Session 12.2: The Judge and the Jailer

A judge in chains. A would-be king on his throne. A tense negotiation.

Last episode, the party resolved to approach Jahalim of the Keys, the strongest of the Delve Bosses, to begin to cobble together a defense of Gordin’s Delve, which will be attacked in two weeks by Cirl-of-the-Storms, the sorcerer with whom the party has been contending for the last few seasons. Our heroes are gambling that if they unite the Delve bosses in defense of the town, they can deal a defeat to the sorcerer that might disperse his nomad cult, or they may even have a chance to slay him in personal combat, putting paid to this threat to Stonetop once and fore all.

200!

As a brief side note — last week we hit an audience milestone, and this week’s episode will be sent to 200 inboxes! I do very little promo, so most likely this is the result of word of mouth and referrals, so this victory really belongs to all of you — if ever you’ve recommended, linked to, or just spoken kindly about this project, thank you! I’ll do my best to keep the adventures coming and bring the adventures of Anwen, Padrig and Vahid to a satisfying conclusion.

And now, after that brief, celebratory preamble, we’ll rejoin the action where we left off, with Demetra, Jahalim’s wife-and-bodyguard, agreeing to convey the party to a late-night rendezvous with her husband.

Scene 2: The Streets of the Delve

Led by Jahalim’s wife, they decamp from Madam Parvati’s. To their surprise, another half-dozen bravos are waiting outside by a lanternman’s light, with an eager edginess hidden beneath their swagger.

“All these knives against just the three of us, Demetra?” Padrig asks.

“I brought this many to save your champion the trouble of thinking you could fight us, Padrig,” she bites back. “Why come to you like lambs when we are the lions here?”

Vahid clears his throat. "Lead on, merat'Jahalim."

She turns to him, her voice dangerously pleasant. "So formal, Vahid ebn Sulaim. Your people in Lygos must be of a finer stock than mine.”

“Perhaps so. And yet, here we are, come far from home to a distant land as equals.”

“Yes. Remember it.”

‘It was not I who needed reminding,’ Vahid thinks but does not say, only inclining his head in respectful acknowledgment.

Satisfied, Demetra motions for them to follow and leads them from the Swap.

The hour is late -- Elder Kirs did not arrive till well after the moons were high in the sky -- and the streets of the Delve are quiet but not deserted. Late-night drinkers, gamblers, and lotus smokers gather here and there on the side of the streets in pools of lantern light, their mutters occasionally rising to cries of elation or anger.

When Demetra and her company go by, most quickly withdraw indoors, but a few stand tall, bowing their heads in respect as Jahalim’s lady passes. She acknowledges each of them with just a nod, not breaking their pace towards the fourth terrace and the Foundry.

The Foundry stands at the western edge of the fourth -- a complex of domed structures, built from massive red bricks and crowned with rings of tall bronze chimneys; though the cool mountain air is free from the smell of smoke — the forges have been cold for days, it seems.

The doors are those of a fortress: Thick, studded bronze, three times as tall as a man -- more fit for the Makers’ stature. Inset in the great doors is a humble sally port, small enough that Padrig must stoop to enter when Demetra ushers them through.

Within, they pass into the first great chamber, the Foundry proper. In the center of the room are huge stockpiles of rough ore, and encircling them, the ancient smelters of the Forge Lords -- a ring of a half-dozen enormous crucibles of smooth clay atop finely-wrought bronze carriages built into the floor, stained soot-grey and covered with ash and blackened wood. With his storm-touched eye, Vahid senses the powerful spirit of the flame slumbering beneath the crucibles, bound to the brazen mechanisms that hold them. Quiet, without its workers, the great Foundry feels more like a temple than a place for labor. They circle the chamber, their footsteps echoing off the domed ceiling, and pass beneath a tall arch into Jahalim’s court.

