In the last installment, the party succeeded in destroying Odo Thriceborn’s accursed body, ensuring he would never plague the Delve again. As he burned in Jahalim’s crucible, however, he revived for one, last, savage attack, and Anwen was laid low and saw a vision of the Lady of Crows.
This installment turned into a bit of a doozy, clocking in at over 6,000 words (like the good old days, when I was underemployed!) But this is the last episode of PTFO:Stonetop for a little bit, so you have lots of time to hack your way through it — and stay tuned at the end for some info about what’s coming next and when it’s coming.
We’ll return to the fiction in the near-immediate aftermath of Odo’s destruction: Anwen has been taken to heal and recover, and Padrig and Vahid plot their next move, as decided by last week’s reader poll. We’re triggering a couple of homefront moves here — Convalesce, which allows the party to recover all their HP and clear their debilities with a few days rest in the care of a healer, and a quick Keep Company for Vahid and Padrig to discuss the Seeker’s decision to use forbidden magic. Back to the action:
Scene 3: Madam Parvati’s, a few days later
“She will live. She is through the worst of it, and the Lady will not take her this day. But it would be wise for her to rest a few more days yet.”
Parvati’s physician is a slender Lygosi whose long life has worn him down to skin and knobby bones and who speaks with the unmistakable rasp of a lotus smoker. With slightly shaky hands, he fidgets with a soaked linen bandage wrapping Anwen’s chest, and then rises. “Master Padrig, you might return to light labors, though at your age, I suspect your pain will linger for some time.”
Pad just grunts in response, and the physician turns to Vahid. “You, Master ebn Sulaim, I am less... confident in my learnings. Ailments and wounds like yours were not common in the Houses of the Dying.”
Vahid inclines his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Master ebn Zaeen, for your time and attention.”
“And this, for your troubles,” Padrig says quietly, pressing a heavy gold bezant1 into the man’s hand. His eyes widen with hunger, and he scurries off.
Padrig turns his weary eyes on Vahid. “That battle was a near-run thing. Your magic saved us.”
Vahid shifts uncomfortably, feeling Pad’s searching gaze. “We all did our parts. Anwen dealt Odo a great wound; you rallied allies and held the line.”
“And you became the storm.”
“For a moment, perhaps.”
“I heard your voice. I saw your eyes and the lightning cast from your hand. I’ve never seen you wield power like that -- and you have had occasion to. What happened?” Padrig asks, speaking aloud his unspoken question from the night Odo fell.
Vahid draws himself up and repeats his answer: “I held nothing back. Is that not what you asked of me?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Seeker. And don’t forget: Just a year ago, you were a stripling of a scholar, assuring me that once we understood the workings of your staff, it would all seem ever so ordinary. Does it seem ordinary to you now?”
Vahid feels a rush of angered pride stir within him — he, a lord of the sky, hectored by this creature of base flesh and blood. No. This is my ally and my friend. And despite all that has happened, I am still just a man.
“Answer me, Vahid!” Padrig snaps, pulling Vahid from his thoughts and stoking his anger once again.
His hand tightens on his staff. Through gritted teeth, he answers. “You are right, my friend. I have learned much since that day; it is anything but ordinary. I spoke words without wisdom.”
“So tell me, then. What did you do?”
Vahid lets his breath out and his anger with it. “I used the hdour’s magic to make the spirit’s power my own. Briefly, we were one body, one mind, and one spirit. Then I released it, and it returned to its home within my cloak.”
“And what does that mean? For you? And for the spirit?”
Vahid sighs deeply, touching his scarred hand to his face. “Spirits were never meant to be made flesh. When a hdour binds a spirit to their will, they become one, and as when two waters flow together as one, they cannot be made truly separate again. I can feel Laughter-of-Thunder’s mind in my own, and no doubt it can feel a vestige of my humanity while it slumbers in the cloak. It has no human reason, no means to resist the baser impulses of my soul.”2
“We will have to keep this from Juba and our allies among the Hillfolk3,” Padrig mutters.
Vahid shakes his head. “Katrin will know -- or at least suspect.”
