Last episode, the party’s confrontation with Owain was due to be settled for good and all, with Owain accusing a member of the Companions of murder and theft from the commonweal, and Anwen calling him out before the village assembly and the elders as a liar, a coward and an oathbreaker. Only one course was available to them once the accusations were leveled: A duel on the field of honor.
The pair crossed blades, and each drew blood. They are both badly wounded, but a pause in the action gave Anwen a chance to reflect — should she give Owain a clean death, and put this threat to her and her friends to rest? Or should she offer him quarter and allow him to go into exile?
That was the decision put to the readers last week — let’s see what you all chose:
A strong majority for exile. I think this is pretty true to who Anwen is — she’s growing into a great warrior, but she still has a core of softness that would make it tough to cut a man down in front of his young son.
Now, offering Owain quarter doesn’t guarantee that he’ll take it. He’s a bloody-minded fellow, and he may choose death rather than admit defeat at Anwen’s hands — after all, he’s been putting her down and belittling abilities her for years. And if he refuses Anwen’s offer, she might have to do the bloody deed anyway, though likely the onlookers would see that deed in a very different light.
Housekeeping
Just some quick housekeeping before we dive in — this episode concludes the action of Session 9, and we close out with some planning for Session 10! After this episode, PTFO:Stonetop will go dark for the holidays, with a return date of January 16th, kicking off Session 10 and beginning the next arc of our story.
What I found during the autumn hiatus was that breaks are a very good time to get into PTFO — a few folks had the opportunity to subscribe, read through the full episode catalogue, and then be ready to read along live (and shape the direction of the story) when the action resumed. To whit, if you have any friends, family, or bitter rivals who you think might enjoy the story we’re telling here, now is a great time to dragoon them into our little community!
With that out of the way, we’ll rejoin the action on the field of honor, and see whether Owain is willing to lay down arms and see reason:
The two bloodied fighters part, each clutching their wounds. Blood seeps out from under Anwen’s hand, pressed against her ruined armor, and she can feel the cold wind stealing the heat from her body. Owain doesn’t look much better; His face is pale, and his armor is wet and shining red at the belly. He goes down to one knee, but his sword is still held high, its tip pointed at his opponent. He kneels with his back to the bluff, framed by a vast expanse of blue sky. Anwen meets his eyes, shadowed by his full helm, and for the first time, they look uncertain and afraid.
The onlookers are silent. All that can be heard is the quiet rustling of the trees in the Great Wood below. Anwen calls out, pitching her voice to be heard across the killing field. “You don’t have to die today, Owain. Live another day, find another path! It may seem impossible now, but my mother did it, and I love her for it.”
Owain is still. Only the tip of his blade trembles gently, like a branch shaking in the breeze. He tries to rise, but sucks his breath in pain and sinks back to kneel on the wet grass.
“Damn you, Anwen.” He lets his sword fall, and it splashes into the mud. The crowd gasps, and Vahid and Padrig rush to Anwen’s side, while Andras approaches Owain tentatively, and his solicitousness is dismissed with a sharp gesture.
Garet, the Judge of Aratis, speaks now, his stern voice stilling the crowd’s growing energy. “For mercy, you must confess, Owain. You must speak your crime aloud.”
Owain looks at Cerys, standing impassively at Garet’s side. He throws off his helmet, and his face is pale and beaded with sweat as he speaks. “My oath was given falsely,” Owain says, his breath ragged with pain. His gaze grows spiteful, and turns on Padrig. “I hate the sight of you, Pad. Strutting back into the village, barking orders like you were the marshal. Pretending to be a man of honor, when your hands are soaked in blood, and you abandoned the folk who brought you up and gave you everything. And you,” he says, rounding on Anwen. “You never gave me my due respect.”
“And her,” he gestures angrily at Cerys, unable to meet his mother’s eye. “Protecting you and tolerating your bullheadedness, until it had already gone too far.”
Cerys’ icy voice cuts him short. “Be silent, Owain. Have you not heaped enough shame upon your name? And your father’s?”
Owain slumps against Andras, and the young warrior scrambles to support him. His head hangs, and he is led from the field, followed by a pair of Cerys’ acolytes, sent forward by a curt gesture from the priestess.
