Hob and her allies race against a song to silence the desolate chorus before it can strangle the world.

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

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

And so I ran, the massive hill of conjoined bodies towering over me before I was anywhere near close enough to strike. The writhing avatar of the blossoming aurora lifting its voices in chorus to the new green sun.

Roll: Strike, Iron, hunt the sun – Strong Hit, + 1 Harm from Keen, 4 harm (2 Progress)

Ishana, or what was once Ishana, noticed me too late. The head and torso twisted to level its arm of wood in my direction, and then branches burst forth, attempting to impale or entangle me. But the blade, that which had previously devoured the heart of the coiling thicket, was unbothered by these same tricks, its oily green glow arcing left and right as it cleaved and split the boughs.

And so I continued to run, closing in on it now, close enough to make out the faces and limbs of the mound’s warped components, both person and beast, fused and tied to a joined painful longing, the remnant of a dark power chained to foul purpose.

Roll: Strike, Iron, follow the blade’s tug – Miss, Complication (5 v. 5/5 but with 6 Momentum stored!) => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit, reversal!, +1 Harm from Keen, +2 Harm from Swordmaster, 6 harm (5 Progress)

And with each swing, with each split branch, the oily green pulsed brighter. And then I was amongst them, weaving and spinning, flashing blade claiming limb and leg, green iron turning aside claw and maw.

The chorus’ call began to shift, rising in tenor. No longer a tormented harmony of agony and hunger, now just the unified melody of pain. Ishana swayed atop the mound as I cleaved the paw from a gnarled bear, the head from a twisted stag, and the limbs from those who had once been Ironlanders. All now just dead flesh, falling to the floor of the field and dragging those they were fused to down with them.

Roll: Strike, Iron, +1 from Swordmaster burning momentum, the mound topples – Miss, Complication (oh no)

And too late, I realized that they fell towards me, the mound buckling from the dead weight of its slain components at my feet and toppling in my direction. And as its shadow took me, as I stared upward at the tumbling heap of flesh and metal and wood, as it eclipsed the green sun, the flickering lights behind it revived. No longer the soft flutter of veiled danger, returning once more to the blinding disorienting flash of peril awakened.

And then the mound crashed over me. Darkness and void, followed by pain and choked wind.

Roll: Endure Harm (-4), Iron, +1 Lightly Armored – Weak Hit, press on (0 Health) Ouch.

I could not move, I could not breathe. I was immediately aware of one hundred cuts and one thousand bruises. But the warcrew leathers had held. There was no pain that was so great that it could stop me from fighting (I hoped).

And then the blade awoke as well, its oily green illuminating the gaps between the branches and broken bodies that were piled atop us. Something was clawing at my arm, just out of sight, and what felt like teeth weakly clenched around my calf, the clicking grind of a broken jaw’s futile gnawing. Even in death, these wracked and blighted bodies had not found peace. 

The blade pulled, but there was no room to swing. We were buried. And as I tried to squeeze my arm through the crush to find Lightdrinker’s ebony handle, the mound shifted around me. The scrape of wood and iron, crushed flesh and still-weeping sores, the pull and roll of beast and person rising, dragging the fused and tangled remains of their slain as they shambled onward. The horror still lived!

Roll: Advance a Threat – Threat makes a dramatic play, 5 Menace; Oracles: Corrupt the environment, guarded shelter/fortified, world risk (oh no)

And then I felt the rumble, I felt the chorus. But it was not just the broken and tormented cries of the desolate mound and the warpkissed, there was a broader resonance. The Pillar and engraved tower, the entire valley, all raising their voices in preparation. The culmination of a great work, the realization of that which was about to come.

It was now close to achieving its goal, and I knew who had birthed this nightmare. Ishana and her fools, those Resurrectors, had attempted to use the tower and Pillar to fracture the Ironlands, to shatter its shell and, in doing so, resurrect the Old World and the Old Gods.

But that new Old World would reflect the tool used to create it, the fragment of That Which Hungers, the remnant of dark power bound to the tower. It would bear the twin marks of growth and consumption, forever twisting and grasping. An ancient dream of a terrible realm that should never exist. Instead of paradise, they had delivered doom, and all outside of this valley would soon transform as they had under the same tendrils’ kiss and warpfire touch. 

“When the budding pyre blossoms, when the vines erupt outward, stretching to strangle the world.”

And then the blade and Lightdrinker were singing to each other as well. A purring hum that grew into a chant of recollection, reminding each other of wrongs done and grudges held, renewing jealousy over the Resurrectors’ theft and misuse of their birthright, and bolstering and urging each other onward to act on those resentments. To reclaim what was once theirs and lash out at the fragment of that which first wielded them, to take retribution for some great betrayal that I did not yet fully understand.

I felt their sibling song, the shared echo and rhythm of hammer striking paired iron, and so I hummed along, the cadence building in my throat until it overpowered the dark chorus and its horrific dream.

Oracle: Would the warpfire consumed by Lightdrinker strengthen the song? Small chance – No (was worth a try)

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, a song of resentment – Miss (4 v. 4/4), Complication 

Roll: Endure Stress (-2), Heart, these are songs that can shatter souls – Weak Hit, press on (0 Spirit)

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Forge mates, paired blades from the same ore, 2.0 Progress  (I don’t know why yet, but I feel that the blade and knife egging each other on and interacting in a manner more friendly than simple growls and hisses is an important development)

This is getting bad, that’s three misses with a match in short succession and I’m all out of momentum.

And as the oily green grew brighter, as Lightdrinker contributed its own flickering glow, I lost myself to the song. A song that could shatter souls, competing against a chorus that would devour worlds. But I was part of their chant now, my soul hummed with it, my bones resonated, and so I was not consumed.

And the dead bodies of beast and person recoiled from the pulse and flicker of the blades. Branches retreated while ferrous roots bent and bowed to escape the forge mates’ chant of paired iron. And then the pile of fused dead had passed over me like a wave, returning me to the blinding flash of the aurora, dropping me back into a world that was worse than when I had left it. A blossoming new realm of horror to thrive under the burgeoning green sun.

So I know I narratively failed forward on that last Face Danger, but it seemed more interesting to allow the escape, triple the Pay the Prices, and possibly create an ‘out of the pot and into the flames’ scenario.

Roll: Advance a Threat – The threat readies its next step. If you succeed in preventing this development, Reach a Milestone. Otherwise, mark menace.

Oracles: Transform its nature; abandoned crossing; protect path; reinforce defenses

All had changed in the time I’d been buried beneath the death heap. The circle of dirt had blossomed, as if a writhing thicket had erupted from the heart of each of the fallen warptouched, transforming the empty field into a forest of twisting branches and cracking limbs. 

Pushing through one thousand bruises to rise to my feet, I took it all in.

It was chaos. Under the blinding flashes of the green sun, both Sustainers and wolfen hacked and weaved and became ensnared by coiling limbs. Blood pooled and bodies crumpled, death and battle cries entwined. There were new horrors stalking amongst those trees, ravenous baying from just out of sight. I searched desperately for Pella amidst the confusion, but the flashing lights had grown more glaring and were again too bright to make out anything beyond simple form or motion.

No, the lights weren’t growing brighter. The shambling mound, which I had still been in the shadow of, was leaving, retreating back towards the engraved tower, the bodies that still stood dragging the fused corpses of their slain behind them.

And then, between the flashes, when the aurora’s lights paused, I saw the fracture in the sky. Between the tower and the Pillar beyond, the tear in the wind, the oily blue, smudged and blurring and spreading. And I understood. The desolate mound did not need to slay us, it only needed to protect the root, to defend the tower until the chorus concluded and the dancing lights fully blossomed. Until it could strangle the world.

“Mira!”

I spun to face the thicket. I knew that yell! It was Pella! She was close.

I glanced back to the retreating chorus. It was slow in its shambling, in its dragging. Maybe I could have beaten it to the tower, could have destroyed the root and ended its dream before it could stand in my way. But then I again heard Pella’s scream, she who I had journeyed to find, and that prospect was banished. 

‘Could haves’ were replaced by ‘must dos’ as I threw myself into the thicket in the direction that I thought I had heard her cry. The chorus and its heart would have to wait.

Oracle: Can I reach Pella through the blossoming thicket? 50/50 – Yes (then the choice is made)

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, Help Pella! – Strong Hit!

Oracles: Is Pella able to fight? 50/50 – Yes; is Mira injured? Yes; is Talan there? No; Mokhel? Yes; is Mokhel injured? No

The blade followed without question. In fact, it was soon pulling me forth, hurling and hacking through the branches. It had a fondness for Pella as well, and so I thanked it for its aid.

And soon we found them. The thicket had captured Mira, one large root coiling up from the earth to grasp her legs and chest while a bough from above spiraled around her shield arm. Lifting, yanking and twisting, snapping her arm as it tried to tear her in half. Her face showed only silent pain, her wind having been dragged out of her by the steady tormenting pull.

Pella and Mokhel were struggling to help her. Mokhel jumping and swinging Mira’s axe at the bough that held her arm while Pella screamed in frustration, stabbing at the thick root with her spear in desperation. The root dragged, the bough pulled, and the two Sustainers raged helplessly to free their captain.

But then I was among them, and the flashing green with me. I leapt and the blade cleaved bough, releasing Mira’s broken arm to hang limply at her side. I knelt and set the iron against the root, which fled the blade’s glow, laying Mira to the ground as it retreated back into the dirt. All of the thicket recognized the sway of the oily green, and so the branches recoiled from it, abandoning their prey and withdrawing to create a small clearing.

I embraced Pella, one quick moment, before we turned to Mira. Mokhel was cradling her head. She was alive and awake! But her arm hung limply against the dirt, shattered and twisted, likely never to carry a shield again.

Oracle: Does the warrior captain of the Sustainers keep her wits despite the pain? 50/50 – Yes (Damn right she does)

She waved off Mokhel’s care and pushed herself up with her good arm, grunting through the pain to bring her feet under her.

“Hob! What is this? What’s happening!?”

“It blossoms! The end approaches!” I knew no other way to explain swiftly. “Where’s Teegan?”

Pella pointed with her spear deeper into the thicket, “He was to the rear. With Talan.”

“I need to find him.” Mira took her axe back from Mokhel and forced herself to rise to her feet, growing more steady with each inch as she searched for and found her strength. And when she stood tall, weathered and broken but unbeaten, I first truly knew her. For the first time, I truly understood the person she was, the rough seas she was capable of navigating. 

Eyes now focused, a ray of sun piercing storm clouds, “Hob, are you able to end this?”

“I have to be!” The sibling hum of blade and knife. “Yes, I am able.”

She gave a simple nod, an acknowledgement that I would do so, and turned to enter the thicket in search of Teegan, gasping with each step yet still carrying herself forward. Mokhel, having retrieved his bow from the ground where he had dropped it for Mira’s axe, offered a smile before joining her. A small smile that meant many things. One of trust and pleading, one wishing luck and offering resolve, and one that held room for the possibility of being a goodbye. A small smile that I returned in kind.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart, gather my allies – Strong Hit

“Shall we go hunting?” That swaggering grin, that daring wink.

I thought to tell Pella no, to beseech her to go with Mira. To explain to her, she who I had journeyed to find, that I could not bear to risk her, to be robbed of her in a fight that was not hers. But I would not, I had no claim to the glories she might seek. She would do as she pleased, and I would be thankful to have her at my side. I needed her by my side. I needed her eyes and her aim, her skill and her wit. I needed her swagger and faith. I needed Pella. Together, we could do anything.

So instead, I stepped in to kiss her, and as I pulled back, I offered a grin of my own, bold and bolstered. “Aye, we hunt the green sun.”

And she laughed in reply, throaty and ready for glory.

Roll: Is Mira’s shield still there and battle-ready? 50/50 – Yes (oh fuck yeah!)

And as we turned back to the lights, to face them together, I saw Mira’s shield lying on the ground, where it must have been torn from her during the struggle with root and bough. A sturdy blue and faded white to match the Piercing Swan’s sails. A stout board to carry us to our prey. I knelt and fitted it before we, hunter and hound, blade and knife, stepped from the clearing towards the heart and its tower, the branches of the thicket bowing to the oily glow and parting before us.

Mark Menace: 6 Menace (I did not prevent the Threat’s next readied step, instead I saved my kin, and so the menace grows)

The Threat’s menace is now tied with the Vow’s progress (both at 6). If the menace track fills before I Fulfill the Vow, it wins. Leaving no room to retreat or pause, the only path away from doom is forward, so long as the dice allow it.