“Damn. Well, we’ll cross that river when it comes.”
“I would not undo it if I could, Padrig. There was no other way. If I had simply unleashed the storm spirit, its rage would’ve fallen on us and the innocents in that arena just as surely as on Odo and his cult.”
Padrig looks at Vahid meditatively and puts his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know, better than most, what it feels like to do a filthy thing to save one’s comrades. I’ve done it, and no one stopped me. I’ve seen it done on my behalf and said nothing. On deadly ground, you must go forward, no matter what.”
Vahid meets his gaze, and he continues. “But remember this: it gets easier every time. Take care you do not grow too accustomed to such things.”
All at once, Vahid feels like he is a boy back at the Lycaeum -- it feels both a comfort and an affront. He is right, Vahid muses. I must guard myself carefully lest I walk the same path as Cirl.
“I will take care. And I trust you will watch me closely, my friend.”
“I will. And Anwen, too. No doubt when we return home, Cerys will have her eye on all of us; gods help us.”
“Indeed. But first, we must get home, and the path is far from straight. Odo is slain and finally sent to the Lady of Crows. Now, we must look to the next fight: Cirl and his Stormcrows,” Vahid says, relieved for the opportunity to change the subject -- even to one so dire as this.
“Aye,” Padrig says, his face growing grimmer. “It seems likely that the hdour does not intend to lay siege to Sorrow’s Gate -- the Hillfolk are ill-suited to such battles, and with Mutra’s people having spotted signs of them in the Foothills, I think they mean to use the goat trails on the eastern slopes to enter the city at night.”
“The Hillfolk were ill-suited to such battles,” Vahid corrects. “If they are willing to give their lives, Cirl can grant them the power of the storm, and such power could put even Sorrow’s Gate asunder.”
Padrig grimaces. “If we must hold both the trails and the gate, we do not have enough fighters. All the Bosses together can perhaps muster as many as Cirl has -- but they are street-fighters. Against a massed charge by zealots like the Stormcrows, they may not stand. And their leaders are no better. I do not trust them to hold if things look dire.”
“Then we must go to them and ensure they understand what is at stake. Persuade them to unite as one and arm their people in defense of their home.”
Pad shakes his head. “It will not be easy. They are neither kith nor kin to one another.”
“It matters not. They face greater and greater threats- first Odo, then Cirl, and who can say what will come to the Delve next.” Vahid pauses briefly, looking thoughtful. “I think I can persuade them. Let us convene a council at Jahalim’s, as we did before.”
“What are you planning now, Vahid?” Padrig’s voice is twinged with trepidation.
Quickly, the Seeker lays out his arguments and the arrangement he intends to present to the Bosses. Padrig’s eyebrows rise as he takes it all in.
“So you mean to play chief-maker. We came here to find Elder Kirs and Stormcatcher’s Crown, Vahid. Not to raise up a ruler of Gordin’s Delve. Hundreds call this place home -- you are playing this game with their lives.”
“This is the path we chose when we chose to remain in the Delve. We could have left these people to their fates. Now, we must play boldly — as you said, on deadly ground, you must go forward.”
Padrig is silent for a time. Vahid watches him as he turns over other paths in his mind until he finally closes his eyes. “You’re right. No point in waiting, either. The sooner we have their cooperation, the sooner we can call for a muster. Let’s be about it.”
At the gaming table, of course, Vahid and Padrig would’ve discussed his plan in detail, but I didn’t want to write two repetitive scenes, so we’ll jump right into the negotiations. Vahid intends to ask the Delve Bosses to arm the general populace — not just their bravos — to defend the town, and that’s a tall order for a bunch of small-time warlords, so he’ll need to trigger a few Persuade rolls (and get at least one Strong Hit!) in order to get them on board.