There is a quiet moment as the crowd watches Owain go, and then their attention turns back to Anwen, the victor. Suddenly aware of the hundreds of eyes on her, her head spins and she looks to Padrig, a helpless look on her face.
“You have to talk to them,” Padrig says. “Tell them we’ll face what’s coming.”
Vahid clasps her shoulder and whispers. “You have already won a great victory against the sorcerer. Remember that.” He winks, and adds: “And remember your al-Khatun1.”
Certainty banishes doubt on Anwen’s face, and she draws herself up. The villagers surrounding her have crushed inward, shrinking the circle and drawing closer to the bluff. Anwen now stands with the blue sky at her back, and she speaks to the assembly.
“Friends, there are seasons of blood and strife ahead of us. A sorcerer has set his eye on our village, and he is marshaling an army from the storm-folk nomads, who he has forced to serve him. But our Seeker has taken his measure, and Padrig and I have faced his warriors on the field of battle and won the day.”
She raises her white-bladed axe above her head and her voice rises to a shout. “If he comes here, to our homes, I will be ready for him, and Pad and his Companions will stand with me. If our allies among the nomads bring the fight to his door, we’ll ride with them, as Llewellyn did with our fathers and grandfathers!”
She looks to the crowd now, meeting the eyes of the folk she knows and loves, and then looking to those who once followed Owain. “You all know me; you’ve seen me fight for this village. Will any of you stand with me against the hdour? And whatever foes might come for Stonetop?”
There is a pregnant, silent pause. At first, it seems no one will speak. But then, Talfryn steps forward. “I’ll stand with you, Anwen.” He crosses the trodden grass of the dueling field to stand by her side, and she smiles proudly at him.
Tomos glances at Padrig, who nods almost imperceptibly, and the old warrior is the second to join Anwen in the circle. Then Rhys, limping on his crutches along with a half-dozen men and women from his work gang, all stout members of the militia.
Pryder, a warrior from Owain’s circle, grumbles. “It’s either challenge you or follow you, I suppose. And I ain’t keen to challenge you.” He crosses the field and joins the growing crowd.
Padrig motions to the Companions, who follow him as he comes to the middle of the circle. “Marshal,” he bows his head. “I’ll stand with you.” She beams at him in response, and despite himself, his reserve cracks into a soft smile. But Pad’s face falls as he sees Anwen’s returning smile weaken, and her own face pales. She places her hand on his shoulder and leans heavily on him, once again clutching her wound.
The crowd parts for Cerys as her voice cuts through the growing sounds of concern and alarm. “Bring the marshal to the house of healing. Danu will see to her wounds.”
Anwen’s warriors hurry to obey the elder, with Talfryn and Ozbeg offering their shoulders to help their wounded champion as Cerys leads them away from the bluffs and back toward the village.
Scene Breakdown
Three moves triggered to close out this scene, and to close the book on Owain as a threat in the village. Here’s how it went down.
First, Anwen offered Owain mercy, generating advantage using Speak Truth to Power (since Anwen genuinely believes that accepting exile is the right thing to do here).
Anwen triggered Persuade: 6+4+2 = 10, Strong Hit
Owain accepts, and lives to fight another day. We’ll see if that comes back to haunt us!
Next, she has to give her victory speech and win over the village. This isn’t so much a Persuade roll as a Defy Danger with Charisma — the danger being that the village doesn’t unite cleanly behind her (I would interpret that as triggering Meet with Calamity-type event, which would reduce the village’s Fortunes2stat by 1.)
This moment would certainly trigger Anwen’s fear of what she must do. Understandably so — glossophobia, or fear of public speaking, is estimated to be present in 75% of people. But fortunately, she’s still holding onto a Resolve from when Owain triggered Anger is a Gift, so she spends it to hold your course, no matter what befalls you and steps up to the plate. Before she goes onstage, Vahid offers some advice, triggering Sage Advice and giving Anwen advantage.
