Having barely survived her confrontation with the hunter and escaped the twilight forest, Hob reconnects with her bonds while she recovers from her wound. A difficult goodbye, a surprise visit, and a dire threat becomes known.

I’m very happy with the pacing of the campaign and journal so far. If Hob reaching Autumnrush was the end of the first act, then this would mark the end of the second. Hinted threats reveal themselves and the actors are beginning to move towards their final backdrop. Towards events that will likely impact the entire cast of the story, likely for the worse unless Hob manages to intervene. I’m still not really sure where this is all leading but I’m having a lot of fun playing, writing, and drawing to find out.

---

Roll: Sojourn, Mouth’s Watch and Cera’s Grounds – Strong Hit, mend (remove wounded), recuperate, consort; Focus, consort – Strong Hit

And then the emptiness was replaced by people, a series of spotty memories. Ashen curls humming and grinding. Lio chuckling by the hearth. Elstan assisting me to walk. No, not Elstan, he was in Whitbarrow. Nisas or Verena maybe? The sway of a boat and bright sun. The bump of a wagon and then my bed. And then Pella, many short memories of Pella sitting beside me, smiling, helping me eat, dozing on a stool, somehow able to sleep while sitting upright and leaning backwards against the wall.

Roll: Oracle, Does Pella leave while I’m still out of it?, Unlikely – No

And then the faces slowed and I was awake. Awake and idle. The freeze from whatever it was the hunter had coated her shortsword with had receded but the numbness remained. Meaning I thankfully felt no pain from the ugly wound on my shoulder but also could not make use of my shield arm, I could not even feel it. I examined the estranged limb, tightly slung to my side, and prodded it with my good hand. Still nothing.

“I don’t think you should be doing that. Just because you can’t feel it doesn’t mean you aren’t making the injury worse.” Pella teased me from my doorway, removing her cloak and running her hands through her hair where the hood had matted it down. She offered a sympathizing grin as she tapped her own shoulder, the one injured under the Beacon that had taken so long to fully heal. “Trust me, it’s best to just leave it be.”

She was right and she would know. I swung my legs over the bed to stand. “Can we go outside? I’m bored and hot, I almost miss the chill now. This air is no easier to breathe.” I knew it would be just as sweltering outside, but at least the river would carry a breeze and the dock was bound to be less stifling.

I could walk without aid, though a little slower since the numbness forced shallower breaths, so Pella matched my pace. But she didn’t hover. She trusted me to know my limits, and I was thankful for it.

We stepped out of the longhouse into the mid-day sun. There was a boat at the docks though, Cera and the crew at task making a final inventory and securing goods for its return trip back up the Bas. So we hiked along the river to the northern grounds, the outskirts of Autumnrush, where forest began to reclaim the hills, towards the winding valley that eventually led to the Havens.

It was difficult to speak while walking, the shallow breaths allowing only one or the other, so I focused on the foothpath ahead of me. Pella respected my silence and strolled beside, taking my good hand in hers and softly humming a rowers’ chant that I couldn’t quite place the name of or recall the words to. The  way she hummed it, soft and slow, made the chant more reflective, more introspective, and so I soon lost myself in thought, attempting to again parse what it was I remembered and what I did not.

I didn’t recall much from my time at Mouth’s Watch after I’d fled the forest and hunter. But I knew the ashen curls had healed me, had likely saved my life, thawing the freeze in my chest. One day I hoped to exchange in kind. They were still an enigma to me but they had served as my guide before and might do so again. They had taught so little but still steered me towards such knowledge.

Roll: Forge a Bond, the ashen curls – Weak Hit => Reroll – Strong Hit

I remember Lio laughing. Healthy chuckles. Was he telling me jokes? I didn’t recall their substance but he must have found them funny. He’d reminded me of the elders back home, doting over their favorite orphan, ‘the Hob of the Gate’. I wondered if he had always been so warmhearted before I’d met him in his cursed and wasted state, a trait rare among those wielding authority. I knew nothing of his family but guessed he was likely a grandfather, or at least a father. Or maybe this was new, maybe the sickness had changed him.

Roll: Forge a Bond, Lio the Guide – Weak Hit => Reroll – Weak Hit, asks for something more first

I saved Lio’s life and apparently listened to his jokes. He has taken a liking to me in a fatherly way and would like me as an ally. He will ask something more of me to confirm that friendship.

There were other memories as well, but they were too brief and detached to be sure if they were truth or dream. For example, I thought I’d seen Elstan, reassuring me that I would recover, just as before when the raider’s spear had pierced my thigh. But Elstan was not in Autumnrush. The last I had seen him was in Stoneharbor, when I’d boarded the Piercing Swan to sail east with the Sustainers while he waited for his surviving crewmates to heal enough to limp west back to Whitbarrow. 

I remembered Nisas though, him and his companions, Nakata and Alban, helping me stumble (mostly carrying me, I’m sure) down to the dock where Verena and the fishers, Lago and Nakuras, brought me back to the port, back up to Cera’s grounds, to my room and bed in the longhouse. Apparently it had been days at Mouth’s Watch, under the care of the ashen curls, before I was well enough to come home. And then there was Pella, and eventually I was awake more often than asleep and able to recollect even more. Roused enough to reflect on what had happened in the twilight forest.

The hunter. She had very nearly caught me, trapped me. I had been careless, thinking I had the advantage while her recovering strength snuck up on me. I almost didn’t escape because I was too desperate for answers, too distracted by her riddles to sense the danger. She was more cunning than I, too dangerous to approach again, and so she must remain in the darkness, trapped with her secrets. She had shared some of them though, riddles that they were. I pored over those I could remember. There must have been hints to her purpose, to the blade’s and Lightdrinker’s. Other paths to find those truths.

She had spoken of torches set alight. Said they would need fuel. Had claimed we would guide the flames together, or was it quench them together? She’d spoken of vines erupting outwards, strangling the world.

She’d claimed that she hunted Lio because it was one of Lightdrinker’s memories, because the guide must transition, because a new guide was needed to withstand the waves? She’d also claimed the blade had memories and that I would relive them, that I would play my part? I’d already shared the blade’s dreams and found them unpleasant. I did not want them made real.

And then she’d offered a name or title, to the owner of the forest altar, some wild power. That Which Hungers. It was no god of the Old World that I knew and was too darkly titled to be one of the new gods. Just calling the name to mind seemed to cause the blade and knife to stir, to grow agitated.

I told Cera of all this. Verena and Pella too, anyone that would listen. I asked that Lio be made aware of the Hunter’s threats. Maybe the ashen curls, who spoke in hints and whispers, could decipher the words of one who teases only the shadows of knowledge. Cera promised it would be done, that she would relay. 

Cera was concerned that the hunter still lived, that she could not even be killed, but so long as she was prisoner inside the forest, trapped within the knife, as I asserted she was, it was a victory. Cera insisted that I should retain the knife and sheath, should be the one to stand guard and prevent the hunter’s escape since I was the one that had bested her. I accepted but, in truth, I wasn’t so sure I would prevail if we clashed a third time. I had only found ‘victory’ through retreat, abandoning her to the woods. I would do all that I could to keep her there, to avoid any need to again face her.

But on the other things, That Which Hungers, the torches, the vines, Cera had no insight. She trusted my instinct and shared my apprehension over the foreboding implications, but she did not know the significance of these words. She promised to try to find out though, to make inquiry. There were many she could ask.

Then there was the blade and the knife, Lightdrinker. What had the hunter called them, “forge mates?” They seemed less hostile towards each other now that I’d learned to store them away from one another. Learned to give them less reasons to growl or hiss as, once started, they would not cease until I had again separated them. 

Roll: Forge a Bond, Lightdrinker – Weak Hit => Reroll – Strong Hit (Reuniting the knife with its sheath and closing the thread has earned a little wary trust from them. I didn’t realize I was even doing them a service.)

My reflections paused as Pella and I reached the fence, the edge of the grounds, where the trees just started to thicken. We stopped in the cool shade beside the river and I finally looked up to her. She had stopped humming long ago and I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed she was watching me. She looked almost anxious, like she was trying to get up the courage to tell me something. Oh no.

And then she said it. “Hob, we’re leaving. Tonight.”

It grew even harder to breathe. But I had known this might happen and so recovered quickly. “Where? I will join!”

A warm reassuring smile. “You can barely walk, and not fast nor far. You know you need to rest.” She leaned in to kiss me across the cheek. “Besides, it won’t be long, and if you quit prodding your wound, it might even be healed by the time I return.”

My eyes dropped to my arm in its sling, unfeeling and alien, and I knew that she was right. I could not go and they could not wait, she could not stay. But I did not have to like it. The last few days had been the most I’d seen her since I had left the Sustainers to stand under Cera’s banner and I was not ready for it to end.

“Hey!” She playful drew my eyes back to her’s and flashed that brash smirk, and that was enough. This was Pella, seeking her truths was important to her, whether she knew what it was she sought or not, and I would be happy for her.

“But where are you going? I told you I could not handle you leaving me and not knowing where to.”

Roll: Oracle, Will Pella volunteer their destination? Likely – Yes; Gather Information, +1 for bond – Strong Hit

Oracle: Valley, lair, waterfall, blighted, flooded. A flooding valley? That’s interesting. hunt/deliver passage/eliminate.

And then she told me. “To the west, near the Wilds. A new Pillar has been found!”

“Another Pillar!?” Near the Wilds!?

She nodded, eager to share more.

“West, past the lumber camp and the old trails, only taking the forks to the north until the last trail ends and the mountains begin. Then, through a pass, lies a flooded valley and in it, a Pillar!”

I had not expected such detail, had guessed she would have been kept in the dark as before. 

“You know all this? Did Mira tell you?” 

“Nope. She’d heard a Pillar had been found but knew no more. That’s why we prepared for a possible journey. I found out where it was. I told her.” She beamed proudly, “Bryn told me.” 

“Your free warden friend!? He is a spy!” She snorted, a joyful outburst. “How did he know?”

Her laughter subsided but the excitement remained, “I don’t know how he learned of it, but one of Sayer’s scouts found the Pillar. They are apparently building some sort of special ship. One that requires some rare tree that only grows near the true wilds. They’ve been sending scouts west to locate them, and then teams to harvest once found. One of those scouts stumbled upon the valley. Sayer has ensured that few know. They’re trying to keep it secret. They know the knowledge has value.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, I liked to see her like this. I liked it when she had stories to tell. When she was inspired and focused, not bored and idle, as I’d seen her when we’d snuck away to the hills before I confronted the hunter. 

“Thank you for telling me. It is a comfort to know.”

“When it’s my knowledge, *winking slyly* I can share as I please.” Then that proud beam again. “Hob, this could be important. Bryn said the valley was so deep that it completely hid the Pillar, that there was no sign of it until the scout stumbled upon it. No one has been there, there may be new truths to find. We may learn some of her stories!”

I gripped her shoulder with my good arm, “You will learn her stories, Pella.”

Roll: Oracle, Did any other Iron Priest camps already learn of this? 50-50 – Yes (uh oh); Was it the Gray Sentinels? 50-50 – No (oh shit, that means it was most likely the other big one).

The beam faded but her fervor did not. “We won’t be the first though, the Resurrectors will. Some snuck away during the night, unnoticed until Mokhel observed the emptiness of their camp. Scarred Ishana hasn’t been seen for a while now either, so even she must be with them. We aren’t sure when exactly they left but it’s clear now their destination. They will beat us to it but they will not deny us. We go in force, Hob. Even Teegan will join. That’s the only reason we haven’t pulled out yet, more will be coming and so more need to pack. We leave at dusk.”

I squeezed her shoulder, now healed and strong, as reassuringly as I was able. “Pella, whether first or second, you will still learn her stories. And then you will tell them to me.”

Her mossy eyes glistened and she embraced me, careful of my wound, though I would not have felt it if she wasn’t. And we shared a moment in the shade by the river Bas, too short but just long enough. We had been able to say our farewells and I felt lucky for it. 

Afterwards, Pella walked me back to the Longhouse. On the way, I asked her to repeat the path they took, and then repeat it again, and tried my best to remember. West along the old trails, always to the north, and then through a pass to the flooded valley. I would know where to find her.

And then Pella was gone, one final flash of that daring smirk before she left Autumnrush, and the days grew hotter still while the moon continued to wane.

---

Over the coming days, the numbness from my wound faded, and as it did so, came the pain. And with the pain came more of Willa’s pungent paste. Her treatment was effective though and my shoulder was healing, even if it was all I could smell. Somehow both so spicy that it overwhelmed the senses and yet so earthy that the scent never faded.

I still required plenty of sleep and so had not yet mended to the point of restlessness or boredom. Not quite recovered enough that I’d begun to miss Pella in earnest.

And then the biggest surprise came to visit. While I was resting from my mid-day wander along the boundaries of the grounds, Nisas walked through the main entry of the longhouse, and beside him strode Elstan of Whitbarrow! He was in Autumnrush, the hazy memories from my recovery at Mouth’s Watch had spoken truth!

He appeared almost like a merchant, wearing thin but well-woven linens with colorful patterns, not the sturdy sailor’s cloth he’d worn when I first met him. He still walked with purpose though, with resolve. As he strode past the hearth towards me, I recovered from my surprise and we locked our sword and axe arms in greeting. I had thought of him often since we’d parted in Stoneharber, the first companion I’d battled beside, and now he was here.

“Hob of the Gate! It’s good to see you awake and walking.”

“Elstan of Whitbarrow! It was you! You are in Autumnrush!”

“I am indeed!” He chuckled, “Task has brought me east. I’m surprised you remember my arrival at all, you were more dreaming than awake. I’m glad to see you well!”

“Aye, we come bearing gift.” Nisas unslung a large sack from his shoulder and set it upon the hearthtable. “Lio is not yet ready to leave the fort but he sends exchange for your efforts, gratitude for breaking the ritual and imprisoning the assassin.”

Opening the sack, he removed piece after piece of a suit of sturdy leather armor and laid them out on the hearthtable in front of me. Sailor’s wargear!

A gift! Armor! I was overcome. I’d never owned a set of armor. Sometimes Uncle Temyr had let Bastien and I play with his chain shirt, but he was a much larger man and it had hung all the way down to my knees. This looked like a much better fit!

After giving me a moment to take it in, Nisas teased, “You clearly need it. You almost got yourself killed without any.” He nodded to the shield arm in its sling. “Lio insisted that you accept it, as thanks for being his savior. As an acceptance of friendship.”

This is what Lio asks of me before we forge a bond, on account of the weak hit rolled earlier. He wants me to accept him as a friend publicly, to wear his gift. To show that I recognize his gratitude for my deeds. Narratively, this also gives me an opportunity to purchase an asset that is probably long overdue.

Purchase Asset: Ironclad – Lightly Armored (+1 to Endure Harm in a fight and +1 Momentum on a hit)

My shoulder had healed just enough that I could move my arm without pain, so long as I did so slowly and without weight. So I immediately removed the sling and attempted to don the armor, clumsily struggling to lift the chest plates with one arm, before Elstan jumped in to help, placing and fitting the pieces for me.

It was perfect! The leathers worn by the warcrews of the Reach and Barrier, by Nisas and his crew, by those that need protection from blade and fang, but also must climb and swim to survive. Thin but sturdy plates of leather, overlapping with each other to provide thicker protection while still segmented enough to bend with movement, not to hinder it. They did not feel heavy or limiting, I would still strike first and often while wearing them, and they were indeed thick enough around the chest and shoulders that there was a truth to Nisas’s teasing, they very well might have turned the hunter’s blade. 

Nisas joked about me joining the Starving Wolf since I was already dressed for the role, Elstan adjusted the straps and ties, and even Cera, who was returning to her quarters from the grounds, paused to remark on how well the armor suited me.

I was overjoyed with the gift but feared aggravating the wound with too much movement or weight, even though it was indeed light. Pella’s words held wisdom, “Trust me, it’s best to just leave it be.” So, I thanked them, requesting they carry my gratitude back to Lio, and then I asked Elstan to help me remove the armor and stow it in my room.

Roll: Oracle, Are Nisas and Elstan bonded? 50/50 – Yes; Action/Theme – Focus Love (Well that seems pretty clear)

Afterwards, we sat on the dock, dipping our feet in the river Bas to cool ourselves while we drank the afternoon away. Nisas draped his large arm over Elstan’s shoulders and they leaned closer against each other with each drink. Their connection seemed established, secure and comfortable, casual in their affection. I was surprised by the discovery, the coincidence, that two of the maybe half dozen people that I knew from the Reach happened to be bonded, and likely had been the whole time I’d known either of them.

I related to Nisas the tale of how Elstan and I met, of the chase and battle in the tides against the raiders and wind wielding mystic to avenge his kin and crew. With each nod to Elstan’s resolve and bravery (there were many), he blushed, causing Nisas to erupt in laughter and squeeze his shoulders. 

They told me how they’d met, years ago in Tidewater, when the Starving Wolf provided escort to Elstan’s kinships during their journey to Autumnrush. How since that voyage, they had been separate frequently, more often than not, but reunited every time Elstan’s kin returned here with shipment. He affirmed how it bolstered his spirits to have a partner on one leg of the journey and home on the other, always something to look forward to regardless of his destination. Neither seemed distraught about their circumstances. It forced me to reflect. The thought of being removed from Pella for weeks terrified me but these two had faced worse, routinely, and they were content.

Roll: Forge a bond, Nisas, +1 Storyweaver (telling him the tale of how I aided his partner in his quest for vengeance) – Weak Hit => Reroll (saving Lio and my friendship with Elstan count for something) – Strong Hit

And after these stories, Nisas and I were closer, a shared bond being worthy of goodwill. I asked Elstan of his ship, of Kalidas and the handful of others that had survived the ambush. Whether they had made it back to Whitbarrow, whether he had uncovered the motive for the Red Brog attack, and why he had returned to Autumnrush so quickly?

Oracle: Settlement Trouble – roll twice, families in conflict and innocent is accused; action/theme – persevere fellowship

I didn’t understand or don’t remember much of what he told me (the drink had warmed my shoulder but dulled my head), most of the tales involving names and circles I did not know. But I learned that they had indeed made it back to Whitbarrow, and when they returned, they had found chaos. There had been a death, a child of one on the council, and one of Elstan’s kin had been accused of the murder by a rival family. There had been little evidence to support the claims and the community had split into two camps, either demanding justice or proclaiming innocence along family lines and marriage loyalties. The circle would be split and torn regardless of whatever judgment was made so Elstan had come to Autumnrush to resolve the issue, to “preserve the circle”. I did not know how he intended to do so, but it seemed that he believed Lio could assist in the endeavor. I still did not well understand how the circles of Western Reach interconnected, how their authorities and identities were balanced. Where the circle ended and the Reach began. Or how much sway the Guide actually held in Whitbarrow.

I did understand the smolder in Elstan’s eyes though. I remembered it from the footpaths and blood spilt outside of Stoneharbor. He had task and purpose and he would see it through. I said as much and he thanked me, offering that I should visit him when I’d recovered if I wished. That his task required proximity to friends and he might better explain things when sober. I told him I would think on the offer, and then we moved on to less serious but equally important topics, like bragging and personal glories.

Nisas boasted of sea battles, of Tidemark’s continuous wars against the raiders that stalked the far edges of the Reach. How he and the warcrew of the Starving Wolf had stormed the island fort of Desha the Stubborn and dismantled it so no future raidcaptains might inherit it after her death. I countered with my own tales of victories over Haf and the harrow brood that encroached upon Brokefall. He responded with claim to have seen a leviathan, relating how it had chased the Wolf and they’d only been able to outrun it because Kara favored them and had fanned her shield to throw the wind against their backs. I drunkenly laughed at the tale, I liked his telling but believed not a word.

We continued to drink and tell stories until it was almost dusk and they needed to return to the docks to ferry back to Mouth’s Watch, as the streets were still less than safe at night. We said our goodbyes and Elstan repeated his offer to visit, a veiled and noncommittal request for aid in matters I did not yet fully understand. I repeated my promise to do so when able. And then they were gone and I was sleepy from drink.

---

Roll: Heal, Willa’s pungent paste – Weak Hit

More days passed and my wound improved even further, thanks to Willa’s pungent paste. It was still a little numb and the pain still came with effort, but I was close to recovered. Close enough that I wondered what I might do after I’d fully mended, toying with whether I might convince Cera to let me try and catch up with Pella and the Sustainers. My shoulder was strong enough that I could don and remove the warcrew leathers by myself, even lightly train on the grounds for short times so long as I forced myself to stop before the soreness started.

“It was a kind gift. It fits you well and filled a need.”

Cera had approached while I was focused on the blade and stood admiring me, battle ready and armored.

I sheathed the blade, just tired enough to know that I should be stopping anyways. I had not had many opportunities to speak with Cera recently, with her busy guiding the interests of Longbridge and me untasked and recovering.

“Thank you, Cera.”

“You know he wishes to collar you with it, or at least appear to, right? Only warcrew from the Reach wear those leathers. If you display them, you’ll be seen to be one with the Reach, to be aligned with Lio, and he will profit from your honor.” Then a sigh. “It’s my own fault though, I should have equipped you better so that such an obvious need could not be exploited, I allowed him the opening for such a gift.”

Roll: Test Your Bond, Cera – Weak Hit, must prove loyalty, what does she ask of me? (bolster ally/opinion, in the crossfire)

There was irritation under her glib words, Cera of Longbridge was jealous? It seemed so petty for someone that wielded such authority, so frivolous. But also so dangerous, I’d seen her angry before and I did not want to again. Not over receiving a gift.

“But you did equip me, through the balestone you reunited me with my blade, the only reason that we prevailed against the hunter.”

“Yes yes, of course.” She waved the gratitude away. Equipping me wasn’t the point, appearing to share me, her bannersworn, was the problem. “I will speak plainly, Basira. I know you refuse to be collared and I accept that, but if you are to be sworn to my banner, you will not wear the gifts of my rivals. If it’s armor you need, you will have it, but not in the style of those I am frequently at odds with.”

Was she telling me I could not accept the gift of friendship from Lio, that I must return the leathers and insult his offering? This seemed beneath her. 