Scene 4: Jahalim’s Manor, the Second Terrace
A crowd gathers outside Jahalim’s manor, full of curious onlookers -- outside the gates loiter bravos from every boss: Jahalim’s yellow sashes carry themselves with puffed-up pride, Draigh’s blues lounge and drink as though they were in a tavern, Ffransis’ greens invite a challenge with their swagger and struts, and Mutra’s black sashes watch all the others suspiciously. The Delvers know something is afoot -- the Bosses rarely all share the same table.4
But within, they do -- at Jahalim’s behest, the four living Delve Bosses sit at his long table. Draigh and Mutra sit beside one another -- though they don’t relish one another’s company, neither wishes to sit beside Smiling Ffransis, who slouches across from them, alone. Jahalim sits at the head, his high-backed ebony chair evoking a throne, with Demetra at his side, ever-watchful. In the corner waits Abrim, the chained Judge, and his keeper, a silent, hulking Manmarcher.
Padrig and Vahid sit together at the foot, waiting for Jahalim to bring the council to order, but it is Smiling Ffransis who speaks first.
“A fine house you hold, Jahalim. Shame that you’ve never invited me here, but I’m so glad we’re becoming friends.” He smiles crookedly at the proud Lygosi, who regards him back frostily.
Vahid rises, gripping the Azure Hand tightly. Padrig breathes a silent prayer to Tor. “Jahalim called you here at my behest — mine, Padrig's, and Anwen’s. We, you might recall, put an end to Odo Thriceborn and all his foul works festering under your noses. And we now stand with you against the Hillfolk who gather their strength to strike at you.”
Honest Draigh snorts. “Stand with us? Stand behind us, more like. You’re here protecting your patch, just like the four of us. If the Hillfolk raid us, you know Stonetop’s next.”
Ffransis’ eyes narrow when Draigh mentions the name of his home, though the faint smile does not leave his lips. Before he can make an issue of it, Mutra speaks.
“Quiet, Draigh,” she snaps. She looks up at Vahid with ill-disguised awe, remembering the lightning streaming from his hand to lay low the lord of wolves before her eyes. "This is no charlatan. He is a magus, a wielder of great power. We would be wise to heed his words.”
“Yes,” Jahalim rumbles. “His magic re-lit the fires of my forges and put my and Mutra’s people back to work. So let us hear him.”
Draigh looks between them, shock plain on his face, before turning his attention back to Vahid. "Speak, then, ebn Sulaim. Show us your wisdom.”
“You do not have enough fighters to resist the hdour when his forces come. They are at least three dozen strong, seasoned warriors, all honed by raids and feuds. They are led by a champion of the t’ud who slew his own father to take leadership of his band. And that is to say nothing of the magic the sorcerer wields -- if he calls upon the storm, he might split Sorrow’s Gate in two with its fury.”
“Is that not why we have you? If what Mutra says is true, we have a storm of our own,” Jahalim suggests.
“I will do what I can to counter his magic. But we must call a muster. You must open your armories to the people and put them in arms. Only together -- truly together -- can the Delve stand against what is coming.”
Ffransis guffaws. Draigh pushes back from the table as though he is about to leave. Mutra grinds her teeth, considering, while Jahalim’s face is stone. Padrig watches them, but Vahid only watches Abrim, the chained Judge. The two lock eyes, but the priest of Aratis betrays nothing.
“Madness,” Draigh says. “If we put them in arms, they will be at our throats before the sorcerer comes.”
“Yours, perhaps,” Mutra sneers. “Not all of us bleed our tenants dry.”
Draigh makes a crude gesture — straight from the Marshedge gutters — at her. “Fuck off, Mutra. Most of the cast-offs in Odo’s tenements were yours -- they couldn’t pull their weight in the mines or the logging crews. You’re just as much a bloodsucker as I. And do you mean to arm Odo’s rabble, as well? There are a hundred of them, easily -- likely 20 dangerous ones among them, at least.”
“You’d better hope so, Draigh.” Padrig cuts in. “We’ll need every one of them,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the table to hold the slippery Marshedger’s attention. “Every one. I’ve seen these Stormcrows fight, aided by the hdour’s magic. We need a muster if we want a chance at driving them off. There’s no way around it.”
Here, Vahid triggers the first of a few Persuade rolls in this scene — there are a bunch of outcomes Vahid is shooting for, and this is the first one: to get the Bosses to agree to call a general muster and arm the people. They know this is a major threat to their power — after all, once they hand out their weapons, there’s no way to guarantee they’ll all find their way back to the armory, and an armed populace is one that can resist their bravos.