She gives her spiel — as an aside, I always have tremendous respect for players who, when the time comes to give a speech, give it their best shot. I didn’t think it was right for Anwen to deliver a St. Crispin’s Day-style oration (nor am I confident in my ability to produce one), but it seemed right that she make a pitch for marshaldom.
Anwen triggered Defy Danger with Charisma: 6+2+1+0 Charisma = 8, Weak Hit
A weak hit means we don’t meet with disaster, but we get a lesser outcome — someone will approach the party with some concerns, creating some additional homefront action when next we spend time here — and the bearer of those concerns will be Cerys.
Setting the Scene: Vignettes with Cerys
To close out this episode, I decided to spend a bit more time with Cerys — she played an important role in this episode, and with Owain gone, she is the key source of narrative tension within the village. We’ll continue to model her as a Wildcard threat type — you can see those threat moves back in Session 9.4 — and use her to keep things interesting on the homefront. As such, I wanted to take a bit of time to establish what she wants from them, using the Wildcard threat move demand/make/break/keep a promise.
Scene 12: The Southern Watchtower
Owain's departure is a quiet, subdued affair. A few dozen villagers turn out to watch him go -- members of his old warrior's circle, Owain's family, a few of the village's most incorrigible gossips, and those who Owain had bullied or shamed over the years.
The crowd gathers at the base of the southern watchtower as Garet speaks the words of judgment. "Owain, for your crimes your elders have proclaimed the punishment of exile. No one who names themselves Stonefolk will offer you succor, lest they share your fate. Henceforth the laws of Stonetop will no longer shelter you. Now, depart from your kin, and never return."
Owain stands and listens stoically before turning his back on his home and walking with slow and heavy tread down the muddy path towards the Maker's Roads beyond. Padrig watches quietly from the hill's crest above, straining to hear Garet's pronouncement. He starts when he a hollow rattle at his elbow, and turning, he sees Cerys at his side, watching quietly as her son trudges away.
Owain walks into exile.
Padrig clears his throat. “I tried to make it right with him.”
Cerys chuckles mirthlessly. “So did I. It seems we both failed. My son left much to be desired as marshal.”
Pad casts a sharp glance at her. “If you knew, why did you support him? Why not find another?”
She returns his gaze coldly. “Who, Padrig? Royce was merely Owain, but not quite as strong or as bold. Pryder is witless. Tomos is too old. Talfryn and Andras too young. Hywel the huntsman has never wielded a sword and is caught up in his awe of almighty Tor. And Owain would not have yielded the office without a fight. Perhaps you could have taken him in hand and led him, Padrig. If you had stayed,” she jabs the final words in like a dagger.
“Surely you must’ve seen Anwen’s potential.” Padrig returns hotly.
“I had other plans for Anwen’s potential, but she was enchanted by her mother’s tales of her heroic father, and then you returned and ensnared her with your Companions — falsehoods upon falsehoods. But no matter. She is our marshal now, and she will not be able to lead the militia without your counsel.”
“And she shall have it.”
Cerys continues, as though he had not spoken. “For all his faults, Owain had deep roots here. You have been home for little more than two winters. None of us know where the winds might blow you next.”
"What would you advise then, elder?" Padrig speaks slowly, choosing his words as though picking a route through ambush country. “How can I put the village’s worries to rest?”
“Tie your fate more tightly to ours. Heledd is widowed and her daughters are without a father. I cannot take her and her family into my household alongside Owain's. I would see her settled.”
“Settled?”
“Married. If we lived as our ancestors did, Ronhl would be honor-bound to take Heledd as his wife. If you were to honor those ways, the older, wiser heads of the village would be put at ease.”
“Ronhl is old, and a widower himself,” Padrig protests. “An honest man, but no fit husband for Heledd.”
“Yes. But by your oath you are bound as well.”
Padrig, trapped, doesn’t reply right away. Cerys, with a slight smile, continues readily. “I leave the matter to you. There are many Companions, and there is their captain. Heledd was wed to Royce — she understands that marriage is a labor like any other. See that the right thing is done.”
With that, she gathers her cloak of furs around herself and departs up the hill towards the village.