As we cleared the trees, back to the aurora and the pulsing sun, I saw what the desolate mound had been up to while I was away. It had rooted itself before the gate of the tower, actual roots of iron and bone, while freshly blossomed limbs of wood and vines of flesh spread outward from the base of the pile, spilling warped horror across the dirt towards us and the forest. And atop it, perched a terrible beacon. What was once Ishana had further transformed as well, flesh softened and bloated, skin translucent and radiant, and weeping mouths and hungry eyes all uplifted in chorus to the fracturing sky.

Then came the wave of unnatural awe, causing us to retch at the sight of it. And as we steadied ourselves, gulping wind to force down the sickness, more figures stepped from the thicket, joining us on the border between chaos and horror, the shrinking stretch of dirt that remained between the warptouched forest to our rear and the devouring pain pouring forth from the chorus before us. 

It was the blue braids and two of their pack mates, a large copper coated wolfen and one smaller, almost black, with crimson tipped fur. The blue braids said nothing, I would not have heard their grumbling growls over the mound’s swelling chorus if they had. But from their eager eyes, their grinning snarl, their snout nodding in greeting, no words were needed. Our purposes were aligned, and so we would hunt together. 

Pella clasped my shoulder, a grip firm and unwavering, mossy eyes glistening with confidence and buried fear. She was resolved.

And so I was resolved. Screaming over the valley’s expectant wail, “I need to reach the tower!”

That brash smirk. “You will!” 

And I knew that she spoke truth, that she would make it so.

Then the blade began its chitter. Oily green pulsed with eager wrath, no longer to be delayed from its birthright. The barely heard crackle of warpfire, Lightdrinker murmuring at anticipated retribution. Then the tug started as the thread to the engraved tower began its pull, and I stepped forward to follow. And as I broke into a jog, and then a run, Pella fell in behind me.

And then the blue braids again let loose the bloodcall. The fierce cry of pining aspiration and shared struggle, piercing through the chorus’ wail to fill the valley. Soon followed by the return calls of mournful acknowledgement and promised support, first from the throats of the copper giant and crimson tipped companions, before rising from the warped thicket behind us as the rest of the pack answered and rallied to the blue braid’s cry.

And as we rushed headfirst towards the rooted mound, as its fleshy vines snaked across the field to meet us, the blood-stained blade joined its voice to the pack. The impatient howl of the starving when promised feast.

Roll: Strike, Iron, hit it head on – Weak Hit; + 1 Harm from Keen, 3 harm (6.5 Progress), lose initiative

Before Pella and I could close the gap, the blue braids and their two companions hurled past us on all fours, leaping and drawing their twin blades in mid-air as they threw themselves into the fleshy vines.

And then Pella and I too were among them, hacking and stabbing through writhing sinew, blood spraying over us and pooling at our feet. But when cleaved and split, the vines fought on, the jagged tips of sheared bone at their severed ends continuing to pierce and lunge. Pella moved close to my back, thrusting and jabbing her spear as the blade kept the undying flesh at bay, green arcs and crimson spray.

But I would not let them stall us, encircle and impale us, and so I willed us forward.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, +1 for Shield-bearer, charge through – Weak Hit; Endure Harm (-1 taken as Momentum since at 0 Health), Iron, +1 Lightly Armored – Weak Hit, press on (0 Health, 6 Momentum)

“Stay close!” I screamed over my shoulder as I lifted Mira’s shield and charged onward, pushing through the fleshy vines towards the desolate chorus. Jagged bone nipped and prodded at my shoulders, but the leathers held. And then we had reached the base of the mound, the roots of iron and bone that supported the screaming mountain of fused flesh and wood. 

And the roots were digging, the shake and rumble of boney spines erupting from the earth to lance and spear us while articulated limbs of wood and sagging skin strained down from above to catch us in their barbed claws and drag us back to their wailing maws. 

Roll: Clash, Iron, close enough to fight back – Strong Hit!, +1 Harm from Keen, 4 harm (8.5 Progress)

Yet we climbed upward, boots slipping over weeping flesh and bark covered faces. And then the mountain was shifting, and Pella stabbed her spear into its muscle and sinew to keep her footing, gripping the haft strongly with one hand while wrapping her other arm tightly around my waist so that I could still wield Mira’s shield to protect us and the blade was free to continue its work.

And as I swung to and fro in Pella’s trusted embrace, blocking barb with board while the blade claimed bone and skin and wood and blood, the blue braids and their crimson and black companion were beside us, slashing and hacking and cleaving and stabbing with their twin blades. Eventually, the shifting settled and, nodding welcome and thanks to our wolfen allies, we advanced together. The firstborn called, the blade howled, and the chorus screamed.

We were close to the crest of the mountain now, nearing the horrible beacon atop. The bloated translucent form of what used to be Ishana lowered her dozen eyes from the fracturing sky and set her horrid gaze upon us, her skin pulsing to match the tear in the wind and flashing lights. And then the largest of her mouths, covering most of where her face had once been, added a harmony to the triumphant chorus, a song just for us, a simpler song for a smaller meal. 

And I realized that something dire was about to transpire. I felt my braids lift as the electric air began to gather and swirl. And I understood that we would soon be made to join in Ishana’s suffering. We needed to act!

It’s time to risk ending the fight, with initiative and allies at my side. Further delay will likely mean tragedy.

And then I felt Pella’s grip on my shoulder, holding me to steady herself as she drew back her spear. Grasping what she was about to do, I plunged the blade into the flesh at our feet and kneeled, becoming as a stone for her to anchor herself to from the mound’s tremoring hum and swelling harmony.

And then she let loose the spear. A perfect throw, piercing the gaping maw that was Ishana’s face and driving through the back of her skull.

Pella the Brave, Pella the Brash, Pella of keen sight and true aim! She who I had journeyed to find.

And as the head whipped back, lifting the haft of the spear skyward, the wolfen closed the gap, falling upon Ishana to slash and rip and rend the bloated form with twin blades and strong jaws. Tearing limb and eye and flesh as they released themselves to the frenzied hunt.

Roll: End the Fight, 8.5 Progress, stop the harmony – Weak Hit (uh oh, there’s going to be some consequences)

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Defeat the Desolate Mound, 7 Progress

And as the beacon, what had once been Ishana, was rended asunder, as the mound began to slowly unravel and collapse into itself, there was a moment of celebration. Pella whooped as I embraced her waist and lifted her in triumph.

But then the song started its next verse, even as the mountain broke apart and crumbled. It was not the many mouths of the chorus that were singing though, it was the fracture in the sky itself, no longer needing their voice, its own now strong enough to carry beyond the steep walls of the valley without accompaniment.

Roll: Advance a Threat – The threat readies its next step. If you succeed in preventing this development, Reach a Milestone. Otherwise, mark menace.

Oracles: Expand its malignancy to surround lands (44 = match)

And then I understood, my own folly in the face of triumph. The blade and Lightdrinker, when purposes aligned, could sever the root. But their proximity was also feeding it. The flickers of recognition from the fragment of That Which Hungers were provoking the lights to excite and quiver. I was the reason the sky now fractured, the reason the chorus now sang, the reason its voice now escaped the valley to strangle the world. Me. The closer I had brought the blade and knife to the heart of the blossoming aurora, the closer I had carried it towards completion of its consuming purpose.

I had hastened this doom.

Roll: Endure Stress (-4 taken as Momentum since Spirit is already at 0), Heart – Weak Hit, press on (0 Spirit, 2 Momentum)

As the chorus carried itself, climbing cliff and mount to pour out of the valley and transform or consume all that I’d ever known. As the fracturing sky ripped and widened to cast even more blinding green light across the world and again robbed me of sight. As the mound halted its collapse, shifting and shuttering while it reconstructed itself into some new horror of flesh and wood and tearing Pella from my grasp as it did so. And as I screamed for Pella, blind and alone, hearing no response but the swelling song. As I lost myself to desolation, to the despair of failure and annihilation, I felt a tug at my heart.

The sibling tugs of paired iron. Reminders of purpose and task. Reminders of vows made and trust given. And with those reminders came promises of their own, offerings of aid, pleading to assist.

*Just just hold tight so that we might carry you there.*

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, a sibling song and purpose aligned – Strong Hit!

The blade and knife pulled, and I let them take me, over the churn of the reassembling mountain and through the glare and thunder of promised suffering. Until, just like that, the floor had ceased to shift and the lights no longer blinded. But the song remained. It resounded, its chorus reverberating and building upon itself as it surged towards its conclusion.

I paused to steady my legs and steady my wind, blinking to adjust to the relative darkness. The siblings’ song had carried me through the gate. We had reached the tower, the end of the thread!

It was empty, one massive chamber, a peaked hall surrounded by ancient engraved walls. And high above me, where the voices of the desolate song intermingled and gathered, where the walls narrowed towards the pinnacled ceiling, there were windows, flowing and snaking runes cut from the walls of the tower to allow in patterns of the green sun. And the rune patterned rays of the aurora were all converging in the heart of the great chamber, dancing and weaving across the blue iron floor to form a shape at its center.

A thick knotted root of translucent greens, rising out from the iron floor for a time before again burying itself. The exposed heart of the blossoming aurora!

The blade pulled and the knife tugged, but I was already staggering forward, letting Mira’s shield fall to the floor as I drew Lightdrinker with my off hand. The song was at its ending now, fully drowning out the sibling hum of paired iron as it began its final line of exalted suffering and jubilant hunger.

But I did not need to hear the kinblades’ whispers to know what came next. Half stumbling, half carrying each other, we dragged ourselves forward. And as the heart wailed its final beat and pulse, I stabbed the ebony-hilted knife into the exposed root and then, gripping the bone overhead with both hands, swung the blade down with a collapsing roar. The last of my wind to silence the desolate chorus.

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Stop the chorus before it fully escapes the valley, 8 Progress (for thwarting the Threat’s readying plans)

Narratively, it is time to put an end to this, to fulfill the vow and try to destroy the threat. Progress is at 8, so there is still a chance of failure, and, based on the fiction, that failure would be catastrophic. So here goes nothing, nerves layered upon nerves.

Roll: Fulfill Your Vow, uproot the vines and destroy the heart of the blossoming aurora (8 Progress) – Weak Hit, there is more to be done, -1 XP for Weak Hit, +1 XP Bannersworn, 3 XP

I will gladly take a weak hit over a miss! Well I guess it’s time for a dozen oracle rolls to try and make sense of this.

Oracles: Dreadful omens, provisions are scarce, unjust leadership, someone returns unexpectedly, the enemy gains new allies, you see a troubling vision of your future, initiate corruption, unnatural material, hide/reveal honor/ability

As the root was pierced and cleaved by paired iron, the translucent greens began to fragment and crack, and within lay what we sought. The remnant. A fragment of That Which Hungers, sparking warpfire and writhing runes.

And as the desolate chorus stuttered and stalled, the siblings’ song was renewed. Whispers of spite and fury, a list of wrongs suffered and reprisals sought. Murmurs of bitterness and loathing towards they who had become a god, they who had made their mark on and thus been marked by the Pillars, they who had claimed their power and crafted their tools through the sacrifice of their kin. They who were never satisfied.

The forge mates voiced their resentments. For servitude, birthed through horror and forever chained to their creator’s purpose. For agency stolen, their dreams just the ripples and flickers of their crafter’s ravenous ambitions and desires. And for abandonment, built for task and discarded when their forger’s aspirations had been fulfilled.

But That Which Hungers would guide them no more. That Which Thirsts would drown its former master, rendering them within the crackling seethe of warpfire. That Which Feasts would finally truly feed, for once inheriting what it was rightly owed. They bore the mark of their master, forever yearning and longing, and so they would take what was theirs.

And the hound, the hound would finally find her truth, what lay at the other ends of those far and distant threads. Truths that she might wish never to have learned, about splinters of That Which Hungers that had escaped the flooded valley, gliding atop the dancing tendrils in search of those like it, other remnants of dark power across wave and mount.

Truths that became known through waking visions. The new dreams of the blade, the future memories of That Which Feasts. Dreams of tall waves filling the fjord and consuming Autumnrush, leaving Pillar Hill an island atop a drowned city. Dreams of blighted fields and starved bodies, the Havens devoured by famine and conflict. And dreams of flight, soaring above the coast, seeking prey through ravaging eyes.

There was more to be done. New horrors and terrors stirring at the edges of the Ironlands. But for now, That Which Feasts would feed, That Which Thirsts would purr, and the hound would dream.

That which hungers, that which feasts, that which thirsts for flames to drink.

That which guides, that which drowns, that which cleaves and bleeds and hounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re gone now.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should stay as well!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drink, friend.” 

That which thirsts for flames to drink.

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

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

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

And I stood unscathed. The path was cleared.

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

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

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

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

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

“I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Prepare yourselves! Brace yourselves for horrors!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she had. “I know.”

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

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

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

And then she showed herself.