An amphitheater fills the next rotunda — perhaps a debating hall or a place for the demonstration of new artifice, Vahid reflects. Covering the red brick steps are tiers of wooden benches, built over the original construction by the humans who now inhabit this place made by giants. There is a place for petitioners on the stage below, and up above on the far side is a high bench carved from Lygosi rosewood in twisting vines with serpents coiled among them, though the man who sits upon it is absent.

Vahid comes to Padrig’s side and whispers, “It seems this Jahalim adopts a ruler’s trappings. Does he dream of kingship?”

“Aye, just so,” the old bandit replies under his breath. “He and Brennan had that in common. That’s why they got along so well, at first. And why it ended as it did, belike.”

Vahid nods, deep in thought. Before they can further confer, Demetra steps between them and nods down to the stage. “Take a seat and wait. Jahalim will come when he is ready.”

“How long?” Anwen asks sharply.

“As long as he requires. You are not in Stonetop, champion. Many wait upon his pleasure. Count yourselves fortunate he will see you at all.

Padrig puts his hand on Anwen’s shoulder. “She’s not wrong, Marshal. We’ve come to their patch, we follow their lead.”

“Very well. We’ll wait,” Anwen says. “But while we wait, our enemy is moving.” Demetra’s eyebrows raise in a moment of reappraisal, and she goes to take her leave.

“Nestor. Bolan,” she barks as she goes, gesturing to two of her bravos. “Wait here with these petitioners. And Rolf, go fetch the Judge,” she says, gesturing to the towering Manmarcher. “The rest of you, take your ease. But stay close.”

“There is a Judge of Aratis in this lawless place?” Vahid asks Padrig as they settle onto their seats at the stage’s edge.

Padrig is calling upon his knowledge of the Delve here, using the move  from the Penitent Marshal background. When he does so, he gets a slightly better roll (+0 for Strength instead of -1 for Intelligence): 

Padrig triggers Know Things: 6+1+0 Strength = 7, Weak Hit

Padrig knows about the Judge of Aratis here -- nothing that they can immediately leverage, but we learn a bit of background. This is something I envisioned way back in the original Gordin's Delve prep, so we're making use of it here. We'll share the answer in the fiction:

“Not exactly,” Padrig says. “The story is, ten years back, a judge-priest made his way here with some emigres, and preached the law against the bosses, trying to raise the miners and the trades against them. It came to nothing in the end -- the mob he raised was put down, and he was beaten near to death. Jahalim put him in irons and dragged him off to the cells beneath the Foundry. Now he preaches the law when his jailer tells him to. Merchants and tradesmen bring their disputes before the chained Judge, and he hands down his counsel, with Jahalim looking on.”

“Such hubris,” Vahid whispers. “To put justice itself in chains.”

“He’s just a man, Seeker. Like you and me. He overreached, misjudged his ground. Just like we might, if we’re not careful.”

“As always, I thank you for your words of caution, Pad. But our enemy commands the wind and storms; We will not outpace him with careful steps.”

“Enough, you two,” Anwen whispers. “Look there.”

The Chained Judge. Source: Midjourney

Descending the stairs of the amphitheater is the Judge, a stooped old man with a wispy beard, bent low by the weight of his brass and iron chains. The Manmarcher leads him, tugging on his lead with a bit of relish. They circle the amphitheater and his warden deposits him at the foot of Jahalim’s throne.

NPC Breakdown: The Judge

We've only established a little bit about this character, and to properly portray him, we'll need an Instinct. I started by rolling on the Ironsworn Theme Oracle and got Greed. So, he's a corrupt Judge! But we’ve established he's also a prisoner and former firebrand, so it's not quite as straightforward as Jahalim's just paying him off. Let's envision that he's been a bit broken by his long imprisonment, and that he and the Master of Keys have come to an understanding: He is only treated well -- fed, given clean clothes, plied with alcohol, and allowed fresh air and exercise -- if he rules in a manner that his jailer approves of. To maintain a fig-leaf of independence, Jahalim never conveys this explicitly, but he makes his pleasure and displeasure clear all the same. 