Then her eyes flashed as they so often did when she envisioned a new opportunity.

“Or, now this is better, you will accept it. You will wear Lio’s gift but you must also carry my banner. You will bear the wyvern and it will be clear that, though my rivals honor you, you chose to honor me most of all. Yes, that will make it clear.”

Very petty indeed, the Three wielded gifts as weapons. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say, I looked at the banner of Longbridge hanging over the end of the hearth, behind her arbitor’s stool. It was massive, the wyvern’s vermillion wings outstretched, legs and claws extending towards some unseen prey.

So I acted as if I thought she made a joke, “I imagine a banner can get pretty heavy, hard to carry a shield and swing a blade with one as well.”

Her eyes flared at my senselessness. “No, not an actual banner! On a pole!? Gods! Are you planning to lead my father’s warband on a raid? Truly, Basira? No, on a shield or something. Practical but displayed.”

I chuckled at the teasing, relieved that the demand ended up being trivial.

“Aye, I will carry your shield.” Kormak had grown attached to Haf’s shield anyways, having had it for so long. I would gladly take another.

“Ideal.” Happy now.

This satisfies the previous Weak Hit on Test Your Bond. She is fine with the gift so long as it is clear that I stand under HER banner and not Lio’s.

Her agitation gone, Cera turned to other topics while I busied myself removing the armor. “I know you wanted to go with them but I’m glad you did not. She, they are competent, you would only have slowed them down and endangered yourself in that condition.”

“I know, Pella thought the same.”

“You know that one doesn’t need a bodyguard, right?”

Yes, I knew. Pella was daring and fierce, Pella was unbothered and capable. Pella was perfect. But I was not and I had fears. Fears from under the Beacon. Fears of losing her again in the darkness, of not being able to find her when she cried for me. Those were not things one puts to words though, so I ignored the question.

“Do you know where they go?”

“Aye, and I know that they were not the first to leave. That Sayer’s favored will get there before them.”

Sayer’s favored? The Resurrectors? Of course, how else would they have learned of the scout’s discovery before Brynn had informed Pella.

“The Resurrectors are aligned with Sayer? Is that why you support the Sustainers, the rivals of your rival’s favored?”

A smile of pleasant surprise. “You’re starting to learn how things work. But no, I support them because I believe they are right. We have not truly thrived since we came to these lands.”

Looking behind her to the massive longhouse and its ornate carvings, I almost laughed at Cera of Longbridge claiming her kin had not prospered in the Ironlands but caught myself. She saw where I gazed and knew my thoughts so clarified, her tone becoming more passionate as she spoke. 

“Even in the Havens, where there is plenty, the dangers have never left. They’ve grown worse when they should have lessened. The lands do not accept us, they do not grow calm in our presence. Beasts and horrors never leave for long, always returning, always. Mystics speak of dark omens and the clans have grown warlike out of fear, looking to their neighbors, hoping to secure themselves from threats still in the shadows. Our homes will continue to sicken unless we learn to sustain ourselves, to earn our place here. Until then, all is fragile.”

I was taken aback by her explanation, she spoke as Pella did.

“You’re a Sustainer!? You have taken me by surprise, I had not guessed you to be one of the faithful, of any of the faiths. I had thought your and their interests were aligned more materially.”

Cera sighed a soft chuckle, and when she responded her voice had returned to its usual glibness. 

“Oh no, you thought correctly. I am no Sustainer. It is purely material. If you remove faith from their words and their work though, there is truth. We need to understand the Pillars, we need to understand our home better. The old paths are overgrown, trampled by the Skulde. We can walk them no longer and must find new trails to traverse. The elders and those before have ignored these new routes long enough. I will no longer wait for this land to expel us, we will earn its favor.”

With that, she nodded to me and passed onward towards the dock, where a boat was arriving from the Havens for inventory before entering the port.

And that is when I learned Cera had a purpose, beyond inventories and negotiations. I did not know what she meant by “new routes” but it clearly involved the Pillars and the Sustainers’ studies. I hoped she was right, that we pursued paths to plenty instead of roads to ruin, but I knew for certain that there were threats in the shadows, named but not yet known. And if we were to navigate the horrors the hunter foretold, the dreams (memories?) of the blade, without losing our way, then we may need to blaze new trails to do so.

---

And the moon continued to fade until it died and was reborn, a moment of darkness before its cycle renewed. The wound continued to improve, the pain only flaring when I overexerted myself, and I found myself restless.

It was dusk and Verena and I had just finished building the bonfire. The summer nights were still too hot for need of flame but I had a purpose and she had been bored. I could not harm the hearthflame, it having burned since Cera had brought its coals from Longbridge, so we’d built one outside, on the grounds between the longhouse and dock.

The flames stoked and wood alight, we stepped away from the heat. It was good to spend time with Verena, she had remained changed since we’d entered the twilight forest and she’d been forced to acknowledge and weather her fears. Still dark and observant, less petty and arrogant. Even her face was different now, long and relaxed instead of pinched, her eyes sharper, more apt to dart from movement to movement than idly brood. But most noticeably, she was still honest and practical, no longer controlled by her pride.

“I think you should follow her. Things are calmer now. With the Guide’s truce restored, Sayer is less likely to do anything foolish, in the port at least. But if they support that rival camp, the one that left first, then someone should be there to make sure their plots are foiled. There’s no way Sayer’s designs would benefit us if achieved, whatever they are.”

I had not thought of that, that there were good reasons to follow them that didn’t involve my heart or my sorrow. 

“Aye, I want to but there is still danger here, though it remains in the shadows. Do you think Cera would allow it?”

“I have no clue. Likely not.” Then that grim chuckle. “You do seem to have a habit of doing whatever you want without asking anyways, and somehow never being cast out for it. So I wonder why you would even ask at all, young and witless as you are.”

Ok, so maybe a little of the pettiness remained. She was right about Sayer and the Resurrectors though, Cera might be swayed. As if speaking her name had summoned her, Cera stepped out of the Longhouse to join us.

“I appreciate that you heeded my ask and did this outside. I thought I might like to witness it.”

I nodded and smirked, “Well let us hope there is something to witness then. I truly have no clue how any of this works.”

The smirk brought a chuckle, not frequently heard from the Daughter of Longbridge. “Don’t disappoint me, Basira. I was promised a display of ritual.”

And her chuckle brought about one of my own, as her infectious will tended to do. “You will likely be disappointed then because I would never promise such a thing.”

And as the sun finished setting and the moonless sky grew dark, as I removed Lightdrinker from my belt and lifted it before me, we were interrupted by a display of a different sort. One both incredible and terrifying.

A reverberating crack and rumble from the distance past the river, as if a lightning strike was followed by thunder. Then, from beyond the horizon, bloomed the aurora. Tendrils of bright transparent greens, vibrantly pulsing and dancing across the skies from the west. From the Wilds. From Pella! From the Pillar!

I stared in awe and horror. “Vines erupting outward…”

Cera completed the thought, her voice stunned and soft, “…strangling the world.” And then louder, with alarm, “Basira! The hunter! These were her words!?”

It could be nothing else. It was as she had threatened, or was it warned? And it left me with no other choice, only one path to follow. I thrust Lightdrinker forward, one hand on sheath and one on hilt, towards the fire, towards the tendrils, towards Pella.

And I took the vow.

“I will follow the vines to their heart and uproot them, prevent them from strangling the world. Prevent the horrors the hunter foretold.” And then silently but louder, “And I will find you, Pella, and make sure you are safe!”

And with that, I drew the knife from the sheath, letting it drink from the flames. And as the bonfire was consumed and the night claimed its light, the aurora grew brighter. I resheathed Lightdrinker, returning it to my belt, and without another word, strode away from Verena and Cera back to the longhouse and my room.

I needed to prepare. I was leaving that night.

Roll: Swear an Iron Vow, Uproot the Vines, Formidable, +1 bond with Cera – Strong Hit, emboldened and clear what must be done

Reveal a Threat: The Blossoming Aurora

Roll: Swear an Iron Vow, Find Pella and make sure she is safe, Troublesome, +1 bond with Pella (whether she hears the vow or not, it was to her) – Strong Hit

Roll: Lightdrinker (capture flame’s essence), Wits – Weak Hit, 3 light track

Roll: Resupply – Miss => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit (getting back up to 4/5/5 before embarking on these vows seemed like a worthy reason to burn momentum)

Wow, that was a lot of important time with friends and a heck of a lot of oracle rolls but I think it was worth it. Hob now has a path forward and a threat has revealed itself. Ironsworn is so good! Next, probably some scary and dangerous shit, hope Hob gets there in time.

Hob finally sneaks away to visit Pella, checks in on the hunter’s survivors, and picks up the trail to finally confront the escaped assassin.

---

We looked down over the Hovels, the Pillars always in view to our right. We’d absconded from the camp at such a pace that we were now winded, pausing to rest on the northeastern outskirts of Autumnrush, where hills start to become mountain. No hovels or longhouses lay upon these hills as they were too rocky to field, but they did provide a striking view of the farms and fjord below, brilliant sun reflecting across water, and the occasional vividly colored sail. The day was hot and dry but the uphill breeze from the sea below was strong, cool and refreshing after our flight. 

“So you’re telling me that the forest was somehow inside the knife?”

“I mean, I think so? Either that or the sheath. I don’t know where else it could have been. If the hunter controlled it, I don’t think she would have so easily allowed us to escape.”

It had only been three days since I’d last seen Pella, since we had embraced and parted from each other at the base of the Overlook, but much had happened in that time and she wanted to hear about all of it. I could tell she’d been bored. Of course she had, the camp was boring. I’d chosen the right time to visit. 

Once we’d climbed far enough past the fields that we were unlikely to happen upon further folk, we took off our cloaks. I’m sure they had drawn attention, thick wool under a hot sun, but I could think of no other way to approach or leave the Sustainer camp without being recognized. That morning, when I had told Cera and Verena of my intentions to visit, I’d asked for a cloak, a gift for Pella. 

She’d assented, “Fine, it does not hurt me if my connection to the Sustainer’s becomes known. That was Mira’s concern. Do as you see fit but you answer to her and not me for the risk.”

Roll: Face Danger, Shadow, visit Pella without being noticed – Weak Hit, you sacrifice resources, -1 supply

Having acquired a cloak for Pella, I’d borrowed Kormak’s for myself (after returning his long knife and leaving him with Haf’s shield and my blanket from our original trade) and left the grounds, waiting to raise the hood until I’d reached the base of the Overlook and a lull in foot traffic. I didn’t think anyone had recognized me as I approached the camp since I was now familiar enough with the port that I could take the narrow and uncrowded side streets where it is difficult to be followed without notice. But I had not answered to Mira for the risk. I had not even seen her before Pella surprised me with a tight embrace (her shoulder had finally healed!) and led me, nay, pulled me off of Pillar Hill to “escape the tedium of the tents.”

Roll: Oracle, have Sustainers made progress on journal? Likely – No; Oracle, is there word of a new expedition? Likely – yes

Neither of us seemed eager to climb further as the hills were beginning to grow steeper, so I spread Kormak’s cloak over the ground for us to sit. And after we had settled, I approached the question I had been waiting to ask, but cautiously, without expectation of answer. I would not repeat my previous mistakes, would not lay claim to her loyalties or secrets. 

“Pella, can you tell me if Teegan has made any sense of the journal? I fear the carvings on the Beacon may be somehow connected to those Cadigan discovered on the blade’s hilt. That they might help me understand the blade’s purpose, might provide insight.”

I removed the blade from my belt and presented it to her. She eyed it warily but took the scabbard, resting it across her lap and running her thumb slowly across the engraved runes along the bone grip.

“You may be right, they flow in a similar manner. I don’t know though. I’ve heard of no progress with the journal.” Then, moving her hand to mine, “You should ask Teegan directly. He is grateful for your efforts, he will help you if you ask.”

And I knew that she spoke truth, that she was honest, that she was unaware of any insight yet gained from the journal. That, though there were things she would not tell me, she would never lie to me. And that was all I was owed, so I held her left hand between both of mine and admired the sun’s reflections across the water, and then the glare from the Twin Pillars caught my gaze, and then Pella’s gleaming eyes. She had been watching me, been holding back something as well.

“Hob, I think we’re leaving.”

A kick to my chest but I recovered. “Do you know when?”

She shook her head. My eyes blinked, I would not allow the tears to pool.

Where would they be going if they hadn’t yet deciphered Kodroth’s journal. “Where?”

“I don’t know, maybe west. It’s not even certain. Mira just told me that we may need to travel by foot, and if we did, there might be little notice, so to have gear ready.”

“Maybe I can join, can come with.”

She moved her right hand over the top of mine, which still cradled her left, and offered a gentle squeeze. “Can you though?”

“I”, she was right, “I don’t know.” I was sworn to Cera’s banner and the hunter still lived, her motives and master unknown. I had not yet satisfied my task and I could not forsake it.

She smiled, an attempt at reassurance. “It will be ok. It might not even happen and if it does, I will return.”

I shuffled my hands so they enclosed both of hers and caught her eyes with mine. “If it happens, promise me that you will tell me before you leave. Maybe my task will be finished and I can come with. But if not, I will need to know where you are going. I can’t handle the unknowns.”

Her mossy eyes promised that she would, and that was enough for me. So we watched the fjord, gold on azure, and held each other’s hands in silence. For how long, I cannot say? Hours maybe. But it was tranquil and more words would have spoiled it. In silence we could find a joy, melancholy though it was.

Eventually we said our goodbyes. Pella promised again to tell me if they were leaving and I promised to make another visit soon. And then, as she returned the way we had come, back to Pillar Hill, I hiked down to the Hovels, to check with Delkah regarding Kuron and Artiga as I’d vowed I would. I should have gone earlier, before seeing Pella, and felt guilty about the delay as it had stemmed only from cowardice, from fear that the boy’s condition had worsened even after the poisoning had ceased. Fear that I had failed to save a child.

Roll: Oracle, has Kuron improved?, 50/50 – Yes (nice!)

I found Delkah in her garden. She greeted me with a large expressive grin. Kuron had improved! His weakness had receded and appetite returned. He’d been in a heavy sleep since the healer had visited that morning. She did not offer to see him and I was wary of disturbing his rest, so I did not ask. I noticed Artiga watching me from the hovel door, but she did not approach. I waved and smiled at her but she didn’t respond, only watched.

Delkah observed the girl, “She hasn’t spoken or left her brother’s side since you returned them to us. Robbed of her parents, forced to watch her brother poisoned, her healing will take time.” Then, turning to me, “Has she who did this been found?”

I shook my head, “No, not yet. But if the boy has improved, so will have Lio, and many more will be looking. She will be found. How do your kin fare?”

 “They are anxious.”

“They should be, I don’t think finding the assassin will be the end of this. You should look to each other and prepare. Those with power are too occupied with their own safety. Do not rely upon them.”

I spoke truth, The Three were entrenched, had barricaded themselves away in island fortresses or lumber camps or longhouses behind bodyguard. They could not be depended upon to look to the Hovelers’ needs. Even the children had only been rescued because Verena and I stumbled upon them while attempting to break Lio’s curse. The Hovelers’ wellbeing had not been our task or purpose and if further crisis developed, we would likely be occupied elsewhere.

Delkah and I said our goodbyes and, after waving again to Artiga, still watching from the doorway, I returned to Cera’s grounds. It was evening by the time I’d navigated the winding streets, Grain Market, and river path back to the Overlook.

---

I entered the longhouse to find visitors. Nisas and his two companions, the lanky woman and stoic man, were at the hearth, speaking with Cera. Verena, Kormak, and other bodyguard stood close by. All turned to me expectantly as I entered, giving me the uncomfortable impression that I had been the topic of discussion. I began to apologize for the interruption and retreat the way I had come but Cera stopped me.

“Basira, we’ve been waiting for your return. There’s word.”

At that, Nisas spoke up, “You were right, the curse is broken. Lio has rallied.”

I grinned, “I am thankful to learn it!” I had guessed this would be so after Kuron’s improvement but the confirmation was welcome.

He continued, “There’s more. The healer sent us to retrieve you. There is something about the knife, some hint towards finding the assassin. Will you come with us?”

I was surprised by the request, “The ashen curls? What hint?”

Nisas shrugged, “I don’t know, they still make little sense to me. They said you would be the only one that could ‘follow the thread’ and asked that we bring you to Mouth’s Watch.”

But I had followed the thread, I had closed it. “But the thread ended where the hunter dropped the sheath, there was no further thread to follow.”

He shrugged again, reiterating that he had no further answers to offer.

I looked to Cera for guidance. She spent a moment in contemplation before providing it.

“If there is a new thread, then you should follow it, right? Basira, will you go with them to find the assassin and reveal her motive?”

With her consent, the choice was clear.

“Aye,” solemnly spoken with hand to hilt, “I vow that I will run the hunter to ground and discover her secrets, her purpose.”

Roll: Swear an Iron Vow, Find the hunter and learn who is behind the attack, Dangerous, +1 bond with Cera – Strong Hit, path is clear

Cera’s expected smile, “Ideal, thank you, Basira. Verena?”

Verena stepped forward, clearly intending to again accompany me.

Nisas seemed pleased. “We should leave now then, before the sun sets. We have a boat awiting to return us to the fort.”

I stowed Kormak’s cloak in my room, quickly returning, and we left the longhouse. We reached the Tidewater warehouse and Nisas’ boat before dusk and arrived to Mouth’s Watch before night fell. The short voyage was uneventful and mostly silent. There was an awkward wariness between us, the agents of Longbridge and the Reach, currently allies but former rivals. I think both sides feared finding comradery with each other for, if we succeeded and restored the old peace, we would likely become rivals once more.

I did have an opportunity to observe Nisas’ companions though. The stoic man was named Alban and the lanky woman, Nakata. They appeared to be kin of some sort, closer to each other than their warcaptain, and frequently spoke in hushed tones. Nakata’s eyes were untrusting and Alban’s, now that I was starting to pick up on his subtle manner of expression, seemed cruel or calculating. Dangerous either way.

After mooring the boat to the small dock, alongside the Starving Wolf, we hiked up the path towards the fort. It was not yet dark and so the camp was still awake, the warcrew livelier and in better spirits than our last visit. This time Nisas did not demand Verena and I leave our blades in the boat. A subtle expression of trust that I would not tarnish by commenting on.

Roll: Oracle, is Lio in deep rest like Kuron was? 50/50 – No

Nisas greeted the sentries at the fort and we entered. As we passed through the doorless threshold, a stifling heat caught the air in my chest. The hearth burned too brightly, too sweltering for this, the hottest day of the summer so far. The healer sat at the table, watching us from behind ashen curls as they twisted and braided what looked like a branch and vine and root of some sort. Lio was again resting atop the furs by the hearth, but this time he sat upright, alert. He turned to our presence, both hands squeezing a small steaming clay cup that he sipped from. A hot drink by a hot fire on a hot day.

“The hound!” Lio’s voice did not quiver. “She who broke the ritual.”

He did not rise. He seemed relaxed, maybe just restful as Kuron had been or, more likely, lulled by whatever was in the steaming cup.

I smiled, “I told you, I am not Cera’s hound.”

A chuckle, hoarse but robust. “Of course you are. Maybe not Cera’s, but you tracked the fox did you not? And now you’ve come to finish the hunt.”

My eyes raised at the mention of “fox”. Had he seen the hunter and her cloak of many furs during his sickness, or was it just a turn of speech?

“The fox? Did you see her?”

“I did, and I saw her run. Saw her flee from the hound.” He chuckled again, amused with himself.

I wondered if part of him had been in that dark forest when I’d first met him, when he had seemed away and unreachable, staring off into flame and shadow.

Then a thud drew my attention back towards the ashen curls. They had ceased their braiding and dropped the ebony-handled knife on the table. I took this as signal that it was time to speak to them, to hear why I had been summoned, so I took my place on a stool across from them.

“You sent for me? There is more to be done? A new thread?”

Their cloudy eyes studied the knife, hearthflame illuminating their face and tattoos. I had guessed right the first time we’d met, the tattoos were animals. Two predators, long and interwoven with each other. Short clawed feet and rows of fangs. Stoats maybe?

The humming voice, “The old thread, closed but remains. She is here.”

“The hunter is here!?” On the island!?

With two fingers they rhythmically tapped, almost prodded, the knife’s sheath.

“She is here.”

What? “In the knife?”

The rhythm of tapping increased. “In the darkness.”

And then I understood. “She is still in the forest? Is she trapped?”

“Yes, trap-ped.”

So she had fled but been unable to escape the twilight forest without the knife or sheath, those things which had allowed me to lead Verena and the children back to the light.

“Can I find her, can I return there?”

Their face twitched, the ashen curls shook, the eyes cleared. “Can you?”

And I knew that I could. I reached across the table and took the knife, one hand on sheath and one on hilt, and as I lifted it from the table, the hearthflame went out!

Purchase Asset: Lightdrinker (Capture light essence and use it for bonus to navigate darkness)

This is a narrative reskin of the Lightbearer ritual that is tied to the ebony-handled knife. Hob previously used this ability when she grabbed the sheath in the twilight forest after defeating the hunter last episode. Instead of creating light, it grants Hob a form of nightvision. The darkness has become a theme in Hob’s struggles and the established fiction around the knife seemed like an interesting thing to expand upon mechanically so I thought this was a good way to do so.

Roll: Lightdrinker, Wits – Weak Hit, 3 light track

As the gasps of surprise faded and our eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw the shadows within shadows, on the stairway behind the ashen curls that led to the top of the fort. And then the others noticed the shadows, but only Verena had entered them prior and recognized them for what they were. She instinctively reached for her shortsword and, on seeing her do so, Nisas and his companions readied their weapons as well.

She looked to me. “Do we really need to return to that place?”

“No, just me.” Rising from the stool and lifting the knife and its sheath before me for her to see, “I hold sway there now. And I will visit my prisoner.”

She nodded, she understood, “Be careful.”

“I will.” and, at that, I placed the knife in my belt, opposite the blade, where Kormak’s dagger had previously rested, and stepped around the table to climb the stairs.