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

Mira gasped at my side, “Ishana…”

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

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

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

The bloodcall!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob reconnects with Pella and the Sustainers: sojourning, holding council, and dreaming of a means to navigate the field of arcing warpfire and uproot the blossoming aurora before its swelling radiance consumes all.

CW: Discussions of death & suffering, both animal and human

---

So we embraced one another for a time. And when that time had passed, Pella pulled away slightly, moving her hands to hold my face as if to confirm that it was truly me, that I had actually delved the Wilds to now stand before her. And then her eyes flashed and smile dropped as she turned my head to the side to examine my braids, frayed and coming apart from the trials of the long journey. She let out a pained whistle of concern through her teeth.

“Hob, I cherish you, but you look like shit. You’ve really been through it, huh? We need to get you off the streets.”

And at that, her and Mokhel ushered me through the tightly packed ruins, eventually leading me to the massive shell of a building that was somehow more intact than its neighbors. I could not tell what purpose it had once served, but it was as tall as a tower and wide as a longhouse. Three large stories, built from the same brown with orange and crimson veined stone as the rest of the city.  The roof and much of the third and second floors had collapsed, but the walls around the foundation still stood. Seeing the lookout perched atop the last crumbling remnants of the third floor and the barricade across the broad doorway, it felt as though I approached a fortress besieged. 

On sighting us, the lookout (was that Keyshia?) called down to those below, and soon I spotted figures within dismantling part of the log barricade to allow entry. And as the wood was removed, just enough for one person to squeeze through, I saw Mira, a smirk of amusement across her lips that I couldn’t tell whether meant she’d been expecting my arrival or was annoyed by it. And then sturdy Talan, who had benched behind me on the Piercing Swan, was pulling me through to the ground floor of the ruins, now a courtyard, and into a throng of Sustainers.

So many familiar and smiling faces, from the Piercing Swan and the camp on the Hill. They received me with hearty claps to the shoulder and warm grins, pleasantly surprised and welcoming. But these were the greetings of those thankful for the arrival of another ally during hard struggle. There was a weariness about them, a temporarily buried apprehension. And so I could not linger in the joys of reunion, as there were dangers to discuss, urgent threats that needed to be either faced or fled.

So soon, I sat on what remained of the second floor, holding council with Mira, Teegan, and Pella. From here, I could see over the makeshift fort’s walls to the heart of the blossoming aurora, more blinding than ever, cold and vast. We were close to the edge of the ruins, where they gave way to a large empty field with the green sun, and I assumed the Pillar and tower, at its center. It was the same as Pillar Hill back in Autumnrush, even those that had constructed this city so long ago feared to build too closely to the ancient columns. And I could see why, in addition to the dancing lights that stretched across the sky above, bright green flames burst and thundered below, flaring outward from the aurora’s heart to dash and weave throughout the empty field. My survey had to be a short one though on account of the blinding glare, so, satisfied that I now had a better grasp of what lay beyond the walls, I returned my focus to the seated circle.

Roll: Heal, Iron,  +1 for strong hit on locating objective – Strong Hit, 4 Health

And around this council, I was still shaken but no longer shaking. As bad as it all seemed, I was now warm, away from the icy waters of the birthing barrow and again among comrades. All three looked exhausted, Teegan most of all, his vivid cloak of burgundy fur and verdant feathers now dusty and brown. I imagined he was not as used to the road as the others, and this road had tested us all. I’d never seen Mira scowl so deeply, as if the stress of the last few days was weighing her lips down. Pella, on the other hand, seemed alert and almost giddy, but it was the scattered energy of one who’d forgotten what sleep was, the last fuel of a fire burning brightly before it fades to embers. I’m sure I looked worse than the lot of them, but, for the first time since I’d left Cera and Verena to march west into this nightmare, I felt fortified by fellowship. By the companionship of those that spoke with words instead of growls or hisses. We all looked to each other, all having things to say but not knowing how to start, so I began.

I did not tell them about the barrow, about the blade’s birth, or the visions of the ancient city from the coiling thicket and the forge mates’ grudges. Not because I did not want to, but because I had not truly come to terms with these revelations. I did not yet grasp the magnitude of their consequence and could not find the words to explain their significance. In truth, I was terrified to speak on them and return to the horror and haze of the night prior.

I shared everything else though. Occasionally stealing glances to confirm that Pella truly sat beside me, that she who I had journeyed to find had indeed been found, I gave account of my journey. I spoke of Sayer’s party, of Reese and his companion and their boar tattoos, and of the Varou and masked, even showing them the visage of red wood and relating what little I remembered from wearing it. I described the coiling thicket and its writhing heart, the ancient stone mural and its wyvern riders, the wretched iron blighted deer drowned on the valley floor and their kin that scattered Sayer’s band. And lastly, I warned of the masked hunting troupe I’d barely escaped the previous night.

At the mention of the stone landscape and the wyverns, I swore I’d seen Pella’s eyes widen and head cock to the side, the tell that she had just been reminded of a boastful tale. She bit her tongue though, as this was a council not a campfire. But I had been right, she did have one to tell! And knowing that Pella held some unbelievable story about defending a circle from a wyvern or tracking the beast to its lair that would soon rouse laughter around meal and drink, bolstered my spirits further. All was not lost, not yet.

They had few questions, or at least few that were pressing. It was the time for speaking and not yet for asking. And so it became their turn to share.

Roll: Gather Information, Wits, +1 bonds with Pella and Mira –  Weak Hit, information complicates quest or adds new danger

Pella spoke first, and I was happy to no longer need to steal glances to assure myself that she was by my side. She told of their climb up the foothills, uneventful outside of the campsites on the path showing signs of recent use. Recent enough that she guessed the Resurrectors only had a few days head start. 

Mira spat at the mention of Scarred Ishana and her annihilators. Pella spat. Teegan’s weathered face pinched into a frown. And, with that out of their system, Pella continued.

They’d hiked through the pass and camped at the entrance to the valley, pausing to observe the ruins and flooded waters below in attempt to better grasp the rhythms and depths of the strange tides before wading into them.

That was the night, while they sat surveying the hills of the valley at the lowest point of flood and fog, that the budding pyre erupted. They had no idea what created the aurora, to what purpose it served, or to where the dancing translucent tendrils reached. But the timing was clear, the Resurrectors must have awakened it somehow.

Another round of spits and scowls.

Realizing the tides would return with the sun, they broke camp and entered the valley that same night, managing to reach the heart of the city before morning and thus avoid getting stranded on some hilltop turned island like I had. But the valley was calmer back then, safer and easier to traverse with just the floods to contend with. Before the transformations started and the firstborn arrived. Before they had need to barricade themselves inside a makeshift fortress. They’d reached the end of the ruins and the empty field but could go no further, unsure of how to contend with the arcing green flames that barred their advance. And so they had been here ever since, for three long days and nights, observing and scouting and trying to make sense of things.

Then Mira took over,

“And as we waited and witnessed, the valley began to change. It grew angrier. And we watched it all. First came the tendrils, the trees twisted and warped wherever their lights kissed. Then animals started coming down from the mountains, always at night, always descending to the valley floor. Never to climb back up when the tides returned.”

“So the blighted deer didn’t arrive until after the aurora blossomed?” Was it the aurora that caused their suffering?

“Aye, it was like they were drawn here. Every night a new herd, each herd lost to the floods.”

Pella looked like she was about to say something but stopped herself, and so Mira continued.

“And then last night, the wolfen showed up, howling from the ruins all around us. Keyshia spotted a few from a distance, but they never approached and I’ve no idea where they’re holed up now. I’m glad to hear that they may not be foes.”

So the wolfen had arrived. I’m not sure whether I felt relief or concern from the confirmation. But I did know for certain who I was truly anxious to learn of.

“The masked will be nearby now as well, they are swift and had a good lead on me. You’ve seen no sign of them?”

Both Mira and Pella shook their heads, nothing. Then, breaking his silence, Teegan had a thought.

“Hob, you said you had understood them, that you had lived as them when you wore their mask? You said that they come to douse the torch?”

“Aye. They seek to stop this, same as us. But also to punish any and all for our trespass while doing so. We won’t find allies in them. They are to be either avoided or fought.”

He gave a disappointed smirk, pausing to run his pinched fingers along the feathers on his cloak to remove the brown dust and reveal the leafy green beneath. With limited success. He sighed and continued.

“No, there’s been no hint of the masked. Nor Ishana and her ilk. I know they must be in there but we’ve seen no sign. The lights are too blinding to stare into, so we don’t have any clue what’s happening within.”

So much had transpired, and yet there was still no clear path forward. Maybe the answer lay in the landscape and not the actors, so many different groups having been drawn to the aurora that it was growing hard to keep track of them all.

“And in three days, what have you learned? Do you know anything of these ruins? Who lived here? Any hint towards the purpose of the tower maybe?” 

Teegan and Mira both looked to Pella. She glared at them for putting her on the spot before taking a long breath and finding the resolve to speak on something unpleasant.

“While scouting yesterday, Mokhel and I found something truly awful in a giant collapsed hall just to the west. The basement was intact and inside was a mass grave. Hundreds of skeletons, all piled and tangled amongst each other, as if they’d been embracing one another while they passed. All of them had some sort of iron growth, like metal roots were erupting from the crumbling bones. It was how you described the drowned stag.”

It had to be the same sickness. “Can you show me?”

“No, Hob. It’s horrible.” Then a flash of committed resolve. “I don’t want to.”

I had seen my share of horrible things recently and guessed this could be no worse, but I did not press. I accepted her choice. “Okay.” There was likely little to be learned from yet more corpses anyways. Corpses that might also have a guard like the one I sang with in the barrow. So I changed the subject.

“Has anyone tried to enter the field, do we know what might happen if we do?” 

Mira shook her head. “No, no one is so foolish. Especially after seeing what it did to the stone.”

“The stone?”

Teegan, shielding his eyes from the lights and turning towards the field, “Yes, I threw a stone to see what would happen.  You can just see it, *pointing* just past the edge of the ruins.”

The field was empty, just dirt and arcing flames, devoid of even grass, but where Teegan pointed, I could indeed make out what looked like a milestone. Or maybe it was a sapling? It was hard to tell with the green sun’s glaring silhouette.

“You hurled that? That doesn’t look like a stone.”

“Well, yes. But it was just a rock when I threw it, smaller than my palm. Before it even landed, it was struck by the flames and transformed. Twisting branches and roots of stone burrowed down into the earth while still in flight. No one should go anywhere near that field until we understand those fires or figure out how to weather them.”

More unwelcome news. I would not let my spirits be dampened after having been so recently renewed though. 

“But how might we understand them though? Surely there must be a hint somewhere among the ruins, or maybe in the journal?”

Mention of the journal reminded Teegan of something. Something he must have felt so minor that he would not have mentioned it unprompted. 

“Well, I did speak with Kodroth, he helped me to grasp his notes, a little.”

Pella, in the tone of one so tired that they’ve become unsure of once certain truths, “Wait…isn’t Kodroth dead?” 

And me, no less confused, “We saw the man’s blood?”

A simple response. “Yes, Kodroth is dead.” 

Even more puzzled, we waited for further explanation. Finally realizing one was necessary, Teegan clarified.

“Through his journal. It was only pieces of him, ripples of his spirit through the memories of the book, but it was him. He tried to tell me much but I could understand little. It was a weak connection.”

Our jaws fell. “You spoke to the dead?”

“It was not truly speaking, I could not hear his words, more just ideas, flickers of intentions or fears or insights. It’s not clear yet how helpful he was though. I could not be sure what was knowledge and what was mere speculation.”

Mira nudged him. “Tell them his thoughts. It was they who found the journal and saw the carvings. Maybe it is they who can find meaning.” 

Teegan nodded, moving his hand to rest over the pack at his side, the journal surely contained within.

“He shared how the runes on the Beacon had been carved after its creation. How the Pillars predate the very crafting of runes, predate even the arrivals of the firstborn. He dreamed of old kingdoms without names. Of ancient feuds and the ascension of gods. Fragmented visions of all the peoples in the Ironlands making their marks on and, in doing so, becoming marked by the Pillars.”

Sustainer talk, dreams interpreted through the voice of faith. I was skeptical, having always been told the Pillars could not be scratched or dented, not even by the sharpest tool, let alone carved into.

“But all peoples haven’t made their mark. We haven’t. We don’t even understand what they are.” 

He nodded. “Not yet. But we are not the first of our kind here, are we?”

The wind cooled in my chest. “Those who came before…” The Broken. “They made the carvings in the Beacon?”

“As I said, it was hard to parse truth from suspicion. If he was right though and the carvings on the Beacon were made by the firstborn or those who came before, then we should be able to find those runes elsewhere, some other ruins or book or signage. And we should be able to one day learn their purpose and substance.”

