Session 11.4: A little wisdom

Vahid demands answers. One question remains. Anwen makes a friend. Padrig returns.

Last episode, Vahid struck out on his own to seek the mysterious and inhuman Ustrina, tracking them down at their lodgings in the Serai of the Red Arch. There, he treated with their leader, the Valerix, but it quickly became clear that the Ustrina were not interested in friendship — they desired the Azure Hand, Vahid’s ancient staff which has been the source of his power and the focus of his study for these years he’s been at Stonetop. When Vahid refused their request, then their offer of treasure, and finally their demand, the Ustrina attacked, only to be turned back by the staff’s power. Now, chastened, the Valerix suggests that perhaps they underestimated our Seeker.

We’ll jump back into the action right where we left off, with Vahid now having the upper hand against these strange former servants of the Makers:

Scene 5, Cont’d: The Serai of the Red Arch

“Perhaps the Valerix misjudged the Vahid’s worthiness,” it says weakly, the grip of the Azure Hand still clutching its heart fire.

“Good. Then perhaps now we can treat as equals,” Vahid says, letting the Ustrina leader’s life force slip slowly from his grasp.

“If you will not give us the Azure Hand, there is nothing to discuss. Depart from this place, Vahid ebn Sulaim. The Ustrina will have no truck with you.”

Vahid allows his hood to fall back, revealing his face in full. His storm-marked blue eyes blaze with intensity, and the Azure Hand still hums from the conflict moments ago. “You have invited me here with false friendship and sought to murder and rob me. Among my people, such things would be cause for a blood feud. The Valerix owes me a debt of honor which must be repaid.”

Vahid brandishes the Hand at the gold-masked Ustrina, who shrinks away from it in an almost imperceptible sign of fear. “Very well. Take one of these treasures we have offered you and leave.”

Vahid’s eyes flicker over the offerings -- past the gold and lingering on the precious orichalcum and the clockwork bird, still slowly swaying to and fro on the branch.

“No,” Vahid says sharply. His voice echoes in the silent serai. All at once, he is conscious of the Ustrina who surround him, but he steels himself against fear and continues. “I came here for knowledge, not trinkets. Your people served the Makers, and I would have their wisdom from you.”

Vahid is still in a risky spot here, and he’s trying to leverage the Valerix to give him what he wants, rather than what’s on offer. Other than the Azure Hand itself, the only leverage he has is a threat of further violence, so this roll does not gain the advantage of Let’s Make a Deal. A miss here could be very dangerous indeed — the Ustrina here could mob him, even if he’s able to take them down one by one.

Vahid triggers Persuade: 6+3+1 Charisma = 10, Strong Hit

And there you have it! The Ustrina perceive Vahid as a very serious threat — to me, this suggests that they know the Azure Hand is capable of much worse things than what Vahid has currently shown — that’s worth remembering, when we think about Vahid’s fictional positioning to act against them.

Thanks to the strong hit, Vahid gets to ask some questions. To put some structure around the scene, and engage in some classic fantasy trope-mongering, the Valerix will offer to answer a finite number of questions — we can envision Vahid trying to finagle as much as possible, but the classic number for questions is, of course, three.

“Very well. We will answer one question, and then you will depart.”

“Five,” Vahid counters.

“Three,” the Valerix replies. “No more than that, for a little wisdom is a dangerous thing in the hands of your kind.”

“Very well.” Vahid returns the Azure Hand to his side, and the Valerix sits easier on its stone throne. Its attendants likewise draw back, rising from their ready crouches and returning their taloned gauntlets to the folds of their robes.

Vahid ponders momentarily and then speaks in a loud, clear voice. “What is the Azure Hand to you? Why would you lure me here to take it?”

“You have already seen the power it wields over us -- the Azure Hand commands our heart fire; it can unmake an Ustrina with a gesture,” the Valerix replies warily. “Such a thing is a powerful weapon.”

“Surely the workshops of your masters have great and terrible weapons. The Azure Hand is no mere weapon. Tell the truth, Valerix, or our pact is forfeit.” Vahid taps the Hand suggestively on the stone floor. The Ustrina flinches.

“Very well, human. Do you know the name Indrasduthir, whom the nomads call the Stormcatcher¹?”

“The last of the great Tempest Lords. Her people’s homeland sank beneath the waves, and she and her closest allies fled here, to the World’s Edge, where she raised a great tower upon the Flats.”

