Last episode, we reviewed the muster of Gordin’s Delve through Padrig and Anwen’s eyes. Since it was our first scene after returning from a long hiatus, we took some time meeting many of the supporting cast that are fighting for the Delve alongside our heroes, including a few, like Elder Kirs, Young Brogan, and the apprentice blacksmith Rheisart, whom our heroes particularly want to see survive the coming battle. Anwen received a gift of armor from the smiths of the Delve, and none of Padrig’s old, bad blood seemed to rear its head — everyone’s eyes are on the fight to come. The battle plans are already laid: Anwen will hold the line at the trailheads on the western slopes, Padrig will stand atop Sorrow’s Gate, and Vahid will remain at Jahalim’s manor, countering the hdour’s magic while closely guarded.
During the preparations for battle, we also saw a glimpse of the growing fervor around Vahid. Whether he wills it or no, it seems as though the people of the Delve have begun to build him into a figure of legend — if only to protect them from the hdour, Cirl -of-the-Storms, who is building a legend of his own.
We left off with ominous rumbling from the stormclouds above. Vahid had just raised the Azure Hand to calm their fury. We’ll rejoin the action not with the Seeker, however, but with Padrig, racing down for Sorrow’s Gate where the first alarm bell sounded. The old bandit hopes to lay eyes on their foe, let’s see how he likes their odds:
Scene 3: Sorrow’s Gate
Padrig and his chosen archers — hunters taken from Mutra’s crew, anyone with a bow and the skill to use it — make haste through the deserted streets of Gordin’s Delve, descending three grand stairways until they reach the bottom of the valley. Here, there are no giant-hewn paving stones, but only bare earth, and the relentless wind stirs up dust and grit that stings and blinds.
At his side is Ollem the Stone. The thick-necked Manmarcher is one of Mutra the Teeth's bravos — not a hunter or a bowman, but all Mutra’s people seem to trust and fear him in equal measure. He holds a torch high, and Padrig’s archers follow behind him. “Another alarm. The damned Smiler has been jumping at shadows all night. Might be we’ll be back by the fire soon enough.”
“Not this time, I think,” Padrig says, drawing his cloak around himself as the wind tears at it.
Sorrow’s Gate towers over them, raised by the Forge Lords centuries ago. The great bronze plates that cover the walls are green with age, their inscriptions lost to time and weather, and its massive granite blocks are fitted with such craft that not a single blade of grass has taken root in the gaps.
The gateway itself is dominated by an enormous bronze portcullis, long rusted in place. Between its teeth and the earth is an eight-foot gap, which the defenders have shut by piling stone and timber into a makeshift barricade. Padrig recognizes one of Smiling Ffransis’ bravos, a Peaksman named Vikas, shouting orders to the militia to assemble with spears at the top.
“What news from above?” Padrig shouts, his baritone cutting through the blustering wind1. Vikas eyes him warily — Pad sees bitterness flash in his eyes, no doubt remembering Anwen’s rough treatment of him in their last encounter.
“Hound! Our spotters saw torches along the western ridgeline,” Vikas shouts, bowing with exaggerated courtesy. “Smiling Ffrasis is on the parapets. He bid me send you aloft!” The bravo points skywards, to the towering wall.
Pad looks at the rickety path up. The Gate’s stairways and battlements were made for giants, so the first Delvers covered its face with wooden scaffolding, leading up to the very top, more than fifty feet in the air. The old bandit’s stomach turns in his belly, but he swallows bile, motions for his men to follow, and begins to ascend.
The wind howls, and the structures sway alarmingly. Pad calls his company to a halt and looks to the heavens. The storm clouds roil overhead, black as pitch in the darkness, lit from within by lightning flashes. He breathes a silent plea. It’s now or never, Seeker.
Now seems an opportune time to roll Vahid’s Eye of the Storm ability2. If successful, he can use the power of the Azure Hand to quiet the storm’s fury, preventing the hdour from using wind, thunder and lightning as weapons against the defenders.