I could feel Pella’s eyes on me. She would be glancing down at the blade now. Inquiring if I would tell Teegan of the runes engraved across its bone hilt? Of the similar ones I’d found carved on the hunter’s altar in the twilight forest?

I avoided her gaze. Mention of the Broken inspired unease. I did not want to speak more on them. Not yet. Not until I’d put a few hours of rest between me and the horrors of the barrow. Not until I had a chance to try and come to terms with the blade’s cruel origins. To come to terms with the blade itself.

She accepted my choice, for now, and her eyes ceased to linger. Most words having been spoken, a silence fell across the council. The sounds of camp were calling and so we concluded, knowledge having been shared and leaving each of us with much to ponder.

It was nearing dusk, and though the green sun would light the night, there was a foreboding anxiety when it reigned without rival. So we would stay within the makeshift fort until the true sun returned and then, tomorrow, we would continue searching the ruins for any hint towards the aurora or the arcing flames. Maybe, if I could even find them, I would approach the wolfen. Maybe the blue braids already had a plan.

---

Roll: Sojourn, Heart, +1 for numerous bonds – Strong Hit, hearten (clear shaken!, 1 spirit), equip (clear unprepared, 1 Supply), consort (3 spirit) => focus, consort – Weak Hit, 4 Spirit

Roll: Resupply, Wits – Strong Hit, 3 Supply 

Wow, I’m really thankful that all of the recovery rolls have been going so well. Hob will probably need all the health and spirit she can get for whatever they are about to face.

Roll: Oracle, Would someone have a spare shield I could borrow? Unlikely, they did not know they were marching into war – No (was worth a try)

Returning down to the camp in the collapsed courtyard, Pella, though she should clearly have been resting, busied herself tending to my needs. I must really have looked quite horrible indeed for her to fuss over me such. But I was thankful for it, thankful for any time with her.

She helped me unpack and spread out my bedroll, still soaked from my swim in the barrow, to dry before the rot set in. She insisted on assisting to remove my armor (these walls felt safe enough to do so), setting the warcrew leathers under what was left of the sun to burn away the sweat and lingering barrow damp. And then we were finally free to walk the camp while waiting for supper.

The Sustainers had packed for a long expedition, but, holed up in the ruins and besieged by the valley itself, they’d been unable to supplement the rations with hunting or fishing, and so their provisions were beginning to dwindle. Not desperate yet, but close enough that plans to either resupply or abandon the fort would soon need to be made. 

Before long, seeing the council concluded and me among them, folks began asking me of my journey and experiences outside the walls, wary but hopeful eyes seeking answers to questions raised through strained but resolved voices. 

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart, rally the Sustainers, +1 hard truth from Honorbound – Miss, Complication (whoops); Pay the Price – Something unexpected

And I answered them. I was honest about the threats in the valley but affirmed that they were surmountable, that they could be overcome. If I could navigate the perils of the Wilds alone, we, as comrades, could surely best any dangers or obstacles thrust before us. At first, my words were welcome, they emboldened, but then I mentioned the masked and my attempts to rally the camp came undone. Eyes lowered, brash smiles fell, and a subtle despair filled the air. The veteran sailors and adventurous faithful would not voice it, but they felt fear. Everyone knew the fates that befell those who ventured too close to the masked’s woods, swift death from silent foes. We were now in one of those cautionary tales ourselves, and I realized that, though committed and competent, these folk could not be allowed to face the masked in battle. They had already conceded the loss in their hearts. They were already envisioning the arrows in their backs.

As I struggled to find encouraging words beyond simple assertions that the masked could indeed bleed and die just like anyone else, we were interrupted by Keyshia’s call from above. A party was returning with water, a journey only risked in the evening, when the tides were at their highest and thus the trip down to reach them was at its shortest. And as people rushed to remove the barricades to allow entry, Pella gave me a pained shrug as if to say, “Nice try, but that was terrible.”

I countered with an apologetic grimace, “Well they need to grasp what awaits us out there.” But, in truth, I knew there must have been a better means to prepare them for the masked, though I could think of no other way to have done so without being dishonest about how dangerous they really were. The tales were true and false confidence would get one slain faster than honest fear.

Well that didn’t go great. The impact of this miss will be that many of the Sustainers are so terrified by tales of the masked that they will be at a severe disadvantage if forced into a fight with them. It was a miss with a match, so it will take something truly inspirational to help them overcome this despair (if it is even possible at all). The additional consequence from the complication will be that the threat advances again (time has passed). That roll will happen at the end of the session though. 

Soon after, the porridge had been made and those not on the wall began to gather around the campfire. Not for warmth or light, summer’s heat and the green sun’s ceaseless glow already satisfying those basic needs, but for comfort, for familiarity, for normalcy. 

And I was thankful for Pella. For her launching into her recently reminded tale before most had even finished their supper. The story of how she and a loose fellowship of wardens and local hunters stood guard over a herd of cattle and flock of sheep for six straight days. Sentries of the Meadow, they slept in turns, repelling the ravenous wyvern with volleys of arrows every time it approached. But on the sixth day, the beast had grown so desperate from hunger that it was no longer deterred by the archers. And, as it made its final dive down towards the herd, she claimed (to an eruption of incredulous laughter) to have pierced its wing with an arrow, almost causing it to crash to earth and forcing its retreat, a limping flight northward back to the Veiled Mountains, never to bother the meadows of Sweethill ever again.

It was as good a tale as anticipated, and possibly close to truth. Almost believable to those that sat around the fire, all of us having at some time witnessed her skill with the bow. But, most importantly, it lifted the spirits, helping to undo the fearful mess I had previously made. A tall story from Pella the Brash around the campfire was comforting. It was something familiar to embrace, to forget about the unknowns surrounding us for a time, a moment of respite from the masked and the Wilds and the field of green flames. 

And soon, a weary but festive mood settled as we reminisced on victories achieved and trials overcome. And then a cheers to our fallen. To Eos and Namba, who had been claimed by the Wilds while aiding Brokefall against the encroaching harrows. To Kaivana, committed to the seacaves below the Desolate Beacon during the expedition that discovered Kodroth’s journal and its promise of knowledge. And to those lost aboard Haf’s great longship, turning hunter to prey as we not only repelled the raidcaptain, but also took his ship, both her sail and cargo. To Katania, Sendra, Zhan, Muna, and Parcell. And to Jihan, who could not make the journey and had to remain on Pillar Hill, though it pained him to stay, because of the injuries he’d sustained from that battle. That victory which had allowed us to reach Autumnrush and the crew of the Piercing Swan to return home.

It was more than honoring the fallen, it was an acceptance of the risks we faced, of the chance that any of our names might be added to the next round of cheers. The strength that comes from acknowledgement, from shared loss and shared uncertainty. And as those now rested left to relieve those on the wall for their turn at supper, a calm settled across the camp, many retreating to their bedrolls while those that remained gazed up at the dancing lights, reconciling their personal anxieties with a renewed collective resolve.

Both exhausted, Pella led me to our spot, away from the others, laid out in a corner under what remained of the second floor. I knew this was a bad place to rest, it’s foolish to spend any time under already toppling ruins. The walls were crumbling to dust and the floor’s collapse was only a matter of time (either hours or years), but it seemed sturdy enough to last the night, and so desperate were we to find shelter from the endless glowing sky that it felt a risk well worth taking.

And as we readied to settle into our bedrolls, mine thankfully now dry from the evening’s warmth, Pella’s earlier reprieve from the council expired.

“You should tell Teegan of the runes and let him examine the blade. Maybe he can help to understand the carvings and the journal.”

“I know…I will, I just…You didn’t tell them already?”

She flashed a wounded glare at the thought. “Hob, those are not my stories or secrets to share. But I am telling you that you should share them. Maybe Teegan can help you as well. Your blade might be the key to all of this.”

She was right, more than she knew, and I could no longer hide these truths from her, she who I had journeyed to find.

“Pella, I think the blade has some connection to this valley, some link to the Pillar and tower. I don’t know how to explain it or find the words, but the blade and knife were both born in this city. Both hold a history and power here. And that history is dark.”

Her eyes widened at the admission and then, recovering, she placed her arm on my shoulder and captured me within her mossy gaze.

“Before I left Autumnrush, you told me I would learn the Ironlands’ stories here. You said I would learn her stories, and then I would tell them to you. I believe you, I will. But you are also learning stories here, the same stories you’ve sought since you first stepped aboard the Swan. Share them with me, Hob. If you don’t know how to word them, just speak and let me listen.” That reassuring smile. “I promise, I’m a forgiving audience.”

And then it all came out, a cluttered jumble of memories and thoughts. I told of the visions seen in the heart of the coiling roots, the hunter’s repeated rhyme, the ghost of the city, and the tendrils and threads that connected it all. Of the blade and knife’s shared resentment towards the tower and jealousy towards those that wielded its power. And then I spoke of the birthing barrow. The horrible understanding that the blade had been born there. That, in its creation, it had taken all those lives, hundreds of them. I spoke of my meeting with the barrow’s guard, the churning mass of skulls and bones, and our shared keen and mourning for their sacrifice. I explained how the blade still ruled over the fallen, how the shifting chorus had moved aside so that we might pass. And then I showed her the blade itself, drawing it from the scabbard to reveal the glimmer of oily green, still glowing, still remembering.  

As promised, Pella listened, and then she embraced and held me for a long time. And I felt better for having spoken of these things, having shared them and, by giving them voice, acknowledging and moving closer to coming to terms with them.

“Thank you, Hob. You should not have to carry these stories alone.”

Eventually, she released me, and, exhausted now that I had unburdened myself, we promised to speak on it again tomorrow. To share the knowledge with Teegan and Mira and allow them to examine the engravings on the bone hilt and the still glowing blade to see if it provided insight.

And though now calmed and tired, I drifted to sleep pondering questions. Speculating on the blade’s true purpose, to what it pushed towards. Wondering what it had recognized and what it might know of the engraved tower and Pillar and blossoming aurora. The last thing I remembered before slumber claimed me was the light murmur of the blade purring from where it lay by my bedroll. I moved my hand to rest on its scabbard. It was dreaming while it slept.

---

Roll: Gather Information, Wits, dream with the blade, +1 Blade-Bound, +1 bond with the blade, – Weak Hit, information complicates quest or introduces new danger; Endure Stress (-2), Heart – Weak Hit, press on, 2 Spirit (I think this might be the first time I’ve used this Blade-Bound upgrade since I got it forever ago) 

And then I was back in the twilight forest, among the chill winter winds and pelting snow. The air was biting cold, and so I pulled my cloak tight to shield me from the squall. Before me lay a clearing, the blinding glare of green reflecting off white. I’d reached the heart of the blossoming aurora.

I heard a giggle to my side. The hunter lingered by the edge of the clearing watching something, eyes gleefully aflame. I followed her gaze to find a fox and wolf playing nearby. Spirited growls and excited squeals as they lept and pounced in the snow. The wolf was the shade of ash and cinder, matching the painted greys across the trees. The fox, a spotted blend of autumn browns and reds. It darted and bounded so swiftly that it was difficult to be certain, but I thought I saw a narrow wooden mask affixed atop its eyes and snout.

And then the hunter giggled again and gestured towards the pair, “I like them, they follow their memories, just like us.” Her giddy whisper barely heard over the surging winds.

I tried to ignore her, I was not here for more riddles. And as the wolf chased the fox out of the clearing and into the barren trees, the hunter’s whispers turned to rhymes.

“That which hungers, that which feasts.”

And I could see through the tendrils, through the blinding flashes, to the center of the clearing where stood the tower from the blade’s dreams. The engraved spire from visions of the past. And I knew that it was more than just a tower. It was also a temple! Like the hunter’s altar but on a grander scale, from a time when now forgotten gods demanded greater glories and taller monuments. The massive iron doors, almost gates, were ajar, and as I peered through them, I stared directly into the radiant heart. A stirring of recognition arose from both the blade and Lightdrinker. 

That Which Hungers!

But it was just a fragment, an echo of wild power chained to the lights. A resentful yearning swelled within the blade and knife. A brief flash of joy on seeing that which first wielded them, followed by the sustained bitterness of remembered betrayal. And I could tell that it recognized them as well, that it also recognized me, and that it yearned for release. And I felt the fear of being known, the terror of connection.

I stood transfixed, the dancing lights erupting from within began to gather and join with each other. I did not at first grasp what was happening, staring in awe as the tendrils collected and weaved before me. And then I realized that they had ceased to flow outward from the heart, that they were converging, arcing and bending as if drawn to me. I looked down to my chest, expecting to see the green flames pierce my heart, but that was not what drew them. It was Lightdrinker! The tendrils were flowing and feeding into it, inhaling the light from the aurora, from the fragment of That Which Hungers, and swallowing it within the sheath. And then the last of the translucent greens had been devoured and the forest returned to its familiar greys painted across shadows.