Mark Progress: Find the hunter and learn her motive – Discover that she is still trapped within the Twilight Forest

Discover a Site: The Twilight Forest, Troublesome – Hallowed Tanglewood (I’ve been here before, but have not fully explored it so things may have changed)

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits, +2 Lightdrinker – Strong Hit; Find an Opportunity – Locate a secure area, take action now

I held my breath and shut my eyes as I took the first step, into the first shadow. I shuddered as the hollow chill of darkness emptied the stifling summer heat from the air, and then I could breathe again. The shadows were colder than before. Not quite a frost but I could see the breath fog before me. It was as when I‘d first taken the sheath, prying it from the hunter’s severed arm, the arm that had somehow grown back. The shadows of the forest remained but it was almost as if light had been painted over them. A soft grey radiated from my breath and arm and foot and the steps in front of me, the top of the stairs and the branches beyond glowing softer yet. 

As I reached the top of the stairs, which should have led to the roof of the fort, I instead climbed out of a cave, back into the twilight forest. This part of the woods looked dead, barren. Or maybe they were the same as before and just time had passed, almost winter now. The dried leaves had all fallen from the trees and were blowing across the forest floor in waves. I could see farther now that the branches were bare. There was something in the distance that rose above the trees, so far off that it was just a thin smudged grey.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits, +2 Lightdrinker, +1 take action now – Weak Hit, Mark Progress

I’m not sure if I would normally allow myself to always use Lightdrinker for delve or journey moves in the dark (I could see myself trying to exploit that and only travel at night or something). In this instance though, this specific dark forest likely exists within Lightdrinker itself, or is somehow created and sustained by the knife or sheath, so I think it is fair to use the asset frequently to reflect that the knife-wielder exerts some sort of influence or control in this realm.

I hiked towards the towering object, climbing a short slope until I reached a rocky hilltop where the withered trees thinned and winds grew stronger, strong enough that they kept the ridge clear of the piling leaves. Standing atop the stones, I looked down into a shallow valley. The object lay in its center, now close and bright enough that I could make out its shape. It was not a Pillar. It was too short and too wide, growing even broader near its base. A monolith? A tower maybe? If so, I had never seen one so tall, at least outside of the blade’s dreams.

By some means, I cannot say how, I knew that I would find the hunter there. So I descended into the valley, my sword hand resting on the ebony handle of the knife as I did so. A soft growl from the blade, more jealous than hungry.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits (I’m saving my last light essence for an emergency) – Weak Hit, choose one, Mark Progress or Find an Opportunity, Mark Progress

Back into the barren branches and the rolling leaves. As I grew close and the spire’s glow sharpened and focused, I saw that it was not a tower at all, but was as if numerous hard-edged columns, all of different heights, had been lifted and planted beside each other. A structure both natural and alien. Too chaotic to have been built by Ironlanders, too perfect to have been crafted by nature.

The trees thinned and cleared as I approached the structure. It looked like it might be scalable. Many of the columns were close enough in height to their neighbors that they might even serve as steps. I would climb them and survey the valley for sign of the hunter.

Roll: Locate Your Objective (9 progress) – Weak Hit, unforeseen hazard

I had not ascended far, maybe a dozen feet, still a ways from even the midpoint of the spire, alternating between stepping and climbing, pulling myself and scrambling to reach the next column, when I heard a giggle from below.

It was the hunter! The wild eyes behind tangled hair, the wolf and fox heads meeting at the clasp of the many-furred cloak, and a bow with arrow notched. I stood atop the narrow column I’d last clambered onto and glared down at her. She was too far below to descend without being riddled with arrows. I was too far from the top of the structure to find cover or break sight. I was trapped.

I was a fool. She had no bow when we’d first faced each other, but, of course, she would have had one stashed away somewhere. She was a hunter and could not have taken the prey to decorate that gruesome altar with sword alone. I knew I couldn’t have foreseen returning to the forest and facing such ambush, but I felt foolish nonetheless, unprepared. Yet again facing bow without a board, mine safely tucked away in Kormak’s room back at the longhouse. 

Roll: Endure Stress, unprepared – Weak Hit (Uh oh, back to zero Spirit. I really need to get that shield back.)

Mark Progress: Find the hunter and learn her motive – Find the hunter

“You finally came.” She giggled again. 

“I did. And now I have found you.” I did not feel as brave as I hoped I sounded. “Have you waited in ambush this whole time? You knew I would come here?”

Another wild giggle and then she sharpened, joyful but focused. “No, at first I hid in the forest, forever maybe. I doubt even you could have found me. But as I watched the leaves fall, I wondered what hiding would get me, just an eternity in the cold darkness. So I came to its tallest landmark to wait for you. And here you are!”

She did appear as if she’d been hiding in the forest, crushed leaves and broken twigs tangled throughout her hair.

“Has it been that long?”

She giggled again, this time as if I’d made a joke.

“As I said, I watched the leaves fall. Now, you should drop down Lightdrinker to me and I will trade with you. I will leave and you can find out if it snows in a place such as this.”

“And what is this place?”

Another giggle at another joke. “Oh, they haven’t told you? Even your friend?” She twitched the notched arrow, gesturing down towards my belt, towards the blade? “Your friend should remember it well.”

The blade stirred at the reference, I reached for the bone grip. “My friend? The blade?”

“You don’t know? They are siblings, forge mates.”

“Siblings? The blade and knife?”

Another chuckle, throaty and threatening now. “Drop the knife and, after I leave, you can ask it all about it. There will be plenty of time for stories while you two wait for the snows. *drawing the arrow back* Or would you rather I took both the knife and the blade?”

I rathered she took neither. I would not stay there, trapped in the darkness, but I had no leverage to bluff. So instead, I jumped, drawing the blade as I kicked off of the column.

Roll: Face Danger, Edge – Weak Hit (Hob is faster than I give her credit for); Endure Harm – Weak Hit 

Roll: Enter the Fray, The Hunter, Formidable, Heart, +1 Bladebound – Weak Hit, Take initiative

The hunter had misjudged my desperation. She had been expecting more words, not yet action. And so I heard the loosed arrow clang against the column behind me as I launched myself into the air and dropped the dozen feet back to earth. I landed safely on my feet, if not gracefully, uninjured but losing my wind from the impact. I didn’t need to breathe for the blade to act though, I launched myself forward, allowing its arc to carry me, as she stepped back, dropping her bow and drawing the shortsword from her belt.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit

She did not retreat fast enough though and the blade sighed as her free hand fell to the floor of the clearing. The blade wanted to continue but I could not yet, I needed to collect my breath before taking another step or I would falter. A giggle and I looked up to see her crouching, a low stance with her sword extended defensively while her other hand groped for something in a pouch on her belt. The hand the blade had just taken! I glanced to the ground, to where the cleaved hand had fallen, for confirmation. There it lay, a bloody and severed copy. So her wounds still healed, instantaneously even. Unwelcome news.

Her restored hand removed a cloth from the pouch, dripping something (blood?) as she squeezed and ran it along the blade of her sword. 

Another giggle. “I now recognize your friend, what it is that wields you. I had missed it the first time we met, had been too focused on the thread, on Lightdrinker. I was just startled was all, now I remember that I’ve no reason to run.” And then, dropping the cloth to the ground, she advanced.

Roll: Clash, Iron – Strong Hit, Find an opening

I was not eager to receive a wound from that sword, from whatever poison she had applied to its blade, so, having caught my wind, I threw myself forward, a wide low swing with both hands to force her to either parry or retreat. She did the latter, pouncing back out of the blade’s reach before again, hurling herself towards me. She was swift and hoped to close before I could recover from my swing. 

In her time watching the leaves fall she must have forgotten that the blade was swift as well. I reversed the swing before she could reach me and cleaved off her leg. But she did not fall, she howled in pain yet remained on her feet, still rushing towards me. The leg remained attached to her, but another fell to the ground, bloody and severed like the hand. It was as if she had two right legs, and the blade had only been able to remove one of them.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Miss; Endure Harm – Strong Hit, Shake it off

I was wrong, she had not forgotten how fast the blade was, she was just unconcerned by it. I tried to bring the blade back into another swing but she was already upon me. I felt her sword bite into the shoulder of my shield arm. I cried out. It was cold, an icy stab that penetrated and then burned away to numbness. My arm and then hand grew frostbound, deadened and unfeeling, losing grip on the bone hilt so that I could no longer wield the blade two-handed. She sighed, almost as the blade did.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit, +2 Harm Swordmaster

The chill grew, I felt faint. The hunter hugged me now, too close for me to wield the blade. I felt her free hand, the one I had severed earlier, gripping my waist, groping at my belt as her wild eyes smiled into mine. She was going for the knife!

She would not have it! I bent my knees, dropping the knife further from her reach, and, with my remaining strength, slammed my good shoulder into her gut, knocking the breath from her and pushing her off of me. As she was forced back, her sword twisted and pulled from my shoulder. I again cried in pain as the wound widened. And then my cry deepened into a roar and I planted myself. As the momentum of my shove carried her past arms’ reach, I stepped forward and brought the blade down on her sword arm with a crude overhead chop.

Roll: End the Fight (10 Progress) – Weak Hit, it’s worse than you thought (Ugh); Endure Harm – Miss, Wounded (Well shit, Wounded and zero Spirit and Momentum, whatever was on that cloth was bad news)

The blade sighed and the blood sprayed. Her arm and sword dropped to the floor as she toppled backwards. Unsurprisingly, another version of her arm remained in place, but she was defeated, disarmed. She panted and wheezed now, no more giggles, injured though no wounds could be seen. Just bloody limbs scattered across the clearing.

And then the numbness from my shoulder reached my chest, my heart, and I almost fainted. I staggered and caught myself, forcing slow steady breaths, but did not fall. Somewhat recovered, I stepped forward, standing over her, lying on her back, I set the blade to her throat. She stared up at me, her eyes no less wild in defeat.

“Next I will take your head, heard?”

She glared back, unafraid.

“You recognized the blade, you said it knew this place? That it knew the knife, Lightdrinker, that they were siblings, forge mates?”

Her untamed eyes flashed. “Yes, forge mates, like us maybe?” A weak giggle through snarling lips.

Another frozen wave from the wound. I rooted myself for a moment, slowing my breaths so they ceased to cause my chest to spasm, before continuing.

“I know not how you yet live, but I know the blade is unpleasant for you. I’ve heard the pain in your cries. Ye Rana felt pain when they died as well. When they crossed the Barren Fields, they froze to death every night and burned to death every morning. But after each death, they were born anew, and pressed onward to eventually escape that desolate expanse. You though, you will not escape these woods. There would be no end to your suffering. Tell me the story of this blade, who is its owner, what is its history, or face that fate.”

Roll: Compel, Iron, +1 Storyweaver, +1 Honorbound – Miss, Make a demand which costs me greatly

Laughter was her response, wild like her eyes. “Threats? You would threaten me with Ye Rana’s suffering? A failed god from a failed land? You know not my fears. That is no threat. Besides, you would soon tire of the work.”

She lifted her neck and shoulders to rest on her elbows, pushing her throat closer to the blade. The blade that grew ever heavier from the chill in my chest, ever more difficult to lift to her neck.

Seeing how I wavered, her eyes sparked. “Give me back the sheath and I will tell you, I will tell you what your friend has kept secret. Maybe even its name. And then we will part from each other and go our own ways, both leave the forest, you with the knife, and I with the sheath.” A conspiratorial wink, we could both get what we wanted.

The stabbing breaths made my memory weak, and so I entertained the offer. The blade had a name? I needed to know what she knew and my bluff had not worked, she did not fear the Old Gods or the blade. Maybe the price was worth the prize. But then I remembered the bodies, the parents, Amar and Nia, wasted and taken. And I remembered what she had done to Kuron, just a boy. I remembered what cruelty the hunter brought upon the guiltless while pursuing her prey and I shook my head in anger.

I thought to strike her down, to take her head. I wanted to but knew it would accomplish little. I could not end her, not truly. She was defeated for now but the chill spread again and I did not think I could even spare the strength to swing the blade, not if I wanted to leave the forest before I collapsed. The blade pulled but I pleaded, she was a poor meal and I would do it no good unconscious. It listened and calmed.

So instead of taking her head, I told her the truth. “No, you will not have the sheath. You will rot one thousand deaths. You will remain here and I will leave.”

She cocked her head in response, eyes still focused, controlled. “No. I don’t think so. I will remain here but you will return. And then you will give me the sheath. You will beg to do so. Plead for their secrets. I will wait.”

Roll: Oracle, Are the hunter’s motives secrets to her? 50/50 – No

This makes sense to me. Her motives are strange, her powers are strange, and the weird hallowed tanglewood and altar imply something more wyrd than a simple political assassin. I think she is proud of her purpose. Would proselytize instead of hide it. So I think a Gather Information move is reasonable to see what she volunteers.

Roll: Gather Information – Miss (This fits, a dire threat it is.); So many more oracle rolls. 

The hunter rose further so she was sitting up, I shuffled back a step to keep the blade to her throat.

“What will you do when the torches are set alight? You will beg and you will plead and we will guide the flames together.”

“What torches? What flames will we guide?” She was harder to make sense of than the ashen curls. Her cryptic speech seemed more purposeful, intending to cast more shadow than light.

“The flames that need fuel.” Another spark flashing across her eyes, “When the budding pyre blossoms, when the vines erupt outward, stretching to strangle the world. Embracing the world.”

More riddles. I resteadied my breathing.

“Your words make no sense. Why would I return here to beg you for more riddles? Tell me why you have done this? What was your purpose?”

A coy giggle. “I dreamt it. It was a memory of the ebony. It happened before and so must happen again. The guide must transition, to one capable to withstand the growing waves. That Which Hungers requests it.”

“That Which Hungers? Is that who the altar was for? Is that who you serve?” 

“Oh,” her voice softening in disappointment, “you’ve forgotten?” And then excited again, as if realizing it wasn’t so bad as she’d first thought. “Your friend remembers though. *nodding to the blade* Your friend has memories too. You will play your part. We all must.”

My fit of coughing interrupted her as the chill again seized my chest. The hunter waited until the spasms passed, giddy and amused, leaning forward as the blade fell to my side. Anticipating.

“You and me, we’ll play our parts.” Another wink as she pulled her legs back to sit on her knees.

And then it sunk in, she was getting stronger while I was getting weaker. She would recover soon and I would be helpless. I needed to leave, now! While I was still able. I could waste no more time with her riddles. So I left her, turning and stumbling away from the columns, out of the clearing and back into the bare trees and blowing leaves. With each step my breaths grew more biting and heavier to draw.

Roll: Escape the Depths, Iron, +2 Lightdrinker (good thing I saved one light essence for my escape) – Strong Hit (phew)

But I held sway here. My breaths became gasps, shallow and staggered. I should not have been able to climb back up out of the valley, but I held sway here. I focused on the soft glow of the ridge in the distance and simply willed it to become brighter. And as it grew in intensity, I was propelled closer, until I was at the top of the hill, risking a quick backward glance to make sure the hunter was not in pursuit before continuing down the slope to the cave and the stairs. And then I was tumbling down the stairs, slamming into a floor of heat and light, the glare of hearthflame, no longer glimmers painted upon shadows. And then I blacked out, I slept. Moreso in void than in darkness, formless and empty.

Mark Progress: Find the hunter and learn her motive – She dreamt it, claims she was recreating the memory of the knife? That Which Hungers demanded it?

Fulfill Your Vow: Find the hunter and learn her motive (6 progress) – Strong Hit, +1 XP Bannersworn, 3 XP

To be honest, I was expecting a weak hit or miss on the Fulfill Your Vow roll. The hunter was located and neutralized (for now) but her motives make little sense, just cryptic riddles and warnings. I think they do reveal a Threat though (with a capital T), amorphous and poorly formed as it might currently be. And, assuming she spoke truth, they imply that the assassination attempt of Lio was not merely an act of political intrigue, that she served a higher and darker purpose. So, I think I will go ahead with the Strong Hit and rely on the oracles and fiction to reveal more in the near future.

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Learn that Lightdrinker and the blade are ‘forge mates’, that they have memories. The hunter knows more but refuses to share unless I release her. 

This was a hard choice regarding whether the hunter’s cryptic words, which raised more questions than gave answers, provided enough information to warrant progress on my background vow. In the end, I thought that just by learning there was a shared history with the knife and discovering those questions existed, Hob was closer to finding answers than she had been prior, so progress was justified.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roll: Gather Information – Weak Hit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded that I was following.

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

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

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

I finally grasped it, my jaw fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I looked back to him.

“Do you know these runes?”

 “I do not. A mystic might though.”

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

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

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

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

---

CW: Darkness, Corpses, Dismemberment, Sickness 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They know we are here!” I warned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Verena stepped past me, studying the bodies.

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

I did. “They are dressed as farmers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lightdrinker? The knife?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes! Stay back! I can find her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite Verena’s distrust for Hob, the two must approach Lio the Guide in attempt to renew truce. Will pride and rivalry undermine their shared task?

---

Roll: Face Danger, Wits, navigate streets at night – Miss; Pay the Price – New danger-foe

“I think we’re being followed.” I swore I had seen a person in the shadows.

“I know. Can you tell who?” The first words Verena had uttered to me since early that day when, upon my return from losing the blade to Cadigan, she had demanded I follow her to see Cera about my ‘errands’.

Roll: Compel, Heart, convince Kormak to lend me a weapon – Miss, makes demand, can only share smaller weapon and needs collateral

“I can’t see. Just shadows…it feels like many shadows though.” I tried to calm myself. Within these shadows were people, not nightmares. This was not the Beacon. I moved my hand near the knife on my belt (not obviously close though). It was one of the long daggers carried by those from the north, almost too large to be considered a knife, temporarily exchanged from Kormak for Haf’s shield and my new blanket. 

I pondered, “Do you know who they might be? Could this be Sayer?”

She huffed and shrugged, “Likely. Let’s move faster so they can’t get ahead of us. They probably don’t have a boat waiting for them.”

“Aye, not too fast though. They may rush us if they know we know.” I took a deep breath and walked, trying to keep my eyes forward as if unaware. I was terrified, every part of my will screaming at me to turn and face the threat, not to leave my back exposed or, if I must, then to run. I caught myself, I had been walking faster, too fast. I begged my legs to slow and they listened, reluctantly.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart, stay cool to gain a lead before we try to escape – Weak Hit

We passed the last of the empty stalls, the market long since closed, and saw the docks. We were close.

“I hope they are ready for us.” More words offered by Verena. I noticed they were less barbed when real danger presented itself, maybe a good sign.

“Aye, if we don’t want to fight we may need to leave quickly.”

Thankfully, they were ready for us, or close to.  As we came within sight of the men, one already in the fishing boat and the other on the docks waiting, our pace increased.

The man on the docks gave a nod and stepped to meet us. Verena shook her head, just loud enough for him to hear. “No, back. We’re being followed! We need to depart now!”

The friendly smile fell from his face as the young man took in what he was told. Then, without a word, he turned, quickly retreated the way he had come, and began unmooring the boat.

Then, footfalls behind us. Those in the dark were taking action! Without pause, Verena and I broke into a run. I risked a glance behind me. Still only shadows, but now the shadows were moving. I ran faster.

Roll: Face Danger, Edge, push off – Strong Hit (this was a very thankful and unexpected Strong Hit, Hob having 1 Edge and all)

I’ve never been one to win a foot race but I did that night. Fear of facing battle without the blade to wield me pushed me forward. And then we were on the fishing boat and the young man was shoving off as the old man thrust oars into our hands and barked that we row. Once it became clear we might make it to water before they could reach us, our pursuers hesitated. They slowed and then halted, afraid to leave the shadows, afraid to reveal themselves to their escaping prey.

So we rowed in silence, watching the shadows shift and hoping no spear or arrow would fly from them. Thankfully, none did and we were soon far enough away from the dock that we could breathe and speak as the two men got to work raising the small sail.

The boat belonged to Lago, the demanding old fisher, and his son, Nakuras, the affable young man who had reacted quickly back on the docks. I was curious what their ties to Cera were as both spoke with the deep abrupt cadence that matched mine, that matched those who had only known the coast or Barrier as home. I hadn’t realized her support spread beyond those tied to Longbridge and the Havens. They seemed only wishing to speak with each other though so I didn’t ask and instead turned to Verena.

I assumed she had volunteered as escort just to keep an eye on me. I had not been pleased at first, but now, having shared a dangerous escape and presently stuck on a boat together, I realized it may have resulted in a rare opportunity to address our differences, maybe even to move past them.

I gazed across the water, towards our destination, the shadow of island and fort. The moon was waning but the sky was clear enough that its lingering reflections still lit the empty fjord.

I started, “Are you sure they were Sayer’s?”

She puffed but then caught herself before giving an honest reply.

“I’m not. Likely, but not certain. The streets are more dangerous at night now. Some exploit the turmoil. It could have been others.”

I wanted to ask who but I held off, afraid Reese and his partner might be the answer, them having been humiliated by me and promised reprisal the day prior. I hoped to avoid giving her further reason to renew spite before I sought truce. So I approached the topic outright.

“You don’t have to trust me but you do realize that if you undermine me while at task, you also undermine Cera, right? It better serves her if we attempt to reach accord, or at least find understanding.” 

Roll: Compel, Heart, +1 hard truth Honorbound, quash it – Strong Hit

She started to huff and then caught herself again, pausing for a moment as if considering her words.

“It is hard not to distrust someone who serves a different purpose than I, a different purpose than the lady.”

I had guessed this to be the concern and so was ready with response. 

“Do you not have free wardens in Longbridge? Have you never worked with an ally that served a different master or only temporarily served yours through contract?”

“Aye, but I haven’t trusted those free wardens I’ve known either, not enough to let them stand under our banner. The banner is not for one with mixed loyalties. Not for those with secrets. Not for those so young and witless that they would befriend our foes. You have not earned it, or my trust.”

I spat, “Cadigan is no friend!” And then I pushed away my defensiveness. “But you are right, I am young and I can be witless, for which I am now paying the price. I don’t understand much of this place and I’m apt to tangle the threads. I strive to earn confidence though, to aid in task.” And then I attempted a joke. “Would it help if I promised to tell you where I was going whenever I left the grounds, invited you to come along when I bartered for bread?”