Padrig is aiding him by underscoring the direness of their strategic situation, but Vahid’s Let’s Make a Deal move does not yet come into play, because Vahid’s not offering the Bosses something specific they want.
Vahid triggers Persuade: 6+2+1+1 Charisma = 9, Weak Hit.
The Bosses are warming to the idea, but they need some sense of how arming the Delvers won’t immediately lead to civil strife. The negotiations continue:
The Bosses chew on this silently, like a bitter meal. Smiling Ffransis, with a half grin, breaks the silence. “Let’s say we do arm the grubbers and the Tenement-scum, Padrig. We ain’t been kindly elders to these folk; the Delve ain’t the place for that. What’s to stop them from turning our blades on us when the threat is gone?”
“Or before,” grumbles Draigh. “They could hand this place to the sorcerer if he offered to feed them.”
Vahid glares down at the Marshedger. “Perhaps you should have considered the wages of your cruelty before a reckoning came, Draigh. But no matter. There is one among us who can lay claim to their loyalty.”
Jahalim’s eyes narrow. “Who?”
Vahid points a blackened finger towards Abrim, the Judge of Aratis. “Him. Release him, and let him be the Judge of this place in truth.”
As one, the four Bosses turn to look at the chained man, keeping to the shadows. Rolf, the Manmarcher who holds his chain, shuffles away uncomfortably at the sudden attention.
Draigh rolls his eyes and looks to Jahalim. “Enough of this mummery,” he spits, jabbing a sausage finger at the Judge. “The last time that man walked free, he nearly overthrew us all — he was worse than Brennan! You should have slit his throat and buried him in the deepest hole in the Delves…”
“Blasphemy!” interrupts Mutra the Teeth, shoving her chair back and rising to her feet. “You would bring down the Lawkeeper’s curse down on all of us!”
“Is Honest Draigh the only man with a thought in his head at this table?” the Marshedger bellows back. “He is our bitter enemy — even if we use him to defeat the sorcerer, we won’t be able to put the blade back in the sheath. Sooner or later, he’ll see us all hanged.”
“Sooner or later, you’ll hang all the same, Draigh,” Vahid says quietly. “Even if you fight off the coming raid — the changes wrought in the Delve cannot be undone.”
Jahalim peers searchingly at the Seeker while Draigh sputters. At his shoulder, Demetra does likewise, though her eyes smolder with suspicion. “Out with it, ebn Sulaim,” Jahlim says.
“On our journey here, we saw the sorcerer’s work — the Maker’s Road that guards caravans to and from the Delve is shattered, its magic broken. Now, there are six leagues of wild, unprotected country that any trader must cross before they reach here.”
“What of it?” Draigh says. “The Despot needs iron. The jarls need iron. Their traders must come to us, danger or no.”
“Now who is thoughtless, Draigh?” Vahid replies. “Without the protection of the road, the traders will ask their lords for aid. Rather than a few merchants with their sellswords, the Jarls will send their sworn shields, and the Despot will send a Swordbearer and his retinue. And soon, they will ask themselves: Why pay a tax to Jahalim? Why give a cut to Honest Draigh?”
Draigh looks at his fellow Bosses, each silently considering Vahid’s prophecy. “Surely you are not being taken in by this cheap soothsaying. He threatens us with shadows and smoke.”
Vahid’s azure gaze settles on Jahalim. “You know I see clearly. You can see it, too.”
Vahid triggers Persaude: 6+2+1 Charisma = 9, Weak Hit
Here, Vahid is trying to answer the bosses first objection — ‘how will we control an armed populace?’ — with a solution: The Judge of Aratis, who can command some legitimacy, beyond simply having the most bravos and the most iron.