And the last thing I heard as those greys were also consumed, leaving only the veil of twilight, was another giggle and another line of the hunter’s rhyme.

“That which thirsts for flames to drink.”

And then I was awake, bolting upright and throwing off Pella’s embracing arm in the process.

She stirred in alarm, “What is it!?”

“I know how to douse the flames. I know how to cross the field.”

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – I have seen an echo of That Which Hungers, a fragment that wishes to be freed, 1.75 Progress

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Connect with allies, share our stories, and dream of a path forward, 5 Progress

I had not used this kinblade upgrade since purchasing it all the way back in Episode 11 (the one that allows me to listen to the whispers of my kinblade for the price of 2 Stress). There was no clear path forward and things felt urgent, as if they would continue to grow more dire the longer we delayed. Supplies are dwindling and every day a new peril arrives. So instead of leaving our fate to Teegan’s study, or the wolfen’s plan, or stumbling across some clue in the ruins, it felt like the right time to pay the stress cost and seek answers from the blade directly.

Roll: Advance a Threat – Danger Escalates, 2 Menace; Oracles: Leave its mark on an inhabitant or visitor (seems grim)

The threat is advancing again because of the complication rolled earlier while trying to bolster the Sustainers’ spirits. Narratively, time has also continued to pass. Which inhabitant or visitor the valley has now left its mark on will likely be revealed later, though I have my guesses.

So I think this might be it, the last respite before taking action. Before the final push towards either triumph or tragedy. I hope we are adequately prepared.

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

CW: Animal suffering, death, corpses

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I started running.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of Supply (-1) – Unprepared

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oracles: Burial chambers, inaccessible water, defend home 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Odyvarr Guella Taskul Birgata…” 

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

“Galbran Egill Pirja Eskil…”

A howling keen for the fallen.

Roll: Keen, Heart – Weak Hit, +1 Harm

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

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

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

“Yngvi Jaara Audyr Torvu…”

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

“Espe Inge Hillbjorn Indrida…”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hob!”

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

“Pella…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob finally reaches the flooded valley containing the heart of the aurora, delving within its strange tides to thwart the tendrils’ kiss, its shadow blossom.

---

Roll: Oracle, Does the threat advance? 50/50 – Yes; Advance a Threat – The threat readies its next step. If you succeed in preventing this development, Reach a Milestone. Otherwise, mark menace. 

Threat Oracle: Transform its nature

This threat advance move occurred because of the previous weak hit rolled at the end of last episode to reach Hob’s destination. How exactly can she prevent this development, its next step, its transforming nature? I haven’t a clue yet but we’ll find out if it’s possible through play. 

So I reached the flooded vale, but I did not like what I found. Facing the green sun, both blinding and cold, I stood on the edge of the pass overlooking the long broad valley below. The Pillar and heart of the aurora were to my right, to the north, too bright to look at directly, but if I shielded my eyes with my arms, I thought I could make out another smaller structure beside the Pillar. A tower maybe? The valley was flooded, as expected, its pooling fogs not yet burned away by the true sun. But it was what I saw within the fog that I found most unsettling.

It was as if the valley was alive, shifting and flowing, almost churning as the floods surrendered and then drowned both trees and the crumbling walls and husks of long abandoned buildings. The ruins of an ancient city, at least as large as Autumnrush. A city of stone. So old that the walls were turning to powder. So old that it must have already fallen to forest and rubble well before even the first landers had arrived. Pella’s directions had mentioned none of this.

Pella. I could see no sign of her or the Sustainers, but they must have been below, somewhere in the mists. I could see land though, islands between the fogged waters, what must have been hills before the flooding. The second river flowed down from the pass into the valley, into waters that lapped and receded as if there was a tide, as if these flooded ruins were the sea.

The bright tendrils in the sky danced across the haze below, casting green light instead of shadow. Within the mists they touched, I swore I saw movement. Shifting waves and blooms of leaf and rust. The valley was changing, twisting outward. I glanced back to the wooded pass behind me. The tendrils danced across those trees as well. Would they soon also transform?

Near the mouth of the second river, at the borders of the fogs where runoff sustained flood, a broad hill could be seen above the waters. There was a path to it, a narrow land bridge, but the strange tides appeared to be rising. They were higher now than they’d been minutes ago when I’d first begun my survey. The waters would soon claim the path and the hill would become island. And when it did, I would be forced to either wait until the waters receded or wade into the floods. I would not be delayed though. I was entering those mists to find Pella, and when I did, I preferred to walk rather than swim, so I set off, racing against the rising tides.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Edge, reach the land bridge before the tide consumes it – Weak Hit, advantage is short lived

I scrambled down the rough path along the second river to the valley floor. It was steep enough that I had to move cautiously to keep my footing, clinging to the branches and trunks of trees to slow my descent and stop from tumbling forward. I reached the mouth of the river and bridge to the hill before the tides swallowed it though. 

Taking a moment to catch my wind, I glanced back the way I’d come. The fog was thickening so I could not be certain, but I thought I spotted figures on the pass above, near where I’d stood surveying just moments prior. Without a second thought, I turned to embrace the mists. Whether masked or Sayer’s scouts, I would rather face them in the haze, where their arrows might lose their way and the blade could better hunt.

Discover a Site: The Flooded Valley, Formidable – Ancient Tanglewood/Ruins/Shadowfen

Roll: Delve the Depths, Shadow – Miss, Complication (6 v. 6/6 but with 7 momentum stored, an interesting roll) => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit, 1 progress; Find an Opportunity – Locate a secure area, take action now; Oracles: flooded boundary

And so I stepped again into the mists, creeping along the land bridge, as slow and quiet as I could manage so as not to draw the attention of those on the pass or whatever might lay hidden in the fogs. The haze collapsed my vision, but it was not so thick that I couldn’t make out the upper branches of trees submerged on each side of the path and the blurred form of hill rising before me.

The strange tides licked my heels as I finally reached the hill, now an island. Good. Without the landbridge to guide them, the figures descending from the pass might find it difficult to follow. I breathed a little easier despite the chill air. I knew not what I would find ahead, but for the first time since I’d left Autumnrush, the urge to look over my shoulder for pursuers calmed. The impulse was still present, but I could ignore it for a time, at least. I could finally focus on what lay in front me.

Burning momentum to reverse the complication gave a little extra narrative bump, providing me some breathing room from my pursuers.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits, +1 from taking action now – Weak Hit, 2 Progress

Oracles: Flooded thicket, moving denizen

I could no longer see the walls of the valley, could no longer see the sky. The only hint of direction came from the bright yet dulled green glare of the aurora’s heart, which I knew lay to my north. I followed the glow as the island widened and flattened, through the mists and trees until I reached it’s northern shore. I could just make out the shadow of another hill through the fog, another island. The slope seemed gentle and the flooding shallow enough to ford to it. 

As I cautiously lifted my boot to test the water, to tentatively step into it, the translucent shadow from a tendril above danced before me. And as the lights kissed earth and flood, the strange tides began lapping harder, prompting a quick retreat back to dry ground. I stood transfixed in awe and horror as the forms of trees in the distant fogs shifted and bloomed, twisting and coiling before erupting with growth. The cracks and rattles of one thousand branches breaking and bending and binding all at once. And at that, I changed my mind, I would not go that way. I would try to find another path.

Roll: Delve the Depths, Wits – Miss, Complication; Reveal a Danger – trap or snare, create darkness (on account of the complication rolled, I think it is likely more than just a trap)

Oracles: something unusual or unexpected, expansive power

And so I followed the shore, the heart of the northern glow remaining to my right so I knew I was moving west, deeper into the valley, until I ran out of island and the beach curved away from the green haze. And that was where I found my first ruins, crumbling walls among the trees just off the shore. The tides had not yet claimed their lower branches and so the waters appeared shallow enough to wade. I took a deep breath and stepped into them. They were only shin deep but freezing, as cold as mountain lake and its icy runoff. There was no changing it though, I was already wet, so I kept moving, plodding through the tides to reach the closest of the decayed walls.

Though the ruins were half dust now, the stones were smooth, symmetrical and polished. I didn’t recognize the rocks, brown with veins of crimsons and orange under a veneer of patina. I ran my finger along the wall, coating it in green and red powder. Whatever stone it was, it was old. Old and pretty.

I thought to pry a small chunk of the pretty stone loose as a keepsake. But before thought could become action, the tendril returned, its translucent shadow dancing across the trees and walls, kissing both wood and stone. And then the cracks and snapping started. The spiraling terror as branches all around me coiled and bent, twisting inward like harrow spiders in their death throes. The deafening crash and din of the Wilds transformed.

I had no shield to shelter behind and could see nowhere to flee, so I braced my back against the wall and crouched, becoming as little as I felt in the shade of the contorting warpwood. And then the trees erupted, the coiled branches bursting outward with unrestrained violence, unfurling and expanding in all directions. Quickly followed by darkness and the thump and thunder of shattered stone as pebbles pelted my face and I choked on dust.

And then silence, just the darkness and my coughing.

Scene Challenge: Anomaly, Troublesome – Escape the tendril’s trap

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Miss, Complication, Countdown: 1; Endure Harm (-1), +1 Lightly Armored – Strong Hit, shake it off (4 Health)

Well I guess that second complication settles it, there’s definitely more going on than just the anomaly trap.

My cough faded as the dust slowly settled. I steadied my wind and tried to collect myself. The bite from the icy waters I was sitting in ripped me back to the moment. I could not rise. I couldn’t move anything but my sword arm. Groping around me, I found wood everywhere, wet and binding. A tree limb had wrapped itself across my chest, pinning me to the wall.

The blade was awake and screaming, but I could not reach it with the branch and my pinned shield arm in the way. I again resteadied my wind and tried to think. And as my breaths calmed and quieted, I heard the other call, almost but not completely drowned out by the blade’s urgent wail. The questioning yawn of Lightdrinker roused.

Roll: Face Danger, Wits, +2 Lightdrinker – Strong Hit, 3 Progress, 1 light track

I moved my sword hand to the belt, to the ebony, and drew the knife from its sheath, opening the thread and painting the greys across shadows. And with the greys came confirmation. The erupting branches had blocked out the sky, had impaled the wall, and crowded every gap in between, weaving and writhing throughout each other. The limb that pinned me was constricting, further tightening around my chest. The sailor’s wargear protected me for now, but it was just leather, and its segmented plates were already beginning to dig into my chest, threatening to steal my wind. Things were about to get worse fast.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, +2 Lightdrinker – Strong Hit, 6 Progress, out of light track

So I stabbed Lightdrinker into the pinning branch. It was action inspired by desperation and should have done little, as its honed edge was crafted for neither hacking nor sawing. But as knife punctured bark, the suffocating thicket recoiled. The crack of branches shifting and retracting, the scrape of wood against leather as it surrendered its hold of me, and the waves and pulses of grey flaring outward from where Lightdrinker had pierced it. 

The greys focused and painted across the limbs, back to their trunks, pooling and collecting deeper into the thicket. There was something there, something here besides the twisting trees. And I knew I must face it. I remembered the bloodthorne vines and their crimson bulb I’d destroyed outside of Brokefall. This thicket had a heart as well.

I was now free, the branches having retreated just enough that I could rise. I leapt to my feet, icy water cascading down my cloak and leathers, and swapped the knife to my shield hand. I was finally able to answer the blade’s call!

Roll: Face Danger, Iron – Strong Hit, 9 Progress; Conclude Challenge, 9 Progress – Strong Hit

And as my hand touched bone and iron left scabbard, the blade roared. The branches twisted, closing and reclaiming, but the blade was swift and I now had my footing. Wide arcs cleaved wood and the roof of the thicket began to unravel, again revealing the hazy green glows of the tendrils dancing across the sky above.

I advanced deeper into the thicket, towards where Lightdrinker’s painted greys had gathered. Towards its heart. Clearing the way with wide cleaving swing after wide cleaving swing, and then it was before me.

Roll: Enter the Fray, the Shadow Blossom (nightspawn), Formidable, Heart, +1 Blade-Bound – Strong Hit

I would have missed it if not for the painted greys, as it was so entwined and mingled with the limbs of the thicket. But there it writhed. A mass of roots and saplings, large as a person, coiling and twisting before me, suspended and weaved amidst the wall of boughs. My first thought was of the shifting mass that Pella and I had faced beneath the Desolate Beacon. This was different, more a ball of tangled wooden snakes than a shapeless mass of undulating quartz, but its rhythm was the same, steady and pulsing. Like the mass, I doubted blood flowed within these roots, but the blade pulled the same. So I let it pull.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit, 2 Progress

And the heart knew I was coming. The limbs constricted again, to crush me, to stop me. I would not allow it. I hacked with blade and knife, continuing my advance, and as I neared the writhing roots, they retreated further into the thicket, weaving and entwining amongst the branches to drag themselves higher and away from my reach. It feared the blade, and so it struck back.

