6.2: A Voice from the Storm

The Hillfolk approach. The hdour makes contact. Vahid is tested.

Last episode, the party set off in search of the Hillfolk, traveling to a meeting place to signal the nearby bands. We learned about the ancient history of the folk, a bit about their faith and customs, and we saw that this season might have been a lean one, punctuated by wildfires.

When we left the party, a signal fire had been lit, its light amplified by the strange properties of the Makerglass monolith that marked the rendezvous. For last week’s reader poll, we decided which faction of the Hillfolk would approach the party — the sun-worshipping Heolings, the storm-folk, among whom the hdour may have influence, or some Hillfolk group that has had a brush with Padrig and the Claws in their past. Let’s take a look at the results:

This selection will likely put the party in a position where they can be heroic and help out some Hillfolk who are in trouble — or a position where they drag the village into a conflict they can scarce afford. We’ll play to find out!

For the folks who voted the other ways — there should be ample opportunity to meet up with nomads of all sorts, so never fear.

We’ll rejoin the action that night. We’ll start with Anwen and Vahid’s Keep Company interaction, which is an opportunity for Anwen to set up a story thread we’ll consider picking up in Session 7.

A massive shard of makerglass, once a piece of a great tower, beneath a starry sky // Source: Wombo.Art

Scene 2, continued: A piece of the Ruined Tower

Night falls, and a sharp autumn wind brings with it dark clouds that hide the moon and stars, but the lingering glow from the Makerglass shard still casts a dim twilight over the bowing grasses of the Flats. Anwen and Vahid circle the northern rim of the crater; him watching the far horizon, her watching the tall grasses. In the bowl of the crater, the first watch rests, and Anwen’s grey mare lays at the edge of the firelight, a woven blanket draped over it, rising and falling softly in time with her breath.

In the flickering light of the campfire, the pair can see Ozbeg on the far side of the crater, making his patrol, and occasionally glancing their way. Anwen signals all clear to him with a wave and continues their circuit.

“Do you think they will come tonight?” she asks, wrapping her grey cloak around her shoulders. The pair has been silent for some hours, the quiet filled by only the wind’s occasional gusts.

“I do not know. It is possible, but we might also wait for days. If they do come tonight, I think it will lend credence to what Padrig said — a time of troubles for the Hillfolk.”

Anwen furrows her brow in thought. “What would that have to do with it?”

“I grew up in a house of merchants. When my father’s coffers were full and his caravans safe, he kept his clients waiting in his garden for hours, even days. When his prospects were threatened, he would see them before their tea had cooled.”

“Are the Hillfolk so like Lygosi merchants?”

“By no means — but some things are common among all people. Want hastens our steps, contentedness stills them.”

Anwen chews on this quietly for a moment. “Are you eager to meet them?” Vahid asks, shaking her from her rumination.

“Yes. I think so,” Anwen says, a bit haltingly.

“Do you think much on our encounter with the Hillfolk riders on the road to Marshedge?”

She nods wordlessly.

“Fear not — Adm and his men were raiders. Surely not all the nomads are such.”

She bats this reassurance away, like a buzzing fly. “I’m not afraid of that. I think about that boy we killed. And this,” she holds up her hand, and in it, she has the young rider’s Makerglass charm — a simple, angular design with sharp, jagged edges, wrapped in a bronze wire cage and hung with a leather cord. “It meant something to him, and these folk we meet might know what. But if they don’t know, or won’t tell me, I may never know.” The words come out of her in an anxious rush. “And I don’t even speak their language.”

“Ah. I am sorry, Anwen, I did not realize,” Vahid says, stopping short and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me — why does this weigh so heavily on you? What will you do, once you know?”

“I don’t know,” Anwen sighs helplessly. “When I watched him during the parley, he was uneasy. I think he didn’t want to be there, but he had to stand with his people. He’d be alive if I’d just held him in a tighter grip. As for what I’ll do, I don’t know that either. Maybe if I know what it meant to him, I’ll know what to do.”

Vahid squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. “I will do whatever I can to help you find the answer, Anwen.”

Anwen nods in silent thanks. The two of them are silent for a time, as the wind blows harder and the clouds above thicken, though the sky does not give up its rain to the dry grass below.

It is a few hours past midnight when Vahid’s eye is drawn to the dark horizon — two points of flickering light moving above the tall grass from the northeast. As they approach, the riders can be seen in the light of their torches. He and Anwen confer quietly, and Anwen scrambles down the crater’s embankment to alert the others and summon Padrig.