While Draigh is the most reluctant, the rest of the bosses are at least open, but they see the Judge as their enemy. They need some assurances that he will not simply turn on them, and so the negotiations continue:
Draigh still holds out: “The Despot and the Jarls are distant, and they have troubles of their own — who’s to say what they will do in the ungiven future? Do you really think if you release the Judge after all these years, Jahalim, he will forget what we did to him? You, Master of Keys — you hanged his disciplines in gibbets while they starved. And you, Ffransis — you and yours beat him and his flock to a bloody pulp in the middle of the Swap.”
“Aye, and what a scrap it was,” Ffransis says with relish.
Vahid regards the chained Judge cooly. “Your divine lady deals in amnesty and clemency as well as condemnation and punishment, does she not, Abrim?”
The room turns to hear the Judge speak. He clears his throat. “Mercy is her most sacred gift,” he intones gnomicly. “But it is not given to the unrepentant.”
He sweeps a baleful gaze across the Bosses, who for a moment seem more like prisoners in a dock than the rulers of the Delve. “This is a lawless place, and these are the jackals who make it so.”
“It need not be thus.” Vahid addresses them all but looks directly at Jahalim. “It is within your power to offer the Delvers the protections of Aratis’ blessings. A true home and steading. Each of you must accept a duty to your people. Ffransis, you might be Sheriff, meting out your justice — but at the Judge’s request. Mutra, you command the loyalty of the greatest number of Delvers; you might serve as Marshal, leading the muster. Draigh, you might lead the traders and keep a common granary for the commonweal in lean times. And you, Jahalim, might be chieftain — first among equals and the final word in disputes among the people of the Delve.”
Jahalim’s eyebrows raise. The other bosses are shocked into silence. “Quite a proposal.”
“One you have contemplated before, I suspect,” Vahid counters.
“Of course he has. He thinks himself a great lord already,” Draigh mutters with discontent. Demetra, meanwhile, has leaned down and whispers urgently in her husband’s ear. He listens but dismisses her with a wave. She comes to attention, fighting to hold back her anger.
“You have all contemplated it,” Vahid says. “And thought you need not — or could not — take such a grand step. Now, I have come to tell you that you have no choice. The world is changing, and the Delve must change with it.”
Once again, Vahid has offered an answer to the Bosses’ objections — if they become the lawful rulers of the Delve and at least try to serve the common good, the Judge might be convinced to leave aside their past transgressions and aid them in establishing their legitimacy. This time, his Let’s Make a Deal move comes into play — he is offering something that Jahalim certainly wants, and we can infer the other bosses want at least a little bit.
Vahid triggers Persuade: 6+1+1 Charisma = 8, Weak Hit -> Strong Hit
The Bosses are onboard, more or less. But there’s still the matter of the Judge, and whether he’s willing to set aside past wrongs. Back to the negotations:
Jahalim gestures for Abrim to join them at the table. After a long, reluctant pause, the Judge clanks forward, dragging his fetters behind him. “What of it, Abrim? If we release you, will you intercede on our behalf to the people of the Delve? Place Aratis’ blessing on us as their leaders after all that has passed between us?”
Abrim doesn’t look at him — he holds his gaze on Vahid. “You ask much of me, Seeker. And of my god. To place Aratis’ sacred mantle of rulership upon these villains is an abomination.”
“Not so. I have studied the Heiros Nomos, as I know you have, and the histories of Salonius and Hierotytos besides. After the Sorcerer-Kings fell, the first great chieftains to replace them were mere brigands and highwaymen. Until Aratis’ true disciples raised them up and taught them justice.”
Abrim regards the Bosses, hope and contempt at war on his face. “This is crooked timber you offer me to build a temple to my god.”
“Have you not considered, my friend, that this is the task for which she preserved you?” Vahid asks.
Abrim everts his eyes. “Do not draw me into your hubris, Seeker,” he hisses. “I do not think myself so great in Aratis’ sight. I failed her in my holy mission to bring law to this place — and I failed my disciples, who starved like dogs in this one’s gibbets,” he raises an accusing finger at Jahalim, his chains rattling at his wrist.
“Your mission is not done. And your disciples need not have died in vain — Aratis’ law can still come to this place.” Vahid says. The room waits with bated breath for the Judge’s answer.