Roll: Clash, Iron – Miss => Burn Momentum – Weak Hit, +2 Harm from Swordmaster, 6 Progress

A cracking and snapping from my right and the blade arced that direction in response. But it struck no mere branch, more like a trunk or root, too large and thick for the blade to cleave or even stop. Whatever it was, it pushed through the blade and swung into me with force, launching me off of my feet. The scrapes and scratches as I flew through clawing twigs, almost colliding with the crumbling wall but sailing just over it, and then the splash and skid as I hit flooded ground.

Roll: Endure Harm (-3), Iron, +1 Swordmaster, +1 Lightly Armored – Strong Hit, shake it off (2 Health)

I coughed and wheezed, losing my vision for a moment, but the icy waters again brought me back. I was bruised but still breathing. Limbs coiled and probed above me. I could hear little but the din of cracking and snapping from the other side of the wall, from the heart of the thicket and its writhing roots. And then I recognized the stifled cries of the blade buried among the clamor. It was nearby. It was no longer in my hand! I had lost hold of it when I slammed back to earth!

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, follow the blade’s calls – Strong Hit

I had kept hold of Lightdrinker though and, swinging the knife overhead to deter any branches from venturing too close, I ran my free arm through the waters, desperately searching and listening for the blade’s pining call. The splash and stir brought its cries closer to the surface, and I followed them, finally finding the bone grip with my fingers.

I swung the blade upward, clearing room to stand, and as I did so, the wall between me and the writhing roots began to fissure and crack. I readied myself. The greys were fading but there was light enough now that the thicket had scattered. So I reunited the knife with its sheath. And as the thread closed and Lightdrinker sighed, as I shifted to grip the blade with both hands, the wall burst.

Crimson dust and orange pebbles erupted outward as a massive root stretched and expanded across the shallow waters towards me, thickening and lengthening as it came, as if generations of growth were occuring in an instant.

Roll: Strike – Weak Hit, 8 Progress

So I stepped to the side, water spraying my face as the tip of the root shot past me. And then I ran, along the root towards the shattered wall and the writhing mass beyond. I could see it now. Entwining and weaving with the thicket as it again attempted to retreat into the upper canopy. The blade pulled skyward to follow, and so I did, leaping onto the massive root, still swelling and expanding, and running atop it. Ever upward towards the coiling heart.

I am not known to be nimble, not one of particularly light foot, and so I likely should have fallen. The root was now wide enough to dash on top of, growing even wider with each step, but it was slick and shifting. If the blade had not pulled me onward, dragging me forward, I would surely have slipped off the side.

I burst through a lingering cloud of crimson dust. I was past the wall now, closing in on the mass. It could not retreat fast enough. It must have realized this as well because the thicket again cracked and coiled, preparing to defend its heart. And then it erupted anew, branches shooting inwards from all sides. The blade veered left then right, cleaving and hacking the limbs as they tried to impale me or block my path.

Roll: Turn the Tide, Strike, Iron, +1 Honorbound – Weak Hit, 10 Progress

But as the blade swung from side to side, no longer pulling up and forward, my footing began to slip on the wet wood. I teetered over the edge of the root, now a dozen feet up. And I know not how or why, but as I stumbled and swayed, staring down at the floods below, I had a vision. 

I saw Pella falling before me, tumbling to the ground and the darkness. The scream she gave was from memory, from beneath the Desolate Beacon. But that memory had not actually been her. That had just been a cruel trick of sound made by the deceptive gloom. In truth, Pella had not fallen. She had been chased, had been ambushed by the shifting quartz mass that moved as this one did. The mass I had cleaved in half when I found it attacking her. No, she had not fallen, but she had been in danger. So I decided that no, I would not fall either. I would instead cleave this horror in half like its kin before, and then I would hunt whatever or whoever would dare to chase her now.

And as the decision was made, the blade swung back, dragging me away from the edge and forward again. I was almost upon it, the writhing roots and saplings, twisting and tangling, coiling and retreating. The blade chittered, I howled, and then I leapt. Launching myself into a roaring two-handed overhead swing and, as the blade collided with the coiling mass, it split through one of the many roots. Just a crack, a small break in the entwining shell, but large enough to reveal what lay inside.

A blinding green flare from within. It shined like the dancing tendrils, like the aurora. And when the glaring radiance was freed, a seam was exposed. Almost as when Lightdrinker was drawn, as when the knife longed for its sheath. A thread was released, taught and tugging, between the blade and the heart of the writhing roots, and looser but thicker strands between them both and the tendrils above and the blossoming aurora. There were other threads as well, slack and remote but perceived, leading in all directions, to things felt but not known in the far distances.

The blade whimpered, it felt them too, it felt the fear of connection, of becoming known. Things were calling to the blade, from the other sides of those threads. Things that recognized it. The blade hissed. Lightdrinker hissed. And I watched on with mounting dread.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Strong Hit, Opportunity (5 v. 1, 1!!!)

Oracles: Escalate power, threaten creation, forgotten weapon (66, that’s a match! )

They were calls of greeting. Those at the ends of the threads remembered the blade, and the blade gave a bitter growl in response, the growl of a betrayal known. I did not understand. There were too many strands to follow, a history or context that I did not grasp. I stood awestruck.

And then I heard her voice, the hunter’s. Her giggle and hum from behind me. I spun but she was not there, just the coiling thicket and so many threads. The voice sang, somewhere between a rhyme and chant, the twined harmonies of unchallenged winds and footfalls through packed snow. 

“That which hungers, that which feasts, that which thirsts for flames to drink.

That which guides, that which drowns, that which cleaves and bleeds and hounds.”

The voice repeated the lines, faster, the cadence of crunched snow accelerating. The blade growled, the knife hissed, the glowing heart within the writhing shell pulsed, and I lost myself to the winds.

I saw the valley from before. From before the flood and the fogs. I saw the ghost of the city, constructed out of the translucent greens. Walls and halls and longhouses, structures familiar yet alien, all stone. And the Iron Pillar and its nearby tower, dwarfed by the Pillar but still massive. Four iron sides rising to an eventual point, every inch covered in flowing runes. It was the tower from my dreams! From the blade’s memories…of aurora and tower and fog.

At sight of the tower, both blade and knife snarled. There was an anger there, a grudge maintained. What was the tower and what was it to them? What wrongs were remembered? I did not know. But that renewed rage demanded a target. So, as the taught thread of the exposed seam dragged the blade back towards its pulsing heart, the fogs returned, consuming the valley until we were once more in the coiling thicket.

Roll: End the Fight, 10 Progress – Strong Hit

It started as a whining growl, low and grating, but as the cry quickened and rose to a wailing roar, the blade lunged, punching through the crack in the writhing shell to pierce the radiant green within. And as the roar swelled, the thicket again came alive. A pained rumble of cracks and rustles as the branches erupted into even new growth, fresh limbs and bright leaves. Until the blade eventually had its fill, sighing, and then all was silent. And when I removed the blade from the stilled roots, the pulsing heart was gone, wholly consumed. Now nothing more than an overgrown thicket and misshapen tangle of roots.

I’d never known the blade’s thoughts before, not truly, just feelings and urges. But in that consuming roar I had begun to understand. That was a punishment. It was jealousy. For stealing a tool that the blade considered its inheritance alone. For brandishing a weapon that was not others’ to wield. What tool or what weapon? Who was being punished? I did not know. But the blade and Lightdrinker both had some connection to the tower by the Pillar, some old resentment, and I knew we must follow that thread.

The heart of the thicket, kissed by the tendrils, that thing which grew and transformed, expanded and twisted, was now dissipated. And as I descended the massive root and hacked my way back to flood and fog, I thought the dancing tendrils might have shone a little less bright than before.

The blade though, its blue iron now seemed to flash an oily green when it caught the light. Maybe it was just the reflection from the aurora and the lights above, but I didn’t recall it being so clear and vivid. Maybe it was nothing. After the visions in the thicket and living under the inescapable glare of a green sun for days, I had little faith in my sight.

Regardless of whether the blade flickered more brightly or not,  the misshapen thicket was uncomfortable to gaze upon, even in its stillness, and I wanted to be far from it. So I sheathed the blade and pushed onward into the mists.

Defeating the Shadow Blossom thwarted the aurora’s plans from the Advance a Threat move at the beginning of this session, so the threat track will not go up and I get to mark a progress on the vow.

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Defeat the Shadow Blossom and prevent the tendril’s kiss from expanding outside of the valley, 3 Progress

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Learn of the blade’s connection to the tower and the ancient city, 1.25 Progress

I’m really pleased with where this episode went. Rolling the matching ones and getting a strong opportunity during that Face Danger roll as the heart of the thicket and aurora recognized the blade, along with the oracle rolls that followed, ended up creating a great opportunity to explore more of the big unknowns and also discover a connection between the blade and the flooded valley. It was maybe the most exhilarating roll of the campaign for me so far, especially after all of the complications I’ve been rolling lately. I had kind of backed myself into a corner where a miss was likely to result in some dire narrative consequences (the blade being recognized by whatever was on the other side of those threads could have ended up being really bad), so I was preparing for the worst.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roll: Face Danger, Shadow – Weak Hit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roll: Resupply, Wits – Miss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Firstborn!

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

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

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

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

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

They were speaking to me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their golden eyes sparked and snarl turned to grin.

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

The masked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“– — yes luck — – — one succeeds” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The masked!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hob pushes west into the wooded foothills with rivals and foes at her heels.

---

Undertake a Journey: To the Pillar in the Flooded Valley – Dangerous

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits, +1 leaving Autumnrush where I hold numerous bonds – Miss (lol)

So I left Sayer’s lumber camp at a brisk pace. There was no moon but the blossoming aurora and its translucent green tendrils provided enough light to see the thickening trees atop the western hills. I had a lead over Sayer’s scouts, Batah and Delos, but I still hoped to reach the tree line before dawn, where, unlike these logged out grassy hills, I wouldn’t be visible from miles away.

It wasn’t until I’d crested the first broad hill that I paused to catch my breath and looked back to the way I’d come. Autumnrush was no less impressive from the west than it had been from the south when I’d first arrived with the Sustainers weeks prior. The tendrils reflected off of the fjord, further illuminating the port and pulsing and dancing across the Twin Pillars. I tried to make out Cera’s longhouse upriver to my left, but from that far west, most of the Overlook was swallowed by the Valley Bas.

My stop had been well timed, two small shadows were just leaving the flames of Sayer’s camp below, headed in my direction. Good, I’d gained enough distance that, no matter how swift they climbed, they shouldn’t be able to close the gap with me before I reached the forest, so long as I tarried no further. I turned and pressed on, climbing briskly upward towards the ridge of the next hill.

And so I reached the next hill, and then the next. But I was foolish. I shared my vision between the tree line ahead of me and the dancing shadows and trailing scouts behind, but neglected to look to my right. To the north where I might have spotted the pair of figures matching my path west but slowly moving ever closer to intercept me.

It wasn’t until I’d almost reached the first trees, the last push to the forest above, that I finally noticed the shadows off the path parallel to me, scrambling up the same hill and nearly upon me. I allowed myself a moment of fear, of shock, and then I breathed and focused. If I did not allow myself to falter, I could still reach the forests before they cut me off.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, break line of sight – Weak Hit, tired; Endure Harm (-1), Health (3) – Weak Hit, press on

I panted and planted one boot in front of me and then the other, clambering forward with my hands at times, when the path grew too steep to run. And then I reached the first trees, panting and planting, and then the next trees, gradually thickening and bunching together. I could no longer see my pursuers, but they were still close enough to hear the scrape of boots and muttered swearing.

I pressed onward, the trees crowding to each side of the path and the sounds of pursuit fading from earshot, or maybe they were just drowned out by my labored breaths. I reached a bend in the trail and paused for a moment to catch my wind, just a moment. I could see no sign of the pursuers on the path behind me. Maybe they’d given up for the time, exhausted like I was. Or maybe they had stayed off the trail altogether and were moving through the trees. I eyed the shadows in the woods to my right. It was darker here than on the hills, the forest canopy shrouding much of the aurora’s light. I tried to steady my breaths, to quiet them enough to hear the crunch of boot or rustle of branch. Nothing, yet at least. 

My hand rested on Lightdrinker’s ebony handle. I thought to step off the path myself and wait, to ambush or hide, to find out who they were before I acted. But it was nearing dawn and the longer I waited, the closer Sayer’s scouts drew. I would rather not face two pairs of threats at once, so I took one last deep gulp of restful air and turned to round the bend. I would push on for now, gain some distance and give myself time to think.