No huff in response this time, just a chuckle. “Yeah, maybe that would help.” She had deflated, not in a dejected manner, just relaxed, her pride spent. 

Mark Progress: Regain Cera’s Trust – Remove Verena as obstacle to begin making progress on vow

It was not truce but it was growth. We had spoken plainly, I had quelled my pride and she had exchanged in kind. Conversation exhausted, we sailed mostly in silence towards Mouth’s Watch, where Lio had fled after his attack to recover in safety. Towards the moored warship from the Western Reach and the campfires of its warcrew.

Mark Progress: Convince Lio to uphold truce – Reach Mouth’s Watch

They had been expecting us. Nisas of Tidemark, captain of the Starving Wolf, the crimson sailed warship that the Sustainers and I had passed a week prior when arriving to Autumnrush, was waiting for us on the small dock along with a dozen other well armed sailors. I had never met a warcaptain before but he matched how I’d imagined one to look. Boisterous yet unbothered. Imposing, but not so large that it slowed him down or that he could not bound across a plank. Dark hair and bright eyes.

He assessed us as we rowed the boat alongside the dock, looking to Verena and I, “Basira?” I nodded, acknowledging I was her, and he offered a hand before continuing.

“Come with me, the rest of you can stay in the boat until she is finished.”

I accepted his hand and stepped onto the dock.

“Thank you, but my companion *nodding to Verena* should attend. Cera will want to hear her report, good?”

Roll: Compel, Heart, bring Verena – Weak Hit

He looked to Verena, eyes drifting down to the short sword on her belt and then to the long knife on mine.

“Good, but the blades stay with the boat.”

It seemed an unnecessary condition, the island crawling with heavily armed warcrew that would have struck us down the moment we drew blades, but I still felt uncomfortable leaving Kormak’s dagger behind. I told myself it wasn’t needed and wouldn’t do me any good even if it was, and then Verena and I left Lago and Nakuras with the boat and our blades, following Nisas’ escort up the path towards the fort.

Mark Progress: Convince Lio to uphold truce – move past the Starving Wolf’s warcrew to gain audience with Lio

It was late and those crew still sitting by their fires gave only disinterested glances towards us as we passed. The fort at the top of the hill was old, weathered but standing. The wooden doors had long since surrendered to age, now just iron hinges remained, remnants of the decayed boards scattered on the ground below. The fort itself looked generations abandoned and only recently re-occupied. Likely built after the first landings and then deserted when it became clear that the Skulde did not follow. Not like Uncle Temir, the Watcher at the Gate, still true to his ancestors’ task.

Nisas directed all but two of the escort to remain outside, motioning for Verena and I to follow, and stepped through the doorway. The threshold opened to a large room, stairs on the far side leading to the top of the fort. A hearth was lit and an elder sat upright nearby, atop a pile of furs. He had not seemed to notice our entrance and continued staring into the flames. The healer seated at the table in the center of the room did though, looking up just long enough for me to spot tattoos behind their tangled ashen curls, before they returned to the herbs they were grinding, the rhythmic scrape of pestle against mortar.

Nisas roused the old man. “Lio, Cera’s hound is here.”

He stirred from his reverie, turning to the voice. His eyes were unfocused, wild. Gradually they narrowed and fixated on the speaker, and then drifted to me. I was unsure where he had been prior, what he was witnessing in the flames, but he was with us now. He pushed himself to his feet, I thought he would fail more than once in the process. His whole body shook, he struggled, but he managed to stand and walk to the table, sitting on a stool beside the ashen curls and the grinding herbs.

I moved to sit across from him. Verena, Nisas, and the two warcrew remained standing. I noticed no visible injury or bandage, no sign of an assassin’s wound, but clearly Lio was ailing. He was an elder but not old enough that he should look so frail. His legs were wide, too wide to show such weakness.

I began, “I am not Cera’s hound, but I do speak with her voice. I am Basira of Sota’s Gate.”

I had planned to lead with a story to develop a rapport, a chance to gauge each other, before relaying Cera’s word. But the man was in no condition to be an audience. Brevity would be a mercy, so I skipped that step and spoke directly.

“Cera asked me to express her sorrow and anger on hearing of your attack. She wanted it clearly stated that she was not behind the attempt. Nor knows who was. That doing so would have run counter to all that she hopes to achieve. Counter all that you hope to achieve, since you and her share much of the same vision.”

Roll: Compel, Heart, convince Lio that Cera was not behind assassin – Miss => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit (really glad I saved my momentum up to 9 in anticipation of this roll)

His face scrunched up and he became more animated, a livelier response than I had expected from someone in his state.

“Oh I know that! She knows if I die, they’ll just send another Guide, one that trusts her even less. She knows that the Starving Wolf would move to the docks to secure our shipments. Everything would get worse for her, and she would see no gain.”

His face lowered, tired now, waning again.

“Is that the only reason you came here? To tell me what I already know. I thought she may have learned something, had aid to offer beyond simple words.”

Mark Progress: Convince Lio to uphold truce – Convince him, that was easy (The Vow narratively seems over at this point but the progress is only at 6/10 so I’m going to continue to explore why it isn’t truly finished.)

Mark Progress: Regain Cera’s Trust – Carry her voice without falter, confirm Lio will uphold the truce

I thought I understood his message, maybe? That it would be in Cera’s interest for him not to die, that she could maybe do something to prevent it. Was he asking for help?

“I’m sorry, we have heard no information about the attack on you. I have only heard that it was an outsider, and that they were thwarted and slain. Is there anything else she could do to help besides listening.”

“There is another, it is ritual.” The humming voice behind the ashen curls startled me. “There was another beyond the one that failed, one is still striving.”

I stared, I did not understand. They continued.

“They are close, they cannot make flight. Their magics would follow them and they would fail as well. It is ritual.”

I guessed, “Are you saying he is cursed?”

They lifted their face to look at me, still grinding the herbs. Their cloudy eyes showed agreement. I saw their tattoos. Runes? No, too flowing. They were art, an animal?

“Yes, curs-ed.”

“And they are nearby?”

“Yes, they cannot flee or it will be undone.”

Roll: Gather Information, +1 from previous Strong Hit on Compel – Weak Hit

Through this manner, confusion and clarification, I learned about Lio’s attack from the person behind the ashen curls. I learned that the wound had been minor, the blade barely piercing his chest. That Lio had then defended himself and killed the man. I was surprised by this, glancing at the wilting Guide, looking like he needed to lie down again. He had been strong once, and not far in the past.

He had withered and waned after the attack. It was not poison though, the blade had been clean. After his flight to Mouth’s Watch, he had grown worse. It was magics. There was something about the knife, it had a connection, a thread to another, a mystic and a ritual. The other was close, no further than Autumnrush, as the curse would weaken if they abandoned it. But also, if Lio fled the curse, it would worsen, grow stronger, the reason he had deteriorated when he’d left the port. It all seemed so complicated and I would likely have dismissed the claims altogether if I was not myself on a personal vow to understand the visions of a bloodthirsty blade. The one thing that the ashen curls stated clearly was that the only way to stop Lio’s wasting was to break the ritual.

I asked to see the knife that had wounded him.

“I know dark blades, maybe I can follow its thread.”

Their eyes momentarily cleared, and then clouded again.

“Yes, you do. You do know them.”

They stopped grinding, rose, and retrieved a bundle from a small altar beside the hearth. Unwrapping the bundle revealed a simple long knife, not quite so long as Kormak’s but long enough for fighting. I turned the ebony handle over, the blade was sharp, meant for both cutting and stabbing.

“I will take this back to the port. Maybe it will reveal the thread and lead us to the ritual.”

The ashen curls did not object. They returned to the table and their grinding. Lio did not object, he was away again, studying the dancing shadows cast by hearthflame on stairs.

I looked to Nisas, “Good?”

“Uh, aye.” He looked surprised. Like this was all new to him as well. He admitted as much, he had not been able to make sense of the words behind the ashen curls, he had dismissed them.

“This sounds far-fetched but if Longbridge is convinced enough to act, then I shall likewise. You can take the knife but also, you will need to take me to the docks at least.”

I looked to Verena, she did not object. And so we left Mouth’s Watch. Truce restored but still threatened. Ebony knife, bundled and tucked in my belt, as guide. And the warcaptain of the Starving Wolf and his two companions, a lanky woman and stoic man, as passengers.

Rename Vow: Convince Lio to uphold truce => Try to keep Lio alive so that he may uphold the truce (I’m too scared to roll to fulfill this vow now since the progress is only 6/10, too much is on the line with my relationship with Cera to risk a miss. So there is more to be done. If he dies, his replacement will not have any trust or history of truce with Cera, so to protect the truce, he needs to be kept alive.)

Also, I guess Hob’s thing now is apparently just collecting cursed weapons.

As Lago and Nakuras delivered us back to the docks and bid farewell, Nisas informed me that he would start investigating in the morning. They would ask around the docks regarding the failed assassin, Bevan (a name I was just then learning). If we needed to find him, we should ask at the Tidewater warehouse. He pointed to it, it looked like all the others.

Verena warned him to be careful, that there were those that skulked in the dark. She told of the night’s earlier shadows and our escape to the water. I was not thankful for the reminder. It was still long before dawn and we would need to brave those shadows again to return to Cera’s grounds.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, brave the shadows – Weak hit; Endure Stress – Weak Hit

I saw nothing in the dark this time, heard no footfalls. It had been hours, it made sense that the ambushers would have abandoned their task. But it still took all of my will to force my legs to walk, not run.

I was finally able to breathe once we reached the grounds, a sigh at the sound of the bodyguard demanding we announce ourselves. I recognized the voice but did not remember the man’s name. Verena did. “Katram, it’s us.”

I had not expected Cera to still be awake, sitting by the hearth, awaiting our report. She seemed anxious but veiled it well. Her concern lifted as I told her that the truce was upheld. She was skeptical of the healer’s claims, of the threaded blade and bound ritual. But she did not reprimand me for having offered assistance to her rival. She seemed to be learning to trust my judgment, or maybe it was just because, for once, Verena and I were not at odds over it, maybe she only trusted our combined judgment.

Mark Bond: Cera of Longbridge (Due to previous Weak Hit on Forge a Bond, I had to hold off on this until I spoke to Lio and renewed the truce. I know I haven’t completed the truce vow yet, since it is evolving in scope, but I did satisfy her specific request, to gauge Lio and convince him that she wasn’t behind the attack, so I think it is fair to mark the bond and make Bannersworn a full asset.)

Mark Progress: Regain Cera’s Trust – Bonded, I carried her voice as promised and she saw Verena and I in agreement

Roll: Ask the Oracle, Did Cera acquire a Balestone for me, 50/50 – yes, how nice!

I was weary, the bed was calling. I gathered the courage to excuse myself, my report having been given, but Cera stopped me as I prepared to leave.

“Thank you, Basira. If this second assassin truly exists, find them and end this. If they do exist though, I imagine you may need your blade to do so, and so you shall have it. A balestone will arrive for you by morning.”

I could have hugged her, I almost did but caught myself. Cera of Longbridge was not one to be hugged. So instead I beamed. Blushed and beamed. I thanked her and she nodded, giving an amused smile before turning and retreating to her quarters in the rear of the longhouse. 

And that was how Cera of Longbridge gained my true loyalty, with a gift. Looking back, I now realize that was exactly her intent. But a thoughtful and vital gift is something larger than mere bartered allegiance.

Having proven her worth and sworn to stand under Cera’s banner for what is about to come, Hob finally locates the swordsmith and refuses to play the game if its rules cannot clearly be stated.

---

It was morning, I had slept well. The first thing I noticed was the stench of Willa’s paste. It had worked, the bruises from the day prior’s axhandle were barely noticeable. Then I remembered Reese’s humiliation and my swearing banner-oath to Cera. So I had nothing to do today but wait for her to call me to task, just wait for my word to spread. 

Half awake, I laid and wondered what Pella was doing. Probably still asleep. It had only been a day since I had embraced and parted from her at the base of the Overlook but, after having shared a ship bench or tent for weeks, it felt like much longer. Time travels slower without a companion.

I played with the thought of tagging along on Cera’s next discrete resupply to the Sustainer’s camp. I didn’t have a cloak but I could surely acquire one by then. Maybe I would surprise Pella and we could figure out a place and time for later meetings, places that didn’t risk me being seen at the camp or her approaching Cera’s grounds. Maybe we would both need cloaks and I could bring her one as a gift. I liked that idea. I had hoped to figure out a way for her to come along with me when I approached Cadigan the Swordsmith to ask about the blade.

Then I remembered what Brynn, Pella’s free warden friend, had told us about the swordsmith. Threads rapidly reconnected and I leapt out of bed in a panic. Cadigan had been commissioned by Sayer to forge a sword. So Cadigan was aligned with Sayer. My allegiance to Cera would soon be known by many and, once Cadigan learned of it, he might be unwilling to aid an ally of his patron’s rival. So I needed to find him before word spread to him. I needed to find him now, alone and without Pella.

Gathering the blade, I rushed out of the longhouse and off the grounds, mumbling something about a personal matter and needing to tend to my gear to Verena as I flew past her. She responded with a questioning glare but I offered no further information. It was honestly not her business.

Roll: Face Danger, Shadow – Miss, Verena becomes suspicious and might look into my happenings (I thought the best way to reflect this failure was that Hob just didn’t even realize that this would be an issue, something that should maybe be concealed or navigated discreetly. Not only is she bad at lying, her brain is just not wired for subterfuge and so she sometimes overlooks the complications that can arise from bluntly navigating political situations.)

I later realized that me, a near stranger and recent banner-sworn, rushing off to meet with Sayer’s swordsmith, required more of an explanation, or, if not, at least more discretion than I presented. As one who does not skulk though, I had overlooked how something like that might appear. Just the first of many such oversights.

So I did not even think to steer towards the smaller narrow side streets, I strode down the wide path along the river to the Grain Market and then, following Brynn’s directions, turned west, crossing the large bridge over the Bas that lead to Torren’s Square. To be fair though, I was not yet familiar enough with Autumnrush to navigate anything but the main roads anyways and had I skulked the backroads and attempted to conceal my destination without getting lost, things would probably have been much worse down the road.

Roll: Gather Information, find workshop – Strong Hit

It was not obvious which workshop belonged to Cadigan. There were so many smiths and carpenters and carvers and leatherworkers and potters and weavers and bakers, all encircling a large dusty field. I had never seen so many artisans collected together, as if drawn to work in proximity to each other. None of the workshops stood out as those of a swordsmith, though I wasn’t really sure what a swordsmith’s workshop was supposed to look like. Like any other smiths’ but nicer maybe?

So I asked those I passed and was quickly directed to it. Cadigan’s workshop was the opposite of what I had expected. A shed like the others but smaller. Well, maybe the timber planks were newer and it seemed tidier than the others, but still just a shed.

The doors were locked shut and a knock got no reply so I waited. It was late in the morning and most of the other shops were open for the day. Maybe he was just a late riser. Either that or he was still away at Sayer’s camp as Brynn had warned. I hoped for the former and found a spot to wait on a small bench to the side of the doors.

I had been wondering why it was named Torren’s Square (clearly after Pemba’s companion, Torren the Dancer, but it was not one of her stories that I knew), when Cadigan arrived. He was young. Shorter than me but stronger, sturdy for his age. His light hair was cropped, as it is with most that work with flames, and his clothes matched their wearer, durable and new. He was not pleased to find someone at his door.

“I’m already behind today and it’s not a good time. What do you need?”

Roll: Compel, Heart, convince/barter – Miss, complication (Verena or other agent of Cera’s sees me talking to Cadigan and reports it back, as alluded to earlier)

“I was hoping you might be able to take a look at my blade. I had wondered if you’d ever seen one like it.”

He huffed, stepping past me to unlock and remove the chain from the doors.

“I said it is not a good time. I can’t do an appraisal right now. If you want to leave the sword and come back tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a chance to look at it by then.”

That was not possible. I wasn’t sure the blade would even allow me to leave it. The thought was painful. So I tried to gain his interest.  

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart – Weak Hit

“I’m sorry, I cannot leave it with you. The times are too dangerous to go a day without my weapon, you understand. I wasn’t hoping for an appraisal. I had just thought that the blade might interest you, as a swordsmith.” I removed the scabbard from my belt. “It seems old. Very old. But it’s sturdy and has never lost its edge. I thought maybe it might be of some benefit to you to see a fine blade such as this.”

His eyes squinted and his dismissiveness twisted to annoyance.

“You thought I might learn something from an old blade? You thought I still had lessons I needed to learn? That I needed to study others’ work to improve my own?” 

“No, I’m sorry, I meant it might be a curiosity to you, an artifact maybe. I did not intend insult.”

Pella had heard right, he was petty. This was going poorly. So I did what I always do when conversations go poorly and my desperation begins to surface. I told the truth, all of it.

Roll: Compel, Heart, +1 Storyweaver – Miss, make demand (baaad rolls)

I know I use telling Hob’s story/exploits a lot to activate the Storyweaver asset but I view Hob as someone that is convinced that her own story is both compelling and inspiring. She is a boastful storyteller and, in this situation, I thought the tale might be relevant and possibly interesting to a swordsmith. Also, every time I reveal her history to yet another person, the risk of it coming back to bite her later increases, as she continues to accrue enemies or create reasons for potential foes to want to find her. Starting now, I will try and make myself add a new detail to the backstory whenever I do so though.

I told him how I’d found the blade on the warrior that washed to shore. How the visions had soon followed, auroras and towers and fog. How the blade cried for my hand and pulled towards foes whenever I wielded it, pulled me towards them, towards the blood within them. How it sought its owner and how I somehow knew that owner was not me.

It was a steep tale to accept from a stranger and I doubt he believed me. It was an interesting one though and he, at least, seemed to have conceded that I would not leave him to his work with mere dismissals. He was unmoving though.

“Quite the story. Someone else’s kinblade, you claim? You’ll still need to leave it with me. As I said, I’m behind and busy and do not know when I’ll find time to examine it. Also, I do not appraise without exchange.” 

Again, I knew not else what to do. The blade howled but I needed to know, we needed to know. I would have to surrender it to him. Exchange though? I had no idea what was appropriate.

“I have a raidcaptain’s shield, taken in victory? I have a map of the eastern Barrier?”

His eyes rolled at my suggestions, “To be honest, right now you are an annoyance. I don’t have the time for nor do I want your task. What I do want is another balestone. Mine is fading and no one is offering them these days, at least not Reach traders, not with Lio in hiding and negotiations halted. I’ll need a balestone or you can find another swordsmith.” He smirked, knowing full well there were no other swordsmiths in Autumnrush or probably anywhere else along the coast.

A balestone! How would I  acquire one if he could not? Again, cornered, I agreed. I would figure it out.

I offered the sheathed blade to him. “Fine, I will come back for it though, and I will not react calmly if it is not returned. Good?”

As he took it, as I abandoned it, the blade cried for me, a wail. I blinked to prevent the tears from gathering.

“Good, and who are you? I will know the name of those I exchange with.”

I had told him my tale, I might as well give him my name. “Basira of Sota’s Gate. I will bring a balestone and you will tell me of the blade. And if you have nothing to tell me then I will take the blade and keep the stone, known?”

Roll: Endure Stress, parting with the blade, 2 seems reasonable – Strong Hit, Shake it Off

He had already stepped inside his workshop, scabbard in hand, to tend to his forge and begin his work. The barter was over and I was now removed from both the blade and Pella. Isolated and helpless, I returned to Cera’s grounds, where the day was about to go from bad to worse. 

---

“Would you care to tell me why?”

I did not understand. When I had returned to Cera’s grounds, Verena had been waiting for me, a cruel smile across her lips. She demanded I follow, leading me through the longhouse and past the hearth to Cera, seated atop her arbitor’s stool. I had never seen an arbitor’s stool before. It was simple, three legs, all wood. Not meant for rest or comfort, meant for passing judgment, attentive and inarguable. It sat upon a tall tiered platform so though Cera, who was shorter than me, was seated, she towered over me. She looked disappointed. She looked terrifying. So this was the authority of a clan chief, that of a clan chief’s daughter. Her eyes narrowed at my confused silence before repeating herself, her voice deep and firm now, reverberating through the hall.

“I would know why. Why on the morning after you swear banner to me and are told of future task, you would rush to meet the swordsmith. A man who, after the truce was broken, accepted commission from Sayer and has been traveling to and from their woodcamp for days? I would know if you have betrayed me!?”

I was startled by the accusal, I had not realized I had done anything wrong.

I stumbled, “I…I needed to speak to him of my blade.”

She glanced down to my belt, as if just noticing the blade was no longer there.

“And did you know he was under Sayer’s employ?”

I‘d known but had not connected the threads. “I did…but I needed to see him. He is the only swordsmith I know of.”

Leaning forward, her voice grew quiet but callous. “So knowing he was Sayer’s man, you snuck away to see him, and you thought this would go unnoticed?”

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, convince Cera I’m not a spy – Weak Hit; Endure Stress – Miss (this filled my failure track)

The insinuation hurt, she felt slighted and so I would be made to feel slighted. But I would not cower. I was recovering now, finding my footing. My fluster melted as the indignation ignited.

“Snuck away!? Unnoticed!? I do not skulk!” I glared at Verena. Had she followed me? Had she sent someone to follow me? Turning back to Cera, “I have trusted your words as truth but you would still treat me as an assassin, a spy? I hide nothing. I had business of my own, about my blade. It did not involve you or Sayer.”

Cera sat upright at my outburst. Startled by my defiance and my anger, as if no one had ever spoken to her in such manner. Verena tensed up, readying to physically intervene. Cera quickly collected herself though and, matching my tone, continued, almost at a yell.

“Then if you are no spy, if you hide nothing, explain yourself!”