NPC Breakdown

Let’s take an aside to talk about the prep and process for the NPCs approaching our heroes right now.

First, we need to know about their band — we know they’re Heolings, and revere Helior the Lightbringer above all. We’ll call them the Band of the Sun Spear — the Stonetop worldbuilding guide suggests descriptive names with color words and concepts drawn from nature and nomadic life. We then roll on this fate table to learn something interesting about them:

Rolling twice on the table, we get Famous member, now or in the past, and Particularly large or small, prosperous or poor. We’ll put that famous member in our back pocket for later use, and we’ll envision that the band is particularly poor at the moment, and we’ll explore why their fortunes have fallen in the fiction.

Now, Let’s see who’s approaching us in the dark of night using Ironsworn’s character oracles, rolling to determine a descriptor for them, a role, and a goal they are pursuing.

Rider #1: Proud Priest
Rider #2: Weak Warrior
Goal: Secure Provisions.

This takes shape pretty straightforwardly: This duo has been sent to greet the travelers who signaled at the makerglass shard. The priest is the diplomat, the warrior his guardian. The priest is proud, as befits his station as a messenger of Heol, and the warrior is skilled, but we’ll interpret weak as ‘hungry’ rather than physically weak or unskilled — the band is starving, and folk have been going without for weeks. Their overall goal is to secure provisions for their band, but they are here to see who has lit a signal.

Now we just need names. Hillfolk names are inspired by Breton ones, with clipped vowels: We’ll call the priest Solnn and the warrior Kirs, and further envision they are aunt and nephew — Hillfolk bands are generally made up of a handful of interrelated families.

Now, as they approach, Padrig will want to take their measure.

Padrig triggers Seek Insight: 3+1+2 Wisdom = 6, Miss.

An unlikely miss in a tense moment! The journey has been quiet so far, so it feels like a good decision to turn up the heat with this miss and make a fairly hard move. We’ll still use those two named NPCs that we created, but we’ll add more Hillfolk extras to increase the danger of the scene, and we’ll have Kirs, the warrior, make a bold move to get the upper hand on the party. Note — this means the warrior riding alongside Solnn isn’t Kirs, as we originally planned. We’ll move him out of the scene at first and introduce him in a higher-stakes context:

Padrig and Anwen rejoin Vahid at the lip of the crater, each of them bearing burning torches lit from the campfire. The riders are moving slowly, letting their horses find sure footing in the dark. They are old and young, a weathered woman with stern eyes and copper-white hair, and a wiry young man with a bronze-tipped spear over his shoulder. They both wear hillfolk hides under white woolen deel robes, stained with dust. The woman’s tanned face is painted white, with three yellow streaks from her forehead to her chin and cheeks, and she rides tall and proud in her saddle, atop a rust-red stallion marked with white handprints.

Padrig takes in the lay of the land and speaks in a quiet, even tone. “Just because we see two of them doesn’t mean there are only two. The Hillfolk are adept at going unseen in the wilds.”

As though in response, Ozbeg calls in a quiet, urgent voice from the bottom of the crater. “Padrig! We have a problem!”

Padrig keeps his eyes on the riders and his bearing calm and collected. “What is it, Oz?” he asks quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Hartig is missing. His bedroll is empty.” Harri is at Ozbeg’s side, Hartig’s blanket in her hand, her eyes full of fear.

Padrig’s eyes widen, and dart o Anwen and Vahid. “I was watching the camp!” Anwen gasps. “I didn’t see or hear anything!”

The Hillfolk draw their horses to a halt at the edge of their torchlight, a ghost of a smile on her face. Padrig turns back to his crew and gives his orders quietly and firmly. “If they could take Hartig unseen and unheard, they could’ve slit our throats just as easily — so they’re here to talk. Ozbeg, Harri, make yourselves ready and stay out of sight. Vahid, Anwen, with me. Let’s get our man back.”

Pad strides a few paces down the crater’s embankment. In the tall grass, he can see archers’ eyes looking back at him, arrows nocked but bowstrings undrawn. Behind him, Vahid grips the Azure Hand, eyes darting between the Hillfolks’ torches and the dry, golden grass, and Anwen tightens the straps on her oaken shield and places her hand on the hilt of her curved iron sword.