Scene 13: The Healing Hut
Anwen awakens in the healing hut. It is dark, and warm — the hearth is burning, and there is a sharp, woody smell in the air. Her head throbs, and she strains for any sign of the time of day or night. She turns her head sharply as she sees a dark shape shifting beside her, and as her eyes adjust, she sees Cerys, draped in furs and holding a twisty stick of burning incense, its smoke hanging around her in a haze.
“Where is Owain?” Anwen rubs her eyes. “How long have I slept?”
“A day and a night, only. Owain is gone. He departed at first light, as the decencies demanded.”
Her vision begins to sharpen, and her head to clear. “You turned against him. Why?”
Cerys leans back in her carved wooden chair, sat beside Anwen’s cot. “He turned against me. He swore that oath to me, his mother and elder. Everything he had, he owed to me and to this village. All I asked was that he control his baser impulses, and to use his wrath in service of the village,” she says as she casts a reappraising eye on Anwen. “More has been asked of those given less.”
Anwen looks down. “I never thought you’d be able to sacrifice your own son.”3
Cerys snorts derisively. “You think I have not sacrificed for this village? I loved Owain’s father, Llewellyn, deeply. He was a better man than Owain, certainly. Strong and kind. But soft. Tentative.”
She leans back and looks into the hearth fire. “It was I who urged him to go to battle against the Lord of Jackals and his forty thieves all those years ago. My husband wished to stay within the Old Walls and guard our own lands, but I knew Juba and the Sun-Spear would never ally with us and lend their force to ours unless he went out into the field. The Hillfolk respect only courage. I lent him my courage so that he could march to victory, and to his death. My husband’s blood bought Stonetop many years of peace.”
She continues, lost in reverie. “And I let Ifan’s4 death lie, though Owain raged and stormed at me for it. Padrig made the right decision to leave him behind to save the others. Owain included. In my long life, I have sacrificed much that I love for this village. More than you, my dear,” she says, finally turning back to Anwen. “Three sons I had, and I thought it was a bounty. Now only Mado5 remains. The next generation must be protected and cultivated ever more carefully now," she says. As though on cue, Owain's son appears in the threshold of the healing cut, pushing aside the curtain to stare at the two of them. Cerys notes him with a flick of her eyes, but does not acknowledge him further.
“It seems you are our marshal now,” she says. Cerys reaches to the side of her seat and brings forth Llewellyn’s sword, placing it on Anwen’s blankets. Its hilt is newly polished, its leather sheath oiled and shining. “I hope you are willing to sacrifice as much to keep the village safe.”
She rises. “You must rest a few days yet. I will send Mairwen to look in on you shortly — see that you do not exert yourself.” With that, she departs and passes by Owain’s boy with a word and a motion. “Come, young Llewellyn. Leave the marshal to her rest.”
But the child remains, his eyes fixed on Anwen. He is small for his age, and quiet, but he has Owain’s look about him, with a strong jaw, a mop of blonde hair, and pale blue eyes. With some difficulty, she rises from the bed and gets to her feet, Llewellyn’s sword held respectfully in both hands. She kneels beside him and offers it up.
“I wouldn’t feel right taking this. It belonged to your namesake, and it belongs to you. I can teach you to use it.”
He takes it from her hands, nearly dropping it from the unexpected weight before he rights himself, holding it close to his chest.
“My mother had to leave Stonetop when I was about your age. Your grandmother took good care of me, and she’ll take good care of you, too. And if you want to go looking for your father one day, I’ll help you. I promise.”
Young Llewellyn looks at her for a bit longer with a child’s inscrutable stare, before turning and running after Cerys.
Scene 14: The Binding Chamber, beneath Stonetop
Vahid and Cerys stand in the cavernous Binding Chamber in the depths of the House of Nine Thunders beneath Stonetop6. Above them is the perfect dome of the ceiling and the massive aetherium globe, every inch of its surface etched with the flowing script of the Tempest Lords, carved by the Maker Indrasduthir's own hand.
“So this is what your hdour is after? Why does he covet it so?”
“The storm-markings it produces will protect him from the ravages of hosting a spirit within his physical body. He intends to unite himself with a spirit called the Thousand-Year Storm, granting her long life and him power beyond reckoning.”7
“And these storm-markings were the source of our ancestors’ prowess in battle?” Cerys asks pointedly.