Roll: Learn From Your Failures (full track) – Strong Hit, Make an Oath

Advance: Purchase Asset – Honorbound (+2 Turn the Tide, +1 Momentum on Hit)

Advance: Upgrade Asset – Honorbound, (+1 to Secure Advantage or Compel by telling a hard truth, +1 Momentum on Hit)

I hadn’t previously really thought of getting Honorbound as an asset. But when my failure track filled up, it felt like an appropriate time to make the Learn From Your Failures move as this scene was the culmination of a string of failed social rolls around navigating politics, allegiances, and secrets. It seemed like a logical breaking point for Hob to quit trying to play those games, she was no good at them anyways and the missteps were compounding. If that was the lesson learned, then dumping my XP into getting the hard truths upgrade for Honorbound really seemed to fit with Hob’s realization that she needed to be an unapologetically open book going forward.

Roll: Compel, Heart, re-earn trust, Honorbound +1 – Weak Hit

We were both yelling now, but I would not budge. I was sick of The Threes’ complicated webs of loyalties. I was sick of the Sustainers secrets. I was sick of trying to navigate the port’s politics and intrigues. I was sick of never knowing if I was saying too much or too little. I would not skulk, in deeds, nor words, nor motives. I had been flailing since the moment I’d arrived in Autumnrush and I was done doing so. I needed to push forward, with honesty and purpose, or I would find nothing but further failures.

“I am explaining myself! I approached Cadigan so he might examine my blade. The blade I found on a washed ashore corpse. The blade that speaks to me. The blade that demands blood. The blade that seeks its true owner. The swordsmith may know why these things are so and so now he has the blade and I will need to acquire a balestone to exchange for his appraisal.”

Cera looked like she was about to respond but I continued, not giving her the chance to speak. No longer at a yell but almost.

“The reason I left the Gate, the reason I joined with the Sustainers, was all to get me to Autumnrush so I could speak with that man. The only reason I stand here now is because the blade brought me here to do so. 

“So you will need to learn, I am sworn to you but I am not your vassal, owing you a share of my labor. I am not your bodyguard, having been tasked with your safety from birth. I stand under your banner because I believe your motives serve the settlement and they serve those I love in the camp. But I am not your hound. I am not to be collared. I have my own tasks that do not run counter to yours and I will pursue them as I see fit.”

I had run out of breath. 

“There, that’s your explanation. I will be your voice and your hand but I cannot do so shackled.”

Cera stared at me. Not in shock but contemplation. Verena was still tense, waiting for the order to act. I knew I had overstepped, nay, overleaped. I waited for the situation to escalate further, unsure how I would react. Cera finished her deliberation and leaned forward again. Her voice was calm now, composed and candid.

“I’m satisfied that you are no spy. A spy would not risk the consequences of taking that tone with me. I’m not yet convinced this will work though. That our threads will always run parallel to each other and our purposes will never cross. That one does not need to usurp the other. That one will not consume the other.”

Without the blade, I had no iron. But I placed my hand on my belt, where the hilt should have been, and vowed. “You will be convinced. Our successes will be your confirmation and you will grow to trust me as an ally, not as a servant.”

Roll: Swear an Iron Vow, Convince Cera to trust me and my autonomy (Banner-sworn asset does not benefit yet), Troublesome – Miss, press on, complication – Verena is actively working against me, to what ends or limits? I will need to convince her before I can truly win Cera over.

Cera shrugged, rising from the arbitor’s stool and descending the platform

“We shall see. For now, prepare yourself. I would like you to approach Lio tonight.”

And then, an afterthought as she strode past me.

“And Basira, in case you were considering it, do not ask him for a balestone. I would not want your request to be confused as mine. That would run counter to and impede my purpose and put us at odds with each other. If your task goes well, we will discuss acquiring one upon your return.”

The thought had crossed my mind, the Guide of the Reach likely having the easiest access to balestones out of all within Autumnrush, but I was thankful Cera had so clearly warned me away from that path and those repercussions.

As Cera left the hall, I turned to Verena. She was still tense, a haughty glare, disappointed with the argument’s outcome.

“Next time, you might just ask instead of prowling and watching, good?”

A huff and a puffed out chest were her only answer, before storming back out of the longhouse to the grounds. She was a problem that I would need to address soon. I had little chance of regaining Cera’s trust without first finding truce with her childhood bodyguard. Another pressing matter, I would need to find some sort of weapon. I hoped I would not need one before retrieving the blade but, those days, I was finding my hopes weren’t frequently realized.

Having accepted task from Cera of Longbridge in order to keep the Sustainer camp supplied, Hob gets a chance to stretch her legs in the big city and prove her worth.

---

Roll: Swear an Iron Vow, Humiliate Reese the Free Warden, Troublesome – Weak Hit

Roll: Gather Information, locate Reese at the docks – Strong Hit

Mark Progress: Humiliate Reese – Locate Reese

That had to be Reese. There were many large men along the docks but none other with that scar, from an old axe wound to his bald head. Judging by the size of the scar, the blow should have been fatal. A testament to the thickness of his skull, hopefully not so thick that he could not still learn a lesson.

He was older, but not so old that his strength appeared to be waning. He was still a head taller than me and probably twice my weight. I eyed the long knife and axhandle hanging from his belt. My hand was pulled to my hilt, but I knew this time I could not answer the blade’s call. I did wonder if I could even achieve the task without its aid though.

Roll: Oracle, Does Reese have a companion, 50/50 – Yes

There was a woman with him. Both were casually leaning against barrels as they watched and sneered at the crew unloading goods from a nearby trade ship. I could not tell her age, she was weathered though, experienced. She carried a bow on her back (something I had not yet seen within Autumnrush) and a matching axhandle hung from her belt.

The two looked how I’d imagined free wardens were supposed to look. Intimidating and functional, none of the flashy jewelry and bright colors worn by Brynn. As I’d heard it though, they acted more like the way Brynn presented himself, like raiders. They had attempted to take advantage of the recent political turmoil and unrest to carve out their own shakedown. Not levies, everyone knew that independent ‘taxing’ would draw a response from any of The Three, but protection. Apparently they had grown tired of the long voyages, escorting ships along the coast or boats upriver, and decided it was easier to just offer their ‘protective services’ to ensure that goods made it from ship to warehouse, a perilous journey spanning whole dozens of yards.

The two’s menacing glances towards the crew and the axhandles on their belts confirmed the truth of what I’d been told. The agreements were coerced and their extortions needed to be answered in their outset, before they grew to threaten Longbridge’s interests.

As Cera had bluntly explained to me that morning (something refreshing after having spent weeks under the shadows of the Sustainers’ secrets), “I need Reese’s antics stopped. But moreso, I need to remind Sayer that I will not tolerate a return to the old levies or anything similar. I also need to demonstrate to Lio that I value security, despise chaos, and thus would not have been responsible for the attempt on his life and the uncertainties resulting.

“Basira, you’re an unknown. If you win, ideal. I will learn your capabilities and others will realize that you are an extension of my power once they later see you by my side. If you lose, then I’ll have to find some other use for you, one not seen at my side. But either way, this will not be a failure for me.”

I flashed a questioning glance across the docks towards Kormak, the hard eyed man from Cera’s bodyguard, who had been sent along to witness but not interfere. He nodded, confirming it was indeed Reese, so I took a deep breath and made my approach.

“I didn’t think they tolerated raiders here!”

I advanced on him, a swift pace.

The two of them looked up, startled, not sure at first if I was addressing them until I was too close to react.

“You do not belong here, marauder!” and then I spit in his face.

Roll: Compel, Iron, incite a fistfight – Weak Hit

Unsurprisingly, it worked. By the time Reese had finished wiping his face, shock had shifted to rage. What I hadn’t considered was that it would also incite his partner. She shoved me hard in the shoulder, forcing me back, and took a step forward, reaching for the axhandle on her belt.

“You’re going to regret that, girl.”

The blade screamed for my hand.

Shit! Things were escalating too quickly. I didn’t want to kill them, just humiliate. Cera had specifically said “no maiming or deaths”, as that would only heighten the port’s tension and hasten The Three towards war. Beyond that, I didn’t truly think they were as bad as raiders, not worthy of that fate (or at least the fate of all the raiders I had yet crossed). Also, they looked seasoned. I was alone, he was large, and she was swift to violence. I wasn’t confident I could fight the two at once, blade or not.

“No!” I yelled at the woman before turning back to Reese. “You, old man. I challenged you!” I pulled the scabbard and blade from my belt and tossed it aside. The cries swelled as it left my hand, pleading to be drawn.

Roll: Draw the Circle, Heart, Dangerous – Strong Hit, hold no iron, grant first strike

Mark Progress: Humiliate Reese – Convince him to a fair fight

He shook. His eyes flared at the insult but he still seemed confused.

“You!” I pointed at him. “Show them how little your services are worth. How feeble you’ve become.”

Reese may not have understood why I had just spit in his face and challenged him to draw the circle, but I had indeed just spit in his face and insulted him, and that was enough for him, so he accepted. He pulled his knife and axhandle from his belt and dropped them to his feet. The woman stepped back, respecting the challenge, but did not remove her hand from her cudgel. Then Reese stomped forward and, without a word, swung his large fist for my skull.

Roll: Clash – Strong Hit, +1 harm (I have been rolling really well so far this session)

I’m not considered fast on my feet, but my arms react. As if he wielded an axe and I was with my blade and shield, I stepped into his reach to weaken his swing and deflected the blow with my shield arm. And then I struck, thrust my fist into his left eye. He yelped in pain and reeled back.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Miss => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit, Swordmaster +2 harm, +1 to next move (I bent the rules since I technically should not be able to use the Swordmaster asset on account of not wielding a sword. I felt like I had previously justified it in the fiction though by linking her unarmed fighting style to sword fighting analogues. When GMing, I really enjoy it when players do these kinds of narrative tricks and always try to mechanically reward them for their effort so I thought it was fair.)

I knew I had to act. A man that could survive an axe blow to his head would soon recover from a punch to the eye. If he came at me again, more cautiously but with his full weight and longer arms, I wasn’t sure I would be able to repeat the maneuver. So I advanced and pressed my advantage. I lunged and leapt, slamming my shield arm against his neck and punching over it with my sword arm, into his jaw.

Roll: End the Fight – Strong Hit

Mark Progress: Humiliate Reese – Humiliate him

The blow to his jaw stunned him. He collapsed to his knees before gasping for air from the bash to his throat.

I turned to the woman, still gripping the axhandle on her belt.

Loud enough so that the crew, who had stopped to watch the fight, could hear, “You see? If you act like a raider, you will be put down like one. Good?”

I hoped she would respect the challenge, even after her partner had been humiliated, but I wanted to make it clear that if she did not, she would be treated similarly.

Roll: Compel, Iron, Threaten – Miss (darn it)

It didn’t work, it probably made things worse.

“I don’t know who sent you here, child. Or how it is you thought you could attack my partner, could threaten me, claim win, and then just walk away without finding your skull cracked.”

I thought she had more to say, she didn’t. Instead, she pulled the axhandle from her belt and indeed tried to crack my skull. 

Roll: Enter the Fray, Kimura the Tracker, Dangerous, Wits, ambush – Weak Hit, +2 momentum

I realized she was about to strike just before she did so. I was unarmed but could not retreat, if I fled it would undo the shame I had inflicted upon Reese. I would need to humble her as well. I looked to the blade, too far away and too lethal. Then I saw Reese’s discarded cudgel and knife at my feet, where he had dropped them for the challenge. As she raised her club, I dropped to grab Reese’s and defend myself.

Roll: Face Danger, Edge – Weak Hit; Endure Harm – Strong Hit, Embrace the Pain

I reached the axhandle but as I grasped it, she brought her’s down on me, thwacking my sword arm. I cried out and leapt backward, retreating outside of her reach. I nursed the impact with my other hand. It hurt but it was a quick blow, not a strong one. I could still swing my cudgel.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Miss => Burn Momentum, Weak Hit

I charged at her, aggressively. But Reese’s axhandle was too short, weighted poorly for reversing. This was the first time I had fought without the blade since leaving the Gate, I now realized other weapons did not so naturally arc towards a foe, towards their blood within. At first my assault forced her back. I got lucky and whacked her thigh as she retreated. Then, she counterattacked and I learned just how much better at wielding a cudgel she was than I, both more swift and skillful.

Roll: Face Danger, Wits – Weak Hit; Endure Stress – Weak Hit

I retreated, trying to observe her. She was so fast, using the force of each swing to carry her club around into a backhanded swing, and then a forward swing, and then another backhand. It was too many blows, too quick. I was used to spears and axes, nothing this sustained. I continued to step back, if I retreated much further, I might as well have started running. So I braced myself and tried to hold my ground, to step into the onslaught of blows, to interrupt it.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Weak Hit; Endure Harm – Weak Hit

I breathed, stepped forward and swung, and blunted her advance, but got banged up in the process. She paused for a moment and then renewed her assault. This time I did not retreat.

Roll: Clash, Iron – Strong Hit, +1 Harm

I tried to close with her, same as I had with Reese, get inside of her attacks. It worked and she was forced to step back again, wincing from strikes to her forearm and shoulder.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit; Clash, Iron – Strong Hit, +1 Momentum

I continued to advance. She was too skilled for me not to embrace my momentum now and expect to have another opportunity in the future. This was my one chance to end it. She blocked my blows and tried to respond but my previously connected strikes were taking their toll, her arm was slower and weaker than before. And I was now swinging my club with both hands, blow after blow after blow. Pummeling her axhandle until I knocked it from her hand and then, smashing her shoulder and arm and ribs and thigh again, I forced her to her knees.

Roll: End the Fight – Weak Hit, Kimura won’t forget – marked for vengeance (oooooohhh, interesting)

“See!?” I panted and stood over her. “I told you I would put you down like a raider! You were warned!”

She nursed her ribs with her less injured arm. Glaring up at me, eyes boiling. “I won’t forget you, girl.”

“Good, don’t forget, remember what happened here.”

I turned away. Reese had by now caught his breath but was still thoroughly defeated. He stood wheezing, eye already beginning to close, angry but ashamed that he was incapable of acting on his anger unless he sought further humiliation.

Mark Progress: Humiliate Reese – Humiliate his partner, Kimura, as well

Roll: Fulfill Your Vow, Humiliate Reese the Free Warden, Troublesome – Strong Hit

Roll: Oracle, Do extorted crew express relief/gratitude, 50/50 – No, they play it safe

I looked around, the crew of the extorted ship, actually everyone within sight, was watching. All were doing their best not to react to the spectacle. They didn’t know who I was, maybe I was just some rival of Reese, no better, just the next one to offer ‘protection’. Even if they assumed the best of me, any sign of joy might result in reprisals from Reese and his companion once I’d left.

I felt like I should say something. It’s hard not to when dozens are watching you. I couldn’t stand the silence so I repeated myself, louder than before.

“Do you see? Any that would act as a raider, like these two have, will be treated as one!”

It didn’t break the silence. One hundred quiet eyes. All just watching. So I discarded the axhandle and retrieved the blade from the dust where I had thrown it, still calling to be drawn. And then, as composed as I could muster, I walked past Kormak, the hard-eyed witness, nodding as I did so, and left the docks. Making a clear path directly up the Bas to the Overlook and Cera’s grounds. I had done as tasked and so had no reason to conceal who it was that had tasked me.

---

I did not see Cera immediately, she was unavailable and I was not trusted enough to be told whether that meant she was away or just busy. I returned to the modest bed that had been assigned to me that morning, where I had left my shield and pack. It was in a smaller longhouse (well, smaller than Cera’s residence) by the river dock. It appeared to be used as temporary lodging for the boat crews from Longbridge while they were conducting exchange in Autumnrush. In light of the recent turmoil, it was full, as few wanted to stay in the port proper. I took this to mean that Cera cared for her extended kin’s refuge enough that it outweighed the safety concerns of allowing so many strangers on the grounds. She was not threatened by them. As I learned in my journeys since, this trust made her uncommon. Many of the large clan chiefs in the Havens would not take such risks during such dangerous times.

Roll: Heal, Iron – Strong Hit

Soon after I settled, Willa, the grounds healer, came to find me. She was wary of me, distrusting strangers out of her loyalty to Cera. A matronly loyalty, protective and suspicious. Nevertheless, she tended to my arm and other bruises, thankfully just bruises, applying a paste that numbed the pain and smelled vile. 

Eventually, after dusk, Kormak retrieved me. He said little but led me to the docks where I had first met Cera the day prior. This time there was no riverboat being inventoried. Just her, waiting to speak with me. It had reached the point in summer where the nights were becoming warmer. The sky was clear so the waning moon was still bright. I grew self-conscious about the stench from Willa’s pungent paste. If I could smell it so strongly, others would as well. Thankfully the breeze was in my favor, carrying the stink upriver and away from Cera. I could not and still cannot place what she smelled like though, pleasant but biting. Like command.

Kormak had already briefed her on what had transpired at the docks. She was pleased. I’m unsure why, but it made me happy to know she was pleased. Not in the same way I rejoiced when I brought Pella to laughter. This was an impersonal joy, as if the magnetism of her satisfaction forced those around her to share in her contentment.

“Thank you, Basura, you have exceeded my expectations and I am grateful for it. You are indeed as capable with your arms as you are with your words.”

I blushed. I frequently blushed at praise but something about Cera of Longbridge being the one to give it made it even more impactful. She continued.

“That said, I already have a capable bodyguard, my father’s, most since I was a child. They are steady and competent. Many say that one can never have enough reliable and loyal sentries when war announces its approach but, more important to me, is knowing someone who can speak for me when needed. Another voice and hand that is not already tied to my person.

“You came to me as another’s proxy and I wish to make you mine for what is about to pass. I need someone that can argue or speak for me when I am unable to attend. When it is too dangerous for me to attend. Someone that wields similar sway, that is not readily dismissed or ignored. Someone that demands respect and attention.

“So what say you, Ironsworn? Will you stand under my banner?”

I was startled by the offer. I had not known Cera more than a day and had assumed my commitment to her would be temporary, just until tensions in the port loosened or the Sustainers finished their task and no longer needed her aid. But I liked being around her already. I liked how she, someone brandishing such authority, spoke to me as if an equal. I liked how she talked to me plainly. How she clearly stated what she asked of me and explained to me why it was important. I liked how me helping her ensured Pella and the Sustainers got the support that they needed. But mostly, I think I just liked sharing her presence, being in proximity to something larger. So I agreed, I wanted to be closer to this bigger thing, this larger purpose, whatever it was.

“Aye, I will stand under your banner in what is to come, Cera of Longbridge.”

Roll: Forge a Bond, Cera of Longbridge – Weak Hit = Reroll – Weak Hit, asks something more

Purchase Asset: Banner Sworn (this was not an asset I expected this character to ever acquire. It seemed so at odds with wherever the unknowns of her personal vow would take her. The opportunity seemed too interesting to pass up though. I’m excited to see where it leads, how it might impact existing bonds, and whether it will end in conflict, if Cera’s will ever interferes with the blade’s goals. — Also, I technically can’t get it yet until I mark the bond with Cera, but narratively it made more sense to purchase it here. So I won’t use any of the mechanical benefits until the bond is marked. And if shit goes bad while fulfilling the request, then I guess the stakes are probably higher now.)

She flashed a grin, the grin of someone just getting what they wanted. Whether she expected my assent or just felt entitled to it, I could not say.

“Ideal.” She continued, “As my voice, I will need you to approach Lio. To introduce yourself as my proxy. I need you to gauge him, see if he sees me as a threat, whether he will act against me. And, if possible, I need you to try and convince him that I was not behind the attack. That doing so would have run counter to everything I hope to achieve. In his heart, he knows it was not me, but he will need me, well you, to state as much.”

Roll: Swear and Iron Vow, Approach Lio and convince him that Cera wishes to uphold the truce, Dangerous – Strong Hit

“But first, I would like the news from the docks to spread. I would like it to be known that Basira, ally to Cera, was the one who humbled Reese before you approach Lio in my name. So, while we wait, I want you to move into the longhouse among the other bodyguard.” Then louder so the hard-eyed man, again waiting at a respectful distance, could hear. “Kormak will find you a room.”

It seemed like a signal that the conversation was concluded so I retrieved my pack and shield from the crew house and followed Kormak into the longhouse proper. He led me to an actual room, small but comfortable, and abruptly left me to settle in. I was exhausted, sore from repeated strikes from an axhandle, drained from the audience with Cera, and my mind dulled by how much had changed in the last day. I was overwhelmed by where these choices might lead me. So I slept.

And that is how I became Basira ‘Hob’ of Sota’s Gate, Bannersworn to Cera of Longbridge.

Roll: Sojourn – Weak Hit, Consort +2 Spirit

Hob and Perella finally leave camp and enter Autumnrush proper to gather information and ensure resupply for the Sustainers.

---

Roll: Compel, Heart – Weak Hit

“Keep your eyes on this one, Hob. She’s got a wayward soul and you never know when she might climb a hill to get a closer look at some shiny metal pillars and forget all about you, never to be seen or heard from again.” chuckled Brynn, watching Pella for a reaction.

“Well I’m visiting you now, aren’t I?” She didn’t even raise her eyes. Just continued drawing her third line, concealed behind her Praga bowl.

They were clearly old friends, though I couldn’t quite tell how old. They’d been pleasantly sniping at each other since we had found him in the Grain Market, “where he’s always at”, on the edges, where the stalls thin and the elderly and idle play games. Brynn was not elderly though, the opposite in fact, young and strong. But he did look idle, chronically idle. He had introduced himself as a free warden, one of those wandering mercenaries, but he looked more like a raider to me, equal parts rags and flashing jewelry.

When we’d found Brynn, Pella had embraced him and asked what she’d missed while she was away. He had insisted on a few draws of Praga first. I was familiar with the game but had never played. Hearing this, he had announced that he would teach me. Thankfully, Pella, my savior, had instead demanded a rematch for their last clash, when Brynn had either brilliantly outmaneuvered her or cheated to win, depending on who told the tale. So I watched.

In Sota’s Gate the old men had simply called it Clash. There were three draws to a clash, representing the front, middle, and rear lines of a warband. Hidden behind special bowls (open on one side for the player to draw through), the players marked symbols in the dirt. Each symbol representing a monster or warrior, each type of warrior cancelling and being cancelled by other types of warriors. After they had both finished choosing their warriors, they would remove their bowls and reveal their lines to each other, before moving on to their next draw, adjusting their subsequent choices to counter the opponent’s previous line. After all of the draws and the rear lines had been revealed, the warbands would be tallied. Whichever player had the most uncountered forces won. Pella and Brynn used different symbols than the old men of the Gate though. Elves, giants, and trolls in place of krakens, ships, and merrow. I’d heard of other versions too, even one that used the heroes and champions of the old stories. That one I might have liked to have learned.