“We came here to parley,” Padrig calls down to the painted woman in the Steptongue. “And you have taken one of my men. Is this how the people of the sun honor a truce? We were told this was a meeting place for those who come in friendship.”

“Do the stren think all Hillfolk are so easy to trick?” she counters, her voice weary but firm. “Kirs, bring the interloper forward.” She flicks a horsehair fan clutched in her hand in a gesture of command, and from the grasses emerges Harri, a curving bronze knife held at his throat by a young Hillfolk warrior. The man’s skin is daubed black with charcoal and his leathers are hung with dried grasses. His face is drawn and his cheeks are sunken; his sharp blue eyes are narrowed with anger.

“I’m sorry, chief!” Harri calls out. “I don’t know how he got me!”

“Silence, stren!” Kirs spits and drives Harri to his knees with a kick. “Speak again and you will redden the grass!”

“If he dies, you will meet the Crowmother with him, I promise you,” Padrig says, eyes locked on the painted woman.

She nods sagely. “You have a fierce spirit. I can see why he is so loyal to you. He would tell us nothing of your business here, only that you came from Stonetop, which is, of course, a lie. You are bandits: It is plain from your gear, from your manner, from everything about you. Tell me what band has given you coin to come here and trouble my kith and kin. Tell me this, and perhaps we will let you leave our riding grounds unharmed.”

“Harri spoke the truth. We came at the behest of the elders of Stonetop, to treat with your meistr. We have brought gifts for your band — Stonetop whiskey and iron spears, taken in battle¹.” Padrig says, his tone careful and reasonable, eyes darting between Harri and his captor and the hidden arches in the tall grass. “We came to this place in good faith, to renew old friendships and to learn from your wisdom. Why else would we wait here for you like honest folk instead of laying in ambush?” The painted woman’s eyes narrow thoughtfully at this, and she confers quietly with Kirs. Padrig watches Harri’s eyes as they do, and he sees a glimmer of hope there.

Finally, she gestures again with her horsetail fan, and Kirs takes the blade from Harri’s throat, pushing him up the crater’s slope towards Padrig. Harri stumbles, recovers, and hastens up the embankment to his comrades, crouching behind the lip of the crater and whispering in Marchsprech with his sister². The nomad archers rise from their hiding spots in the grass and lower their bows, regrouping with their fellows.

“Well met then, Stonetop. But now we must part ways. My band has no time to treat with stren. Return to the road directly, or you will yet meet my nephew’s blade.” Kirs sheaths his bronze dagger in his belt and returns to his aunt’s side, and she turns her horse and makes to depart.

Scene Breakdown

Padrig triggers Persuade: 6+6+1 Charisma = 13, Strong Hit

Padrig successfully persuades the Hillfolk to release Hartig, and that they are not bandits, but emissaries from Stonetop. They believe him, but that still doesn’t mean they want to take the party to their campsite.

While the nomads are conferring, Vahid’s also going to take this opportunity to use his Let’s Make a Deal move, referenced here. First, he tries to get a sense of what these people want using Seek Insight.

Vahid triggers Seek Insight: 4+2+1 Wisdom = 7, Weak Hit.

Let’s Make a Deal allows him to ask “What do they really want or need?” and he learns that whatever else they’re interested in, these people are in need of food.

“These people are hungry, Padrig,” Vahid whispers as the Hillfolk talk among themselves. “Their faces are drawn, and look at their horses’ necks — there are fresh cuts. They have been drinking the blood to stave off starvation. I saw our guide do the same during a long stretch of the Makers’ Roads between here and Lygos.”

“That explains why they are on a knife’s edge,” Padrig replies quietly, not taking his eyes from the archers in the tall grass. “What do you think we ought to do?”

“Stonetop is known of old for its honoring of the guest-right, is it not?³”

“Aye, that’s so.”

“Then let us extend an invitation,” Vahid says. He raises his voice and switches to the Steptongue, calling down to the painted woman.

“You may have heard tell of Stonetop’s people, and how they honor the old ways of the guest-right. I have been a guest in the village’s homely house for many months, and I can attest that it is so. Let us offer that right to you and your warriors — share in our bread and salt, rest by our fire, and hear what we have to say. Perhaps, in Heol’s light, things will be clearer,” intoning the name of the Hillfolk god with pious respect.

Vahid triggers Persuade: 3+3+1 Charisma = 7, Weak Hit→Strong Hit (due to Let’s Make a Deal).

