Session 12.3: The Smiler

Stonefolk are reunited. Mettle is tested. A deal is struck.

Last episode, the party met with Jahalim of the Keys, the most influential of the five Delve Bosses, and told him of the coming attack by the Hillfolk sorcerer, Cirl-of-the-Storms. At first, Jahalim believed he could go to ground and weather the attack — a belief supported by his Judge of Aratis, an imprisoned priest whom Jahalim uses to build his legitimacy as a ruler of the Delve. But through some deft persuasion, Vahid was able to form the seed of an alliance — if the party could bring one of Jahalim’s most fractious rivals under some semblance of control.

Now, the party is off to see Smiling Ffransis, an exiled Stonefolk who runs the whisky trade in Gordin’s Delve to see if he can be persuaded to set aside his differences and join forces with Jahalim. We’ll assume the party has had a chance to rest and recuperate after their late night, and are approaching Ffransis’ establishment (it’s a well-known place, so they do not need to roll to get directions there).

Last week’s reader poll was to determine how the party approached Ffransis — whether they chose to gather a gang of their own with the few folk whom they could call friends in the Delve, or whether they would continue along with just the three of them. If they chose to muster a force of their own, they would have a bit more leverage with Ffransis, but he might respond defensively and escalate matters. Let’s see what y’all chose:

A narrow majority for keeping it in the party. This one was a close call for me as well — the party is growing quite powerful, so they don’t necessarily need to put anyone else at risk to achieve their aims, but at the same time, it’s nice insurance to have a gang to back you up. Ultimately, though, it makes sense that Anwen would be unwilling to risk her friends when she could just take it on the chin on their behalf and that Vahid would have confidence in his ability to fast-talk his way through.

This whole session has been a bit tricky to prep for as a GM and to write — truth be told, the process of unifying the Delve to prepare for a coming attack could easily occupy 2-3 sessions, or even the course of an entire campaign if you really blew it out. But if we did that, this story might never end, so instead I’m leaning into a bit of pulpiness, and being a fan of the player characters — over the last 12 sessions the PCs have grown quite a bit in power, so they are able to make big impacts when they score Strong Hits. Hopefully the heightened action and fast progress doesn’t strain your suspension of disbelief too much, but if it does, just remember I’m doing this so that we’re not still in Gordin’s Delve at Christmas.

We’ll rejoin the action as the PCs approach Smiling Ffransis’ home base: A tall, rickety whiskysink on the first terrace of the Delve.

Scene 3: A busy street on the first terrace

“Tell me of this man, Smiling Ffransis. What do you know of him from your time together in Stonetop?” Vahid addresses Padrig as the three of them pick their way through the crowded street on the first terrace. A new wave of frightened and ragged emigres has arrived, and the plaza before Sorrow’s Gate is abuzz with tales of nomad sightings and attacks on the road.

Pad’s trying to recall a useful detail about Smiling Ffransis from when he him in Stonetop, many years ago. He’s doing so drawing on his bloody past, meaning he can once again use his +0 Strength instead of his -1 Intelligence.

Padrig triggers Know Things: 6+2+0 Strength = 8, Weak Hit

He learns some interesting details about Ffransis’ past, but nothing immediately useful. Back to the fiction:

“He was a fighter, first and foremost. He had a crew of a half-dozen warriors who all came up together. His father was one of Llewellyn’s veterans, but after the old man died, he fell into idleness and drink. He and Ffransis fought all the time, and eventually, he was found dead, his neck broken against a fieldstone. Everyone assumed Ffransis did the deed, but no one saw it, and no one shed a tear about it, so the matter lay.”

“Hungry, friends?” shouts a crier, head shaved and garbed in dirty linen robes. “Tired from the long road? Never fear — Odo and his family have room for you at their table. Food is scarce in the market, but no one in Odo’s house goes hungry! This I promise you!” The man is mobbed by a crowd of newcomers, eager to hear more.

Anwen’s attention is drawn, but Pad shakes his head sadly. “Nothing’s free in the Delve, Anwen. Least of all a place at Odo’s table.”