“Done” announced Pella and they both revealed their final draw. They quickly mentally tallied before Pella whooped in victory and Brynn groaned in defeat. I was still trying to figure out which symbol represented what. I was pretty sure her rear line had been full giants, which maybe countered his trolls? I wasn’t certain though.

Pella did not gloat and so Brynn recovered from his loss quickly, standing and brushing the dirt from his legs. “Now then, to the gossip?”

Roll: Gather Information – Strong Hit

He knew much. He had an answer to every question and followed every question with one of his own. It felt almost like an exchange, a trade, like he was collecting information. But he was helpful. He was aware that I was a newcomer and so gave thorough answers for my benefit. I had no idea what the Sustainers would consider to be sensitive information so I let Pella answer most of his questions. She told him where the Piercing Swan had traveled to, specifically naming Wyvern’s Rest and the Desolate Beacon, and related some of the trials that we had faced. I noticed she made no mention of the caverns under the Beacon, or Kodroth, or the carvings. Brynn asked many follow up questions about Haf’s ship, its escaped sister, and the boar tattoos. Pella nodded to me that it was ok, so I answered freely (having been in the thick of that fight). For each of his questions though, we got one in return, and so I walked away from the conversation feeling like I had gained the faintest grasp of how Autumrush functioned, why it functioned, and who administered its function.

Brynn confirmed that all within Autumnrush were indeed anxiously awaiting a renewal of conflict between The Three. How that would play out? No one knew. Before the truce, underhanded maneuvers and skirmishes had not been uncommon. But it had never escalated to attempts on each other’s lives. Further, no one knew who was behind the attack on Lio the Guide, as the assassin, slain during the attempt, had been an outsider. So no one had any clue as to what might come next and everyone prepared for the worst, including The Three themselves.

Then questions moved on to The Three as individuals. Pella had known a little, but she had been on Pillar Hill for so long that she had become disconnected from the port’s politics, and thus there was still much for both of us to learn. 

Lio had been elected as Guide by the Western Reach, the loose coalition of circles along the western shores of the Ragged Coast. As Guide, he oversaw trade negotiations for the numerous Reach merchants that exchanged goods in Autumnrush (as all ships eventually made their way here). I had known there was some loose thread connecting the circles along the Reach, to the north and west of the Gate, but I had not known they were so formally aligned that they elected representatives. I also had not known that the thread that joined them was balestones. Those  stones, foraged along the interior of that region, that burned hot and slow and were in high demand in the forges and smelters to the north. Stones so valuable that the disparate settlements of the Reach had realized the necessity for a communal representative in Autumnrush, a Guide to ensure that the traders and their circles were not exploited or played against each other. As the Port did have a reputation for such things. 

As Brynn spoke, my mind wandered to Elstan. His ship had been returning from Autumnrush when they were ambushed at Stoneharbor. Had they been trading balestones? Whitbarrow was along the Reach after all. I hoped he had made it home.

Then, onto Sayer the Shipbuilder. Brynn didn’t have too much to say except Sayer’s claim to Autumnrush was old, from the arrivals. Well, not much nice to say, at least. Sayer’s family had stepped off the first ships and been building new ones ever since, while also taking their cut from everything and everyone that passed through the port. Levies negotiated by axehandle. So they’d naturally been at odds with Lio and Cera’s arrivals and their subsequent attempts to end those profitable traditions.

Then finally, to Cera of Longbridge. I noticed Pella had not asked about Cera outright, had waited until the end, when it would seem only natural to inquire about the third after asking of the other two. She had taken care not to make it obvious to Brynn that we had a particular interest in Cera. She was clever, but he was clever as well. I didn’t understand why such old friends could not be candid with each other but knew there must be a reason, so I kept my mouth shut and I listened.

Cera resided in one of the longhouses on the Overlook, along the river Bas in the northern limits of settlement. Brynn had even been able to point it out to us, large enough that it was barely visible in the distance, almost to where the hills met mountains. It is said that her father, the Clan chief of Longbridge, had sent his daughter, along with the better part of his bodyguard, to Autumnrush to protect their interests, namely the vast quantities of grain and livestock that were sent down the Bas to be shipped across the Barrier Islands and Ragged Coast. She had settled on the outskirts so that she may inspect and inventory every boat arriving from the Havens before it entered the port. Inventories that could then be compared with the goods after they were warehoused to ensure no “taxing” had occurred between her grounds and docks.

Brynn had no opinion as to who was behind the attack on Lio. Lio and Cera were natural rivals, reminded of that rivalry every time they sparred over a balestone or grain negotiation. And Sayer resented the both of them, embracing any opportunity to displace them and reclaim domination over the port. Brynn did offer that he had always assumed it would be Cera and Sayer to break the truce, their bitterness towards each other was well known. He had been surprised that Lio had been the one targeted.

Mark Progress: Resupply the Camp – Locate Cera and gather information on The Three

All parties exhausted of questions, or at least having exhausted the answers they were willing to give, Brynn embraced Pella and bid us farewell.

As we left, Pella, as if she had just remembered a minor curiosity (I honestly could not tell you if this was intentional or truly an afterthought), “Oh yeah, Brynn. Do you know where we could find Cadigan the Swordsmith’s workshop?”

“Oh where you would expect. Just west of here, Torren’s Square, with the other smiths and artisans. You might not find him there though and, to be honest, you might want to put off finding him altogether. He’s been spending time at Sayer’s lumber camp to the west. My guess is that Sayer thinks commissioning a sword fit for a clan chief might mean they get to start acting like one.”

Pella and I shared a look, this was unwelcome news but we could figure it out later.

And his question in return, the unspoken rule still applying, “Why do you seek him?”

Pella responded before I could open my mouth, “Hob wants an appraisal.” Not a lie, I guess, if not the full truth.

Brynn glanced at the blade on my belt. “Ahh, of course. Well I hope it is worth the value you seek.” and returned to the old men, no doubt looking for another opponent to clash with.

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Find location of Cadigan the Swordsmith

I was relieved when we finally passed from earshot and could speak plainly. 

“Is that man a raider?”

She grinned, “No, well not presently at least.”

“So he’s actually a free warden?”

“He’s an old friend and is indeed a free warden, or was once. Why he spends all his time playing Praga with the old men these days instead of plying his trade is anyone’s guess? Feels like the seas and roads are just as dangerous as they’ve always been, there are just as many in need of escort.”

“Is he a spy?” I knew they existed in the stories but those spies were all members of some clan chief’s council or some warchief’s bodyguard, not untasked wardens playing dusty games with dusty old men.

She chuckled and shrugged, “Maybe?”

Then, I’m not sure why I chose that moment to ask but I wanted to know and I wanted to know if she knew. “Pella, did Mira or Teegan tell you about the journal? How Mira, we, were actually seeking Kodroth the Bitter?”

“Ahhh, yes. They did after we returned. I’m glad they told you.”

I knew it couldn’t have been the case but it was still a relief to hear confirmation that she hadn’t lied to me back on the Swan, when I had asked what awaited us at the Beacon and she responded that she did not know.

I continued, “Does it bother you that they didn’t tell you what we were searching for until after we’d already found it?”

“Of course it does, no one likes being left in the dark. But to be honest, I think they were afraid to let on that they didn’t actually know what they were doing. Now, they act like it was the plan all along but I don’t think they really had any clue where Kodroth had ended up or what we might find. It was an act of desperation that bore fruit. Neither of them would likely admit how little they knew, how little control of the situation they have, but searching for the unknown is always preferable to staying home and waiting for rivals to find it instead, right? So yeah, it bothers me, but I make do and look to what comes next.”

I could not stop myself and I regretted the words as I spoke them. 

“But why didn’t you tell me when you found out? Were you ordered not to?”

“I…I’m sorry,” she looked away, eyes slowly lowered, “it was not my choice to make.”

Roll: Endure Stress (young love is enduring stress after a strong hit) – Miss, -1 momentum

I knew I  should not have asked, there was no answer to that question that would not have caused pain. It was foolish and selfish to do so. She was a Sustainer and I was not. She had codes I did not understand and loyalties that superseded those with outsiders, friends or not.

We walked on in silence until we reached the river and the road leading up into the Overlook.

“I’ll wait here for you?” Pella cautiously offered.

I almost told her no, that I would prefer to meet her back at the camp, before I realized that I wasn’t confident I could find my way back, through the market and maze of tight streets, without getting lost.

“Thanks. ”An awkward forced smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

She gave a weak smile in return, finally raising her penitent eyes to mine. And then I left, up the hill to the Overlook to find Cera of Longbridge and then… well after I found her, I wasn’t actually sure what I planned to do or say.

---

The longhouses grew larger the higher I climbed. The Overlook was where the old families resided, those who had settled during first landing and thrived with Autumnrush over the generations since. I passed a half dozen of these houses, each taller than the last, before I reached my destination, the largest of all, Cera of Longbridge’s. It was more than just a longhouse and grounds, it was almost a circle in itself, with additional smaller buildings and huts, it’s own dock along the river Bas, and grounds large enough to field a warband. Even ignoring its size, the longhouse stood out from those of Autumnrush’s elder kin. It wielded the prosperity of the Havens. Its form and corners were harder, less rounded and flowing. It was excessively ornate, the exaggerated ridge piece and corner frames carved and painted along the entire height and length of the structure. I spotted a large carven azure wolf and a chiseled vermillion wyvern before I even reached the grounds. Also, unlike the other longhouses I’d passed, this one had a bodyguard. 

A man with hard eyes and a proud looking woman.

“Hold! Name and purpose?”

“Basira, ‘Hob’ of Sota’s Gate.” I didn’t know whether it was safe to announce my full purpose as I specifically remembered the word “discreet” being used by Mira or Teegan when they had requested my aid. So I simply stated, “to see Cera of Longbridge.”

Roll: Compel, Heart – Miss; Pay the Price, lose momentum

The man’s hard eyes grew sharper. “An outsider here to see Cera?  Verena, wasn’t the man who attacked Lio an outsider?”

The proud looking woman nodded, “Aye, that’s what I heard.”

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Weak Hit, lose momentum

“You think I’m an assassin? Coming through the front door with the sun out?” I was surprised, surprised and offended. I saw that my words had impact though. Hard eyes flinched and composure faltered. They probably no longer thought I was a potential assassin but clearly had not appreciated being mocked.

Verena seemed to puff out her chest, proud and wounded. “An outsider is still suspect, and you’ve yet to give reason to let you pass.”

Roll: Compel, Heart, Storyweaver – Strong Hit, treating closer to a Weak Hit since this is the best Hob can recover from after the Miss at the beginning of the conversation

“I’m still suspect!? Hob of the Gate!? She who slew the raiders at Stoneharbor? Who slew the brood mother of Brokefall? She who faced the shadows below the Desolate Beacon and cut down Haf the Raidcaptain? I am not suspect!”

And then I spoke honestly, I did not know if it was the right choice but I could not lie, I would not lie. I was also proud and wounded.

“I come to Cera from the front like an Ironlander to speak to her of her obligations to the Sustainer camp and you would treat me as an assassin? One who skulks and hides!?”

I don’t know if they were actually impressed by my blustering (I mean, I felt what I felt at the time but it’s a little embarrassing to look back at) or just didn’t want to risk turning me away in case I might actually be someone of import, even if they had never heard of me.

“Fine, but not without your blade. There are assassins about.” The deflated but annoyed woman reached her arms out to receive it.

I didn’t like it, the blade didn’t either, but I could think of no other way to gain audience with Cera. Or at least no other way that didn’t involve skulking and hiding, things I had just asserted that I did not do. So I handed over the blade and they took me to her.

Mark Progress: Resupply the Camp – Get past the bodyguard

Cera of Longbridge was at her dock, overseeing the inventorying of a large riverboat that had just arrived from the Havens. While she watched from the dock, workers and crew scrambled across the boat, marking and noting goods. She was young, older than me, but still young. She looked how I’d imagined the princesses from the tales of the Old World, brandishing abundance in the same manner as her longhouse.

The man with the hard eyes approached her and spoke words I could not hear. Then the two bodyguard moved to a respectful distance and Cera turned her attention towards me.

“So I hear you wish to speak for the Sustainers? Mira sent you? I can see why she did not wish to approach me herself, afraid to be seen as taking a side. But still, the fact that you come in her stead is a disappointment.”

Roll: Secure an advantage, Heart – Miss => Burn Momentum – Weak Hit

I wasn’t particularly pleased to stand in Mira’s stead either but there I was. 

“Aye, I can understand why an ally’s hesitation would be disheartening. I know Mira did not intend slight though. She fears appearing involved would draw threats that might imperil their work. Work that she said you knew the value of.”

She nodded, “I do. I hope that she realizes that the lack of provision was not out of slight either. I have not forgotten about her, I’ve just been *gesturing at everything* distracted.” 

“I think she is aware of these distractions and is sympathetic. But she knows the other thing that would imperil their work is starvation. As Qamar the Untiring nourishes Morien’s Oxen, so that they may continue to lift the realm out of oblivion, the Sustainer camp needs food and wood to maintain their labors. She hoped that, like Qamar, you could resume supporting their efforts.”

Roll: Compel, Heart, Storyweaver – Miss, demand that costs you greatly (uh oh, whoopsie, shouldn’t have just burned all that momentum on the previous roll)

Her brow raised, “Qamar? Mira didn’t hope I’d be like Qamar, Mira believes him to be dead. You though? You follow the Old Gods? You are no Sustainer.”

And then her eyes flashed, the spark of newly realized opportunity.

“So, if you’re not a Sustainer, then you likely aren’t required for them to continue their work? I’m told you claim to be some fierce warrior. That remains to be seen but if Mira chose you as a proxy, you are trustworthy. And if Mira is unwilling to display her ties to me, her proxy must.”

I did not follow, apparently visibly. So she continued.

“You’ve approached me. If anyone was watching, you’d already have been seen to have chosen a side. Your friends need their supply and I need my allies close. Both needs must be satisfied. One cannot be assured without the other. You understand?” 

I did. I was startled by the condition. I did not like it but I, again, could think of no other way, I had made a vow. So I added my own conditions.

“I will not skulk with a blade. I will not strike those unworthy to be struck. Good?”

“I’m sure I’ll still find some use for you. Return to Mira, tell her that she will receive renewed shipment tomorrow. It’s nearing dusk, so collect what you might need and return in the morning. I will have task for you and I’ll need you to reside on the grounds, in case things escalate further.”

I would need to stay here, leave the Sustainer Camp? Leave Pella?

“I need to sleep here? Can I not stay at the camp and just answer when tasked?”

“The Sustainer camp? Of course not, at least not for now. I told you, I need my allies close. And don’t you think wandering back and forth between here and the camp runs counter to Mira’s hopes to obscure their ties to me?”

I wanted to argue further but no words came, she was right.

Mark Progress: Resupply the Camp – Convince Cera to renew shipments

Going into this conversation, I hadn’t even considered the possibility of a full miss on the compel roll (Hob having 3 Heart and a +1 bonus from Storyweaver and all) but afterwards, I was very pleased with how it played out and all the interesting ways that one single failed social roll might impact the character’s trajectory and bonds.)

So I collected my blade, left the grounds, and returned down the Overlook to Pella.

I found her kneeling over the river, building small boats from leaves and twigs. I hoped she had recovered from the shame and awkwardness of our parting. Her Sustainer secrets seemed so unimportant now.

She smiled at my approach. Then, seeing my troubled eyes, she rushed to me and asked how it went, if it had gone poorly.

I told her everything, what had transpired and how I felt about it. And I cried. She held me and told me it would be ok. That we would still be able to see each other. That this was only a temporary separation. It  would resolve soon and I would be back in her tent before we knew it. I listened. I believed her. And the sobbing faded.

We returned to the camp and found Mira in Teegan’s tent. They had been awaiting my return. I reported on the meeting and agreement. That the supply would renew under the condition that I serve Cera in what was about to come. Mira seemed displeased but not surprised. They thanked me for my efforts and then thanked me again for the additional labors that I would carry so that they may remain, that their work might continue. Teegan reconfirmed they owed me a great debt. It was more than words, it was a promise of repayment. A favor owed. I would remember it.

Mark Progress: Resupply the Camp – Inform Mira and Teegan of arrangement

Roll: Fullfill Your Vow, Resupply the Camp – Strong Hit

And so I spent my final night in the Sustainer camp. My final night with Pella. And in the morning, I collected my things. Not many things. Just Haf’s shield; the band from Kaivana’s shield, salvaged after Haf had split the boards; the raider’s map of the eastern Barrier; and my new pack and camp supplies, acquired with the lapis ring that had been my share of the longship spoils to replace my old gear now lost to the seacave below the Beacon. And then I said my goodbyes, left the camp, and back at the base of the Overlook, I embraced and parted from Pella. We both smiled, we were hopeful. I’d see her soon.

Hob and the Sustainers’ arrival at Autumnrush felt like a big transition for the campaign. A new chapter, Part II, the mid-season finale. Partly because she had marked the first tick in her epic vow, but mainly because the tone of the game was inevitably about to shift. A treacherous voyage through the Barrier Islands and Ragged Coast would be replaced with a sprawling port city, the gate inland, and unknowable paths forward. Perella, Mira, and the crew of the Piercing Swan, along with the handful of passing characters from the smaller circles they’d passed through, would be joined by thousands of new people, each bringing their own goals and conflicts with them.

In light of all that, it made sense to set things aside for a time, allow the pieces to subconsciously percolate. I went back to the early journals to reread and polish a bit. And then decided to make a blog and include some of the rough sketches I had been drawing. By the time I returned to actually playing, it had become clear that I needed to do some groundwork setting the stage before Hob could set off and begin exploring it. There were a lot of gaps to fill in. So this first session in Autumnrush ended up being a pretty heavy info dump, a lot of oracle rolls and very few moves. I like how it played out though. The factions and rivalries promised to progress in unpredictable and hopefully interesting ways.

I also found myself in a situation where I could no longer avoid heavy social interaction, being in a city and all. When I GM, I have a joking rule with my players that in order for me to do NPC dialogue (when multiple NPCs are present), one of their characters needs to be part of the conversation since I refuse to to ‘talk to myself’ in front of them. If they just want to watch and witness the NPCs’ conversation without participating, I will just give a summary of what was said and how the conversation ended. So, since I had hang-ups about talking to myself, I started playing Ironsworn under the impression that solo play would not be able to replicate those no-action, full role-play downtime sessions that frequently occurred in the gaming groups I’ve been a part of. Entering Autumnrush, a scenario where most problems cannot best or, at least ethnically, be resolved with a blade, forced me to engage more with the social and I’m thankful for it. Ironsworn’s move set and brilliant oracles made it work. They made it fun, different than spontaneous collaborative roleplaying, but it still felt like I was playing a game moreso than it did a writing exercise.

Additionally, I had some mechanical choices to make regarding the XP I had accumulated (5 and more to come since my failure track, using the Delve optional rules, was almost filled). The obvious first choice was to upgrade the Shield-Bearer asset to help make Hob more survivable, purchasing the ability to sacrifice my shield to avoid harm. I toyed with taking Perella as a companion but it seemed too premature, not fair to either Hob or Perella. I wanted to see if their bond continued to strengthen after the shared trauma of a linear voyage was completed. Would Hob be swayed by the Sustainers’ worldview and convert? If not, what would happen when Hob’s goals diverged from those of the Sustainers? I toyed with upgrading Blade-Bound or purchasing some rituals that fit with the blood-stained blade (Keen or Visage maybe) but it didn’t make sense narratively to do so yet. So instead of choosing a 2nd advancement, I held on to the last three XP, waiting for that moment to arise further along Hob’s arc.

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How did we get here…

Hob, a brave yet untested young woman, left her home, Sota’s Gate, to seek answers about the blood-stained blade. After helping Elstan of Whitbarrow avenge his kin and crewmates by slaying a band of raiders led by a tide controlling mystic, Hob took up with Mira and the crew of the Piercing Swan, a ship of Sustainers (a sect of Iron Priests) on a divine expedition to the Desolate Beacon, one of the ancient Iron Pillars that predates the arrivals, in search of some unknown knowledge. En route, they assisted Brokefall, a settlement besieged by both marauding raiders and the encroaching wilds, clearing a brood of harrow spiders that had slain a foraging party. In the process, Hob began developing a relationship with Perella, a brash and confident Sustainer from the Hinterlands.

In the cavern network below the Desolate Beacon, Perella and Hob became separated from their comrades in the consuming darkness. They overcame a shifting ambushing mass, the stone collector, and eventually discovered the carving chamber and a strange journal containing notes and sketches of the runes carved on the Pillar. They rescued Mira and Mokhel from a stretched skeletal giant whose bones reassembled, and escaped the Beacon.

Soon after though, they were pursued by sea raiders. In battle, Hob defeated and slew Haf the Raidcaptain, allowing the Sustainers to take and sink his longship. In the stormy shoals of the Broken Isles, Hob’s spirit was shaken by the power and callousness of the Old Gods, but they overcame and reached Autumnrush, the Sustainers base camp and Hob’s original objective, hoping to find a swordsmith that might provide answers about the blade within the prosperous port. 

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Advance: Upgrade Asset – Shield-Bearer (sacrifice shield to avoid harm and take initiative)

Roll: Sojourn, Sustainers’ Camp – Strong Hit => Focus, Consort – Weak Hit; so many oracle rolls

After we arrived at Autumnrush, I stayed in the Sustainers’ camp for almost a week. They had welcomed me and I enjoyed the opportunity to rest and spend time with Pella (Yes, I had taken to a nickname. Yes, the nickname was after Pella the Bronze. Yes, it was dramatic and embarrassing. And no, she did not seem offended that I called her after a goddess she believed to be dead). Time with Pella that didn’t involve shadowy horrors, or harrow infested woods, or pitched battles with sea raiders. But if I’m honest with myself, I was avoiding leaving the comfort of my comrades to brave the overwhelming unknowns of Autumnrush. 

