Session 10.5: The Delve is full of Seekers

A moment of quiet for Quill. A departure in the dead of night. We arrive in the Delve.

Last episode, our heroes fought for their lives against an attack by the Stormcrows, the faction of storm-folk nomads who have aligned themselves with the hdour. The raiders attacked in the dead of night, striking against a caravan that the party was traveling with, and Anwen led the charge to protect these (largely) innocent folk, despite Padrig’s more cautious counsel.

After dispatching the raider’s scouting party, Padrig led the caravan through a night march to the mystical protection of the ancient Makers’ Roads, reaching safety with a large force of Hillfolk in hot pursuit.

We ended the episode as the party was planning their approach to the Delve — Padrig, wary of entanglements with the more dangerous elements of the Delve (in part thanks to his own complicated past here), recommended they keep a low profile, and seek out some of their friends in town to aid in their inquiries. Vahid, on the other hand, pointed out that keeping a low profile will be difficult when news of their exploits on the road will become known, and a better course would be to directly approach the powerful Delve Bosses and forge an alliance.

That decision was left up to a reader poll — let’s see what you folks decided:

Looks like this was an easy choice! We haven’t had a unanimous result in a long while, and I feel a bit bad — perhaps I could’ve argued Vahid’s side a bit more persuasively! But it makes sense for the party to heed Pad’s advice here — he has by far the most experience with Gordin’s Delve, and the party certainly wants to avoid Padrig’s bloody past coming into play.

Since the party is trying to keep a low profile, and we want the risk of discovery to be an important part of the coming action, we’re going to use a technique we’ve used before¹: a countdown clock:

The clock will fill when events transpire that raise the party’s profile in Gordin’s Delve (the general rule of thumb being 1 tick for a Weak Hit consequence and 2-3 ticks for a Miss result). We’ll stipulate that at 8 ticks, one of the Bosses takes a personal interest in the party and sends some goons to bring them in for an audience.

We’ll rejoin the action with the party’s deliberations. This episode will be on the shorter side — arriving at the Delve is a good point for a session break, and, barring any Miss results on pivotal rolls, it should be relatively easy to arrive at our destination!

Scene 6, cont’d: A waystation a day’s journey from Gordin’s Delve

“We should trust Pad here, Vahid,” Anwen says. “He knows the Delve best of any of us. And we owe it to him not to put him in needless danger — best we try to keep our business in the Delve quiet, and not involve the Bosses if we can help it.”

Vahid’s azure eyes regard Anwen cooly. “A low profile is well and good, Anwen, but I fear we have already failed.” He nods at the Delve emigres who are huddled around a campfire, talking in hushed tones and casting occasional, awed glances towards the Stonefolk. “You alone slew a half-dozen Hillfolk warriors. Pad led them through the darkness with an army at their heels. They look at you both like heroes out of legend. If we arrive in town at the head of this company, tales of your deeds will spread like wildfire.”

“The Seeker is right,” Pad cuts in. “We’ll have to leave tonight, and arrive in town through the backways, ahead of the rumors. Once we’ve disappeared into the crush, it’ll be harder for those tales to stick to us.”

“Will the caravan be all right without us?” Anwen whispers, glancing their way. The little girl she carried through the night is staring at her over her mother’s shoulder.

Pad grimaces. “Hard to say. The Delve’s not a kind place — but if they came here, it’s because wherever they came from wasn’t all right either. But they’ll be able to find their way without us, at least; All they need to do is follow the road.”

“Then we are resolved,” Vahid says quietly. “When do we leave?”

“A few hours before midnight. Prepare your gear, but do it quietly. I’ll take the first watch, and look for the best path off the road and up into the mountains. Get some rest, it’ll be a hard road to the summit.”

Later that evening, as they prepare their gear, Anwen kneels next to Padrig, sitting cross-legged at the side of the road with his sword across his lap, absently honing the blade. “I’m sorry about Quill, Pad.”

Pad’s voice his calm, but his eyes are dark and sorrowful. “I am too. I could have ordered him to remain in Stonetop, but then that assassin would’ve taken the Seeker instead, leaving us without him in our fight with this hdour.”

Anwen looks downcast, uncertain what to say. Pad puts his hand on her shoulder. “It’s an ugly business, trading a life for another, Anwen, and it’s probably for the best that you never get a taste for it. But you still need to be ready do it. It’s the business we’ve chosen.”

“Right,” she nods, her voice growing firm. “We need to make sure he didn’t die for nothing, and make sure the hdour never lays his hands on that crown.”

“Aye,” Pad says, sheathing his sword. “Same as yesterday. Let’s be about it.”