“Shouldn’t we warn them?”

“If we do, we’ll have a fight on our hands, and sooner than we’d like. Odo’s people don’t take kindly to folk speaking ill of his hospitality.”

“We’ll have to deal with this Odo one way or another, Anwen. Soon enough. Now we must keep our sights on Ffransis. What kind of man is he, Padrig?”

“Wild. Ungovernable. He would never heed the Elders’ counsel — he hated Cerys, almost as much as he hated Owain. Eventually, the strife between them threatened to divide the village. When Pryder stepped down as Marshal to make way for Owain, Ffransis challenged his right to lead, and Owain defeated him. It was a near-run thing, but Ffransis cried mercy in the end, and Garet sent him into exile.”

“If he is a fighter, we'll offer him a fight.”

“He and Jahalim have never seen eye to eye. His was the only gang that didn't join the fight against the Claws. If we're asking Ffransis to throw in with him, we'll be shooting into the wind.”

“We will aim carefully, then. If he is ungovernable, it is natural he has fallen into conflict with the man who would be king of this place. If he is the lowliest of the bosses, his fortunes could rise with a great victory.”

They reach the far side of the gateway plaza, and Padrig calls them to a halt. “Here is his place — the Bloody Grin.” Before them is a towering but ramshackle edifice of timber atop a scavenged stone foundation. It is built around a three-story bronze statue — a giant Maker, its features worn smooth by age, holding up his left hand in a reverent gesture, his right hand at his side, posed to hold some implement long since rusted away. Its face — the eyes and nose still faintly visible — has been scarred by some ancient defacement, a jagged line that gives it the look of a twisted smile. The entrance sits between the statue’s legs and is guarded by three green-clad bravos.

Anwen recognizes them from the Swap — the three men who threatened the merchant, Kanter. Their leader, a man named Vikas, spots them as they approach, but his eyes lock onto Padrig. “I recognize you. You’re one of the Claws — those bastards we saw off a few years back. What the fuck are you doing back here?”

“Not with the Claws anymore,” Padrig explains, his tone cooly neutral. “Here with them,” he nods to Anwen and Vahid.

“You,” Vikas says, his eyes narrowing as he draws the cudgel from his belt. “I remember you from the Swap. We’ve been looking for you.”

“And here we are,” Vahid says with a small smile. “We’ve come to speak with Ffransis — we have important business with him, and he will thank you for bringing us to him.”

“The two of you, maybe. Not this one,” he says, flicking his chin at Pad. “He can stay with us, talk a bit about old times.”

“He comes with us,” Anwen says, cutting in before Vahid can reply.

Vikas’ face reddens. “You know, the Smiler weren’t happy that we let Kanter slide.” Up close, Anwen can see his eye is blackened, and he’s missing a tooth he had yesterday. “If you want to be difficult, maybe we’ll share a bit of that misery with you.”

Anwen unlimbers the Bearkiller axe from her shoulder and lets its heavy blade fall, striking a fallen stone at her feet and cleaving it neatly in two with a loud crack and a flash of white sparks. “Come, then.”

“There is no need for that, friends,” Vahid continues smoothly. “If Smiling Ffransis wishes to settle things with Padrig, he will have an easy opportunity before him. If he does not, then surely you would not wish to act against his interests.”

Anwen is using a threat of violence here to Aid Vahid in his attempts at negotiation:

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

The good rolls keep coming this session. Back to the action:

Vikas, his eyes still on Anwen’s axe, nods, poorly concealing his fear. “Follow me,” he mutters.

Scene 4: The Bloody Grin

The Bloody Grin is huge, to Anwen’s eyes — three tiers of balconies overlook the common room, with a rat’s nest of stairs and ladders leading to the upper tiers. The place is crowded with idle laborers and tradesfolk — the nomad raids having stopped lumber work in the Foothills and snuffed the Foundry’s flames, leaving the smiths and other trades idle for weeks. There is the earthy, burnt smell of whisky in the air, as well the stink and haze of lotus smoke. Ragged-looking men and women crowd around the tables, playing at dice, passing smoldering pipes, and telling tales of the Delve’s depths.