“The same. Even among the great and wise ancients, she was renowned for her cleverness. She sojourned among the great clans of the Stone Lords, the Rime Lords, and even our most ingenious masters, the Forge Lords, and in her journeys, she learned their ways.”

Vahid listens with rapt attention as the Valerix continues in its strange, hollow voice. “With the secrets she learned from them, she created many powerful arcana for her patrons, and the Azure Hand is the key to them all.”

Vahid’s mind races and his second question comes more quickly. “What did she make for the Forge Lords?”

“Many things — the great foundry that sits at the heart of the Gordin’s Delve, for one. But her greatest work was this: Our masters looked with jealousy on the servants of the Green Lords -- they were masters of life and had learned the secret ways of binding powerful spirits of the unseen world into flesh. Our masters had minds of metal and thought little of such things, so this technique eluded them. But not Indrasduthir. She taught them to meld flesh, metal, and spirits of fire into a perfect union.”

“The Ustrina,” Vahid whispers.

“The Valerix inclines its head slightly in acknowledgment. “The Azure Hand can unmake the Ustrina. And it can make one anew.” Dozens of dark, hollow eyes bore into Vahid, staring at the staff. He grips it tightly.

“Binding spirit to flesh,” Vahid says under his breath. He remembers his vision of the hdour’s past, drawn deep from the roots of the fate-tree². “At the height of her power, Indrasduthir bound a powerful spirit -- the Thousand-Year Storm -- to herself. What would become of a human who did the same?”

“They would cease to be merely human. When the Indrasduthir worked her magic upon the Thousand-Year Storm, she was like unto a god, and the spirit and she shared one flesh and one mind. Such a man would be the Stormcatcher come again.”

Vahid, his third and final question answered, inclines his head in cautious respect and turns to leave. The crowd of black-robed Ustrina makes way for him, but before he reaches the doorway, the Valerix’s voice calls out.

“We know this man after whom you seek. The sorcerer who sings the song of storms. Hdour, the nomads name him.”

Vahid stops in his tracks and slowly turns back to look toward the Valerix. “What do you know of him?”

“There is a long pause, and Vahid senses a smug satisfaction behind the Valerix’s gleaming golden mask. “That is one question too many. Now the Vahid must bargain.”

Scene 6: Meanwhile, at Madam Parvati’s

Anwen passes the day with Baraz, drinking in a shadowed corner of Madam Parvati’s. The hulking Lygosi sits with his back to the wall, keeping a weather eye on the ebb and flow of the patrons’ passions.

Baraz, who keeps the peace at Madam Parvati’s. Source: Midjourney

As sunset approaches, the work gangs come down from the Delves, and the quiet in the common room rises to a dull roar. When Baraz must rise and keep order, Anwen stands with him, laying hands on the most unruly patrons and seeing them swiftly to, and through, the saffron curtains that serve as doors.

Soon, calm is restored, and the pair return to their quiet place, sipping dark purple wine from beaten copper cups, and Baraz listens intently as Anwen recounts Stonetop’s wintertime dramas.

He leans back in his seat and takes a meditative sip, the draught staining his lips. “Such a duel it must have been, Anwen. The cold winter morning beneath the great blue sky. He, with his father’s sword, you with a great weapon of a bygone age, fighting for the fate of your village! Some say the age of heroes is past -- fie on them, says Baraz!” He spits the wine on the earthen floor in a dramatic, contemptuous gesture and laughs deeply. 

Anwen laughs along, put at ease by the big Lygosi’s friendly manner. “What of you, Baraz? You are farther from home than I. What brought you to the Delve?”

The Lygosi drains his cup and then refills it from a red clay pitcher. “Truth be told, I never had a home before I came here. In Lygos, I was born in bondage, in the harem of one of the Despot’s swordbearers -- a man with noble blood flowing through the heart of a cur. I was given the cruelest cut when I became a man grown, along with three of my slave-brothers, and we four were entrusted with the safety of the ladies of the seraglio. I do look back on that time with fondness. Our master was cruel, but our charges were sweet and gentle to us, and we were always surrounded by beauty.”

Anwen’s eyes are wide as she digests the Lygosi’s tale. Ozbeg has told her of the strange and cruel customs of the city-state’s mighty Despots. Part of her always suspected he was telling tall tales, but here one of the tales sits before her, sipping wine.