Scene 7: The waystation, that night

At night, the Huffel Peaks are frigid, even in Spring, and the survivors of the caravan huddle around their few campfires for warmth. Padrig takes Jens, the caravan guard, aside, and then speak in hushed tones at the roadside.

“What are your prospects in the Delve? With Master ebn Raouf dead, what will you do when we reach our destination?”

Jens grimaces. “I was hoping to speak to you about that, captain. I’m owed fifty copper bezants when we arrive, but I suspect my pay is in the hands of those nomad thieves now.” He punctuates his sentence by spitting on the stone. “I’ve heard tell the Delve Bosses are always looking for hired swords, but that’s a risky business, and I have a wife and son back in Marshedge.”

Pad nods, and from his belt pouch, he produces four thick gold bezants². Jens' eyes bulge a bit as the old bandit presses them into his hand. "I've got some honest work for you. See these folk safely to the Delve -- find them some lodging and board, and pay a week or so upfront. And keep whatever's left."

“What about you, sir?” Jens’ voice is uncertain, but he grips the coins tightly.

“I’ve business of my own, so we’ll part ways in the Delve. If our paths cross again, I hope I can count on you.” Pad offers his hand.

Jens clasps it. “I owe you. If it weren’t for you, belike I’d be dead on the Flats.”

Pad chuckles. “Everyone did their part that night. If it weren’t for you, none of those folk would’ve made it, so no need to tally up our debts. Get some rest — I’ll take the first watch.”

Jens nods gratefully, and retires with the emigres to bundle up against the chill mountain air and sleep. A few hours later, when all is quiet, Padrig, Anwen, and Vahid rise, and quietly make their way from the waystation.

Prior to departing, Padrig used Read the Land to plot the quickest path up the mountainside away from the caravan (gaining advantage on his next roll), and then attempts to lead the party in sneaking away from the caravan:

Padrig triggers Defy Danger with Dexterity, with advantage: 4+2+1+1 Dexterity = 7, Weak Hit.

We’ll mark one tick — their departure doesn’t go entirely unnoticed.

Anwen casts a backward glance at the campsite. By the fire, the young girl she carried across the Flats is awake, her eyes locked on Anwen. Their gazes meet, and slowly, Anwen raises a finger to her lips: “Shhh.”

The girl watches her for a few moments more, and then quietly lays her head down against her mother, and closes her eyes. Anwen turns and follows her companion up the rocky slope.

Pad leads them up a steep and winding rocky path for a few hours, until their lungs burn and their legs ache. The moons are full and high in the sky, and through the thin mountain air, the stars shine brightly and fill the sky. Beneath that heavenly glory, they rest for a moment, catching their breath.

“The Delve sits in a valley between two great arms of the mountain. The main entrance — they call it Sorrow’s Gate — bottles up the valley and makes the place virtually unassailable, from the outside. There are other ways in and out though, but we’ll have to make it to the summit of the southern arm to reach them. If we push a bit harder, a bit longer, we should make it by dawn.”

The whole gang is going to Struggle as One³ here to make it up the mountain in a timely fashion. If they fail, we'll mark ticks on the clock, representing them arriving after rumors about them have already begun to spread:

Anwen triggers Defy Danger with Constitution: 4+3+2 Constitution = 9, Weak Hit
Padrig triggers Defy Danger with Constitution: 3+4+0 Constitution = 7, Weak Hit
Vahid triggers Defy Danger with Constitution: 5+6+1 Constitution = 11, Strong Hit

This is a tough crew, and a little mountain hiking ain’t nothing to them!

After a short rest, they soldier on. The trail narrows to a precarious goat path that clings to the southern arm of the mountains. Ruins dot the mountainside: Plazas jutting out from the cliff faces, paved with tarnished brass plates and ringed by slender iron columns, eaten away by rust and collapsing under the weight of crumbling stone lintels.

“Vahid, what sort of Makers left these behind?” Anwen asks, looking up in wonder at the towering pillars of metal.

Vahid triggers Know Things: 2+4+2 Intelligence = 8, Weak Hit

“The Huffel Peaks were the demesne of the Forge Lords, Makers who were masters of fire and metal,” Vahid replies. “It is written that when the Stone Lords’ slaves revolted, they withdrew to their mines and holds deep beneath the mountains and cut themselves off from the surface, caring only for their riches and their wondrous creations. No one knows what fate they found in the tunnels below.”

A few of the ruins shelter clusters of tents with signs of life -- the braying of goats, the smell of burning dung, and suspicious gazes greet them as they make their way to the summit of the mountain overlooking the Delve. The sun is rising when they reach the crest of the valley’s southern arm, where the path leads to a squat watchtower of tarnished brass, with curving, arched windows looking down onto Gordin’s Delve.