Padrig lifts a discarded clay cup to his nose and wrinkles it in disgust. “Rotgut. Bottom-of-the-barrel stuff — puts an angry fire in folks’ bellies. Step carefully.”

Vikas leads them through the crowded common room and up the stairs — the patrons who do not make way are shoved aside with hard words and prods of the cudgel. At the top of the heap is Ffransis, sitting at a table in the corner of the top balcony, drinking deeply from a dingy silver cup. He looks down at the chaos below with a grin on his face, which remains fixed when he seeks Vikas approach.

Smiling Ffransis is amused. Source: Midjourney

Smiling Ffransis is a grizzled man of Stonetop, with a shock of unruly red hair and a face unkindly shaped by many hard knocks. Despite his age, his wiry frame is corded with muscle, all hard edges like he was carved out of wood. Leaning against his table is a long, heavy club — neither wood nor metal, but bone-white and smooth, its surface carved with dozens of notches.

“Well, well, well, Vikas. You found your mysterious travelers from Stonetop! Better late than never, eh?”

“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss. They say they’ve got business with you.”

“I should think so, since they stuck their bloody noses in my affairs with Kanter. What do you have to say for yourselves? Why shouldn’t I call for knives out this very second?”

“You lose nothing by hearing what I have to say, Master Ffransis. I bring news that every man of power in the Delve will wish to hear. I propose you hear me out and then call for what pleases you.”

Ffransis leans back and laughs. “Master Ffransis. I don’t mind that. Speak, then.”

“The Hillfolk who have been troubling you this season are no mere bandits. They are mustering for a great raid on the town itself, which they intend to launch in two weeks’ time, when the moons are full. If not opposed, they will bring fire and iron to this place.”

“The savages are all bluster. Even when they’ve come in force, they’ve never made it through Sorrow’s Gate, and they don’t know the trails through the foothills. I’ve fought them before — if they come to my patch, I’ll paint the terrace walls red with their blood.” He knocks back his silver cup, and slams it on the wooden table. “Two coats.”

"This time is different. They are led by a powerful sorcerer, and he is gathering a force larger than the Delve has faced before. He also has learned of a secret weakness of this place — beneath the Foundry is bound a powerful fire spirit, and the hdour can work his magic to unleash it. Free, it will wreak terrible destruction.”

Ffransis’ smile falls only a little. “If he wants to burn Jahalim’s place to the ground, let him. If he's so powerful, why risk my neck for this place? Better to make for the foothills, return when the ashes are cool. The Delves will still be here, and the Delves will draw the toilers, like flies to shit.”

“You are more than welcome to take your people and flee. Jahalim is raising a defense, and I think with our aid -- even without your bravos -- he will be victorious. So long as you are not here to meddle in his affairs.”

Ffransis spits on the floor. "Fuck that preening Lygosi gut-sack and his whole court of sandal-lickers. He thinks because he stole the key to that great brick shithouse and locked up an old drunk, he's the Lord of the Delve now. Last time his jackals came to my patch, we played dice with their eyeteeth. Any defense he musters will be a joke."

Vahid shrugs with feigned nonchalance. "They will be lead by one of the greatest warriors at the World's Edge." He gestures dramatically to Anwen. "Anwen of Stonetop — she has defeated champions of the Hillfolk and the Stonefolk in the circle. She has faced terrible beasts of the wild and berserkers driven mad by dark magic. She wields an ancient blade forged from makerglass." Anwen shifts her weight uncomfortably as Vahid recites her deeds.

Ffransis looks at Anwen now, sizing her up. "Those are some tall battle-boasts, lass. You look hard enough, but young. Green. And you don't have the look of the Stonefolk. Who are you, girl? One of Owain's crew?"

"Owain's not got a crew anymore. He broke a sacred oath, and I challenged him in the circle for it. He went into exile this winter."

Ffransis leans back, grinning even wider. "Owain in exile. Now that does bring a smile to my face." He bellows down to the bar below. "A round on the house for every man here! Toast to my old friend Owain! May he die in the mud, far from home!" 'To Owain!' the crowd roars back.