“How did you free yourself from servitude?”

Baraz chuckles. “I did not free myself -- freedom came to me. My master plotted treason against the Despot, but his clumsy machinations were discovered, and he was forced to flee, leaving behind all his possessions and chattel.” The Lygosi’s face darkens. “Before he left, he murdered his courtesans in the coldest blood, so they would not be taken by another man. For that, I hope and pray the Lady of Crows delivers him to as cruel a fate as she can devise.”

Anwen is silent. The blood is pounding in her ears; she looks into her reflection in the dark wine and tries to remember if this is her third cup or her fourth.

Anwen’s not accustomed to heavy drinking, so here we’ll see if any danger befalls her while she’s in her cups.

Anwen triggers Defy Danger with Constitution: 6+4+2 Constitution = 12, Strong Hit

The team can’t miss today! Looks like no bravos will burst through the door to start a drunken brawl. Yet.

Baraz continues. “The Despot’s Myrmidons came to apprehend him, and the household fled. His wife and son surrendered to them and were blinded and sent into exile. No one remained to keep us in chains -- to recapture us if we escaped, nor to feed and house us if we remained. So we left.”

“What became of your brothers? Where are they now?”

“We stayed together at first. In Lygos, we found work among the canting crew -- thieves, murderers, purveyors of vice. We were four men, skilled in violence, who could be trusted to keep our word. There was ready coin for our services. But my eldest brother, Gratianos, hungered for vengeance against the swordbearer — he spoke of it every night, and soon we all hungered with him. Rumor was that he escaped the Despot’s reach. On the third anniversary of the day of our freedom, we swore a solemn oath to one another -- that we would travel the wide world and look for a sign of our old master. Every third year, we promised to pilgrimage back to Lygos to meet on that day and share what we have found so that one day he might look up at our four faces as we take our vengeance — for ourselves and the others he hurt.”

Anwen’s eyes widen. “And so you came to Gordin’s Delve? Are you looking for him here?”

Baraz smiles sadly. “At first, I was, yes. And I suppose if he came through the door, I would be remiss if I did not kill him. But no, I do not seek him any longer. I have not been back to Lygos in six years now. Before my brothers, I am foresworn.”

“Oh,” Anwen says, stopping short. “What made you foreswear yourself?” she blurts out, and immediately she flushes with regret. “I am sorry to pry.”

“I am sorry to lay my burdens on you, but it is your just reward for plying me with so much wine,” he says with a wink as he refills their cups once again.

“As the years passed, and I found my place here, I realized that my oath of vengeance still bound me to my old master as surely as any chains. Here at the world’s edge, I had the things I was once denied -- a partner, in Madam Parvati, my son Mani and my daughter Aliyah.” He smiles fondly at the young boy across the room, still polishing the patrons’ blades, and the black-haired girl busily cleaning copper cups behind the bar.

“Sons and daughters?” Anwen says. “But I thought...?”

“They are sons and daughters of the house, and I am the keeper of the house. Mothers they have, but fathers are in short supply here. If not Baraz, then who?”

Anwen smiles warmly at him. “That’s very kind of you. I didn’t have a father when I was a girl. My mother told me stories of how strong and brave he was, but... it was more complicated than that.”

Baraz chuckles. “It usually is. You can tell me that story another time -- lo, the mistress of the house comes!”

As a reminder, this NPC represents the outcome of the Session 11.2 poll, in Scene 3— Anwen successfully triggered the Carouse move, and the option chosen by the readers was you make a loyal new friend. Baraz and Anwen bonded, first over the manhandling of ruffians, and then over some stories.

Now, we could’ve just envisioned the first few paragraphs of this scene — i.e. a brief montage where Anwen and Baraz toss out some unruly patrons, laugh over some drinks, and become buddies. So why delve into Baraz’s history like this? A few reasons:

First and most importantly, it’s fun — just like it can be fun for the players to ham it up and tell a story about their past, it can be fun for the GM to do the same. When a player does it, they’re trying to demonstrate something important about their character and the themes they embody, but when the GM does it, it can also broader narrative goals, such as:

• Establishing some things about the world’s truths and tones: What types of places surround Stonetop? What happens there? What makes them interesting and different from what we’ve seen so far?