Vahid triggers Eye of the Storm: 6+1+1 Constitution = 8, Weak Hit
For a Weak Hit, Vahid must choose 2 drawbacks of the list of three. The most important drawback to avoid is the one that limits the range of the effect to just a few feet around him — he needs to protect the whole of the Delve. That means he has to accept the other two: He takes 2d4 damage (I rolled a 5) and suffers a debility (I picked Weakened, which gives him disadvantage on Strength and Dexterity rolls). Vahid successfully holds back the hdour’s power, but the effort is all-consuming and he is drained by the ordeal. We’ll revisit these consequences when we cut back to Vahid — for now, we’re going to stay with Padrig. Back to the action:
As if in answer, the clouds stir. As though stirred by the hand of Tor, they swirl, and begin to part over the Delve. The wind gusts once more and then begins to gutter and fade. The light from the stars and the twin moons shines once again, casting a silver glow over the defenders.
Cheers sound from the militia at the gates. The men cry out Tor’s name, and, to Pad’s dismay, Vahid’s new epithet, as well. Stormcatcher. Keep your head about you, Vahid. They resume their climb, scurrying up the scaffolding’s narrow stairways and worn rope ladders to the top.
Ffransis awaits them; Pad spots his shock of windblown red hair instantly. The brawler’s caloused hand rests on the shoulders of one of his spotters — a nimble lad of perhaps ten winters, skilled enough to climb up the crumbling towertops for the highest vantage.
As Pad approaches with his company, the exiled Stonefolk spots him, and his green eyes narrow with recognition. “Hound,” he says with a toothy grin.
“Not anymore,” Pad replies flatly.
“No? First Brennan’s hound, now that red-haired she-wolf’s. How’s the new chief?”
“The alarm, Ffransis,” Ollem growls. “You rang the bell.”
“Tch. The boy said he saw torches moving in a ravine past the second switchback. Now, nothing.”
Pad looks to the child and nods encouragingly. “Show me. As best you can remember.”
The boy leads them to the parapet's edge, and they gather in the gaps between one of the crenelations. Each of the stone teeth stands taller than even Ffransis’ considerable height. The towering heights look over the valley, spreading out and down beneath them. With the moons shining through Vahid’s eye of the storm, the switchbacked road is illuminated with a pale glow.
The youth wordlessly points down to the final turn of the road. Padrig peers into the darkness, averting his eyes slightly — an old hunter’s trick his father taught him one dark night on the Flats, years ago. There, he sees movement, but it is all wrong — not the shadowed ripple of a tight-knit band moving in the night. It is slower, more lumbering. And bigger.
“Did you do as I asked before the gate was blocked?” Padrig says quietly.
A brief aside — you might note that at no point have we done any extensive battle-planning or logistics and preparations. Much like in Blades in the Dark, I prefer to take the approach of laying down the broad strokes, like where each of the PCs are deployed and their overall goal, but not their specific plan.
When it comes to strategems, gambits, and the sorts of things that players in tactical RPGs love to spend hours parsing, I prefer to let those emerge as we’re in battle so we can get into the action as quickly as possible.
In this case, Padrig is indicating that Ffransis has already been told to do something. At the gaming table, Pad’s player could merely explain what Ffransis had been tasked with, and if it makes sense and doesn’t contradict any existing fiction, we’re good to go. A player’s narration of the fictional events of the story do not need to happen in purely chronological order, they only need to follow from what’s already been established.
“Yes chief, of course, chief,” Ffransis snaps back. “Seemed like a damn waste of pitch, though.”
“We’ll see.” Pad unwraps his bow from its goathide case, and nods to his people. “It’s time, lads.” The hunters follow suit, unlimbering and stringing their bows, and taking positions in twos and threes between the giant crenelations. Pad watches them take their positions and look out into the night with their nervous eyes and trembling hands.
Precious few warriors among them. And precious few arrows. The Delve had been turned upside-down for arrows, and a smith and fletcher had worked day and night, but still, each man had fewer than 15 shots before they were fit only for knife-work.
“Nock. But do not draw until the order is given,” he calls, and arrows are readied.