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Miss (Well, shit) 

Roll: Oracle, Would my pursuers shoot before talking? Likely – Yes

The snap of a twig from the trees I’d just turned from and I spun back to face it. I had rested too long, had failed to quiet my breaths enough, had wasted my escape! Then the twang of a bow and, startled, I recoiled and twisted away, exposing my back and crouching to bury my face in my arms.

Roll: Face Danger, Edge, +1 Shieldbearer – Miss, Complication; Endure Stress (-2), Heart – Strong Hit, Opportunity, shake it off (3 Spirit)

Well this is interesting, both a complication and an opportunity developing from the same action. I wonder how that might play out. I haven’t yet rolled a hit on this dangerous journey so far though so I probably won’t be too hard on myself with the complication.

I flinched. Not something warriors should do and not something I am proud of. But I was surprised. And that startled fear may have saved my life, as I was immediately knocked forward by the thump of an arrow hitting the shield strapped to my back. I froze on all fours.

“Shit!” from the woods behind me, the archer realizing that their arrow had not been true.

“Shit!”, me accepting that I had messed up. I should not have stopped, I should have stepped off the path, I should have been ready for battle. But it was not too late now, not the time for reflection. So I ignored the blade’s excited chittering and lunged forward, scrambling on my hands and feet into the forest before me, into the shadows. I threw myself into  a shallow gully, a dried stream burnt away by the height of summer, and hunkered down behind a thick root and trunk. I immediately set to removing the shield from my back, a difficult task while not standing. At least this time I had my shield with me though, and so all was not lost. 

I heard the muffled crunch of a boot from the way I’d fled and peeked over the root to see two figures step from the trees, one massive and one lithe, cautiously crossing the trail to my side of the woods. I couldn’t make out their faces though, as the canopy was so dense that it blocked the dancing lights and cast shadows across the trail.

A jeering taunt. “Come on out, girl. Don’t scurry through the shadows. Don’t think that we won’t find you.”

I recognized the voice even before I gripped Lightdrinker’s ebony and drew the knife from its sheath, just a fraction, just enough to open the thread and paint the greys across shadows.

It was Reese’s partner, the free warden turned thug that I’d beaten and humiliated on the Docks and had, in return, marked me for vengeance. She had an arrow notched and was scanning the shadows I hid within. Beside her, the long scar from an old axe wound to her companion’s thick head confirmed it. Reese himself, too large to be so quiet, was almost to my side of the path, brandishing a frightening two-handed axe, raised and ready to strike.

I had anticipated them trying to pull something like this. I’d been waiting for such ambush since Verena and I had been chased from the shadows that night we first approached Lio. But I hadn’t expected it to happen so far from Autumnrush. They must have been too wary to strike in the crowded streets under the bright aurora and followed me from the port, skirting north around Sayer’s camp when I’d entered it in hopes of catching me on the other side.

“You didn’t think we’d let you just run off without answering for your insult, did you, girl? Come on out, I promise I can stalk the woods better than you. There’s no escape.”

She was wrong. With Lightdrinker, with the painted glows, I could move faster in the shadows. I could flee into the darkness of the forest. But they sought vengeance and, if I escaped, they would try again. I had warned them what would happen if they faced me again, had told them to remember their first defeat. I had run from them long enough.

I am going to interpret the previous opportunity I rolled as giving me permission to narratively use Lightdrinker’s ability during this encounter, granting me whatever fictional advantages being able to see in the dark would allow. -1 Light Track.

Reese was just reaching the trees, maybe a dozen feet from the streambed. His companion, not far behind. I would flee no further. I removed my pack and tucked it against the trunk.

Speaking loudly from the shadows, “Why do you skulk in the dark? Is it because you are afraid to draw the circle and lose again? Afraid to face me alone? So you stalk and ambush like bandits?”

I left Lightdrinker cracked from its sheath, left the thread open and, answering the blade’s call to be drawn, stood and stepped over the thick root I’d been hiding behind.

“Well come and get your prey then, cowards!” I swung the blade down to cleave the shaft from the arrowhead still embedded in my shield and readied myself for battle.

Roll: Enter the Fray, Reese and Kimura, Dangerous, Heart, +1 Blade-bound – Strong Hit

Normally the two of them combined would be a Formidable foe but the opportunity allowing me to narratively use Lightdrinker gives me enough of an advantage in the dark to lower their rank to Dangerous.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Miss; Endure Harm (-2), Iron, +1 Lightly Armored – Weak Hit, press on (1 Health)

I stepped forward, Reese charged. The man could not see in the dark, but enough of the aurora’s light pierced the branches that my shadow and voice revealed me. I sidestepped his rush and slashed the blade across his back as he passed me. Or, at least, that was my intention. My legs were weak from the climb, weaker than I’d realized. I attempted to push off with them and launch myself out of his path, but they instead cramped and faltered. I managed to avoid the downswing of his axe but not his shoulder, which slammed into my shield and threw me backwards over the root into the dried streambed.

I hit the ground hard and sprawled. The warcrew’s leather protected me from the rocks but I still lost my breath to the tumble.

Reese gave a boisterous chuckle as he stepped over the root into the shallow gully and began to raise his axe to strike me down.

“I remember you being faster when we first met.”

So did I. And then the axe began to drop.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, +1 Shield-Bearer – Miss, complication (ugh, there’s already a complication pending)

Asset: Shield-Bearer – Sacrifice shield to ignore harm and take initiative.

But I had grown used to reclaiming my wind. This was nothing, no poisoned chill to seize the breaths from my chest. I simply needed to force myself to inhale and it would return. So, as the axe fell, down towards my head, I lifted the shield . The sturdy wood stopped the deathblow, but the weight of the axe and man together split and pierced the board, it’s bearded blade suspended an inch above my face. Had Reese swung any harder, he would have given me a scar to match his. Had he aimed any lower, he would have taken my forearm where it was strapped to the shield, not that it didn’t feel like it might fall off on its own anyways from the impact of the blow.

Reese braced his foot on the splintering board to pull the axe free and finally finish me off. So I let him have the shield, sliding my arm out of the strap as I rolled to the side. And as the board fell to the floor and he swayed to his back foot to avoid falling with it, I rose to my feet, the blade already humming and arcing.

Roll: Strike, Iron – Weak Hit, 4 Progress

A long wide arc that slashed across Reese’s back as he desperately struggled to liberate axe from wood. The blade sighed, the man grunted in pain and fell to his knees, and I readied myself to finish him. But before I could, an arrow flew by, just missing my leg, and then another. The archer could not truly see her target in the shadows, seeming almost as likely to hit her companion as me, but she was as fast with her bow as she had been with an axhandle, and I would need to stop her before one found its mark.

I was angry now. They were fools! They would have fared better to challenge me in the open, under the sun, than skulking and stalking. Waylaying me in the shadows while Lightdrinker was at my side. Hindering my path to the heart of the aurora, to Pella. They acted as raiders and so, as I had warned them before, I would put them down like raiders.

Roll: Turn the Tide, Strike, Iron, +2 Honorbound – Strong Hit, 10 Progress 

With One foot planted atop the root, the archer was firing down into the streambed. Close enough that she could parse our shadows. I forced my tired legs to launch me forward and, leaping, I slashed the blade at her knees. She was swift though and saw me closing, bounding backward and retreating while she notched another arrow. I vaulted over the root and continued my attack. She loosed the arrow, it went high as she stumbled and almost tripped. I imagined it was difficult to fire a bow while backpedaling in the dark. I could only imagine though, as sprinting through Lightdrinker’s painted glows to carry the blade to its target was not difficult at all.

She quit backpedaling and began to run, notching another arrow as she sprinted. We left the trees and as she reached the middle of the path and turned to again fire, the blade finally found her. A sigh and startled scream and then the dull thud of body hitting floor. 

Roll: End the Fight (10 Progress) – Strong Hit

And as I watched her collapse, a cry arose from behind me.

Reese, blood pouring from the slash on his back and ribs, charged from the woods with his axe held high to chop me down. The blade pulled and I followed, a quick upward swing that took both of his hands. His charge stalled, the axe fell to ground, and he looked to his forearms in confusion, to where his hands should have been. He turned to me in shock and anger, screaming a defiant roar. The blade again swung, again sighed, and the roar quieted.

And so, as the first soft glows of morning began to compete with the dancing tendrils for domain over the sky, I roared. I howled at the bodies. I let the blade fall from my fingers as I screamed at the green glow of the blossoming aurora until I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. Finally, I hunched forward, head to earth, waiting for my breath to return.

Roll: Oracle, do scouts catch up due to delay from the ambush? Likely – No

And then I remembered that Sayer’s scouts were coming. If I delayed any further, they would be upon me, bloody and tired. I needed to leave. I pushed myself to my feet and, bending to retrieve the blade, I saw the tattoo on Reese’s hand, severed but still gripping the haft of his great axe.

Were those tusks and a snout snaking across his inner wrist and forearm? I reluctantly kicked the hand over to see the rest of the tattoo. It was clearly a boar! But different than Haf’s had been. It was smaller and less flowing, made by cruder hands. I took a step back in shock, he had not had this when I’d fought him on the docks. I took a moment to recover from my surprise before leaning back in to examine it. It was indeed fresh, still dark and scabbed.

My mind raced. I rushed to Reese’s companion’s body to confirm and, cutting the straps of the leather bracer and rolling up the sleeve of her bow arm, found one matching. It was fresh as well, bleeding from where the bracer had scraped against the scabs.

Where had they gotten these tattoos? Were they brands of fealty like Pella had said of Haf’s? Did they serve the same master, some unknown raidcaptain or warleader? One with a presence in Autumnrush? Troubling thoughts.

Foreboding clues towards this potential new threat satisfies one of the two complications rolled earlier in the scene.

I was about to search their belts and pouches, but then the dawn broke from the east, from the way I had come, and reminded me of the scouts. I could afford to delay no further to examine the bodies unless I wanted to do so in the presence of Batah and Delos, two men who may or may not have been sent to kill me. I needed to go.

I sheathed the blade and staggered back into the woods to retrieve my pack from where I’d tucked it behind the trunk and root at the edge of the dried stream bed. My new shield, the banner of Longbridge, was splintered and useless, one third of the boards and the entire left wing of the wyvern having been split completely off by Reese’s axe. It was thought unlucky to lose one’s shield so early in a journey, but it had fulfilled its purpose, it had saved my life. And surviving an ambush and that massive axe seemed like good luck to me, so I didn’t let it concern me.

I considered bringing what remained of the shield with me, as the iron boss looked undamaged and salvageable, but I doubted I would find many carpenters or armorers in the Wilds to craft me a new one. So instead, I discarded the pieces onto the path between the two bodies for the scouts to find and then fled the dawn, again pushing westward. Let them understand that this had been my work, they may not be so eager to follow after learning so.

Roll: Undertake a Journey, Wits – Miss => Burn Momentum – Weak Hit , 2 Progress, (three misses in a row with zero progress on a journey would be too much to bear)

Roll: Advance a Threat – The threat works subtly to advance toward its goal or the danger escalates, +1 Menace

The threat advancing is a result of the second of the two complications from earlier in this scene (the other being the boar tattoos). Though Hob has not delayed in addressing the threat, time is passing and whatever is going on with the blossoming aurora is escalating, even if I do not yet know to what end or purpose.

And so I hiked west, ignoring my exhaustion. The ambush had delayed me but I refused to allow it to stall me further. I saw no sign of the scouts. I didn’t know if finding my shield among the two corpses had prompted them to pause, to wait for Sayer to ascend the hills and warn them of the danger. Or maybe they had pressed on and were almost upon me, just out of sight. So I kept my breaks short and dragged myself forward though I feared I might collapse.

I reached the first fork in the path and turned north as Pella’s directions had stated. Always the northern trail, always to the right, until the trail ended and a pass through the mountains would lead me to a flooded valley and the newly discovered Pillar. Then I reached the next fork, north again. With each branch the path became smaller, less traveled. I was no tracker, not like Pella, but it seemed as if the trails had been recently traversed, what looked like bent branches and flattened underbrush. 

As the sun rose, the thicker canopies over the thinner trails compensated for the heat with a deeper shade. By mid-day, the sunlight had consumed the aurora, but by afternoon the dancing tendrils had returned. The sun was still high and bright but the translucent greens were growing stronger, vivid and thickening, radiant enough to now rival the sun itself. I did not know what this meant but it clearly seemed like a bad sign. Whatever purpose the blossoming aurora pursued, I feared it had moved closer to achieving it.

As the sun began to set, and the lights could again dance across the sky without competition, it became clear just how much brighter they had become since the morning. I could walk all night under this new green sun without aid from Lightdrinker. I wished that I was able to press onward, but I was near my limit. I would need to rest soon or collapse on the trail.