• Performing some of the game’s themes: What sort of story do we tell with Stonetop’s rules and setting? How does Stonetop feel?

• Lay down story hooks to be drawn upon later. What unfinished business does this character have? How can they help or harm the PCs?

So, from Baraz, we learned some things facts Lygos and the culture there, which we would revisit if we ever journeyed to Lygos. We explored some of Stonetop’s themes — specifically, ones of community, found family, and finding peace in a world that’s full of chaos and violence (these are all themes I think the setting delivers masterfully on — Jeremy Strandberg, the setting’s creator, really just nails it here.

We also laid down some hooks — what would happen if Baraz’s brothers came calling? Or if his old master showed up? We probably won’t need these hooks, but as the old adage goes — better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them!

Back to the action:

Anwen turns to the door and sees Madam Parvati sweeping gracefully through the door. She is a striking, brown-skinned woman of perhaps fifty winters, dressed in a flowing wrap of fine saffron wool, the same color as the curtains and hangings that adorn her establishment.

The radiant Madam Parvati. Source: Midjourney

Baraz motions the lady to them and accepts her proffered hand, bowing and touching his forehead. “Madame Parvati, may I make you known to Anwen of Stonetop. She has done good service for this household today and has been most open-handed with her coin.” He flashes the heavy gold bezant³. “She has some business with you and awaits your pleasure.”

Parvati looks at Anwen with appraising eyes and speaks the Stonetongue with a musical accent. “Anwen of Stonetop. What brings you to me, my dear?”

“My companions and I seek a quiet and discrete place to rest for the night. My friend Ozbeg said you might be a friend to us.” She goes into her belt pouch and draws out Ozbeg’s worn silver. “He told me to give you this.”

Parvati takes the silver from Anwen’s hand and examines it with the ghost of a smile on her face, running her thumb over the markings, smoothed by time. “Ozbeg. So my old hawk still lives.” Her eyes sharpen and dart back to Anwen. “Surely he is not such a fool as to have come back here.”

Anwen lowers her voice. “No, he’s safe in Stonetop, I hope. But one of my companions here has some bad blood too, and it would be best if we could be about our business here quietly and then be on our way.”

Madam Parvati draws herself up, and her face darkens. “Padrig,” she whispers.

“How did you know?” Anwen says, struggling against the wine-haze⁴ to hide her surprise.

She nods towards the door. “Speak of ill fortune, and it quickly appears.”

Padrig stands in the doorway, his face concealed with a hood and scarf, but nonetheless, the lady of the house knows him. “Come, we should continue this discussion in my chambers.”

Baraz raises his eyebrows. “I believe I have some matters to attend to in the kitchen. Mani! Watch the door, and if anyone refuses to give you their blades, give me a holler.” And with that, the big man is gone with surprising alacrity.

Parvati smiles and nods at the few patrons whose attention they have caught and calls to Baraz’s daughter. “Aliya, more wine for every table. These men have worked so very hard; they deserve some gentleness.” Cups are raised in a toast to the lady of the house, and attention returns to the fair faces of Parvati’s courtesans, where it belongs. She then leads Padrig and Anwen to a small but well-appointed bed-chamber, lit by purple-glazed lanterns and hung with diaphanous curtains of blue and white. There, she sits on the bed’s edge and points sharply at a pair of woven poufs, a gesture that puts Anwen very much in mind of Elder Cerys back in Stonetop.

“Padrig,” Parvati says with quiet control. “I liked your little band well enough — some more than others. But you will find no succor here if you have come to take vengeance against Jahalim. None. I pay my cut to the Master of Keys since that bloody business two years ago. If he believes I harbor sympathies for the Claws, the knives will be out for me in an instant.”

“No, madam. I assure you, Brennan and I are quits. Last time I saw him, he drugged me, threw me in a deep, dark hole, and turned Bertrim loose on me to play his sick little games.”

“Yes, that’s the man I knew. I never understood why you couldn’t see it.”

“We had all been through a long march over deadly ground together. It blinded me to certain… realities. I tried to stop him from making a move against Jahalim, I promise you.”

“You should have tried harder. So how did you escape Brennan’s clutches? And what became of dear Bertrim?” Her voice is icy indeed now.