Pad kneels beside the burning brazier at his feet, and wraps an arrow in resin-soaked linen. The boy-lookout watches him intently, his brown eyes wide. “Sharp eyes, boy. Best you run home now.” Pad whispers. Without a word, the boy turns and scurries down the scaffolding.
Pad rises with a lit arrow and nocks it to his bowstring, drawing back until his shoulder screams with effort. Then a sharp twang, and the arrow’s blaze streaks across the night sky, leaving a trail of white in Pad’s vision.
His breath is bated as the arrow flies — he has practiced this shot a few times, but despite all the drills, he did not always have the range.
Padrig triggers Let Fly: 4+5+1 Dexterity = 10, Strong Hit
Let Fly’s text states that if you’re ‘calmly taking an easy shot,’ you need not roll, and just go straight to damage or effects. For the farthest-out trench, I decided to roll it.
Tonight, however, his aim is true. The flaming arrowhead falls into the farthest trench Ffransis’ work crews dug and laid with pitch, and a blazing wall of fire lights the darkness in the valley below.
And in that firelight, Padrig and his men see their first glimpse of what is coming: A drake, twice the size of a laden cart, with a thick, sweeping tail and a crested, spiked frill adorned with black and white war-paint. Its flanks are caparisoned with painted nomad shields, and atop it is a rider, who crouches behind the shield of the beast’s frill.
Pad’s seen a Thunder Drake before, up close and personal // Source: Midjourney
It stops at the fireline and rears up, letting loose a bellow that seems to rattle the very stones of Sorrow’s Gate.
“Thunder drake,” Pad mutters. “A big one. ”
“Are you sure?” Ollem says.
“Sure enough. Sound the alarm,” Pad replies matter-of-factly3. “Ffransis, the spears at the barricade must hold fast. If they can’t fend it off, that thing will push through, and the nomads will follow.”
“Right.” Ffransis’ fists clench and unclench in eager glee, and he makes for the scaffolding to join the militia below. Behind him, Ollem strikes the bell twice, signaling that the attack has finally come.
Below, the beast’s rider urges it on, and it breaks through the first fireline. Shadows of Stormcrows follow in its wake, leaping over the burning pitch and making for the Gate. Padrig nocks another fire arrow and looses, igniting the second trench as the beast approaches.
“The drake is your target! If it falls, they cannot break through!” Pad bellows, and the hunters draw and take aim.
“Loose!”
Pad is using one of his Command hold from his Stentorian move to give his squad advantage, which cancels out the disadvantage they’d otherwise have for their negative tag, Untested.
Pad triggers Order Followers / Let Fly: 4+3+1 Quality = 8, Weak Hit
For Let Fly, a weak hit can indicate ammo is running low, or the shot requires extra time or moving to a disadvantageous position. In our case, we’ll choose the ammo one — we’ve already established that Pad’s archers don’t have much ammo. If Pad has to choose this one again, archers will be tapped out.
Damage against the beast was 14 (1d6 + 12 for the crew’s teamwork) minus 4 armor, for 10 total. It has 20 HP, so it’s not doing great, but it’s still quite dangerous.
Pad calls for volley after volley, and arrows fall on the beast like spring rain. Many find their mark, sinking deep into the thick, pebbled hide, but many more crack against shields or the horned frill.
The drake approaches the third and final trench, and Pad looses another fire arrow, flames erupting and illuminating the field of battle. This close, Pad can see the nomads, shields held high in the shadow of the great beast.
“Now is the moment! Make every arrow tell!”
Pad is using the last of his Command hold here to Let Fly once again — after all, if the beast is dead, the nomads lose their best way through the gate.
Pad triggers Order Followers / Let Fly: 2+2+1 Quality = 5, Miss
My first impulse was to make a very hard move here, but since this is the first miss of the battle, I opted to just advance the situation and raise the stakes — likely there’ll be more opportunities to go hard. The GM move that best fits the situation here is advance towards impending doom — the doom being the nomads breaking through the gate. I’ll also mark a single tick on the Delver’s morale clock4 — they weren’t expecting to see a Thunder Drake, and the thing’s approach has dismayed them.