I'll record his instinct as To tell Jahalim what he wants to hear. Buried beneath that instinct is a desire to bring justice to this lawless place, but the party will have to put in a little effort to re-awaken it, if that proves useful. Vahid is going to try to get at this information using his Third Eye to observe the Judge's thoughts: 

Vahid triggers Seek Insight: 4+4+1 Wisdom = 9, Weak Hit. He asks "What do they intend to do?" — enough to learn the Judge will play to whatever he believes Jahalim would want, but nothing deeper than that. Back to the action:

Vahid closes his eyes and breathes deeply, turning his attention upon itself in search of the opening to his third eye. To his surprise, its place within the sensation of his mind has shifted slightly, and as he focuses on it, he feels his empty eye socket open, and from it, cold white light spills forth.

In his mind’s eye, he sees the tired Judge’s aura, an anxious, guarded thing, prickly like an beaten, starving hound. Through hooded eyes, the old Judge returns Vahid’s searching gaze. Vahid sees the man’s sharp thoughts turned towards him, alert to the threat the Seeker and his companions pose. This man does not know what to make of us, and that makes him afraid. He fears saying the wrong thing and raising his master’s ire. He closes his eyes once again and exhales, releasing his mind’s eye and returning his vision to the world of flesh and blood.  

The Judge speaks, his voice gravelly and tired. “I have seen it written than the Judges of old had sight beyond sight granted to them by Aratis, to cleave truth from falsehood. I must confess, in my old age I did not believe the Lawkeeper conferred such great blessings. Or any blessings at all.”

“I have not read this, and I am widely read on such matters. What was the text?” Vahid replies mildly.

“A very lawyerly response, to question my sources,” the Judge growls back. “Even in the benighted Stonetongue, I can hear the learned tones of the Lycaeum in you. Men of letters are not welcome in the Delve; you are far from home, mathetai¹. “

“Not as far as you, I think.”

The Judge snorts derisively. “And what is your petition for Jahalim?”

“It is a matter that concerns all the folk of the Delve -- not just Jahalim. It will be good to have your wise words in his ear, counseling him to look to the commonweal.

“The Delve has no commonweal. It is a nest of vipers.”

“The Delve must change, then. Or it will cease to be.”

The Judge is unmoved. “I too thought that. Once.”

Vahid holds his gaze. “You were right. Only a little early.”

The Judge makes no reply, and instead turns his gaze to Padrig. “I know you. You were Brennan’s man. The one with a bit of sense. Padrig, was it not?”

“That’s right.”

The Judge is quiet momentarily, turning this revelation over in his head. “So you’ve come back to the Delve, following another mad schemer?”

Padrig chuckles mirthlessly. “Might be that’s so. For all our sakes, I hope it works out better this time.”

“Stop your tongues, the both of you,” growls Rolf, the Manmarcher. “The boss is here.” He nods up to the highest tier of the amphitheater, where the Jahalim of the Keys has come.

The party watches him as he circles the amphitheater above them, making his way towards his throne. Vahid often imagines men of power as old and wizened, but Jahalim is neither -- he is a tall, olive-skinned Lygosi of perhaps 40 winters. He is dressed in a dark yellow woolen tunic, augmented by a lion’s mane drape. At his hip hangs a massive bronze key of Maker-craft, inlaid with red-gold Orichalcum in the shape of jagged flames.

Demetra, alert and watchful, and a pair of solicitous servants trail him with him a silver cup of some steaming drink and a clay bowl for ablutions. He accepts these offerings but dark eyes are focused on the party, before turning on his Judge and prisoner. He sits on his throne and speaks to the chained old man. “What do you make of these petitioners?” He sips from the silver cup as he awaits a reply.

A (very) rough rendition of Jahalim of the Keys, by Midjourney

After a cautious pause, the Judge speaks. “You know Padrig of the Claws, of course. Brennan’s loyal man, through much bloodshed and strife. He led the skirmishers -- wise in the ways of deception and ambush.”

“He claims he and Brennan are quits,” Demetra supplies.

