in the deepest of night, at the middle point between dusk and dawn, and we all agreed that we could not afford another day’s delay before seeking answers or taking action.

Truly, though not voiced, I feared what he would find. I had already weathered some of those memories and did not wish for others to carry that burden. Or maybe there was a strange jealousy at the thought of sharing my connection with the blade. Or maybe, it was just a lack of trust, a wariness to surrender our secrets to one who does not exchange in kind. It mattered little though, there were more pressing choices to resolve and demanding trials to overcome before I’d need to make that decision.

And so we left the safety of the makeshift fort, returning to the ruins and dangers that hid amongst them. It was now late morning and time to move.

The handful of Sustainers that stayed behind quickly reassembled the barricade after us as we mustered on the street outside. They would remain to secure the fort in case we needed to again retreat inside its walls. Equally important, as I’d overheard Mira explain to Keyshia in hushed and sober tones, if the worst happened and we did not return, someone would need to escape the valley, to warn the Ironlands about what was happening here. To alert them of the horrors growing under this green sun while they were still contained within the steep walls of the valley.

Roll: Oracle, Are masked scouts watching the fort? Likely – Yes (that’s to be expected); Are they close enough that the blade can sense them? 50/50 – No (from a distance then); How about Pella? Unlikely – Yes (I would expect no less)

If the masked had reached the ruins, and I knew they must have, they would be watching us. As the party formed-up, a score of us in total, I rested my hand on the bone grip, relying on the blade to warn me if they moved on us. Nothing yet. I scanned the ruins knowing full well my eyes weren’t near sharp enough to spot a masked scout amongst the rubble.

Pella though, with her keen sight and hunter’s instinct, saw me searching and matched my gaze.

“If they watch us it would be from there.” She nodded towards a grouping of half-collapsed buildings across the field of rubble to the west. “If they approach any closer under these dual suns, they’d risk being spotted from the perch. That is, if they can be seen at all. They can’t turn invisible, can they, Hob?”

That brash smirk, that teasing in the face of real peril, my spirit was overfilled. Pella feared no lurking foe, no hidden ambush. She already knew their games well. Let them skulk. We would hunt. Together, the two of us would stalk and slay the green sun.

And so, the party formed and ready, we set off in a scattered skirmish line with Pella and I on the western flank. As we pushed north through the borders of the city, not far now from where ruins ceased and the field of flashing flames began, I took in my company. They were as I remembered them, committed and competent. Faithful and stalwart. Whether sailor or camp steward, only those up for the task would have joined the expedition to the edge of the Wilds.

But as they were an expedition and not a warband, their equipment reflected that purpose. Only Mira and sturdy Talan carried shields, mine long parted from me since before I’d even reached the mountains, and Mira and I were the only two with any real armor. This was not a ship, where shield and supply can be stowed when not needed. It had instead been a climb through hill and mount with the prospect of a swim at the end of their journey. So packs had been filled with provisions instead of wargear.

All were well armed, however. Whether by spear or axe or bow, all were still deadly. And that was something to be thankful for.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Wits, get a head start navigating the ruins – Weak Hit, +1 Momentum

We had rallied and left swiftly, before masked scouts would have time to warn their hunting party or reposition for ambush, gaining us a small breathing room. But I knew how quickly and quietly they could move, so I kept my hand on the bone and listened. It was not the time for the blade to slumber. And as we neared the edges of the city, where collapsed walls were almost completely replaced by piles of brown rubble, I felt it stir.

They were close, not yet close enough to strike, but it would not be long. The arcing flames and blinding heart of the aurora were now in sight, what would have been a city block between it and us if the buildings still stood. We could push on and reach the field before they caught us, but then we would fight with the flames to our backs. I could douse them, I knew how, but I could not wield the blade while doing so, and so the Sustainers would have to battle without me. I remembered the downturned eyes and fallen smiles at mere mention of the masked the day prior though, their resignation to defeat as if it was fated. I would not allow them to fight alone.

If a clash was to occur, let it be here, with two shields and a blade at the front and room to retreat behind. But…maybe there was another way. Though it seemed unlikely, maybe, this time, the blade would not feast. I would make an effort.

So I stopped, turning to face the rubble on our flank. Towards where I knew they padded, just out of sight, sure-footed and silent. And then I addressed them, projecting so that the entire city might hear.

“I know you are out there! And I know what you want!”