Arrows fall. Pad sees too many strike the bare earth. The thing begins to gallop towards the gateway and lets loose another thunderous bellow — this close, the sound rattles his jaw and makes his ears ring, and around him, a wave of dismay moves through his troop.
After another volley, the beast is within the gateway, and the nomads follow behind. Pad counts at least a dozen, and only two have fallen behind — one limps after his fellows, an arrow sunk into his thigh, the other lays motionless on the killing field, his body half-burnt by fiery pitch.
The old bandit swears under his breath and turns to Ollem. “Take half of them to the murder holes. Throw down the fire bottles and keep loosing until quivers run dry.” Ollem calls out names, and the company splits.
As they descend the scaffolding, the din of battle is below them: Battle cries in the many tongues of the delve, shouts of dismay, cries for help, and above it all, Ffransis’ mad shouting. “Push it back, you dogs! Give that thing a Delver’s welcome!”
Pad leans over the edge to take stock. The height is dizzying; far below, he can see the Ffransis’ spears thick on the barricade, driving their pikes between the bars of the portcullis. The Smiler himself has taken up a spear and thrusts it with great vigor, bellowing back at the beast when it roars in pain and rage.
This is a good time to use the Deploy move to see how Ffransis’ defenders fare against the Thunder Drake:
Padrig triggers Deploy: 4+1+1 Defense = 6, Miss.
Bad news for the defenders. This is the second miss in a row, so something fairly decisive should happen. We’ll mark another tick on the defender’s morale clock in addition to whatever else we envision.
As a separate matter, however, we’ll also resolve Pad’s Order Followers move: He’s told Ollem and the rest of the archers to do what they can to fell the beast from the murder holes above the gate. Now they’re rolling with disadvantage, since Padrig has no more uses of Command to expend on them (and couldn’t anyway, since he’s not with them).
Padrig triggers Order Followers / Let Fly: 6+5+1+1 = 7, Weak Hit
They deal their damage — since we’ve envisioned they have more pitch to throw down there, I’ll up their damage die to a 1d10, and I roll 14 damage, which, even minus the thing’s armor, is enough to kill it. Since they’re losing their warbeast, I’ll mark a tick on the Stormcrow’s morale clock as well.
Back to the action:
The scaffolding shudders as the thunder drake batters into the barricade, sending great boulders and chunks of timber flying. The spearmen scatter, all save the Smiler, who still stands atop the crumbling edifice.
“Cowards and curs, the pack of you! Come back here and take up your spears!” he screams. He thrusts again once, twice, and then there is another bellowing roar, a flash of pure-white, and a peal of thunder. The barricade explodes outwards as the beast’s bulk surges through, flinging the Smiler like a child’s doll. The drake is aflame, its hide covered with burning pitch and arrow shafts. It shudders and falters under its weight, and the defenders surge forward to finish it off with spears and cruder implements.
Their victory is short-lived, however. Behind it come the Stormcrows. Pad sees the first warrior through the breach — a hulking Hillman with an enormous stone maul, his arms crisscrossed with the branching, bleeding lightning scars of the storm-marked. Cries of dismay rise from below. Fall back! They are coming through!
“Hold fast!” Padrig roars down to the defenders. “Raise your spears and hold!”
We’re going to cut away from Padrig’s rapidly-worsening situation to see how another of our heroes fares. Vahid is at Jahalim’s Manor under heavy guard as he holds back the storm. Let’s see how tight their defenses are with a Deploy roll:
Vahid triggers Deploy: 6+1+1 Defense = 8, Weak Hit
Whatever attack is coming, Vahid’s guards will be able to stop it, but there will be some cost. In the text of the Deploy move, there’s an interesting nuance: If the PCs are acting from a position of strength, they choose the consequence, and if the enemy is acting from a position of strength, then the GM chooses. In this case, it’s hard to say who’s acting from a position of strength: Vahid is heavily guarded and far from the frontline, but the hdour’s forces have a few tricks up their sleeve. Since this is a story about our heroes, we should try to make them the deciding factor where possible, so we can use this dynamic to set up an interesting dilemma for Vahid. Currently, thanks to his weak hit at the beginning of the session, he must use all his focus to hold back the hdour’s magic, so the scene will unfold until he decides to act.