She reins in her horse and looks at the Lygosi thoughtfully. After a brief, intense conference with Kirs, she nods at Vahid with a hopeful smile. “Heol’s day be praised, traveler. Lead on.”

Scene 3: Around the campfire, that night

A dozen tired travelers gather around the windblown fire in the dead of night. Above, there is the sound of distant thunder. The Hillfolk struggle to maintain their composure as rations bundled in goat’s hides are passed around. Dense, stale bread, hard cheese, and dried strips of goat jerky are eagerly torn into, while their horses mingle with Anwen’s and graze on the low grass in the crater’s bowl. She and Kirs silently patrol the lip of the crater together, watching one another as much as the horizon. Ozbeg and the Companions watch bemusedly as the Hillfolk devour their rations. Harri’s hand goes to his throat every few minutes, laughing nervously.

Padrig sits at the priestess’ right hand. She names herself Solnn, and alone among her fellows she eats sparingly, nibbling at a piece of goat’s cheese as Padrig lays out their business.

“We traveled to Marshedge in the Spring, and on the road we came across three riders of the Ash Pickers’ band. They planned to ambush us, but we defeated them. As he was dying, their leader revealed they were in thrall to a hdour,” Padrig explains. “This sorcerer’s magic can strike through the wards on the Black Road, if his followers are to be believed.”

The priestess’ lip curls. “Hdour and their followers are the lowest of Hillfolk — thrice-betrayers to their ancestors, their god, and to the spirits of the very land that sustains them. If the Sun Spear Band hears tell of this man, we will kill him — I will swear to it by dawn’s first light, if you wish.”

“We could be of assistance,” Vahid offers. “Let us meet with your elders and learn from them how we might confront this evil.”

Solnn shakes her head ruefully. “No. Sorcerers are a matter for our people, the tu’d⁴. They are too dangerous for outsiders to contend with. You cannot fight the spirits they command with iron.” She turns her sharp hazel eyes on Vahid, the Azure Hand at his side. “As for you — are you magi?”

Vahid clears his throat. “I am an antiquarian — a scholar. I study the art of the Makers to understand their workings. I have learned much — even how to command the elements.”

“A spirit-talker of the tu’d is born to such things — the spirits walk at their side and strike at their enemies. You would be wise to not challenge a hdour — there are no lessons for you down that path, only death.”

“Let us speak plainly,” Padrig cuts in as Vahid broods quietly. “Your people were hungry when we made our offer of hospitality. The lands we crossed to come here were dry and burnt. We have seen dead livestock and dead nomads. How fares your band?”

The nomads around the campfire grow quiet and await Solnn’s reply. Her white-painted face is grave. “The Flats have been cruel this season — little rain has fallen on our riding grounds, fires have burnt the aurochs’ pastures and driven them north, into the lands of our old enemies — outlaw bands and storm-folk — and they have made kin-strife against us. Our herds have been thinned by sickness and raiders, and soon we will have to begin slaughtering our does for meat. Some fear the Stormlord has put a curse upon us, and Heol has withdrawn his protection.” She recounts their woes dispassionately, as though for the hundredth time. “We have called a spear-moot of the nearby bands to make peace with our rivals and ask for assistance — that is why we came swiftly to your signal, and why we suspected the worst when you seemed to be sellswords.”

“Then even if you will not accept our help against the hdour, let us help your band. Take us to your meistr and let us make our case to him.” Padrig says.

Padrig triggers Persuade: 1+6+1 Charisma = 8, Weak Hit.

The priestess doesn’t want to involve outsiders, but perhaps her comrades could be persuaded with a show of power that demonstrated the party had something to bring to the table beyond extra rations.

“I think not. We must look first to the tu’d for help.” Her voice is firm, but above, Padrig can see the Hillfolk warrior Kirs watching them closely, and below, at the campfire, his nomad brethren look uncertain of the priestess’ judgment.

“Very well,” Padrig sighs. “Let us rest till daybreak then, and part ways.”

Scene 4: Around the campfire, later that night

It is the dark hour before dawn, and Vahid cannot sleep. The priestess’ dismissal stings him, and beneath his bedroll, the Azure Hand trembles with resonance, waking him over and over, but when he reaches his senses out to find the source, it retreats from him. Bleary-eyed, he hauls himself to a seated position and rubs his eyes.

It is then that he sees the figure reflected in the Makerglass monolith.