Pella and I were finally able to ask the questions we had held off during the expedition, to take time with the answers without being interrupted by task or crisis. She spoke a little of her family, she had a younger brother whom she had not seen since leaving the Hinterlands. She still dodged questions about why she had left Three Rivers to come south though. I did not push, I had no claim to those answers if giving them would bring her pain. But she did admit that an unfortunate event of some sort had made it so she was no longer welcome there. Her words implied exile but her eyes confessed fugitive. 

Pella was more than open about current topics though. She spoke of the Sustainers and their vision so frequently that I teased her for trying to convert me. She laughed in response but did not deny it. I quite enjoyed it, her spending so much effort trying to help me understand, to win me over. It meant she was fond of me, that she wanted us to share the even closer bond of faith. Her voice would grow excited, her speech flowery. I knew not how much of it was recitation and how much was her own words, but I did know I savored being her focus and the opportunity to see this side of her, more passion, less bravado.

“The Ironlands sustain us but we must learn to sustain ourselves. When the refugee ships arrived, she accepted them. But after, we spent generations trying to recreate the Old World in the new. We have faltered and stumbled, every failure driving us closer to downfall. The rules are different here. The only way to flourish is to learn the ways that they differ, to connect with her, find unity. We need knowledge, we need to learn her stories. Then, if we accept her truths, she will aid us, protect us, nourish us. The Ironlands gave us harbor when we were at our weakest. Before she can help us thrive though, she demands we be at our strongest.”

Her words resonated, the stories of the Old World were grand and plentiful but the new stories, since the arrivals, only spoke of struggle and scarcity. “Still, it’s hard for me to accept that the Gods are not eternal, that Ye Ranna the Unforgiving could somehow perish or wither. I don’t know.” 

“But you said it yourself, you said the Gods had turned against us, that they had wanted us to perish, shattered against the sea cliffs of those ‘Broken Isles’. And yet we, mortals, overcame them. If they are so mighty, so enduring, how did we escape their will? I prefer my truth, that the Ironlands tested us and, in embracing her challenge, we triumphed. She is preparing us, readying us for elevation. Accepting that, I can know no despair.”

I had no good response beyond, “I will think on this.”

When Pella wasn’t proselytizing, she asked about me. About Sota’s Gate, about Uncle Temir and Cousin Bastien, and then, about the blade and why I had left. I told her how I had found the blade. How it had still been on the belt of the warrior that washed ashore along the northern outskirts of the Gate, among the stones I had walked since childhood, since my parents had been taken by the sea, when I wanted solitude. How the body was bloated and unrecognizable, impossible to even tell how he had met his end. How the blade had not rusted. How the dark stains of blood had not been cleaned by the sea. I told her of the impulses and inexplicable knowledge that manifested after I had taken the blade. How I had known the bloated warrior was not its owner, that I was not its owner, that it sought its master still. And I told her how I had then made my farewells to my kin and left the Gate to find a swordsmith, to find answers. Autumnrush seeming like the best place to start.

Pella had asked to see it so I offered her the blade. Pulling it from the simple scabbard, her face pinched at the sight of the dried blood, Haf’s blood. She gave me a brief questioning look before turning it over and continuing her examination.

“It won’t allow me to clean it.” I awkwardly explained. Not much of an explanation, I realized.

After a brief study, she abruptly resheathed the blade and quickly handed it back. “Holding it makes me feel uneasy. Do you think it is cursed?”

“I do not know.”

“Well your instincts were right anyways, this is probably the place to find answers. There is a swordsmith here, though I’ve never met him. Cadigan. Son of Abella, who I also never knew. I’ve heard he’s skilled but petty, ambitious. It might take some convincing for him to give folk like us the time of day but I will help you find him whenever you are ready.”

I was surprised, having assumed it would be a harder task to find someone in a place of this size. But I guess a competent and ambitious artisan would likely not exactly be in hiding, would probably want his name known. I was also thankful, and I leapt up to embrace Pella, surprising her as well, and forgetting about her injured shoulder. It was healing from the trials below the Beacon but hadn’t mended past the point of tenderness. 

“Ouch.” “Oh no, I’m sorry.” “No, it’s ok, I was just startled.”

I had ruined the moment. I didn’t feel great about it. Intending to share joy but causing pain instead is never pleasant. Thankfully, I was absorbing so many novel sights and learning so much new information about Autumnrush, and the Sustainers, and the Pillar camps, and their Iron Priests, that I quickly forgot about my blunder, something I would have dwelled upon in my past life. 

Even with the healing shoulder, Pella still had duties though. Duties that I wasn’t invited to join since I was not a Sustainer. When I wasn’t with her, I wandered the camp, listened and asked questions, took in my surroundings, and tried to make sense of this weird place.

Roll: Gather Information – Strong Hit; so many more oracle rolls

There were dozens of camps on Pillar Hill, dozens of factions all vying for proximity and access to the Twin Pillars. In the center of the field, closest to and surrounding the Pillars, lay the camps of the three largest sects. The Sustainers, the Gray Sentinels, and the Resurrectors, those who had arrived first. 

Only through Pella’s passionate and patient teachings had I started to make sense of the Sustainers. The Gray Sentinels, on the other hand, were easy to figure out. They coincided with my previous assumptions about all Iron Priests. Simply put, they worshipped the Pillars. They claimed these new Gods (well, ancient gods but new to us, I guess) were bound by their domains, swaying and safeguarding the territories they overlooked. Localized deities and circle spirits were nothing new to me, these were just ones that could be seen. 

The Resurrectors though, they were something different. They shared in the Sustainers’ belief that the Gods of the Old World had perished during our ancestors’ flight. But whereas the Sustainers held that through the Pillars, we could learn the Ironlands’ stories and, in so doing, become accepted by her. The Resurrectors believed the Pillars were conduits. Conduits that would one day fracture the Ironlands, shatter its cruel shell to reveal a paradise, a resurrection of the Old World and the Old Gods. These differences put the two camps at odds with each, vehemently. The Sustainers mocked the Gray Sentinels, but they seethed at the Resurrectors. They spit with any mention of  “scarred Ishana and her annihilators” and their attempts to “unravel all that had been woven.”

Despite these hostilities, there was a tenuous peace. The factions isolated themselves from each other. They left wide avenues between the camps. Two precepts, negotiated when the camps were first established and observed by all, averted any open conflict. “Do not enter or interfere with another camp!” and “Do not touch the Pillars!” I was told that only one man had previously violated either, he had touched a Pillar. And then he and his were forced from their camp and expelled from the hill by all others. Since then, the precepts had been upheld, no faction was willing to risk unifying the others against them.

Though the layout and rivalries of the camps had started to become familiar, I had learned much less about Autumnrush as a whole. About the thousands living off of Pillar Hill. I overheard the big things, like that the entire place was on edge. A two year truce between The Three, the de facto bosses of the settlement, had recently collapsed, throwing the port back into political turmoil. There had been an assassination attempt on Lio the Guide. No one knew who was responsible. Some claimed Sayer the Shipbuilder, others, Cera of Longbridge. Lio survived though, and now all three were sharpening their knives, the whole of Autumnrush waiting for the other boot to drop.

The smaller things made little sense though, like news of the arrivals or departures of ships that I did not recognize the names of. I didn’t understand the relevance of the lesser gossip. I would need to learn more before I could do so. I would need to leave the camp.

It was on one of those days, wandering the camp waiting for Pella to finish some unknown chore, that Mokhel found me. I had been idly staring up at the Pillars, reflecting on the realization that they didn’t fill me with the same unease that they had when I first arrived. We chatted a bit about the weather, growing hotter every day now. And then he mentioned that Mira had been looking for me. That she was meeting with Teegan and requested I join her.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. In the five days I had resided within the Sustainer camp, I had yet to actually meet Teegan. I had seen him walk the camp though, and seen that all he passed looked up from whatever they were doing when he did so. He was important. A large cloak, edged with burgundy fur and leafy verdant feathers, neither of which came from any beast I had ever known. A man clearly both wise and unapproachable. He was some sort of mystic or scholar, I couldn’t quite tell which. I might have described him as a priest if I hadn’t known that their gods were dead.

Roll: Forge a Bond, Mira => Reroll –  Strong Hit

I bid Mokhel farewell and, meandering through the camp towards Teegan’s tent, I wondered why Mira had summoned me. Mira, it had taken time for our bond to grow. When I joined up with the Piercing Swan, I had been impulsive and uncompromising, I still was. I took initiative and forced my hand, leading to Eos and Namba’s deaths facing the harrow brood. I was sure she still didn’t wholly trust me, thought me unruly and unpredictable. But after the Beacon and Haf’s ship, she could not deny that when our paths were merged, we became near unstoppable. She would not summon me for chatter, there was something she needed. There would be a request.

I reached Teegan’s tent at the edge of the camp, near the Pillars, announced myself, and pulled back the flap to enter. Mira and Teegan were sitting at a table, across from each other, books and maps and notes scattered between them.  I recognized the journal we had retrieved among them. It was opened to the sketches of the Beacon’s carvings.

They stood to greet me. Mira made introductions. Teegan looked older up close, not quite beyond the threshold to elder but getting close. He was civil but cold. He had a hardness about him. He thanked me for assisting the expedition. Said I had done them a great service.

Roll: Compel, Heart – Strong Hit, +1 to Gather Information; Gather Information – Weak Hit

I gestured towards the journal, “Was it what you sought?”

Teegan briefly hesitated before growing a little less cold. “Yes, one of the things.

“Do you know whose it was?”

He flashed Mira a questioning look. She nodded and he continued. 

He told me of Kodroth the Bitter, a mystic. Widely known in Autumnrush. The spring prior, he had taken a boat and went to sea. Nobody knew his intentions or destination. A year passed with no sight or word of him. Until a returning tradeship claimed to have met him in the Western Reaches, preparing to sail even further west towards the edge of the Barrier. Teegan had assumed this meant Kodroth had spent the year investigating the Desolate Beacon before moving on to study Wyvern’s Rest, past the Reach. So Mira and the Piercing Swan were dispatched to find him there, and find out what he had learned. 

Kodroth was not at Wyvern’s Rest though, he had for some reason returned back east to the Beacon, where Perella and I had found his pack and journal, and torn clothes, and blood stains.

“It is unfortunate that he is gone but I am grateful that his final observations and meditations were rescued from oblivion.”

At that, Teegan picked the journal up from the table, closing it and holding it to his chest.

“Did the journal have the information you had hoped for, is it helpful?” I was curious, I hadn’t had an opportunity to look at it before we handed it off to Mira. I wondered if Koldroth had known the runes on the carvings.

“We believe it will be.”

Civil, but curt. It seemed clear that he was being careful to avoid discussing the actual contents of the journal and why they sought it. I dug no further. I had learned more from Teegan in that first few minutes than I had from Mira over the weeks that I had known her. But there were apparently goals and purposes that only Sustainers could know, and I was still not a Sustainer. More concerning was the realization that Mira had known what they sought but had withheld the information from her crew, or Pella at least. A ship sent to find a man, a man who nobody seemed particularly broken up over the death of, and a crew in the dark. It felt a bit sinister. It was a side of Mira, and the Sustainers as a whole, that I had not previously seen and did not like.

Teegan returned the closed journal to the table and moved on to their reason for summoning me.

“A camp this size requires supply, we need food. Surrounded by settlement and with limited trade goods, we have grown to rely on a benefactor, Cera of Longbridge. She knows the value of our work and, considering the sheer amount of grain her clan sends southward to be shipped out of Autumnrush, donations for our needs are negligible to her. So she has been providing regular shipments since the camp was established. The last was two weeks ago and the next should have arrived days ago. There has been no message or explanation for the delay and stores are diminishing. So we need somebody to contact her, identify the issue, and hopefully resolve the disruption. Preferably before hunger becomes a problem and we need to resort to other methods to avoid abandoning the camp.”

I nodded that I was following.

Mira took over, having remained silent since our initial introductions.

“You’re aware of what’s going on out there, right? The assassination attempt?”

“I had heard talk, yes.” I admitted

“It’s a risky course. The whole settlement is taught as a bow and The Three are brewing for war. But the power games of the Port do not benefit us, they don’t interest us. There’s little to gain and much to lose by getting tangled up in it all. If one of our own is seen to approach Cera, we will appear to be involved. Appear to be her allies in whatever it is that is about to occur. And then, we may be acted upon and forced to actually become involved.

“But we do need those supplies. So we were hoping you could go see her in my place. You haven’t left the camps since we got here. Those of the Port do not know you. You’re still a stranger to them, easily forgotten and, most importantly, not a Sustainer.”

She was right, it did sound risky. A dangerous route through unfamiliar waters. “I follow, but I’m not sure I’m the right person. If the path is so precarious, how can you be certain I won’t misstep? I don’t know this place, I wouldn’t know where to start…”

Mira interrupted, “Hob, just explain your piece, remind her of our needs, and find out what the problem is. I don’t know, tell her one of your stories or something. When you talk, people tend to listen. I don’t have much advice. I’m asking you because you’re capable of figuring it out.”

Then Teegan, “She speaks truth. You are the right person to act today. We cannot afford the delay to find another intermediary. Once Autumnrush erupts, it will become even more dangerous to approach her. Just remind Cera that she values what we are doing, we need her supply to continue doing it, and ask that said supply be delivered discreetly. If you do this, we will owe you an even greater debt.”

Then Mira again, “Also, approach her alone. Perella can not join you for this.”

I could not withstand their volleys. Too many words, too much information, too flustered to argue further. I capitulated and took the vow. And as I stepped back into the camp and the tent flap closed behind me, I was flooded by all the questions I should have asked and tried to make sense of what had just transpired.

Roll: Swear an Iron Vow, Resupply the Camp, Dangerous – Strong Hit

I did remember one detail clearly though. Mira had forbade me from bringing Pella to the meeting. But she had said nothing about her accompanying me off of the hill and into the port before I, alone, approached Cera. Prior to doing this, I would need to scout the port, understand the terrain, and learn about Cera. And for that, I would need a guide. So I went to find Pella.

Hob and the Sustainers, having escaped the depths of the Desolate Beacon with the knowledge they sought, attempt to flee their pursuers and navigate the Barrier to reach Autumnrush.

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Scene Challenge: Escape the Pursuers, Dangerous

Roll: Face Danger, Wits – Miss; Pay the Price – Delay

And so we ran, but our pursuer had the advantage. The ship with the faded yellow sail, already close enough to see its crew when it came around the western cliffs of the island, had the wind to its tail and was making good speed. The nets needed to be stowed, or at least tucked out of the way so they were not a hazard. And then the sail would need to be raised before we could use that same wind. With each passing moment, the larger ship drew closer.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron – Miss; Pay the Price – new danger or foe

Mira’s face hardened into a scowl as the ship closed. The nets were shoved aside and, as the sail was being raised, she ordered, “To oars!” Those of us standing idle were happy to have a task. We could not out-row the winds, but we could at least gain a little speed while the sail was hoisted instead of just anxiously waiting to be caught. Perella was in no condition to row so I gently grasped her uninjured shoulder in reassurance and took her oar. The Piercing Swan began to move. We rowed east, away from both the Desolate Beacon and the longship, still closing the gap with its strong tailwind.

Mira was attempting to put the island between us and the pursuing ship. It seemed a wiser plan than retreating back to the Beacon or taking to the open sea. As the sail caught and we accelerated, a sigh passed along the crew. With the same wind, the Swan could surely outrun the larger ship, now much closer but still outside of bow range or yelling distance. Once we passed around to the eastern shore of the island, we would be able to push north back to the Ragged Coast or east to Autumnrush itself.

That relief quickly faded at the sight of a new sail, passing around the eastern shore of the island, faded stripes of orange and white. There was a second longship, smaller than the Swan, blocking our path back to the coast. The apprehension returned and was swelling towards despair.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Miss; Pay the Price – situation worsens

Mira gave the order to tack further south. If we could skirt the smaller ship maybe we could still outrun them along the outer edges of the Barrier.

“Do not lose hope!” I yelled. “These are just raiders. Two days ago, we slew and burned a brood of harrows. This morning, we faced the darkness and those horrors that reside within to acquire the sacred knowledge you seek. Raiders are nothing!”

Perella gave me a weak smile. They were good words. They were accurate. I had hoped they would hearten the sailors, remind them that their bravery had already accomplished so much. I imagine they would have been more impactful had the arrows not flown the moment I finished my delivery. The change in course had allowed the ship with the yellow sail to draw closer, just close enough to attempt a volley with their longbows. Most of the arrows fell short, landing in the sea just out of reach, but a few hit the rack of stowed shields along the side of the Swan (which protected the rowers as was its intent).

This was dire, if they closed any further, not only would the crew be in danger from the arrows, but the sail as well, our only hope of escape.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron – Weak Hit; Resolve the Scene Challenge – Miss

Unfortunately, the smaller ship had archers as well. Not many bows, but enough. As we skirted it, a handful of arrows hit the opposite shield rack…and a few pierced the sail, small tears, ripping wider with each gust of wind. We continued to row, trying to gain just enough speed to get back out of range. But they were too close and another volley landed, and then another, now all targeting the sail. New tears in the canvas while the old ones ripped wider, the wind becoming our foe once again. The Swan slowed, what would follow became clear. Those not on oars retrieved their shields from the racks to protect their benchmates. The faded yellow sail began to close the gap again. And then they were in range, and a dozen more arrows tore through the sail. There would be no escape now, no way to outrun them.

“Turn the prow!” Mira barked, the oars moved, the Swan was being brought around to face its pursuers. Those with bows were retrieving them and returning fire. Not in volleys, just shooting as able, attempts to force the opposing archers to find cover. The raider ships both lowered their sails, no longer needed and no longer worth risking.

Roll: Endure Stress – Weak Hit

I looked to Perella, she smiled but it was clearly forced. She was not ready for a fight, she was wounded, her audacity exhausted. I would not allow them to take her confidence. I grabbed her pack from the deck, opened it, and reached inside, digging around by touch until I found the folded cloth. Retrieving it, I handed her the Kelpa root. “Like I said, they are nothing. They will not rob you from me.” I did not smile, I was sober and honest. Her smile grew less forced, not the brash smirk I was used to but a bold sneer, a challenge to the fates, a dismissal of the inevitable. She accepted the root and began unfolding the cloth.

I stood and retrieved a shield from the rack, next to the bench in front of ours, Kaivana’s. A sturdy blue to match our tattered sail. She had left it behind when we delved under the Beacon so as to climb easier. It was hard to imagine the shield would have changed her fate had she had brought it along. But it might just help change ours.

As the Piercing Swan was brought around to face the pursuing ships, the rowers stopped and pulled the oars. We moved to the prow, a shieldwall along both sides of the bow, flanking the large carved swan figurehead, stabbing tongue and teeth and protective wings. Spears and axes and bows. Both ships rowed towards us, their prey, matching shieldwalls on their prows. They would attempt to board us and we would slay them as they tried.

I looked back at Perella, her spear in her weak hand, chewing the Kelpa root. She gave me that daring smirk, the one I had been waiting for, the one I needed to bolster my own courage. Mira was to my right, shield and axe in hand. Mohkel was behind her, firing his bow through the temporary gaps Mira and I created between our two shields. 

There was no parlay, no demands given from the raiders. Just taunts and jeers. They, like my blade. wanted blood more than spoils. And then the roar and din as their oars made the final push and their closing volleys were loosed.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron – Miss; Endure Harm – Weak Hit

The shields held but there were screams of pain nearby. Blood dripped down my arm, I hadn’t felt the wound but an arrow had pierced the shield and grazed my forearm (the first of many such scars).

And then, just before the larger ship reached us, the smaller craft veered off, no doubt hoping to board behind us. I pushed the thought aside, others would have to address that problem. I was busy with the grappling irons that were now hitting shields or landing across the deck, catching and pulling, chopping and deflecting.

Roll: Battle, Repel the Boarding, Heart – Strong Hit, opportunity

That was the day I learned the other benefit of sacrificing space on a ship for more benches and a larger crew. In addition to speed, if the extra oars were not enough to outrun a foe, the extra shields and axes and spears would be better able to repel one. The ship with the yellow sail and carved horse on its prow was half again longer than the Piercing Swan, but its crew was maybe no more than a dozen larger. A numerical advantage that was difficult for them to leverage along the narrow prows where the ships met. This confined front allowed others from our crew to move to the rear of the Swan to face the smaller longship that was attempting to board us from behind. A smaller space to defend with more hands to defend it, the raiders were not prepared for the prey that they caught.

“They are nothing!”

Interlocking shields repelled arrows and thrown spears, quick axes chopped the grapples, and boarding planks were kicked out from under the raiders as they crossed, dropping them into the sea below and the crush between the two longships. Those that managed to cross, faced spears, and then a wall of shields, and then the axes and blades behind those shields. It became clear that the raiders, though dangerous, were nowhere near as disciplined as the crew of the Swan. Three dozen Ironlanders united by faith, those who had faced the harrow mother and her brood in the infested vale, those who had braved the Desolate Beacon’s horrors to fulfil their divine task.

“They are nothing!”

At some point the tides turned, the raiders lost their courage. Their attack slowed and then paused as those next in line to board began to fear joining those before them, those floating in the crush below. So much so that their bodies refused to act. They paused, unsure of what to do next. As each of the raiders realized that it wasn’t just they alone that faltered but all of them, their eyes drifted to a young man at their front, looking for direction. A young man, very young, wearing a hunter’s braid and watching us through glistening eyes. He slowly scanned our shield wall before lowering his gaze to the few grapples and planks that remained intact. He was deciding whether they would cut the lines and retreat or renew the assault. His eyes lingered on the ropes and grapples. He was going to retreat.

I’m not really sure what I was thinking in the moment, I doubt I was thinking much at all. But realizing they were about to pull the boards and escape made me want to prevent them from doing so. Prevent them from getting their way. So I broke from the shieldwall and hopped across one of the planks to their deck. The raiders had not expected this. They took a few startled steps backwards and I instinctively advanced, claiming the space they had just abandoned. I heard others cross behind me. A beachhead on their prow, just a beach filled with axe wielding raiders instead of shroud crabs.