Scene 4: Jahalim’s Manor
Sweat beads on Vahid’s brow. In his hands, the Azure Hand thrums and vibrates with barely-restrained power. Overhead, the storm clouds lour at bay. Through the vibrations in the Hand’s aetherium headpiece, Vahid can feel the hdour’s stormsong — the secret words Cirl learned from the Thousand-Year Storm on that fateful night, years ago. Spirit-touched Vahid can feel its pull, a gentle but insistent impulse to surrender himself to the sorcerer. I am a man, not a spirit of the storm. My will does not bend to such things. He tightens his grip on Indrasduthir’s staff and redoubles his focus.
Vahid holds back the storm // Source: Midjourney
Vahid is distantly aware of the scene around him — eight of the Delve’s finest killers wait in the courtyard with anxious eagerness. Jahalim’s wife, Demetra, oversees a handful of their bravos, who sharpen their blades or pace around the courtyard. Dawa Eyegouger and Elder Kirs stand apart from the rest. The old Hillman’s eyes are on the sky, while Dawa’s golden gaze is fixed on Vahid.
All but Vahid look up when the bell tolls twice. “An attack on Sorrow’s Gate,” one of Demetra’s bravos growls. It is Rolf, the towering Manmarcher who once held Judge Abrim’s chain. “We should be there. Or at the Foundry, with our master and our brothers.”
“Bury that, Rolf,” Demetra snaps. “Jahalim says our place is here. Do you know better than he?”
The Manmarcher grunts in assent and takes up his horn of small beer, taking another deep swig. He slumps down heavily on one of the low benches and coughs wetly.
Elder Kirs’s eyes narrow. “What’s wrong with him?”
Demetra approaches and shakes the big man roughly by the shoulder. “On your feet, you dog.”
The Manmarcher staggers to his feet unsteadily. Behind him, another of Demetra’s bravos falls to one knee and vomits.
Dawa’s hatchet leaps into her hand. “We are betrayed!”
In answer, an arrow whistles from the shadows, taking her in the shoulder and driving her to her knees. She snarls in pain, her eyes flashing golden, as she seeks in the shadows for the arrow’s source. Another arrow flies, and another bravo falls.
“There! On the second floor! They’re inside the villa!” Demetra shouts. “With me!”
Another bead of sweat falls from Vahid’s brow, dripping onto the burnt skin of his right hand. All around him, the storm strains against his unseen hand. From the corner of his eye, he sees the assassin, Cicatrix, clad all in black, emerge from the cellar door. The moments seem to slow like honey.
We’ll pause the action here. Vahid can tip the balance in this attack, allowing the defenders to act from a position of strength, allowing the PCs to choose which consequence in the Deploy move’s list gets selected — you can refresh yourself on the text of the move in the GM prep episode here. If Vahid joins the fight, he’ll be able to select the “it is less effective than you expected” option, which tracks with the fiction. After all, the purpose of these bodyguards was to protect Vahid’s life, but also his focus, and his focus will have been broken. If he chooses to maintain his concentration and hold back the hdour’s stormsong, we’ll instead choose “The GM chooses a named NPC involved in the fighting; they die.” There are more than a few NPCs present whom Vahid would rather survive the fight.
This choice will be the subject of this week’s reader poll. As you consider your choice, think about this: Vahid does not know how the rules work — he only knows that he and these defenders are in grave danger, and may be quickly overwhelmed. But he also knows that they are skilled fighters, and that dropping his protection of the Delve, even for a moment, could be catastrophic.
The flames spreading from Pad's arrow, illuminating the thunder drake as the Storm Crows dash between shadows. I was there!
Feels like an easy choice for Vahid to go with his mind over the heart, though it's not so easy a vote as a reader!