"I am new to the Delve," Vahid continues, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the din. "But when I asked folk here to tell me of Smiling Ffransis, they say one thing: He is a fighter."

Ffransis leans back, clearly cheered by this flattery. "Aye, that's so. I came to the Delve because I thought it was a place ruled by true things: Stout oak, heavy iron, bloody fists. I took a patch for myself the way the Thunderhead would've: With these!" he holds up his hands, knuckles out -- they are hulking knots of sinew and scars. "But the others: Draigh, Mutra, and Jahalim most of all -- they dicker and posture like the elders back home."

"And Odo?" Vahid asks mildly.

"We don't talk about Odo, friend," Ffransis replies, the ghost of fear flitting across his face.

Vahid raises his eyebrows, his curiosity piqued, but he does not press him. "Very well. Let us return to the matter at hand. You are a fighter: A fight is coming. You say there is nothing to gain in it, but I say there is no better time for Ffransis."

“Oh? And why is that?”

"If you come first to the cause, Jahalim will be in your debt. And he will have to sing your praises to the other bosses, whom he must persuade to lend their strength and influence to the defense of the town. In the fight ahead, this place needs a champion. The few bravos the bosses command can't stand against the force that is coming here -- the people of the town will need to be raised and armed. They will need a champion of their own -- someone to show them what it means to be a fighter. A true son of Tor the Thunderhead."

Ffransis grins at Vahid, clearly amused by the Seeker's attempts at persuasion. He looks to Padrig.

"Long time, Pad. You made a real bloody mess last time you came through here."

"So I heard," Padrig says with an apologetic shrug. "But everything Vahid has said is the truth -- Thunderhead strike me down if I lie."

He snorts derisively and turns to Anwen. "Is that right, girl? Are you the hardest bitch at the World's Edge?"

"Harder than Owain," she replies. "And he put paid to you."

Ffransis' eyes flash with anger, the smile momentarily fading from his face. Behind them, a crowd of onlookers has gathered — Vikas and his men stand vigil, ensuring the gawkers keep a respectful distance.

But his grin quickly returns, with an edge of eagerness. "Alright then. Let's see your iron." He rises to his feet and raises his arms in a challenge. "Hit me."

Anwen's eyes widen in surprise, and she looks to Padrig, who gives her an almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes narrow, and she hands him her axe before squaring up against the Smiler. He sets aside his club, rises, and practically dances with glee, falling into a fighter's crouch. "Any time now, little lady."

Anwen feints left before lashing out with a right-handed blow aimed at Ffransis' jaw. The onlookers gasp as the Delve Boss is caught flat-footed, dodging into Anwen's blow and rattling his skull against her fists. Ffransis reels backward, shaking his head and refocusing his manic gaze on Anwen's face while she waits, uncertain of what will come next. Behind him, the crowd cheers, eager for a bit of bloody spectacle.

"Clever footwork, girl. But you swing with sweet intentions." And with that, he returns her gift with an arrow-swift left hand, jabbing into her chin and snapping her neck back. She staggers back into Pad, who steadies her. "I want to see how you threw down Owain. Because as of right now, all your battle-boasts smell like aurochs shit to me."

Anwen steels herself and rushes forward, aiming to tackle him to the ground, but Ffransis anticipates her this time, taking her blow and punishing her with a knee to the gut and slipping her grasp. The blow knocks the wind out of Anwen, and as she fights to regain her breath and her feet, Ffransis seizes her by her leathers and throws her bodily toward the roiling crowd of onlookers.

She crashes into them, sending the frontmost into those crowding behind. Shouts of alarm and outrage come as men, drunk on whisky and the show of violence, careen into one another and begin to throw punches of their own. Quickly, the whole floor is overtaken by a raucous brawl.

Vahid withdraws to the corner of the room, whispering a command to the spirit bound within his cloak, which whips to life, and his eye begins to glow an unearthly blue. The few patrons who mark him quickly turn their sights elsewhere. Padrig, meanwhile, ducks beneath haymakers and thrown drinking cups, still taking a few bruising hits as he seeks Anwen in the melee.