As Padrig had described, the city is crammed into a narrow valley between two jagged black stone arms of the Huffel Peaks. Tents and wooden shanties are piled up onto seven terraces, each higher and more crowded than the last. The light from hundreds of cookfires and hearths can be seen, and the smell of smoke and waste permeates the thin mountain air.

“We can make our way down from here — wth luck, folk will take us for prospectors or treasure hunters.”

“And they are quite right to do so,” Vahid says with a smile. “Are we not treasure hunters?”

Pad chuckles. “Just so. Gordin’s Delve is full of seekers. We’ll blend right in.”

The path widens as they descend, but it is quickly swallowed by rows of tents and wooden shanties erected on both sides. As the sun peeks over the mountaintops, folk begin to rise from their rest, until the party is surrounded by a crush of laborers making their way into town, buzzing in a multitude of tongues and with an edge of hungry desperation.

The Swap sits on the third terrace of Gordin’s Delve, where the tenements are built high against the ancient walls left behind by the Forge Lords. Source: Midjourney

The crowd flows down the mountain path to the third terrace -- the broadest of the seven. On either side are high walls of enormous brass blocks, carved with intricate, dancing flames. Rough wooden tenements lean against the walls, climbing three and four stories high. The din of voices grows even greater here.

"So many people," Anwen says. "Even more than in Marshedge.”

From the windows of the tenements, folk call out in Lygosi, Marchsprech, and the Stonetongue. “I need twenty hardy miners for a honest day's work! A cart full of ore gets you twenty copper bezants and a sack of millet! Present yourself below and be counted!” one man bellows out, his voice carrying over the hubbub. The door below him is mobbed with folk calling out to be counted. Across the way, Anwen sees another tenement, it's windows hung with garlands of dried, yellowing-white blossoms. In the windows are fair-faced young women and men, calling down to the passing laborers and smiling wide, false smiles.

Anwen glaces aside at Pad, who chuckles. "This is the Swap. Lots of things on offer in this market. No doubt Ozbeg warned you about the brothels." 

"He did. He made me take a silver and told me to find a lady named Parvati and give it to her," she says, producing the shiny coin and flipping it in the air.

Pad catches it in his fist. "Best not flash coin, Anwen. It's not so different here than the Edgemarket⁴." He presses it back into her hand. "Are you going to take Oz's advice?" he asks, a bit incredulously. 

Anwen flushes, and fidgets uncomfortably with Bearkiller, slung over her shoulder and its gleaming blade wrapped with hide. "We have a job to do here."

"Indeed," says Vahid dryly. "If much is on offer here, perhaps we can find word of one of our friends in the city — or perhaps Elder Kirs⁵ himself."

“Best we seek aid before we search for Kirs — asking openly about nomads living in the Delve could be dangerous, especially with the Stormcrows fanning the flames out on the Flats. We'll have to spread some coin around -- pay a few 'finders fees' -- but there will certainly be someone in the marketplace who knows Kanter or Rheisart.”

Pad pulls them aside, away from the crush of the crowd making its way through the Swap. “Best you do the talking, Vahid. You know the most trade tongues, and you can deal well and fairly for us. But best you don’t show your eyes — no need to draw more attention to us. Anwen, stay close — the Swap can be a rough-and-tumble place; it’ll be easier for him to move freely with you at his back.

They spend the morning treating with merchants, laborers, and mining foremen. Even with Vahid's glowing eyes hidden beneath his cloak’s hood, he and Anwen make a striking pair. Her seasons of training have packed corded muscle onto her frame, and her red hair is growing long and wild. Her face, once soft, has been toughened by the break in her nose, and her wide eyes have grown sharper, but not yet harder. Vahid, meanwhile, cuts a mysterious figure, his eyes shaded by the hood of his sky-blue cloak, the aetherium shod of the Azure Hand tapping against the brass paving stones as he walks. Hanging behind them, Padrig fades into the crowd, barely noticeable.

Vahid (with Anwen’s Aid) is triggering a move that we’ve used in Marshedge back in Session 4 and again among the Hillfolk in Session 7 — Ask Around:

Source: Jeremy Strandberg // Stonetop

Vahid triggers Ask Around: 4+4+1+1 Charisma = 9, Weak Hit

We’ll choose option #3, and add another tick to the clock:

And our heroes will get a lead on finding their contact — but the question is, whom will they go to for help? Each choice comes with a certain risk:

1. Kanter is a merchant who is known in Stonetop, and he’ll be inclined to help, if only to protect his business. But he is motivated by his own profit, and may not be entirely trustworthy.