Vahid triggers Persuade: 4+5+1 Charisma = 10, Strong Hit
Phew! A strong hit closes out this social challenge — Vahid ended up rolling Persuade three times, at relatively high stakes — a miss at any point could’ve sunk the scheme and sent the party back to the drawing board. But for now, it seems that Vahid will play Chief-maker. Back to the fiction:
The Judge makes the holy sign of the scales before he replies. “Lawkeeper, preserve me. I accept.”
He turns to the Bosses. “You four must swear to abide by Aratis’ admonishments to rulers: You must not order any soul under your rulership to be flogged, slain, or robbed unless they are brought before me for judgment. You must honor your word when given and abide by sacred contracts. And you must protect the people from harm by the four ills: beasts, brigands, invaders, and starvation. Swear these things, and I will bless you before the people of the Delve, and set aside your crimes.”
Jahalim looks around the table. “Will any of us not swear?”
“I will,” Mutra says with fervor.
“I won’t be cut out. I’ll swear,” Ffransis replies quickly.
Draigh sighs deeply. “You are all mad. This will end with us driven from our manors in the end.”
“You’ll swear, Draigh, or we’ll drive you out this very day,” Jahalim growls.
“Fine. I’ll swear. But time will prove me right, you’ll see.”
“Then so must it be,” Vahid says with a small smirk of triumph.
Jahalim stands in front of Abrim and takes a polished iron key from his belt. With it, he unlocks the chains that bind the Judge, and one by one, the fetters clatter to the dark wooden floor. He goes to open the final one — a heavy iron collar — and Abrim stops him. “No. I will wear this one as my badge of office. Your crimes are not forgotten, Jahalim — only paroled. If you betray your promise to my god, I will seek a redoubled judgment.”
Jahalim nods warily, his chieftain’s crown already sitting uneasily on his head.
Montage: Mustering the Delve & Seeking a Cure
I had intended this session to be a bit more zoomed out, but it turns out that settling the leadership of the Delve in a single conversation is hard to abstract.
Now, we can zoom out a bit and pursue the remaining priorities the readers picked for our heroes — finding a cure for Dawa Eyegouger and Odo’s surviving cultists and mustering the militia.
To envision the following days leading up to the attack, we’ll need to make a few rolls. First is a Muster roll for Gordin’s Delve — now that the bosses have opened their armories and have agreed to arm the people, the party can search the town for able-bodied (and maybe even trained!) fighters to face the Stormcrows. Padrig rolls with advantage, since Anwen and Abrim are aiding him. Here’s the move, for reference:
Source: Stonetop // Jeremy Strandberg
Padrig triggers Muster: 6+5+1+2 Population = 13, Strong Hit
The party is rolling very well today indeed! Padrig will select the muster holds together even without your presence and 1 or 2 individuals show real potential. We’ll speed through these events in the fiction:
The following days are a whirlwind — Padrig, Mutra and Abrim walk the Delve, spreading word of the coming battle and the oaths the leaders of the Delve have sworn to protect them and see to the commonweal. Anwen awakens from her rest and joins them, and together, the four of them call for every able body in the Delve to present themselves to be armed in defense of the steading. Word of Abrim’s release spreads quickly, and seems to light a fire in the hearts of the Delvers. “Aratis’ blessing has given you a chance to make this place your home,” the priest tells them. “But first, you must fight for it!”
Axel rises as a lieutenant in the new militia - he led a few of his fellow prisoners back into Odo’s lair to rescue the others who remained behind, and now that band looks to him as their leader. Young Brogan, likewise, rejoins Padrig and rallies folk from the Tenements, who knew him as one of Odo’s gentler bravos. Padrig is troubled by the lingering signs of the Howling curse — the boy’s yellow eyes still have a predator’s gleam, and Pad fears that the coming battle will unleash the curse again in him and others.
Vahid hears Padrig’s fears and throws himself into upholding his promise to Dawa — a cure, or at least a treatment, for the Howling Curse. Dawa leads him back into Odo’s Lair, where they search the Forge Lords’ ruins for any ancient physic’s wisdom.
Vahid makes a few rolls here — first, he heads back into the lair and driggers Delve the Depths with intelligence, as he follows the pathways he recalls from their last visit.