“Such an easy falsehood to tell,” the Judge tuts in response.

“But it’s the truth,” Anwen says, rising to her feet on the amphitheater stage. Demetra casually rises as well, placing herself between her husband and Stonetop’s champion.

“And who is this?” Jahalim asks, his tone neutral, as though she had not spoken.

“She calls herself Anwen, and the champion of Stonetop,” replies Demetra. “Folk said she saw off three of Ffransis’ bravos by our serai this morning.”

“Her weapon is certainly worthy of a champion. Blades wrought from makerglass are as rare as they are deadly,” the Judge adds.

Jahalim sizes Anwen up for a moment before turning his gaze on Vahid. “And this is the magus, Vahid ebn Sulaim.”

“Perhaps. I would weigh carefully any claims of true power. The high art of magic died with the sorcerer-kings. Those who remain make much ado of meager powers.”

Jahalim, gazing into Vahid’s single, luminous blue eye, looks unconvinced. “Speak, magus. My wife tells me you come with dire news.”

Vahid rises with stiff formality, concealing his exhaustion, and the pain radiating from the scar left by the Valerix’s bloody work. “Yes, great Jahalim. A force of nomads gathers in the foothills, planning a great raid for the next full moons-rise.”

“Such ‘great raids’ have come and gone. The Delve is strong against such attacks, and the nomads haven’t the numbers or the iron to take and hold it. Why is now so different?”

“They are lead by a powerful and cunning sorcerer. He styles himself Cirl-of-the-Storms, and he commands the spirits of the unseen world.”

“And will these spirits help his warriors scale Sorrow’s Gate? Or find the secret paths through the mountains? To match their flint and bronze against our iron? I have faced nomad shamans before — they have their tricks, but they bleed like other men.”

“You haven’t faced anything like this,” Anwen says. “His warriors can fight like demons — they move as swiftly as the wind, shrug off dire wounds, and can sunder spears and shields with their bare hands.”

Jahalim’s face darkens as he considers this. “My wife tells me you wish to offer us an alliance. Why? What is Jahalim’s fate to you?”

“All agree: Jahalim is the strongest boss in the Delve. We wish to see this villain defeated, and only you have the strength. And so we have come to warn you.”

“They seek to make you the enemy of their enemy, wise Jahalim,” the Judge interjects. “To use you as a weapon in their feud with this sorcerer. There is no profit in it. The nomads do not have the numbers to hold the Delve — even if they enter to the town and put dozens to the sword, they will ultimately be overwhelmed by the mob and driven out.”

“I am inclined to agree with my good Judge. When such troubles have come here, we have withdrawn to the Foundry. It was built to withstand far greater enemies than a few horse-lords.”

“No doubt that is so. But the sorcerer intends to strike here, at the Foundry. He has obtained a copy of the key you wear, and the knowledge to use it. He can open the great doors and let his warriors in. And worse, he can awaken the ancient magic in this place, and turn it against you, and the rest of the Delve.”

Jahalim leans forward on his throne, his attention now rapt. His hand unconsciously falls to the key at his side. “Where would he have obtained such a thing?”

“From the Ustrina. They revealed his plans to me.”

“At what cost?” Jahalim smirks.

Vahid gestures to his bandaged eye. “A dear one.”

Jahlim now looks to Padrig. “Despite everything your companion here has said, you are perhaps the strangest part of all this, you old jackal. What are you doing here?”

“After we left the Delve, I took myself and what remained of my crew to Stonetop, my old home. They’re good folk and they took us in without too many questions. I’ve been doing what I can to repay them for that. This sorcerer threatens them as much as he does you, so I’m here to stop him,” Pad pauses and searches Jahalim’s face for a clue, but the man’s face is impassive.

Jahalim’s eyes narrow, and his tone goes dangerously mild. “Come now, Padrig. I turned on you and your people. My bravos slaughtered your friends and left them in ditches for the carrion drakes. One can never trust someone one has betrayed, is that not so?”