“Yes, I believe so,” Vahid replies cautiously. “The warriors who were selected to undergo it were the strongest, the fastest, and the bravest of the village. Chosen by their masters, the Stone Lords, and Indrasduthir, one of the last of the Tempest Lords. It gave them the power of the storm on the battlefield.”
“And you intend to reawaken this power for Stonetop?”
“I do. There are pieces not yet in place — the crown from the fresco, here,” Vahid says, gesturing upward. “The hdour will seek the crown as well.”
“And whom do you intend to bestow this power upon? Yourself?”
Vahid shakes his head emphatically. “No, not I. The warriors depicted in the frescos are a hardy bunch, and it is likely the process of receiving the marks is physically taxing. And I do not have a warrior’s training — I shudder to think what the force of a thunderbolt might do in my untrained hand.” He pauses judiciously. “Now that she is marshal, I thought it would be right for Anwen to receive them.”
“You and Padrig ask much from her, Vahid. How will this new burden change her?”
Vahid shifts uncomfortably. “I had not considered. It is not clear that it will. Anwen she is, and Anwen she will remain”
Cerys’ harsh laughter echos off the basalt walls and fills the chamber. “Power always changes those it marks, Seeker,” she hisses the last word. “One need only look into your eyes to remember that.”
Vahid looks away for a moment, before finding his center and meeting her eyes. “Why did you bring me here? What would you have of me?”
“Anwen is your friend. Your protector. If you grant her this power, she might have the strength to protect us from what is coming. That much is clear.” Cerys holds up a finger, and her bone and antler bangles rattle at her wrist. “But. Once she is exalted by this… device, she will be unstoppable. Except by you.”
Vahid’s mouth twists in distaste. “You are asking me if I will stand against Anwen if the power drives her to madness.”
“Yes.”
“It will not. She is strong.”
“She is full of anger. She was abandoned by her mother, who languishes in Marshedge’s dungeons. Her father is an oathbreaker, corrupted by darkness. No doubt there was a time when they too seemed strong, but fate laid them low. Can you truly be certain the same will not befall our would-be hero?”
Vahid’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Would you have me swear an oath to protect the village from her? With the nettle-seed, as Padrig did?”
Cerys scoffs. “You are far too clever for such methods — you would find a way to break my spell if you felt you needed to. No, Seeker, I think you and I understand one another better than that. All I ask is that you think on what I have said.”
She looks up once again at the great aetherium globe that dominates the chamber, looming over them like a rising sun. “I have seen enough. Let us return to the village — there is much to do.”
And that’s a wrap on Session 9! We’ve closed the book on the threat that Owain represents — for now. If he returns, it’ll likely be connected to one of our other threats — Brennan, plotting in Marshedge, and Cirl the hdour, hiding and growing stronger in the Steplands.
We’ll take this opportunity to conclude the winter season in Stonetop, and look ahead to Spring. I was seeding in some signs that time had passed in the fiction here and there, but now that we’ve settled things with Owain, it’s the perfect time to hop ahead and trigger spring bursts forth onto the land8. The move asks that the most hopeful character roll, and I think that’s Padrig. Old Padrig hasn’t been hopeful in a while, but things seem to be lining up for him, and he doesn’t have the burden Vahid has of thinking about the mystical big picture. We’re rolling Fortunes here, which is at +1 — if Anwen had failed to unite the town, we’d be at +0, but fortunately, the mood in Stonetop is good.
Padrig triggers spring bursts forth onto the land: 6+4+1 Fortunes = 11, Strong Hit
Really great rolls this session. No threats advance this season, and the party receive a Seasonal Bounty — a windfall that will benefit the village or help the party address one of the outstanding threats. Here’s the list of bounties on offer — based on the path we chart below, I’ll pick an appropriate one:
Source: Stonetop // Jeremy Strandberg
Choose Your Adventure: Session 10
When we get back in January, it’s time for the party to chart a new course, and naturally we’ll put that decision up to a reader vote. Here are the directions to consider:
The Quiet Season(s). We’ll choose Tor’s blessing and envision a quiet season with no rising threats. The hdour is contained, Brennan is simmering in Marshedge; There is a calm in Stonetop before the coming storm, and the party makes the best of it.