Alarm from behind me as the Sustainers turned to match my gaze and readied themselves. A sidelong glare from Pella while she hastily notched an arrow for giving no warning before I started yelling. She was right, and I felt a moment of shame for acting without sharing, before returning my focus to the veiled threat lurking amongst the rubble.

“And I know you want the same as us! To douse the torches. To end this. If you leave us be, we will achieve it.”

And then I drew the blade, lifting it high so that none might miss the flash of oily green before leveling it towards the rubble, swinging it slowly from left to right.

“But if not, if you choose not to leave us to our task, the blood-stained blade will take all of you, as it took Dotani!”

Roll: Compel, Heart, +1 for hard truth, I have never been more honest – Weak Hit, they ask something in return

And as I yelled his name, I knew that I had overstepped. A scream of mournful rage echoed through the ruins, and I recognized it as Gezerra. And I felt sorrow at the sound of her pain. No, Dotani would have felt sorrow, I felt anxious. A wave of unease passed through the ranks of Sustainers behind me.

A figure rose from behind a pile of rubble, closer than I had thought they could be. And despite never having seen her, not through my own eyes, I knew that this was Gezerra, Dotani’s oldest friend and companion. She had a bow in her hand but no arrow notched. She stood, fists clenched, and though her face was hidden behind a mask of light brown wood, almost a dull gold, I felt her eyes smolder and lips twitch with desperate fury. 

And then she addressed me in my tongue, in the speech of Ironlanders, every word a cracked yell, every syllable a spit.

“You will return him! You will return them to me!”

And that was when I recognized her mask, not just from Dotani’s memories, but from others’ as well. Flashes of forgotten scenes revived by the sight of it. Through Tahuta the warscout’s eyes, a vision of my mentor, Sihura, offering me the haft of her spear to pull myself up after knocking me down while training. The mask behind the spear was of the same dull gold. Then, as Matissa the forager, bringing tea to my partner, and, at my arrival, Nibannu looking up from his workbench to greet me, revealing the same visage of brown and gold.

And finally, as Mintinu the binder, before I’d fallen to the rusts, before I’d imparted the deep and dark reds to Dotani. I was tying a loop of weaved flowers through my daughter’s honeyed hair. As I finished, she raised her large dark eyes and rewarded me with a wide grin. I gently patted the braided flowers and smiled back. “They’re very pretty, Gezerra.”

And then I understood. The numerous lives held within these two masks were entwined, and Dotani was not just Gezerra’s closest friend, but also her parent and partner and student as well. The masked were not here solely to hunt, they would not risk attacking such a large party for joy of the kill alone. They were here to rescue their kin. He and those before who might live on, who might return to them, if they could just recover the mask.

I nodded to Pella, arrow drawn, a sign to hold but stay ready. I glanced to the skirmish line at my back, shaken at the scream and sight of a masked but standing fast, whether because of or in spite of their growing terror. Mira caught me with her gaze, her eyes wide and sharp, either pleading or warning not to make things any worse than they already were. I flashed my best imitation of Pella’s brash smirk in response, they would get no worse, either peace would be made or the blade would soon swing.

I dropped my pack to the ground and, digging through it one handed, retrieved Dotani’s mask. I lifted it so Gezerra could see what I carried and then stepped forward to enter the rubble. In one hand, the blade flickering oily green, and the other, the fate of a dozen elven lives.

The blade grew excited as I neared her. It gently tugged here and there, as if there were too many prey within reach to decide which was worth chasing. Though I saw no sign of them, I was amongst the masked now, many more than just Gezerra. She waited for me, fists still clenching. Her tall ears, their points rising through the long honeyed hair from behind the mask, curled back at my approach. Like a cat readying for a scrap. I kept the blade to my side and, halting in front of her, extended my arm to offer the mask.

Gezerra stared down at it for a moment. At the deep and dark reds, the engravings of flowing roots and branches, and the three gashes across its left cheek. And then, faster than I could see, as swift as the blade could swing, she snatched it out of my hand and retreated back a few steps.

And then she spat. “If you lied to us, if you do not end this, if you fail to douse the torches, this *lifting the mask* will be forgotten. The hunt will renew.”

A threat? The blade pulled but I urged it to hold. Not yet. That would be their choice.

“Then you will all die. Do not forget, this was a kindness. If you come for my kin again, I will slay you all. And then I will take an axe to your masks until they are no more than kindling, to use for a fire around which I’ll share the stories of your failures.” And I glared into dark holes in the wood, not to find her eyes within but to show her the promise in mine. “You will all die a true death, just like me and mine do. Heard?”