“There’s part of me that wouldn’t mind seeing you dead, no mistake about that. For Sabi, and Dagmer. Sonam. And Ionas². But hurting you won’t bring anyone back. And I’ve got other battles to fight now — like this one.”

“So what are you proposing?”

Vahid steps in once again. “We want you to ally with the other bosses to stand against the hdour with all your bravos, and the people of the Delve in arms. We will stand with you — we are each formidable fighters, and I will warn the other Bosses of the threat, on your behalf. You must stand together, or you will fall alone, and you will fall farthest of all, great Jahalim.”

Vahid is rolling for all the marbles here — Padrig and Anwen are Aiding him as well, giving him advantage, but Let’s Make a Deal is not active here, as Vahid hasn’t really offered Jahalim anything he wants in exchange:

Vahid triggers Persuade: 5+4+1+1 Charisma = 10, Strong Hit

Jahalim’s not one to trust easily, but he’s also in a tough spot — the Hillfolk raids have shut down the Foundry (since they can’t gather fuel in the foothills) and the attacks on traders are starting to cut into the Delve’s food supply. He doesn’t want to reveal his weakness, but he also can’t pass up this opportunity:

“Very well. I was merely curious at first. Now you have my attention. I propose a demonstration of your power, Vahid ebn Sulaim. After all, my Judge counsels that I should weigh the claims of a magus carefully. My esteemed peer, Smiling Ffransis, has been quarrelsome of late: His bravos threaten merchants under my protection, and he plies my idle tradesmen with strong drink³ and other substances to place them in his debt. If I can be honest, he is quite an insufferable character. If you can gain his cooperation, by whatever means you please, I will consider your proposal.” He rises from the throne. “In the meantime, I will make inquiries into what you have told me. I trust I will find no reason to doubt you.”

“You will not,” Vahid replies solemnly.

We’ll close the episode there! Jahalim’s cooperation is conditionally secured — 2 more bosses must be convinced, and the remaining two must be at least sidelined. Next episode, the party will confront Smiling Ffransis — we’ll see if their hometown connection to this Delve boss helps them or harms them, and we’ll see if Ffransis can be reasoned with, or if he must be made an example of.

Our heroes of course intend to do what they can to avoid violence — that’s been their modus operandi so far. But they can still prepare for violence, if they so choose. When they approach Ffransis, they can either do it with just the three of them, or they can take some time and try to gather a little gang of their own. Anwen has made fast friends with Baraz⁴, they could approach Rheisart⁵, the caravan guard Jens⁶ said he’d be willing to help them if Pad had work for him, and Elder Kirs is still a formidable fighter — if pressed, the party could likely gather a half-dozen fighters to show Ffransis they mean business. For this week’s reader poll, I’ll put that decision up to you. Does the party:

1. Approach Ffransis on their own, as a gesture of good faith. If they take this route, Ffransis won’t be on the defensive right away, so maybe they’ll have an easier time winning him over.

2. Gather up some muscle and be ready for a fight. If they take this route, Ffransis will be a bit on edge, but if things do go south, the party will have backup.

Hit the button below to cast your vote!

It was good to get back into the story after last week’s unexpected break — it’s been challenging getting back into the groove, and I hope the episode is worth the wait. Thanks as always for reading, and if you’ve got questions or feedback, by all means share them in the comments!

1. ‘Student,’ among the Lygosi. I imagine it has a bit of a derisive tilt to it, like ‘egghead.’

2. We first established the names of Pad’s dead warriors way back in Session 3.2, when he had a vision of them from the nosgolau.

3. Ffransis, being an exiled Stonefolk, knows the secret to producing Stonetop whisky, and has used that knowledge to form a power base here.

4. Madam Parvati’s bouncer and business partner

5. A young blacksmith from Stonetop who’s come to Gordin’s Delve to practice his craft, we last saw him in Session 5.6, during Anwen’s initiation. .

6. The party bid Jens farewell back in Session 10.5