The brawling crowd has overtaken the whole of the top floor of the bar, and over the din, Ffransis' bellowing laughter can be heard. As Pad pushes through, he spots her in the crush, still reeling from Ffransis’ strike — a sweaty, shirtless Manmarcher in red-striped trousers is rearing back to strike her with a brutal hammer blow.

Padrig slams into the man with a shoulder charge, and the man turns and strikes back, catching Pad with a blow to the jaw that fills his vision with stars. Anwen, back on her feet, turns her bleeding fists on their attacker, folding him in half with a blow to the belly and throwing him to the floor. Through the crowd, she meets Ffransis' gleaming eye, and he urges her back towards him with a beckoning gesture.

She charges her way through the crush, suffering a few bruising hits on her way to Smiling Ffransis' who shoves his brawling patrons aside to make ready for her. Her first blow glances off his guard, but the second and third strike true, cutting her knuckles against his grinning face and driving him back towards the balcony railing. He tries to withdraw and ward her off with strikes of his own, but her vision is growing red at the edges and she barely feels them. She closes the distance between the two of them with a shoulder charge into his gut, and behind him, the rickety wooden railing cracks, sags and gives way. Anwen seizes him by the shoulder, and he grabs her wrist, steadying himself. Below him, a crowd of patrons look up, open-mouthed and wide eyed, and the brawl around them quiets with all eyes on them.

He's still grinning, the white of his teeth outlined in crimson. "Now that's the iron I wanted to see. Tell your strange little friend I'll fight alongside Jahalim. But he's got to drag that big bronze key down here and ask nicely, like you did. Deal?"

"Deal," Anwen replies, hauling away from the edge and wiping the blood from her face. Ffransis chuckles and spits a red wad onto the wooden floor. He looks down at the assembled patron, who are making disappointed noises at the end of the entertainment. "What are you lot doing down there gawping instead of throwing punches of your own like honest folk?" He shouts, hurling a shattered wooden stool down the balcony and it lands with a crash and a cry. "Buy some drinks or get the fuck out!"

Scene Breakdown

The ‘negotiation’ with Ffransis saw eight rolls made along with a few roll-less moves triggered. Let’s go through them to see how the scene unfolded:

The conflict began with Vahid’s attempt to convince Ffransis to work with them. What Ffransis really wants is a shake-up in the established order¹, which Vahid can’t really directly offer him, so he can’t use Let’s Make a Deal here:

Vahid triggered Persuade: 4+2+1 Charisma = 7, Weak Hit

On a weak hit Ffransis reveals a difficult or distasteful way to convince him. Since the other part of his instinct is to push things towards violent confrontation, he can be persuaded with a bit of a scrap. For this conflict, I ginned up some quick stats for Ffransis² — 16 HP (a tough solo combatant) and 1d10+2 damage with advantage, since we established him as a tough fighter who rivals Owain, and one armor because he’s a tough, ornery bastard. He invites Anwen to hit him, and she obliges:

Anwen triggered Clash: 6+2+2 Strength = 10, Strong Hit

Anwen chooses to deal additional damage and suffer a hit in return — she’s not actually positive that Ffransis will hit her back, if she hits hard enough. She deals 6 damage. Ffransis has 11 HP left. He does indeed hit back, dealing 8 damage in return, leaving Anwen with 12 HP remaining. Since this is a fistfight, going to zero will not trigger the Last Breath move — instead we’ll just envision the combatant taken out or giving up.

The ball is back in Anwen’s court, and she charges back into the fray. We don’t yet trigger Anger is a Gift — Ffransis hasn’t really done anything that pushes her specific buttons of injustice, bullying, or threats to her loved ones, yet.