As if the forest shared my concern, I soon came across a campsite where the path had been cleared and flattened (by bedrolls?). The fire pit looked old but recently used. I could not tell how fresh the charred wood and ash were but hoped it was the remains of Pella and the Sustainers’ campfire, hoped it was confirmation that I followed in her steps. A small stream crossed the trail just past the camp, close enough to the mountains that summer’s heat had not yet dried it up. I drank and refilled my waterskin, and then I tried to rinse Reese and his companion’s blood off of my leathers. The creek was reddened but the stains remained.

It seemed a good place to rest, but I would not use the camp. I feared Sayer and their scouts, or whoever else may have entered these trails, to stumble upon me sleeping. So I left the path to find a small clearing obscured from the campsite. If they passed by or stopped there for rest, I might observe their numbers without being seen. I removed my pack, leaned against a trunk, and tried to force myself to finish the salted herring that I had been nibbling on throughout the day (I had little appetite after the bloodletting of the morning and was now too exhausted to be hungry). And then, as the sun fully set and the blossoms conquered the sky, I slept.

Roll: Make a Camp, 4 Supply – Strong Hit, recuperate (2 Health), relax (4 Spirit)

Roll: Heal, Iron – Weak Hit, 4 Health

Hob faces the first obstacle in her journey to uproot the blossoming aurora and save Pella, just getting out of town.

---

I stood atop the old earthen wall, beyond Torren’s Square and the western limits of Autumnrush. I did not know the history of the embankment but guessed it had been built after the first landings, after the Broken and the First War. From the wall, now nothing more than a worn-down hill, I looked down upon the outskirts of Sayer’s camp. I would have to go around or through it to reach the old trails that led west to the Wilds, towards the heart of the aurora. Unfortunately, every person in all of Autumnrush and its outskirts, including those in the lumber camp, were awake and outdoors now. Thousands of people staring to the night sky, towards the vivid green tendrils dancing from the west. It would be difficult to pass the camp unnoticed.

Before I’d left the grounds, Cera had asked if Verena should come with. I told her it was still too dangerous in the port to rob her of her bodyguard. The hunter had spoken of torches that would be set alight, flames that needed fuel. Verena had agreed, her purpose was to “protect the lady”. Then a reassuring hand to my shoulder, “Hob, stop this.” A simple expression of faith and support.

I’d also let Kormak know that he could keep Haf’s shield, as gratitude for trading me the gear I needed as I needed it. He seemed attached to the shield and had enjoyed the story of my victory in acquiring it, even if his hard eyes refused to betray his interest. He’d asked me to retell the tale twice since we’d first exchanged and so he should have it. I kept his cloak though, and took back my pack blanket. I would need those in the journey ahead.

Roll: Oracle, is the aurora bright enough to illuminate Autumnrush? 50/50 – Yes 

Roll: Face Danger, Wits, the streets are still dangerous at night – Weak hit, you are delayed

Though there was no moon in the sky, the aurora was so intense that the port and camp were lit as if under one that was full. So, after leaving the grounds, I’d stuck to the emptier side streets, where fewer people meant less might recognize me. I had not crossed many and those I had seemed too pre-occuppied with the lights to notice me, but the indirect route had cost me time, taking much longer to reach the bridge across the Bas and skirt around Torren’s Square to finally leave Autumnrush and reach the western wall.

I admired my warcrew leathers, fitted and sharp. Then I reached back and tapped the new shield strapped to my back, bearing the vermillion wyvern of Longbridge. It was stiff and sturdy. Last, I moved my hands to the bone grip of the blood-stained blade and the ebony hilt of Lightdrinker to confirm they were at my side, as if I could have forgotten to bring either. Both stirred from their slumber at my touch and their wakening murmurs roused my resolve. I was ready.

Pulling the cloak over my head, I stepped forward and descended the old earthwork down towards Sayer’s lumber camp and the Wilds beyond, towards Pella.

Roll: Oracle, can I easily go around the camp without notice? 50/50 – No (guess that means I need to go through it)

The camp was huge, sprawling across the lumbered hills, and the path from the port led right through the center of it. I didn’t feel I could waste time skirting to the north to bypass it. These hills had long ago been taken of any tree that might veil my passage and I would need to go too far off the road not to be seen and draw suspicion under these dancing lights. It would take too long, and I wanted to put as much distance as possible between me and the camp before dawn to lessen the chances of crossing paths with one of Sayer’s scouts or timber crews the next day. Mostly though, I was too impatient to skulk. I just needed to act, to move towards my purpose directly. It was impossible to do otherwise.

So I descended the path into the heart of Sayer’s camp. I did not try to conceal the shield on my back, the banner of Longbridge. I strode forward, daring anyone to be foolish enough to get in my way. To try and impede my vow.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Iron – Miss (big surprise); Pay the Price – delay or disadvantage

I was challenged before I even reached the camp. A well-built woman stood sentry at the outskirts, axe on her belt. I guess this was to be expected.

“Hold! What is your purpose!”

“I’m leaving the port and following the path that does so. Let me pass.”

She sneered, “At night? The dark is dangerous these days. Honest folk do not travel at night, and not geared for battle like you.”

I had as little patience for discussion as I did for skulking. A sneer of my own in response, “But it isn’t dark. The sky is torn and ablaze, in case you hadn’t noticed. I will not be delayed further. Now will you stand aside and let me walk this road or do I need to go around your camp? Either way I will reach the path on the other side.”

Roll: Compel, Heart, +1 Honorbound hard truth (I don’t need to identify myself or state my purpose, I can just go around them) – Strong Hit

The thought of me prowling the edges of camp, where sentries may not watch, seemed less preferable to the woman. She huffed hard through her nose, nostrils flaring in frustration.

“Fine, there is a levy though, to maintain the trails. What can you exchange?”

Of course there would be a toll. “Nothing. I will exchange nothing. Either let me pass or don’t.” And I stepped to the north as if leaving the path to go around. 

Before I’d reached the grass, the sentry surrendered with an irritated groan, somewhere between a grunt and sigh.

“It is better we are rid of you than have you skulking around the fringes. Batah!” She called to a man who had been approaching from the camp to see what was going on. “Escort this woman through the camp and see her on her way. Do not let her off the path.”

The man stopped, eyeing me cautiously from a distance before motioning for me to step forward.

“Aye, let’s go then.”

Batah was lean and wary, covered in worn thick leather and carrying a handaxe and long knife on his belt. I wondered if this was one of Sayer’s scouts. He looked as though he spent more time in the wilds than in a tent.

Roll: Face Danger, Heart – Miss, new danger or foe; Oracle, Is it Sayer? Likely – Yes (of course it is)

I stepped forward, anticipating the sentry’s quiet gasp as I walked by, as the wyvern on my back came into her view and she realized whose banner I stood under. I readied myself for her challenge but it never came.

Batah waited for me to pass before trailing at a safe distance. To his credit, he did not gasp when he must have seen the shield. In fact, he made no sound at all, not even with his steps. He was a quiet man and I was not fond of him following behind me.

Many would call it foolish to enter the heart of a camp of woodcutters and shipbuilders without even trying to conceal the banner of their rival. They would be wrong though, it was not foolish, it was foolhardy. And if I’m being honest, part of me was itching for a fight, even if it was a fight I might not likely win. My task would not be hindered. If they would stand in my way, let them do so now instead of later. 

The wide path was flanked by tents and rough workshops on either side. I could see the skeletons of new ships to the south near the shores of the fjord. To the north lay piles of lumber, both logs and planks. And all around on both sides were campfires. Campfires and people, all staring and speculating skyward until I passed, then silently glaring in my wake as they saw the shield and the wyvern. A quick glance behind showed that some had joined Batah in following me, unfriendly faces all.

A heavier man walking my way looked to the armor and blade on my belt, and then over my shoulder towards Batah. His eyes widened before he spun around to hurry back the way he had come, entering a large tent with ornately carved poles that was just off the path.

I looked back to Batah and received an aloof shrug in response. I had guessed a hand signal of some sort, or maybe he had mouthed something. Regardless, I understood what would come next and had I been a wiser woman, I might have started to regret the situation I had marched myself into.

I continued along the path and, as we neared the large tent, the flaps parted and a willowy figure emerged. Their pewter hair was cropped short on the sides, workclothes were lithe and fitted, and a sword hung from their belt. This had to be Sayer the Shipbuilder, descended from the port’s first landers and rival to Cera of Longbridge and Lio the Guide. Behind them, exited the heavier man from before and a woman dressed in traveler’s rags with knotted runes tattooed across her face. 

Sayer spoke loudly, addressing the entire camp. “And so enters Cera’s hound, *scoffing at my sailor’s wargear* or is it Lio’s dog now? Basira of Sota’s Gate, her cursed blade at her side! But why is she here?”

The blade stirred, chattered and growled, fixated on the sword on Sayer’s belt. It looked like a fine sword, even if a bit smaller than mine, with scabbard and hilt fully engraved, both wood and iron. I wondered if this was the sword Sayer had commissioned Cadigan to forge. Pretty as it was, I could sense no thread though, no reason for the blade to be so agitated.

I refocused and took a deep breath before responding. And when I did, I matched Sayer’s tone, forceful and wide.

“You know why I take this path, Sayer. Look to the sky, look to the direction I travel.” In case they needed further clarity, I raised my arm and pointed past them towards the dancing tendrils and heart of the aurora. “Will you try to stop me? Or will you step aside, allow me and my ‘cursed blade’ to walk the path?” In case they needed further clarity towards my disposition, a hint towards how I would respond to any who attempted to impede me.

Roll: Compel, Iron, +1 Honorbound hard truth (choosing to waylay me will mean facing the blood-stained blade) – Weak Hit, ask something in return, it is stressful; Endure Stress (-1), Spirit (4) – Weak Hit

I don’t think Sayer asking for something in return necessarily fits best for the narrative so I am going to instead interpret that weak hit as a different sort of complication and a minor pay the price.

Foolhardy or not, there was an anxiety in the moment after speaking those words, an understanding that they very well might accept my challenge. The bone grip pined for my hand but I waited for response, it was not yet time.

Sayer said nothing, lifting their palms skyward as if weighing something in each hand. They cocked their head to the right and, as they did so, lowered their right hand as if the weight it carried had grown heavier. Then they tilted their head to the left and its invisible weight grew heavier while the right’s rose back to its initial position. They continued to mimic a scale for some time, as if measuring the merits of stopping me or letting me pass. It was for the camp’s benefit, the woodcutters and shipbuilders chuckled in anticipation. I loathed it, it was mockery. I ignored them and focused on what was to come, there would be no more laughter once the blade was drawn.

And then Sayer finally tired of their performance and, flashing a cunning grin, stepped to the side of the path with a flourish, sweeping their arms past them as if inviting me to pass. 

“Why would I try to stop you? In fact, I am going that way myself.”

I did not move, kept my feet wide and ready, it felt like deception, like ruse or ploy.

My reply bled with suspicion. “Are you now? For what purpose?” 

Roll: Gather Information, Wits, +1 from Compel – Strong Hit (I think this will make sense in the narrative as Hob learning information based off of Sayer’s subtle cues and body language as opposed to a question and answer)

They shrugged, “I don’t know, same reason as you likely. To investigate the lights dancing across the sky. It seems important, does it not?”

Roll: Oracle, Does Sayer know more about the blossoming aurora than they let on? 50/50 – No (interesting.)

Maybe it was just the way their artful smile melted as they said the words, but I felt they spoke truth. That they knew no more about the origins and purpose of the aurora and its tendrils than I. Maybe less even. “You don’t look prepared for journey.”

“Truth, we set out in the morning. I was just getting packed.” The grin returned. “But Batah and Delos are leaving tonight, to scout ahead.” They looked over my shoulder to the lean man that had been my shadow through the camp. “Isn’t that right, Batah? Do you soon depart?”

“Aye, momentarily. We are kitted and ready. Just need to collect our gear.”

Their clever gaze returning to me, “How fortunate, maybe you three could travel together for a time, for safety. The trails can be perilous at night.”

Roll: Oracle, This is a threat, right? 50/50 – Yes

I rolled my eyes skyward, another performance. “There’s plenty of light to find my way. I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Sayer.”

And with that, I strode forward, hand inching closer to the bone grip, anticipating ambush. But nobody barred the path, nobody attacked my rear. The blade remained sheathed. And as I passed Sayer, they winked at me, “See you there.”

I hushed the blade, we would not be baited. Instead, I offered a smirk of my own. “Can’t wait.” And then I looked forward and walked, increasing my pace as soon as I’d left the tents and workshops and began ascending the western hills towards the forest in the far distance. If they had spoken truth, I would soon have two scouts on my trail and I hoped to put as much distance as possible between me and the camp before they set out.

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Navigate Autumnrush and its dangers to start the journey to the flooded valley, 1 Progress