Vahid triggers Delve: 6+2+2 Intelligence = 10, Strong Hit
He marks Progress on the site progress track, totaling 8. We can then trigger the Delve move Locate Your Objective — of course, our narrative objective was Odo’s death, which we got. But since that’s done, we can envision a new goal inside Odo’s Lair, which is whatever trove of Forge Lord relics Odo was sitting on, along with the orichalcum he was collecting. Here’s the move, for your reference:
Source: Ironswon Delve // Shawn Tomkin
This requires us to shift gears into the Ironsworm system — to adjudicate this move, you roll the challenge dice — 2d10 — and compare the results to your progress (8). If one of the challenge dice is higher than your progress, you get a weak hit, and if both are, you miss.
Vahid triggers Locate Your Objective: 3, 2 vs. 8 = Strong Hit
Vahid locates Odo’s lair, and his treasure: A wealth of orichalcum, a trove of Forge Lord wisdom, and something that might help Dawa.
Odo took an ancient scriptorium for his chambers, lounging amidst ancient bronze tablets inscribed with forgotten knowledge and a small horde of orichalcum plundered from the Delves. The small, thin ingots are locked in a leaden chest — no doubt the sight of it was hateful to Odo’s yellow eye — and the tablets have been ransacked and scattered, strewn about the room or stacked in haphazard piles.
Vahid uses his Polyglot move to quickly decipher the maker runes.
Vahid triggers Polyglot: 4+4+2 Intelligence = 10, Strong Hit
Translates the bronze tablets quickly, and finds an alchemic recipe that may help, though it is not a perfect cure. In the Forge Lords section of Stonetop’s excellent worldbuilding guide, there is a list of the many uses of orichalcum the Forge Lords devised. One of them is:
Back to the zoomed-out action:
Working day and night, Vahid translates them, searching for something of use in cleansing the corruption of the Things Below. Finally, he finds it: A treatise on the alchemical uses of the fire-metal orichalcum — an even more potent weapon against the Things Below than bronze. This concoction could burn away the curse — but it was made for the Makers themselves, and records of tests on living, human subjects yielded… inconsistent results.
Vahid makes use of the spoils of Odo’s Lair and equipment begged and borrowed from the bosses to attempt the formula.
Vahid triggers Defy Danger: 4+2+2 Intelligence = 6, Weak Hit
The elixir is brewed, but it takes time to perfect — Vahid will not have time to attempt anything else.
Salvation and damnation mixed in a golden elixir. // Source: Midjourney
In the town above, folk call for Dawa and Odo’s still-living followers to face the Judge for their crimes. Rather than waiting for the calls to grow louder, Vahid counsels Dawa to surrender herself. She assembles the remaining members of Odo’s fallen family — mostly his slaves and victims, but among them are a few of the bravos who laid down their arms when Odo was defeated and the prisoners from the first and second levels, who fought and killed in the arena, and participated in the cult’s bloody feasts.
While Abrim sits in judgment, Vahid presents the elixir to Dawa, who, with Odo gone, is now looked to as the leader of these people. Young Brogan is also there, desperate to quiet the whispers of the Howling Curse in his mind.
Dawa asks for a volunteer from among the cursed, and after a short silence, one ragged-looking man steps forward. The Howling Curse marks his yellow eyes, and his body is twisted as well — hunched and long-fingered. When he breathes, it comes out as an unsettling, wheezing giggle. Vahid draws a dram of the elixer into a glass vial and offers it to the man, who accepts it with his trembling half-claws. He pauses a beat before closing his eyes and drinking deeply.
The effect is immediate and shocking — he clutches his throat and howls before collapsing to the floor, writhing in pain. Dawa goes to his side, and he squeezes her hand in his until her fingers go pale. As he writhes, in extremis, his twisted spine seems to straighten, and the claws that tip his fingers blacken and slough off. As they watch, his golden eyes fade to a muddy brown, and his flailing starts to still.
“Anborn? Can you hear me?”
He does not answer — his breathing is labored, and his exhalation is tinged with black, metallic-smelling smoke, as though he is smoldering on the inside.