She said nothing, but she had heard. We stared at each other for another moment and then she left, lightly bounding backwards a few steps before spinning and sprinting deeper into the ruins. And with her departure, the blade calmed. The others must have slipped away as well, though I had still seen or heard no sign of them.

And so I returned back to the street and the Sustainers, their eyes alert and questioning.

“They’re gone now.”

Mira’s reproaching smirk, “Care to explain what just happened?”

“I have done them a kindness, returned something they lost. And if they ignore my grace, I will slay them all.”

I wanted to tell the tale, of the legacy of entwined lives, of loves that accumulated over generations, of things that we Ironlanders could never truly grasp. But I felt like it would be a long tale, one best told with drink. So, my explanation given (for now), I sheathed the blade and pushed on, the final stretch towards the field of flames and aurora within.

For that Compel move, Iron could have worked as well, but I didn’t feel like I was trying to intimidate them to get what I wanted. My real intention was more to pacify the hunting troupe and convince them that we had the same goal while still stating the hard truth consequences of choosing to ignore my offer. That one point distinction between Heart (+3) and Iron (+2) turned out to be the difference between a weak hit and miss though, so I’m happy with the choice. There will be plenty more opportunities to spill blood before we’re finished, I’m sure.

I was sorry to part with the mask because of all the interesting narrative opportunities it carried with it. I had even been toying with taking the Masked asset as my next upgrade. But I’m glad we returned it, if not just so we could discover some of the complexities and depth in the relationships of a people who both die and yet live on.

---

And minutes later, we had reached the edge of the ruins. With nothing to block the aurora’s radiance, little could now be seen under its cold blinding light. It grew hard to breathe as the crisp electric air caught in our eyes and throats. We shielded our faces from the stinging glare and were forced to turn to our sides, pushing forward with our shoulders as if walking against a strong headwind. Our backs burned from the true sun behind us, our arms and faces froze from the icy brilliance of the green impostor to our front, and our ears became dulled and numb by the deafening flares of cracks and snaps as flames erupted outward across the field.

Before we had yet cleared the rubble, the party slowed and eventually stopped, too wary to step any closer to the edges of the bounding flames and pausing at what was hoped to be a safe distance.

Mira and Teegan pushed to the front, to where I was bracing myself and focusing on my wind, attempting to become accustomed to the blinding gale and disorienting booms and blasts. Trying to find a rhythm, any rhythm, in their unpredictable bursts. 

“And what happens now?” Mira screamed from behind her shield, Teegan sheltering close behind her. (Yes, I was jealous of the board.)

“You Stay! Let me…” Interrupted by a deafening crash, I waited for the rumble to fade before continuing, “Let me clear the way!” 

Both nodded. No one needed further convincing. Except Pella, who, as I took a deep breath and readied myself to advance, stepped forward to follow.

I stopped and turned back to face her, the reflecting green glare across her face and arms almost as blinding as the aurora at my back.

“You should stay as well!”

I couldn’t catch her eyes, as she could not look directly at me while I eclipsed the green sun, but I caught the disappointed smirk that flashed across her lips in response.

“Are you sure!? You know *-crash-* You know this will work?”

She had not yet seen Lightdrinker’s mysteries, its secrets revealed, the sway that it held.

I strode to her and wrapped her in a quick but tight embrace. “I am certain.” 

And then, releasing her, I turned to face the arcing flames.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, it’s scary, bright, and loud – Miss (the roll was a 6 v. 8,6 so if I had a shield, Shield-Bearer’s +1 bonus would have bumped it up to a weak hit. Must be nice.)

And so I left Pella, left my comrades, and pushed forward through the lights and biting gale. And as I neared the end of the rubble, I could feel my hairs begin to lift, standing on end like when we’d approached the Desolate Beacon. I was close enough now that the percussive claps from the erupting flames buffeted me like waves.

The blade and Lightdrinker roused, stirring with excitement at being so near the tower and source of their resentment. And then, just like that, they grew defensive, hisses replaced chittering, eagerness gave way to alarm. Something had happened. They sensed a change. Something foreboding. I tried to calm them, “It’s okay, we will face it together.”

Then the green sun blinked. Darkness. Just for a moment, a short pause before it returned. And then it did it again, and when it again returned, it seemed even more blinding. No longer a steady glare but somehow even more brilliant in its flicker.