He floats above the scrubby grass of the crater’s bowl, three feet off the ground, his garments blowing in the wind. He is robed in a flowing, grey cloak that hangs down below his feet, with voluminous sleeves and a shadowed hood. Beneath he wears a nomad’s hide riding breeches with a bare chest. His exposed skin is covered with the flowing runes of the Tempest Lords, not tattooed but carved and scarred into the flesh.

Then he speaks — not with his own breath, but from the dark clouds louring overhead. Rumbling thunder and rushing wind are his voice, and Vahid can apprehend his words only through the resonance of the Hand, just as he could on the day the drake attacked the village.

“You see how the tu’d rejects that which they do not understand? But she is right — you do not yet have the might to stand against me. I could show you how to grasp such power.”

“Why would you do that?” Vahid whispers to the reflection in the Makerglass. “You tried to take the Azure Hand from me!”

“Because I did not yet see your potential. The Azure Hand is the key to our inheritance — the legacy of Indrasduthir, the Stormcatcher, but you have only begun to grasp its power. I require more from you. Let us see what you are truly capable of.”

And with that, the sky is rent with the fury of Tor.

Before Vahid’s eyes, a half-dozen bolts of lightning split the sky, illuminating the plains for miles around with an impossibly bright white light, and their peals of thunder crack the air in a deafening crescendo. The camp is immediately thrown into chaos — at the crater’s ridgeline, Kirs and Anwen see smoke and flames rising from the grasslands around them and shout warnings to those below, struggling to be heard over the wind and the thunder

Padrig’s voice⁵ cuts across the din as he bellows orders to his people. “Wildfire! We have to get upwind! Ozbeg! Get our rations secured! Leave the rest! Anwen! Release your horse and let her run! Vahid, to me! Move!” Kirs barks orders to the nomad warriors in Steptongue — their horses were not hobbled, and are stampeding in a panic away from the fire. Kirs recaptures his midnight-black gelding and leaps astride it, and a few of his warriors recover their mounts, but most flee away from the smell of smoke, now growing thicker in the air, leaving their riders behind.

The party crests the crater’s wall and sees patches of fire spreading all around them in the grassland below. They turn back to see the remnants of the campsite, in the shadow of the towering makerglass monolith. Before their eyes, it is enveloped by a twisting pillar of fire, shaped and driven by the raging, unnatural wind and the hdour’s will, directly towards them.

Padrig urges the party down the slope, pointing the way towards a gap in the fire line and the Hillfolk move to follow, leaving Vahid standing alone before the firestorm. The scholar grips the Azure Hand, his knuckles white, as the heat from the flame begins to singe his face. As he extends his perceptions through the staff, he feels a cracking, burning sensation — ghost-agony inflicted on his unseen flesh — but pushes through the pain to grasp at the wind fueling the inferno.

The fury of these elements dwarfs anything Vahid has ever touched before, and they overwhelm him. The wind swirls around the staff’s aetherium head, bringing with it a burning tendril of flame, blackening Vahid’s flesh and lighting his garments aflame. Anwen turns back to see the scholar fall amidst the smoke and flame, and turns back. Padrig reaches for her vainly, but she tears away from his grip and races towards Vahid.

She bursts through the choking smoke, tackling the scholar to the ground and beating at his garments with her grey cloak. Anwen pulls Vahid low to the ground and begins to move back towards their companions, but the flames have encircled them now. Her eyes meet Padrig’s through licking flames and clouds of black smoke, and he looks back at her helplessly. The only way out is through the flames.

Behind them, the column of fire engulfs the Makerglass shard, which reflects warped images of a hungry, sinuous monster with many arms within the flames, each one grasping a brutal weapon. Regaining his senses with a strange calm, Vahid looks into the flame spirit’s eyes as he draws himself back up again, the Azure Hand held out before him, towards the oncoming firestorm. He hears the hdour’s voice in his mind. “Let us see what you are capable of.” The howling of the wind fades from his hearing, the pain from his burnt flesh fades to grey numbness, as he feels the swirling flow of the fire and wind all around him. Where once it seemed implacable and uncontrollable, now it feels as though all the swirling fury around him fits in the palm of his hand.