Pad nods to Anwen. “I didn’t escape. Anwen dragooned old Ozbeg into a rescue mission in the dead of night. They came for me — Anwen arrived when Bertrim was about to start his bloody business. She subdued him, freed me, and then I gave Bertrim the death he deserved.”

Parvati glances at Anwen, who nods in confirmation. “Betrim, taken at last by the Lady of Crows. These are tidings worth a toast.” She raises her copper cup in a small, graceful celebration. “So what is so important that you returned here?”

“We are here searching for a contact among the prospectors and treasure hunters — a man with information that can help our village fight a dangerous enemy. We intend to find him, recruit him to our cause, and then depart. All we need is a quiet place to meet the man and to lay low until we can make good our escape.”

Parvati looks to Anwen. “And who is this? New blood? My dear, I hope you understand the danger into which Padrig has led you.”

Before Pad can answer for her, Anwen fires back. “Pad didn’t lead me here. It was my decision to come here, and he followed me — I command at Stonetop.

Parvati looks back at Padrig with a wry smile. “Is that so, Padrig? Is this young, fire-haired Penthesilea your captain? I thought you had finally taken command for yourself.”

Padrig shakes his head. “It wasn’t my time.”

Her brows shoot up in surprise and respect. “My goodness, Padrig. Perhaps you found a little wisdom in Stonetop. But she led you back here, so perhaps a little wisdom is a dangerous thing.”

“Anwen wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. And I wouldn’t have followed her here if I disagreed.”

“Very well. You two can stay the night here. If you’re caught in the city, Jahalim will undoubtedly think I aided you, whether I did or not.”

“There are three of us — myself, Anwen, and a young scholar named Vahid.”

“Vahid ebn Sulaim?”

“Yes,” Padrig says, stifling an alarmed tone in his rising voice. “How did you know?”

Pavati glares. “A man came through here earlier today, asking after that name. He wore the garb of a caravan guard and claimed to be looking for a lost friend, but I know a hired killer when I see one.”

Padrig swears under his breath. “Cicatrix. He must have survived the nomad attack. Where is Vahid, Anwen?”

Anwen closes her eyes, and shame, regret, and wine brighten her cheeks. “I let him leave. He went in search of the Ustrina.”

“A brave man. They ply their strange trade at the Serai of the Red Arch, on the first terrace,” Parvati supplies.

“We have to go find him,” Anwen says, rising hastily to her feet. Padrig follows suit.

“No. Not you, Padrig. You came here to hide out, not climb to the top of the Delve in front of all the gods and every bravo in town. The sun has set, and the Bosses’ lanternmen will be on the streets, keeping the peace and doing violence at their whims. If they find you, they will knock on my door next.”

Padrig searches Anwen’s face and sees her resolve, but beneath it, he can sense her uncertainty. Both women await his reply.

We’ll close out here with a reader poll: Does Padrig assent to Parvati’s demand and remain at the brothel while Anwen goes in search of Vahid? Or does he take the risk, stick to Anwen like glue, and do his best to avoid attracting any attention?

Carefully and quietly, without attracting the attention of the lanternmen, click the button below to make your choice known:

And if you have some time and are feeling opinionated, I’d love your feedback on the character portraits I’ve been including lately. I don’t love doing portraits of the main characters with AI, because I never feel like I nail exactly the look that’s been slowly articulated over the last year plus of writing, but with NPCs, it’s a lot easier to get something ‘good-enough.’ Let me know if it helps or hurts your experience of the game!

As always, thanks for reading, and I’ll see you in your inbox next week!

1. Indrasduthir/Stormcatcher has been an important figure for Vahid — a powerful magus and crafter of arcana in whose footsteps both Vahid and the hdour have followed. We first heard the name Indrasduthir in Session 5.4, when Vahid and Padrig explored the House of Nine Thunders, a secret underground complex beneath Stonetop. The name Stormcatcher was directly applied to her in Session 8.4 when Solnn shared with Vahid what the nomads knew of Stonetop’s history.

2. In Session 7.6, Vahid received a vision of the hdour and learned that he intends to bind a powerful spirit, the Thousand-Year Storm, to his flesh, in pursuit of Stormcatcher’s great power.

3. n.b., in this region of the world, even a single gold coin is a hefty sum.

4. Since Anwen successfully defied this danger earlier, we can envision that the wine is affecting her, but she’s tough and focused enough to push through.