Roll: Advance a Threat – Threat works subtly, danger escalates, 3 Menace

Oracles: Lure unwary into its depths (uh oh), route/guarded expansive/treacherous (I flipped the oracle rolls and used both results, allowing them to reinforce each other)

The lights flickered but the arcing flames remained, unpredictable and yet constant. I was nearly upon them now, and as the aurora again paused, a flash of disorienting darkness while my eyes attempted and failed to adjust before the green sun’s return, I spotted the rock Teegan had thrown. It was not far, maybe  a dozen feet before me, still suspended in midair while stone roots had sprouted from it and burrowed downward, anchoring it into the ground. 

This would be close enough. I removed Lightdrinker from my belt, both knife and sheath, and held them before me. And as the lights again blinked and the gale stilled, a momentary return to the dull warm glow of the true sun, I drew the knife.

“Drink, friend.” 

That which thirsts for flames to drink.

Roll: Lightdrinker/Face Danger, Wits, that which thirsts for flames to drink – Strong Hit, 6 warpfire track

And as the knife left sheath, as the thread was opened, a ball of warpfire erupted across the field towards me, bursting against Lightdrinker with an explosive clap. It’s crisp electric blast punched through me, threatening to unravel and twist me into something new. The kiss of transformation. But I remained on my feet. And then the aurora returned and another arcing flame clashed with the knife and sheath. Again, I was almost reweaved. But That Which Thirsts was not yet satisfied. More warpfire arced, the lights flickered more swiftly, and I stood my ground, Lightdrinker’s thread wound tightly around me to secure my seams, to hold me together.

Eventually, I know not how long (time passes differently when your form frays and mends, when your spirit tatters and weaves), the eruptions of warpfire slowed and ceased. The lights remained, bright and flickering, but the bursts and claps of arcing flames were no more. They had been consumed. And Lightdrinker now flickered as well, satiated and humming to match the pulsing aurora, swelling and dimming with the fleeting dawns and dusks of the new green sun.

And I stood unscathed. The path was cleared.

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Douse the torches, 6 progress

I’m thankful for that strong hit on drawing Lighdrinker. The consequences of a worse roll seemed like they would have been dire because the stakes were higher (likely resulting in a mystic backlash and full Pay the Price on even a weak hit). I had been saving up momentum for this roll, since I wasn’t really sure of another path forward if this didn’t work out, but I’m happy to be able to keep that momentum on reserve for whatever comes next. Also, I’m curious if Lightdrinker having a full track of warpfire might create some more narrative opportunities to leverage the asset than a standard light track. Guess we’ll find out.

The flames doused, I returned the knife to its sheath. “Thank you.” A content sigh in response. And then, sliding Lightdrinker back into my belt,  I looked back to Pella and the others. They still stood, arms shielding their eyes, attempting to sneak glances forward when the lights paused to see what was going on. Without the electric crash and clap of warpfire, some senses were returning though, both sound and breath.

“The field is clear!” They could now hear my yells.

“Are you ok?” It was Pella, stepping forward slowly, following my voice into the lights.

“I am!”

I turned back to the heart of the aurora, towards the tower and roots. The flickering lights hastened. They seemed to be softening, their crisp hard edges thawed and warmed. The heart fluttered, almost as if it was inviting me closer, but I knew that to be a lie. There was further peril ahead, the blade and Lightdrinker were sure of it, and it would be the three of us to first face it.

So I did not wait for the others, I stepped forward, striding through the field towards the tower. I could now make out its form, silhouetted by the inviting flicker of the heart of the aurora and Pillar behind it. But I knew the heart’s roots rested in the engraved spire and not beyond. And so the blade began its tug.

I made it halfway across the field to the tower before the screams started. The pained howls of the iron blighted rising from the throats of Ironlanders. The wails of the dying, of the wounded, but stronger, somehow more desperate. Cries of insatiable hunger, of frenzied longing.

The blade flew to my hand, its challenging roar rising in response.

“Hob?” It was Pella, an alarmed question from behind.

“Prepare yourselves! Brace yourselves for horrors!”

And then they began piling through the massive engraved arches of the tower, climbing over and becoming tangled with each other in their eagerness, tumbling and spilling outward to force open the large iron gates. And then they were pouring across the field towards us, pained screams and scraping iron.

Wrought husks, of flesh and iron and wood. Their limbs twisted and branched, coiled and split, forking and rooting and writhing. Warpfire kissed and iron blighted. What remained of Scarred Ishana’s annihilators, the Resurrectors that had woken this nightmare, now wholly transformed. 