If we choose this option, we’ll do some looser, homefront-style play, in which Vahid will continue his improvements to the village, Anwen will begin to consolidate her leadership of the militia, and Padrig will assist them both, while dealing with some of the social obligations Cerys is seeking to heap upon him — our guy might even get married!
This session would likely be much more montage-y and zoomed out than even the other homefront sessions have been, with the intention of covering a lot of ground fairly quickly — potentially even rolling into Summer, since threats rarely advance in the summertime (even on a weak hit, the party gets a seasonal bounty with no threat).
To the Delve! Gordin’s Delve is the site of Padrig’s bloodiest defeat, and many of his ghosts haunt its streets and alleys. But the only lead the party has on Stormcatcher’s Crown is in the Delve — Elder Kirs, the father of the slain Hillfolk hero, leads graverobbers into the barrow hills for coin to drink away, and knows the location of the ancient tomb where the artifact is hidden.
Vahid believes the hdour will seek the crown next, so it is very possible we’ll encounter him or his minions here. We’ll also have to face a bit of Padrig’s past — the Delve bosses will not have forgotten the Claws, and the Companions will be loath to return a place that has so many knives out and waiting for them.
To Marshedge! Power draws the party to the Delve, but duty draws them to Marshedge. Anwen promised the Fenwalkers she’d return to deal with her corrupted father and Padrig promised Maeve, the guard sergeant, he’d return to help deal with his wayward chief Brennan. o set us up for this, we’ll likely have the seasonal bounty be a defector arriving with some sort of inside information as to Brennan’s plans, giving the party a bit of an edge to exploit.
This session will likely involve a lot of skullduggery — sneaking into Marshedge under Brennan’s nose, meeting with people in secret, learning what he’s up to, and laying plots to overcome him. All that, plus a trip into Ferrier’s Fen, a dangerous and corrupted swamp, and maybe a good, old-fashioned monster hunt.
As always, thank you so much for all the time and attention you spend on this little story. I’ll miss writing to you folks every week, but no doubt this little break will absolutely fly by — this season has a way of doing that.
I hope your holidays are swell, and that you don’t have to face any problematic foster relatives on the field of honor. See you in January!
Those who remember the last time Anwen was in the healing hut might remember that Cerys explicitly told her she’d be willing to sacrifice Owain if necessary. You can see that bit of dialogue in Session 5.5.
Cerys’ youngest son, Ifan, was probably in his late teens. We established in Padrig’s Session Zero that he was taken by the crinwin, and he’s been mentioned a handful of times, first in Session 1.3. In that context, it seemed a bit like Anwen liked Ifan — they were close in age, so he was something of a foster brother to her.
The mysterious Mado — this is the first time we’re name checking him in the fiction. We established that Owain had a brother way back in Padrig’s Session Zero. We haven’t seen him around the village — one way to explain that is he’s a merchant and spends a lot of time in Marshedge and Gordin’s Delve.
The Binding Chamber was introduced in Session 5.5 — it is the huge arcana beneath Stonetop that produces the Storm Markings that empowered the warriors of Stonetop in a forgotten, bygone era. Vahid revealed its existence to Cerys and the other elders in that same episode.
I hope a quiet season will win! I’d enjoy this story regardless, but I’m also reading as another avenue to see Stonetop in action as prep for eventually bringing it to my own game table and I’d love to see some more of the homefront mechanics and play in action!
Solid conclusion to this arc!
I hope a quiet season will win! I’d enjoy this story regardless, but I’m also reading as another avenue to see Stonetop in action as prep for eventually bringing it to my own game table and I’d love to see some more of the homefront mechanics and play in action!
Now THAT was satisfying. Also glad to see Cerys not an out and out villain. Great foreshadowing too.
Honour says Marshedge, but I'd dearly love to see Gordin's Delve and you to use some of Ironsworn Delve rules.
Aahhh! Choices! I say Gordin's Delve. The hdour threat is still the most significant and they need that crown.