2. Rheisart is a childhood friend of Anwen, with feelings of warmth and kinship for her, and he can be trusted absolutely. But he’s a relative newcomer to the Delve, and dragging him into this business could put him in danger.

We’ll pause here and leave the choice to you all. The journey, and Session 10, draws to a close here, and Session 11 will cover our time in Gordin’s Delve. Swing your miner’s pick at the button below to vote on this week’s choice — but stay tuned after the jump for a bonus scene featuring the one who got away:

Interlude: Somewhere in the Foothills

Cicatrix has been in darkness and pain for days — his face covered with a roughspun sack, his bound body slung over a horse and carried for countless, bone-jarring miles. Every few hours, his nomad captors uncover his mouth and force a few swallows of water down his throat before the journey continues. While they ride, they loudly speculate about who will do the honors of opening his throat and giving his blood to the stone, and quarrel over his few belongings — his fine steel dagger and the golden ring that was hidden in his boot toe, carved with his brotherhood’s sigil — a coiled viper beneath a rose.

He has no sense of time or place when he is hauled from horseback and dragged away, to be thrown onto a smooth, cool stone floor. The hood is pulled from his face, and he is hauled to his knees. At first, the light is blinding — it streams in from a great crack in the ancient, domed ceiling above, high above their heads. Before him stands a tall, slender figure, hooded and draped with flowing white robes, looped over his body again and again but still trailing on the floor behind him. Around his neck is a likewise too-long string of fist-sized bronze prayer beads, inscribed with the runes of the Tehur-Archoi⁶. Beneath his robe, his tan chest is bare and crisscrossed with a multitude of pale, branching scars.

Cicatrix looks to the strong arm holding him down — it is the nomad’s warlord, who they named meistr Maël. He looks down at Cicatix with undisguised contempt. “This is the stren we took from the caravan, O great Cirl-of-the-Storms,” Maël spits. “Alive, as you commanded.”

Cirl approaches him, and lifts his chin with a cool hand to look into his eyes. His palm is surprisingly smooth, the assassin notes, with no callouses from hard labor or training with bow or blade, but despite that his grip is strong. He is young; his sharp, aquiline face is not yet lined by age. Less than 30 winters, Cicatrix judges, but his grey eyes are old and cold, with the all-too-familiar air of a man who has ordered many deaths.

The nomad speaks to Cicatrix in Lygosi. “You are far from home. You are taken by enemies who would think nothing of giving your life to the Crowmother. But you are not afraid. Why not?”

The assassin looks up impassively. “Long or short, all roads lead to the Last Door. I have shown more than a few the way through, and fear never saved them.”

Cirl releases him and steps back. “You are no caravan guard.” He throws something to the stone floor, where it lands with a metallic plink and gleams yellow in the sunlight: Cicatrix’s ring. “You were sent to these lands to take a life. Mine?”

“No.”

“Whose, then?”

“Another man who is far from home. A Lygosi, like me — Vahid ebn Sulaim is his name.”

A smile slowly lights the hdour’s face.

And we’ll close out Session 10 there! As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read; I hope you’re enjoying our journeys so far. A brief bit of housekeeping — I’ll be taking next week off to focus on a big chunk of upcoming work at my new(ish) job. Our tale will resume on the 27th, with our heroes seeking out Elder Kirs and securing his aid in finding Stormcatcher’s Crown!

1. Specifically, we’ve used countdown clocks in Session 4 during the jailbreak sequence to represent the Marshedge Guard’s alertness, during the delve into the House of Nine Thunders in Session 5 to represent the awakening of the ruin’s guardian, and in Session 7 to represent growing Hillfolk suspicion of the party.

2. The party is still flush with cash from their deal with Tymon Ammar back in Marshedge in Session 4.2 — ironically, it was that deal that sent the assassin their way.

3. We used Struggle as One in the previous episode — each character rolls Defy Danger, and can use Strong Hits to cancel out Miss results.

4. Pad is reminding Anwen of her experience with a pickpocket back in Session 4.1

5. As a refresher — Elder Kirs is a Hillfolk outcast who knows the location of Stormcatcher’s Crown, and who is purported to be somewhere in Gordin’s Delve. He’s also the father of Kirs, whom Anwen had a brief but intense relationship with before he died, and Katrin, whom Vahid likewise had a bit of a moment with, back in Sessions 7 and 8.

6. The Lygosi term for the Makers, which I took from the Ancient Greek for ‘ancient’ and ‘sorcerers.’