I risked a glance behind me. No Perella. Good. She was in no condition to cross the plank and I was glad she had stayed on the Swan. Mira was there though, Mohkel as well.

Their failed assault had withered their numbers and we now held enough space on their deck for others to follow. But still, we were the ones on the offensive now and clearing their ship would be a much more difficult and dangerous task than repelling boarders from our own. If we even succeeded, many of us would likely die in the process. But we couldn’t very well return to a ship without sail, on the far edge of the Barrier, with just oars to move and surrounded by raiders. So I tried something.

Roll: Compel, Iron, Storyweaver – Miss, complication

“You!” I pointed the blade at the young man with the glistening eyes. “Fight me for your sail!”

“Otherwise we will take it from you and kill many more of you in the process. And if you survive, your crew, *gesturing with the blade* those of them still breathing anyways, will know that you sacrificed their comrades just to avoid entering the circle against one little girl. You’ll be like Ehrin, that great Raider Prince, slain by his own crew after he lost his courage against the strength of Katrin’s Warband. Let us draw the circle! Fight me for the sail!”

“Aye!  Good points.” He chuckled. “If I am to face you, I should know your name?”

“Basira! Basira of the Blood Soaked Blade!” (I know, I know. Embarrassing and dramatic. I was trying to come across as intimidating though.) “And what is yours, dead man?”

He fully laughed at this. “Aye, Basira! I am Haf. Haf, the dead man.” His laughter subsided into a delighted chuckle.

“Well Basira, you’re right. We could draw the circle and I could face you, alone to prevent further loss to my crew. I mean, you look half dead already.” He amusedly fidgeted with and adjusted his shield. “On the other hand, *gesturing towards the crew to his sides* we could just kill the few of you standing on my ship, real quick-like, and then pull the boards before your friends can cross over to help.”

My bluster had failed. Things seemed bad and he was right. I should have exploited my position earlier, when they were startled, and claimed more space for others to cross before trying to bluff him. Now that he thought he had the advantage, he would press it.

There was a brief moment of silent anticipation for what would come next. And then a roar from both sides as weapons were raised and bodies began to clash again.

Roll: Enter the Fray, Heart, Haf & crew, Formidable – Strong Hit

Haf raised his axe and charged at me. His crew followed his lead. The man was no coward, just cunning. I lowered my shield, tried to find any remaining strength after the challenges already faced that day, roared, and charged as well. I could hear Mira and the others at my sides and more piling over the planks behind us.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Strong Hit, opportunity, clear space for one on one fight

Haf lowered his shield to match mine. He was larger than me, not by much, but enough that he was likely stronger. So I went even lower, into his legs. He lost his balance, toppling over my shield behind me as I launched myself forward, my knees almost sliding across the deck. 

As he tried to regain his feet, I rose, swinging the blade in a wide arc to clear space among the raiders now surrounding me. One of them leapt out of reach too slowly and lost the better part of his hand, raising it in front of his face at the last moment as if it would shield him from me. The blade rejoiced. Recovering from their surprise and realizing that I was alone among them, isolated from the front line and unsupported by my comrades, the raiders moved in. In two quick slashes, one lost an arm and another his neck. The others hesitated and I followed up with another wide cautionary arc to force them to again step back.

“You are nothing!” They were slow. Much slower than a harrow.

I turned back to Haf who had risen and readied himself. I could see the clashes behind him as more and more of the Swan’s crew crossed the planks to join the fight. Our countercharge had been fortunate, it had seized more ground for our comrades to join the fray.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit

“No girl, you are nothing. Well, you’ll rot to nothing anyways.” He advanced, slower this time, a little more wary. I swung first. He was faster with his shield and followed up with a hard kick to mine. It nearly tore my arm from my socket and knocked me back, but I remained on my feet. 

Roll: Clash, Iron – Miss => Burn Momentum – Weak Hit, Swordmaster, +2 harm; Endure Harm – Strong Hit, opportunity

Haf was indeed stronger. He stepped forward and slammed the axe down on my shield, this time my elbow, still hurting from my fall under the Beacon, took the impact. The blow forced me down to a knee. In desperation I blindly slashed at his leg, he howled in pain, the blade sang. 

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit

I rose to my feet and swung the blade down. It hit the top of his shield, burying itself into it. I could hear the blade rejoice again though, so it must have reached his shoulder. 

Roll: Defy Danger, Iron, Shield Bearer – Weak Hit; Endure Harm – Weak Hit

I struggled to pull the blade back up and out, finally wrenching it free as his axe hit my shield again, Kaivana’s shield. It was starting to split. Worse yet, my shoulder and arm had grown so numb that I doubted I could raise the shield to deflect any further blows.

Roll: Turn the Tide; Strike – Strong Hit, opportunity; End the fight – Strong Hit, opportunity…double opportunities (rest of Swan crew is gaining upper hand in larger fight)

So I moved. I circled to Haf’s left, away from his axe and into his shield, towards his wounded shoulder and leg. He shuffled and twisted to face me but he was slower. His broken bones would not reassemble, his wounds would stay wounds. I lifted the blade, feigning an overhead strike. As he raised his shield to deflect, I swung in a downward arc, under his shield, quenching the blade. He lost his leg above the knee and as he fell, screaming in shock, I reversed my grip and knelt, plunging the blade into his chest. The scream stopped.

He was nothing. I rose and faced the raiders, still hesitating, just out of reach. They were nothing. I leveled the blade and advanced on the nearest. By now though, the rest of the Swan’s crew had pushed this far into their line. Their captain was slain and they were losing the ship.

Roll: Compel, Iron – Miss; Endure Harm – Weak Hit

They should have broken, they did not. They must have felt cornered…or maybe they had finally found their bravery again in the face of desperation. The raider I stepped towards flailed with his axe. I raised Kaivana’s shield in time but the impact again knocked me to my knees.

Roll: Ask Oracle, can Swan finish the fight without me or do I need to get back involved?, likely – yes

Then Mohkel was beside me, warding off the flailing raider with his spear. I didn’t black out but my body had had enough. I slowly slumped to the deck. I could no longer lift the blade, or splitting shield, or even my own body. I remember, in a haze, watching Mira and the rest of the Sustainers push the remaining raiders back. They found their fight too late and could no longer hold the ship. Those that weren’t cut down leapt over the stern into the sea. I vaguely recall the orange and white sail of the smaller longship. I learned later that it had been repelled when trying to board our rear and stopped to rescue the raiders that had leapt overboard before fleeing to the north, the way it had come from and the way we were going.

After that is blurry.

Roll: Ask Oracle, sustain heavy losses?, unlikely – No

Roll: Heal – Weak Hit; Resupply – Weak Hit; Make Camp – Strong Hit

There were wounded to tend and losses to mourn. Katania, Sendra, and Zhan had perished during the brutal clash. Muna and Parcell would succumb to their wounds soon. And Jihan would likely lose his leg. I was close to none of them but they were my comrades and they would be honored, their sacrifices had saved us all.

My wounds tended, I turned back to Haf. Tucked in his belt, I found a map of the eastern Barrier. Names for the numerous smaller unnamed (or at least previously unnamed) islands along the uninhabited outer edge as well as various landmarks had been added to the map with a sloppier hand. I took the twisting silver bracelet from his axe arm and retrieved his shield, a crimson circle within a larger yellow circle, as trophies. 

Prying the shield from his still hand, I noticed a boar’s head on the forearm. Lifting the sleeve revealed the tattoo winded and wove from wrist to shoulder. When I told Perella later, she said it sounded like a brand of fealty, an oath recorded on the shield arms of those in a warband to pledge their shields to defend their master. I had never seen a warband so was not familiar with the custom, but other boars were also found on the raiders’ dead and wounded as they were dumped overboard so the explanation seemed likely. I had never heard of a warleader or raidcaptain associated with this animal though, even from the stories.

The sail was retrieved and moved to the Swan, and the various chests and barrels were searched. Enough water and food to fill our stores. Jewelry, some of it still stained with the blood of its previous owners, was found in the raiders’ personal chests. Mira dispersed these, along with the fallen’s arms and shields, to the crew of the Swan, priority given to those that were wounded while clearing the ship. The finer pieces were set aside for the families of those who had perished during the expedition, once we returned to Autumnrush. No great wealth, but it was their share and might soften the loss in some small way. I handed Mira Haf’s silver bracelet to be added to those shares. It was too large for my wrist anyways. She provided me a small lapis ring in return, “You’ll still need a share.”

Returning to the Swan, Perella embraced me and led me back to our bench to rest. She was unharmed, well no further harmed since the battle had started. Her lap was warm from the Kelpa and it was difficult not to doze.

Everything of value having been transferred from the captured ship, we prepared to depart. Mira ordered axes be taken to the hull before we left. The ship no longer had a sail and our crew was too wary and small to row it along with us. We could not leave it afloat for the surviving raiders to reclaim. So it was sunk. We rowed north for a time until the slowly sinking ship was in the distance, and then, in the dusk of the now setting sun, we paused to commit our fallen. Far enough away that they would not commingle with the slain of our foes. I witnessed but I was too weak to give words. The crew was sullen, the second committal that evening.

Then Mira ordered we row to the island, the one we had originally planned to shore on for the night. Haf’s map identified it as “Spotter’s Ridge.” There was indeed a ridge, high enough to spot things from. I wondered if they had watched us from that same ridge before they attacked. In silence, the crew pulled for the flat beach on the eastern shore. We reached it as dusk faded. The Swan was shored and camp was quickly prepared, racing against the thickening clouds that would soon take the moon’s light.

Those uninjured took shifts at watch in case the raiders returned, but Perella and I were able to rest without interruption. I slept heavily. We remained at Spotter’s Ridge the following day and night as well. The sail we had taken from the raiders, a large sail for a larger ship, needed to be trimmed and hemmed before use on the Swan. Arrows needed to be cleared from the ship and minor damages from grapples and axes during the raiders’ failed boarding attempt needed to be repaired.

I continued to recover much of the day. Mira studied the journal we had retrieved from the carvings chamber. By early evening, Perella and I felt rested enough to take the short path to the island’s peak, already scouted by others that morning. It was a quick climb and the path had clearly been used before, free of any of the isle’s sparse vegetation. The peak wasn’t high but it was high enough, Spotter’s Ridge was an apt name. From the top, we could see in all directions, our vision only obscured by the few larger islands to the east and the Beacon’s tall plateau to the south. 

Below, Mira sat on a chest, still scrutinizing the book under the fading light. We watched the sailors rig the now trimmed and fitted sail to the Swan. We could barely hear Mokhel attempting to teach the others the new rowers’ chant he had been composing the whole day they had worked. It was unfinished, about the expedition. I did not know most of the words yet (he sang quietly, almost mumbled, as he worked them out, restructructing and swapping to fit the rhythm). But everyone on the island knew the refrain by now (that part was complete, so he got louder whenever he sang it), a solemn repeated “blood on the brine, blood on the brine.” His voice was mournful yet driven, and the sailors did not seem to mind the constant reminder of recent losses. In fact, it seemed this was one of the ways they made sense of them, braced themselves for future tragedies not yet known, tied them together to a purpose and reason.

There was no sign of the escaped raiders. No sign of the sunken longship or the desperate battle of the previous evening. It was a pleasant view and we held hands and moved closer to shield each other from the wind.

We returned just after the sun set, still dusk. The moon was already shining brightly and meals were being prepared. Spirits were better that night and we rested easier knowing that those on watch from the peak would have plenty of time to raise the alarm if any ship approached under the clear moonlight.

The next morning, we left the shore and set sail, a bright morning with bright hopes.

Roll: Undertake a Journey – Weak Hit

Mark Progress: Expedition Vow – Fix sail and continue voyage

Mira was wary to follow the path of the escaped raider longship to the north and so we instead pushed east among the Barrier. Clouds began to roll in. A large elongated island lay to our south and numerous smaller isles to our north. Haf’s map labeled all of them “the Broken Isles”. Any mention of the word “Broken” instills worry but I had hoped the name was just a reference to the small isles’ jagged cliffs making them appear to have broken off and drifted away from the larger island to their south.

Roll: Undertake a Journey – Miss, complication

The clouds grew thicker, darker now, and as we passed the edge of the long island to the south, the wind began to pick up, a strong northern gale. We could feel the air tense, it would storm soon. The cliffs to the north began to look more ominous. I had the unsettling realization that they were likely called the Broken Isles on account of the wind breaking ships upon them. Mira was already in action. We tacked to the northeast, hoping to pass the treacherous islands before the storm worsened.

Roll: Face Danger, Wits – Miss; Endure Stress –  Miss, shaken

We didn’t beat the storm, as the rains began, the gusts lengthened and shifted to the northwest. The sail, now foe more than friend, was brought in and we lowered the oars. Perella’s shoulder had not yet healed so I again took hers. The going was slower but, with the sail down, the wind was less able to push us towards the rocks. Now it was just waves to fight. The waves were growing larger though. I strained. We all strained, but it seemed so futile. 

Of all of the trials of the voyage up to that point, this was the one that seemed insurmountable. Harrows and shifting hunters and skeletal horrors and raiders. These were foes to face, terrifying but surmountable. The waves though, we could not defeat the waves. It seemed that even the Gods had turned against us. The clap of Kara’s shield, immovable and unyielding, swelling the tides and breaking the waves. I had never felt so defeated. I could row no longer, if the Gods wanted us to perish, we would surely perish. I sat in a daze, Perella shook me, I was afraid to look back at her. She would perish as well.

Thankfully the crew of the Swan were less discouraged by storms and shoals. They were sailors, weathered by the waves, and they would not stop struggling against the sea so long as it had yet to take their breath. They continued to row and I was jarred back from despair by a jolt and an eruption of cursing from behind me. The sailor behind me’s oar, Talan’s, had collided with my own as it hovered suspended and motionless. My resignation was impeding my comrade, my comrades, who had refused surrender to the insurmountable and had pressed forward. I would not allow myself to become an obstacle to them. My will was shaken but not broken. I looked back at Perella but I could not smile. I hoped the rain concealed my tears and shame. And then, I continued to row.

And by continuing to row, we escaped the Broken Isles. But the storm did not subside, it worsened. The waves rose and crashed over the racks of shields, down onto us. We were taking water faster than we could bail it. We would need to find safety somewhere to ride it out. I could not see from my bench, but Mira could, and she gave the order. We rowed for a small isle to the east, hoping for a cove or beach to shore.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Weak Hit

At some point I found my resolve. If Mira and the Swan refused to surrender to the seas, I would not. I would remain loyal to my vow. We were still unable to raise the sail as the headwinds were blowing back towards the broken cliffs we had just narrowly escaped. So we continued to row and eventually we reached the island. It was small but tall, lanky? No life, just rocks. We found a cove to the north, sheltered from the southern gales by the island itself. Entering the cove, we anchored and spread the sail over the deck to shield us from the rain until the storm passed. A miserable time in a poor tent. I was raised on an isle but I was no sailor or fisher and had never faced such an angry sea. I huddled in shaken awe, reflecting on how resolute the Swan’s crew were to face such force with such strength.

Roll: Undertake a Journey – Weak Hit

And so we waited and eventually the storm subsided. Mira decided we should push north, sailing through the night to reach the coast. At least there, away from the cliffs and rocks of the Barrier, we could find safe harbor from further storms. And so we raised the sail and pressed on. It was still windy, cold, and lightly raining but what choice did we have? Stay in the cove until morning or try to navigate the isles in the dark? An audible sigh of relief passed through the crew when the rain finally broke and dawn revealed the Ragged Coast, its safe fjords and beaches stretching from one horizon to another.

Roll: Undertake a Journey – Miss

Soon after, the coughs started. Everyone knew what this was, the strain and the storm and the wet and the cold meant sickness. It would only get worse if we weren’t able to dry out and warm by fires. I could feel Perella’s coughs reverberate through her arm and into her hand. I grasped it reassuringly. No, not reassuringly, anxiously.

Roll: Heal – Strong Hit; Make Camp – Strong Hit

We landed within a nearby fjord. It was narrow and shallow. Those of us that were able, started fires so the sick could dry. Then we all huddled around the flames until the rain, storm, the Broken Isles, and unnamed cove were just unpleasant memories, things in the past, things behind us. The heat restored us and, though the coughs remained, they did not worsen and would just linger for a few days as a reminder of the desperate storm and chilled night of sailing.

Roll: Undertake a Journey – Strong Hit

By mid-day, the sun had returned and we were warm, hot even. We put out the fires, boarded, and then pushed east. With luck, we might reach Galehope by nightfall, a fishing circle which I was told “can’t be too far east of here”. The day was the opposite of that prior. The sun warmed us and the wind, though steady, remained at our backs. We reached Galehope before the sun began to set. A small village on the mouth of a fjord. A few dozen modest buildings and an ancient but well maintained dock.

Roll: Sojourn – Strong Hit

Mark Progress: Expedition Vow – Return to the relative safety and familiar shores of the Ragged Coast

We docked the Swan and Galehope welcomed us for the night. They were used to travelers and, likely on account to their proximity to Autumnrush, had a surprisingly large amount of goods in their storehouse for trade. Some of the jewelry was exchanged to replace the food we had eaten in the three days since we’d captured Haf’s ship. More importantly though, we were able to build fires and camp on the outskirts of the village in relative security. We drank and boasted of trials and victories, of comrades fallen and foes slain, and I managed to forget that the Gods had tried to dash us against cliffs the day prior. The hard land, the fishers nearby, it filled holes in me, holes I didn’t realize had been dug. Had it only been four days since we left Brokefall? It felt like an eternity at the edge of the Barrier, the wilds between the Ironlands and the open sea. Had it only been two weeks since I’d left the Gate? It seemed so distant. So quickly it had become distant.

Roll: Undertake a Journey – Strong Hit; Undertake a Journey – Strong Hit

We slept well and sailed at first light. It was another pleasant day and we made good time. This part of the Ragged Coast was familiar to all. All but me, of course. The coast veered to the north here and, after a time, would apparently swing back east to Autumnrush. Mira ordered we leave the coast and sail northeast, no reason to follow the coast when they knew exactly where to point the prow to arrive home. Leaving sight of the coast to reach a destination along that same coast felt odd to me. But they were all so confident and excited to be so close to our journey’s end that I trusted they were right. So we left the coast behind us, a quick journey back to the open sea. And then, there was the shoreline again, its mountains less tall than those we had left but only slightly less steep.

Roll: Reach Your Destination – Strong Hit

Mark Progress: Expedition Vow – Reach Autumnrush; Blade Vow – Reach Autumnrush (finally first tick!)

Roll: Fulfill Your Vow, escort expedition to Beacon and back to Autumnrush, formidable – Strong Hit

We were sailing directly for a gap between two peaks, a fjord. As we drew closer I noticed the bright crimsons of a longship sail. It was moored to a small dock on a hilled island, almost perfectly centered in the mouth of the fjord. Atop the hill sat a small fort. “Mouth’s Watch.” Perella informed me.

It was a warship, even larger than Haf’s had been. The crew was camped on the island nearby, lounging around the dying fires from their mid-day meal. They barely seemed to notice our approach, apparently confident that their presence alone would deter any brazen raiders.

We sailed past Mouth’s Watch, its flanking peaks and lazing guardians. And then the water opened and the shores softened into gentle slopes. And there it was in the distance, straddling the head of the wide fjord. 

Autumnrush!

It was massive even at a distance. Overwhelming. I had not known that humans could live on such scale, except for maybe in the legendary cities of the Old World. The Twin Pillars were the first thing to capture my gaze, atop a hill to the east of the fjord’s head. Side by side but one twice the height of the other, even taller than the Desolate Beacon. Below the Pillars lie the port itself, much more than a circle, as if dozens of circles had been settled alongside and merged into one another. A river split the port in half, the Bas, the gateway to the Havens and the new world. Numerous docks and bright sails lined each side of the river’s mouth and the settlement spread out to the south, gradually thinning and dispersing along both sides of the fjord’s shores.

We passed farms stretching along the gentle slopes of the banks and the occasional empty dock, its boats away and working. We exchanged greetings with dozens of fishers and a few merchant ships that were heading back out to sea.

They say this was where the first Pillars were found. After the coast had been explored and the Havens discovered, it was the final landing for many that fled the Old World. And as those that moved inland to the Havens built and thrived, Autumnrush served as the primary trade and travel hub between them and coastal circles. The Bas providing a safe and easy passage for those unwilling to risk the perils of the Deep Wilds to the west or the horrors of the Flooded Lands to the east. I realized how naive I was, thinking a village like Stoneharbor was a trade port. I stared in wonder at the unknown mysteries of the predating Pillars. At the unimaginable amount of Ironlanders that had settled together, more people than I had ever met in my entire life up until that point. Nay, ten times more. One hundred times? If a swordsmith existed along the coast, they would definitely be found here…and I was thankful to be arriving with Perella and Mira and the rest of the Swan. I was thankful I had missed Kanno’s ship back in Stoneharbor. I couldn’t imagine the terror of stepping off-ship to a place like this with no friends.

Thankfully, I did have friends, and as we docked the Piercing Swan, they were able to shepherd me, awed and slack jawed, to our destination, the Sustainer camp. I was so overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, so many people and so much noise, that I don’t remember much from that first landing. I remember seeing more moored ships than I had ever seen in one place. I remember the docks alone stretching longer than all of Sota’s Gate, from fort to shore. I mostly remember Perella’s hand, gently pulling me forward through the Grain Market and its maze of packed stalls and packed bodies. I remember realizing just how large the longhouses on the hills upriver must have been to see them so clearly from below. I remember the confusing weaving path through the identical narrow streets. 

And then the narrow streets abruptly ended. Pillar Hill, a circular field around the twin columns, unsettled and avoided as the port grew around them. But though the streets and buildings had stopped short, the field was occupied. Numerous camps, the rival factions of the Iron Priests, all drawn to the Pillars and all at odds with each other. The crossroads between the clashing truths of the Pillars’ nature and purpose. I remember the glares as we weaved between the camps, and then we were there. The Sustainer camp, a blur of new faces, rejoicing embraces, tears and consoling. Mira and the crew of the Swan had returned from their expedition and my vow was fulfilled.