“I hear… silence. It whispers to me no more.”
“Your eyes, Anborn. The mark of the curse is gone. You’re free.” Dawa’s eyes cloud over with tears.
“Free. The Last Door stands open. I walk through it a free man,” he whispers. His grip on Dawa’s hand goes slack, and his eyes flutter closed.
Abrim the Judge gazes down on the fallen man with a pensive look before raising his eyes to Dawa. With grim formality, he pronounces his judgment: Dawa and the remaining members of Odo’s Family must swear themselves to the defense of Gordin’s Delve against the coming raid, promising to fight on the front lines. Further, as a condition of their parole, each of them must carry a dram of Vahid’s concoction upon their persons in case the Howling Curse begins to take hold of them again.
Vahid assents and makes the arrangements. That night, three more of Dawa’s followers imbibe the brew. Two do not survive, but one — a healthy man of 27 winters named Cadi — is found alive in his bed, groaning in pain but still breathing. The rest of Dawa’s Family take to wearing their golden drams on leather cords around their necks — a sign of the curse and their oath to hold it at bay.
As the full moons rapidly approach, Vahid, Anwen, and Padrig take stock. They are in the Swap — the Delve’s largest open space — and it has been given over to a marching ground, with the newly-mustered militia drilling day and night. Mutra’s armory provided spears for her foresters and miners, while Jahalim’s household held a number of fine hunting bows that have been distributed to the best dozen archers Padrig could find. Meanwhile, Ffransis and Draigh have provided a dizzying array of clubs, hatchets, choppers, adze, and picks to arm a mob of irregulars with more enthusiasm than discipline. In the first few days of the muster, after Abrim called a great gathering together to bless the once-Bosses, now-elders of the Delve and to witness their sacred oaths of office, there was almost an excitement that permeated the air. But now, as the attack draws near, and rumors of the hdour’s power have spread, Gordin’s Delve seems balanced upon a knife’s point.
Pad looks up in the morning sky, the clouds painted bright crimson by the rising sun. The wind is warm and dry, coming from the east, heralding a storm. “It’s your decision. Either way, you are the only one of us who has ever faced one of the storm-marked and lived to tell the tale. If you command it, I’ll lead a party into the Foothills to find where the hdour is encamped. Otherwise, we wait and do our best to keep spirits high until the storm comes.”
We’ll close out the episode and Session 13, right here. As you’ve probably guessed, you fine folks will be deciding whether our heroes march out to meet Cirl’s army in the field or sit tight in the Delve.
But! We will not be doing that poll today — this episode will be the last one of PTFO:Stonetop for a while, so I thought it’d be better to hold off on the decision until we return.
What’s next for PTFO: Holiday Hiatus + Pilot Season
To start, I’ll be taking 4 weeks off for Thanksgiving and an important work trip in early December. Then, we’ll return, but not to Stonetop (yet!). In 2024, I want PTFO to experiment with other games and settings, and so starting on December 18th, I’m going to publish a series of three ‘pilots’ — introductory episodes (like the Stonetop introduction) that detail a new setting, system, story, and group of characters. You may have seen a rough example back in August when I gave some early details on the pilot titled That Devil, Sam Crow. Once all three are published, we’ll choose between them (and more Stonetop!) with, what else, a reader poll.
As always, many thanks for spending your precious Internet doomscrolling time with PTFO:Stonetop. I love writing it, and I hope you love reading it. If you’re celebrating any holidays coming up, I hope they are thankful and joyful in the correct proportions, and I can’t wait to get back to you all in December.
Back in the Hillfolk arc in Sessions 6, 7 and 8, the party established a solid alliance with a few Helior-worshiping bands of Hillfolk, against the hdour and his allies among the Tor-worshippers. Vahid’s use of the hdour’s techniques could definitely threaten this alliance, particularly with the more zealous Hounds of Heol.
You bring me crooked timber to build my temple.
Dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That's a lot of ground covered in a session. I loved the scene with the bosses and the judge. It really felt high-stakes.
I hope you have a good Thanksgiving break.