I slid my feet wide across the dirt, lowering into a deeper stance, and, gripping the bone with both hands, leveled the blade in waiting, glaring over its oily glow at the approaching horde. I would blunt their charge before they reached my kin behind me so that together we might chop and cleave a path forward.

Roll: Battle, Iron, weather their wave so we can push through – Weak Hit (nope) => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit (I’ve been saving momentum for a while now and this would definitely be the time to use it)

And so the horrors came. But the blade held sway here. They were fierce but unwieldy, aggressive yet predictable. The oily green flashed, finding flesh and blood with each swing. And then I was amongst them, but I gave no ground. The blade arced and the crimson sprayed, spinning and slashing and slashing and spinning.

And then my kin had their turn, crashing into the backs of the warpkissed while they were fixated on and encircled me. Axes hacked both wood and twisted limb, arrows found flesh, and spears kept the horrors and their iron roots at bay.

Mira was beside me, her shield braced and sturdy. Pella behind her, loosing an arrow over my shoulder through the wood and metal into the chest of the closest advancing horror.

A swaggering wink, a daring grin. “Found you!” 

And she had. “I know.”

And so we punched through. The battle was unfinished. It was clear it would not be until all of the warptouched had been stilled, until every blighted soul had been freed from their pained howls. They would not stop until we granted them that release, as if they sought it, as if that was what they truly longed for. But many of them had been cut down, and those that had yet to fall were isolated and outnumbered, harried and hunted by teams of Sustainers. By spear and axe and bow.

Oracles: What’s next? We all know there’s more to come – abundant/foul ruined/person (I know who that is)

But the blade still tugged, Lightdrinker still hummed, and the green sun remained. And as the pained screams of the transformed began to lessen in number and intensity, we heard it. A swelling roar, resonating from the gate of the tower. A deep resounding thunder, both felt and heard, that drowned out the howls of the remaining horrors.

And then she showed herself.

First a head and torso peeking through the tall arches, silhouetted against the fluttering aurora, soon followed the rest of her as she pulled herself through the gate to enter the field. The shambling assemblage of both beast and person. Bodies branched and blighted, forms fused by iron, and wood tangled and twined. Resurrectors, and stags, and rodents, and a bear. And atop the mound of suffering and hunger was the torso and head of a woman, a long bright scar visible across her face.

Mira gasped at my side, “Ishana…”

And then Ishana lifted her arms, one a twisted bough and the other a coiled root of iron, and again roared. They all roared. Resurrector and stag and rodent and bear, all singing the collective wail of torment and longing. Dozens of beasts in harmonized despair. 

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, absolutely terrifying – Strong Hit, opportunity; oracles: aid (match = 33) arrive (!!!)

The blade cried out, answering the challenge, but it could not compete with the desolate chorus, could not even be heard over its deepening roar. I froze, awestruck, terrified. We were doomed. But there were other cries as well, new responses to the challenge, adding their voices to the blade’s and swelling to deny the song of suffering.

The bloodcall!

From behind, from the ruins, rose a unified lamenting howl of mourned loss and shared purpose. The wolfen had come. They came to hunt the green sun and free the moons.

And their welcomed howls, piercing the deep rumbling of the wailing mound, returned me to the moment. To the blade’s challenge and pull. I stepped forward, weaving between two warpkissed, their twisted mouths both raised in chorus, and began to run. To hunt the sun, to uproot the heart.

Roll: Enter the Fray, Desolate Mound (avatar of the aurora), Extreme, Heart, +1 Bladebound – Strong Hit 

This, the avatar of the Aurora itself, would have been an epic foe if faced alone, maybe even with friends, but the arrival of the pack of Varou will lower its rank to extreme. Though extreme is still a bit terrifying as I’ve never faced a foe of such rank.

I’ll be honest, I had been wondering if the varou would show up. Even to the point of soliciting opinions from the Ironsworn community on Discord on how to best handle it mechanically if I rolled an opportunity mid-fight and the narrative made sense for their arrival. Rolling a strong hit with a match to Face Danger, followed by “aid arrive” on the oracles before the fight even started, seemed like a gift from the Old Gods. I don’t know how long we could go toe to toe with the avatar of the green sun without their help.

Well, here we go. Whether it ends in tragedy or victory, the climax of this arc seems to be at hand. A lot is on the line and a lot of players are on the field, so I really don’t have a clue how this will play out. I do know it would likely only take a handful of bad rolls for an extreme foe to crush us and hurt or kill our friends though, so I’m just going to anxiously hope for the best and remind myself that, regardless of this story’s conclusion, it’s been a blast to play, write, and draw.