Anwen triggered Clash: 1+1+2 Strength = 4, Miss

First Miss of the session! But Anwen’s in it to win it, here — she triggers Impetuous Youth³ to upgrade it to a Weak Hit. As part of the move, she has to choose a consequence, and she chooses “You cause collateral damage, harm to others, or escalate the situation,” so when Ffransis strikes back, he flings her into the crowd and ignites a general bar brawl. She deals only 2 damage⁴ to Ffransis. Ffransis deals 7 damage back, but Anwen chooses halve it using I Get Knocked Down, which momentarily dazes her. She has 9 HP remaining.

This puts Vahid and Padrig at risk — Vahid doesn’t want to cut loose with his arcane might here, so he just tries to avoid the conflict with a bit of wizardly intimidation, while Padrig wades into the fray to help Anwen out.

Pad triggered Defy Danger w/ Dexterity: 6+1+1 Dexterity = 8, Weak Hit
Vahid triggered Defy Danger w/ Charisma, 5+4+1 Charisma = 10, Strong Hit

The Seeker is safe, but Pad takes a few punches finding Anwen — 2 damage, leaving him with 18 HP. He finds Anwen, but she’s in a spot — a brawler has set his sights on her and is about to strike. Pad rushes in to help, and we roll this as him Aiding her on a Clash roll, since she has the better stats for the job.

Anwen triggered Clash with advantage: 6+1+1+2 Strength = 9, Weak Hit.

Pad takes another hit for 5 damage, leaving him with 13 HP. Anwen deals 7 damage in return, enough to down the Manmarcher. She then makes for Smiling Ffransis, first pushing her way through the crowd:

Anwen triggered Defy Danger w/ Strength: 6+1+2 Strength = 9, Weak Hit.

She takes a few hits on the way through, dealing 4 damage, leaving her with 5 HP. She now can trigger Anger is a Gift⁵, since Padrig and Vahid are in danger thanks to Ffransis’ actions, and she spends one hold immediately to hold her course no matter what befalls her, allowing her to get through the crowd with no further rolls. This puts her back in striking distance to Smiling Ffransis, and she goes for it. She now has advantage thanks to I Get Knocked Down, as well as an extra 1d4 of damage (in addition to Payback’s 1d4).

Anwen triggered Clash: 6+6+4+2 Strength = 14, Strong Hit

Boom. She spends one more hold here to get another 1d6 damage and to add the Forceful tag to her strikes, making her full damage roll 3d6+1d4 — potentially huge, but swingy, just like her! She totals 12 damage, more than enough to put him down. Since she had a huge roll, the Forceful tag, and a ton of damage, we envision her decisively ending the fight with a bit of drama, dangling Ffransis over his awestruck patrons. Back to the action for a bit of wrap up before we close out the episode:

After a round of acrid whisky, the party takes their leave of the Bloody Grin to cheers and toasts. “Well done, Anwen,” Vahid says as they make their way back towards the Swap, and Madam Parvati’s. “I had no doubt you would prevail, but it is a shame it had to come to violence.”

Anwen shrugs. “Felt honest, at least. Do you think we can trust him, Pad?”

“We can trust him not to stab us in the back, that’s for certain. After the battle, who knows what he’ll do?”

“After the battle, much will be different, I think,” Vahid replies. “Let us return to Jahalim, tell him of our success, and plan our next move. If every boss is as persuadable as Ffransis, we may stand a chance of defending this place.”

“Persuadable?” Anwen cracks her neck. “Easy for you to say, Seeker.”

And we’ll close out there! Next episode, we’ll continue our charm offensive on the power structure of Gordin’s Delve — we started to lay the groundwork for learning a bit more about Odo Thriceborn, and next week we’ll start to dig deeper. See you then, and as always, thanks for reading!

1. This is what we determined his Instinct to be way back in the GM Prep for Gordin’s Delve: To push things towards violent confrontation, to topple the established order.

2. These were very quick stats indeed — I didn’t even stop to write up some moves for him. This is a bad GM habit of mine, but fortunately, I was able to muddle through based on how the dice fell.

3. You can see a refresher on this move here.

4. She’s rolling 1d6, plus 1d4 for Payback, but got snake eyes. Sad!

5. For a refresher on this move, check Anwen’s Session Zero.