And there he places it, sealing and quenching it in a cool aetherium grasp. As quickly it arose, the wind dies down to a whisper, and in a swiftly-expanding circle around Vahid, the flames gutter and choke like a dying oil lamp, falling as swiftly as they rose. The smell of smoke still lingers in the air, but without the flames, the billowing clouds clear quickly, rising towards the clouds in the still, cool air. Soon, only the blackened, smoldering grass and a few guttering flames remain to attest that there was any fire at all.

Vahid turns back to face Anwen, his brows still knit in concentration, holding back the hungry firestorm. Behind her, a half-dozen Hillfolk, along with Padrig and the Companions, stare in open shock at Vahid’s transformed countenance.

Scene Breakdown

We’ll end here, with a breakdown of the action. As you might have guessed, there’s a lot to get into here, but only four moves were triggered. After the hdour appears to Vahid (this was our visions in the storm challenge from the Session 6 reader poll — you can see the results here if you want a refresher) and the lightning strikes, Padrig bellows orders, using his Stentorian move, and triggers a group Defy Danger move to get everyone, and their key supplies, out of the way of immediate harm.

Stonetop has a collective Defy Danger move called Struggle As One — when multiple characters Defy Danger together, a Weak Hit is considered a full success, and a Strong Hit allows that PC to negate a Miss result from another character. When our party (including the Companions and the Hillfolk) made this roll, only Vahid Missed, and Padrig was able to cover for him with a Strong Hit.

Then, Vahid looks back and sees the fire tornado, which the wind (perhaps controlled by the hdour?) is pushing directly towards them. He attempts to use the Azure Hand to take control of the wind and remove some of the danger from this sentient wildfire.

Vahid triggers The Azure Hand: 1+2+1 Consitution = 4, Miss.

He fails to control the wind, and it lashes out and burns him badly. He takes 5 damage, leaving him with 11 HP.

Leveling Up the Azure Hand

In addition to those consequences, this is a very significant miss — each time Vahid misses using the Azure Hand’s ability, an advancement track receives a mark, and once it receives four marks, the Azure Hand’s power is unlocked and Vahid receives a new ability for it (you can see the specific rules text for this here). And, as it happens, this is the fourth mark — he received one for free at character creation, one when he failed to command fire on the road to Marshedge, one when he awoke the stone guardian in this episode, and the final one here, in the midst of a raging Wildfire. You can see the Mysteries of the Azure Hand right here:

Vahid selects “Eye of the Storm,” because it’s a cool ability and he has a strong sense of self-preservation. He can’t use it just yet — he’s disoriented, badly burned, surrounded by choking smoke, and the fire tornado is bearing down on him. Anwen turns back for him and triggers Defy Danger with Constitution — powering through the heat and the smoke to save Vahid.

Anwen triggers Defy Danger: 1+5+2 Constitution = 9, Weak Hit.

She pulls him away from the immediate danger, but they are now encircled by the flames with nowhere to go but through. Now, having recovered his senses (and unlocked a new power) Vahid uses Eye of the Storm (which you can see above) to calm the wind and still the fires.

Vahid triggers Eye of the Storm: 4+2+1 Constitution = 7, Weak Hit.

He chooses “The effect is far-reaching, up to a mile around you,” of course, and the fires and the wind are calmed enough for the party and the Hillfolk to be safe. This means, however, that Vahid must choose a consequence (one that will transform his visage!) and we will do precisely that with this week’s reader poll. Here are the consequences we’ll consider:

1. Fully bound to the staff — can call it to hand, but will suffer its harms. If we choose this one, we’ll also envision that he will carry the scars from the fire forever.

2. Blue-white eyes that perceive energy patterns.

3. White hair and blue-tinged skin, thrumming with power.

Note — this choice is more fun and cosmetic than a major story decision. However we choose, Vahid is now forever marked by the power of the Azure Hand, and this will change how many people see him. But I thought it’d be fun for y’all to choose how exactly Vahid starts looking weird and wizardly. Click below to make your choice.

Next week, we’ll see whether Vahid’s show of elemental power will persuade Solnn that they are allies worth having. See you next week!

1. These are the Marshedge guardsmen’s iron spears — the Hillfolk have a taboo against mining metal from the earth, but metal taken in battle or stolen is fair game.

2. Padrig marks loyalty here, raising the Companions’ loyalty to 2.

3. We loosely established this back in Session 5.3 during the elder’s council.

4. Once again dipping into Breton for this term — derived from “tud,” the Breton word for “people” or “folk.”

5. Padrig is using Stentorian here again! An advancement well-spent.