🗳️Session 14.3: More weight

Vahid endures. Anwen hopes to turn the tide.

Recap

Last episode, the battle for Gordin’s Delve began in earnest. Padrig took his position at the top of Sorrow’s Gate. There, he sought to fend off the first wave of the Stormcrow’s assault. With all his battlefield tricks, Padrig orchestrated the defense, igniting prepared fire trenches with flaming arrows to illuminate the battlefield and slow the enemy's approach. His archers loosed volley after volley at the beast, wounding it grievously but failing to stop its charge. The drake smashed through the Delver’s barricade, and the first nomad through the was one of the hdour’s storm-marked warriors.

Meanwhile, at Jahalim's Manor, Vahid was locked in a sorcerous struggle with Cirl-of-the-Storms. Every mote of Vahid’s focus was channeled into the Azure Hand, holding back the storm spirits that the hdour commands. But as Vahid worked his protective magic over the Delve, the sorcerer managed to strike back even in the supposedly safety of Jahalim’s manor. Demetra's guards began falling ill—poisoned—and arrows flew from the shadows, striking Dawa Eyegouger in the shoulder. As Demetra rallied her remaining forces against attackers hidden within the villa, the assassin Cicatrix finally revealed himself, moving towards Vahid with murderous intent.

Vahid was faced with a choice: Release his protection over the Delve, however briefly, to protect himself and his perhaps overmatched bodyguards? Or let the Lady of Crows take who she pleases, and keep his focus on holding back the hdour’s power?

Let’s see what choice you folks made:

A strong majority for letting the fight unfold without him. Vahid’s eyes are on the big picture — let’s see who pays the price! Recall that last session, we made the Deploy roll for Vahid’s bodyguards, and scored a weak hit. This means that while this group achieves their goal (Vahid is protected), a named NPC is marked for death. The potential losses are Jahalim’s wife Demetra, Dawa Eyegouger, and Elder Kirs. Technically, the Manmarcher Rolf counts as named, but I think at the gaming table, I’d feel OK offing Rolf if it felt like the scene called for it. Now, back to the action:

Scene 4, cont’d: Jahalim’s Manor

“Stay with the Seeker!”

Demetra charges towards the villa’s entryway. Rolf stumbles behind her, his face pale as milk, straining with the weight of his oaken club. Arrows whistle from the villa. One sails over Vahid’s shoulder. Dawa barrels towards Cicatrix with her hatchet held high, while Elder Kirs comes to Vahid’s side, watching the assassin’s every move with a hunter’s narrowed eyes. The killer from Lygos is armed like a pit-fighter, a curved shortsword in his right hand, his left hand a cestus of leather and iron.

But to the Seeker, lost in the unseen world, it all seems as far away as a dream.

Vahid is seven. His hand shields his eyes from the glare, the pitiless Lygosi sun shining off the pure white Makerglass of the Plaza of Judgement. He holds his father’s hand — it is soft and cool from the waters of the phiale¹. He has been told not to look away. In the center of the plaza is an old man in scribe’s robes, undergoing a sacred ordeal.

The man is pinned beneath planks of ashwood, upon which the Judge’s men pile iron ingots, emblazoned with the god’s scales. The Judge himself stalks back and forth before the crowd, loudly proclaiming the scribe’s many offenses. With each block of iron laid, the man is put to the question: Will he relent in his blasphemies against the law?

He remembers the crowd falling silent, and the old man’s strained voice carried, amplified by the strange magic of the Makerglass. “More weight².”

Vahid feels the press of the iron on his own body, from every direction at once, his will against a host of storm spirits, driven to a mad rage by the hdour’s song.

The melee unfolds around him. The sound of steel on steel rings from the villa. Dawa’s hatchet falls agonizingly slowly, and Cicatrix dodges effortlessly once, twice, thrice, before the hook of his short sword finds her unarmored flank. A spray of red, and then he is upon Elder Kirs.

Each recognizes the other as an old hand at knife-work, and they circle warily before Kirs darts forward like a viper. Sparks fly as iron meets bronze. Kirs snarls in pain as the assassin slices under his guard, parting the leather of his cuirass and cutting him deeply. The nomad warrior strikes back low, opening a bleeding wound on the assassin’s leg in the next pass.

They circle again, both slowing as the blood seeps out of them. But the weight of the years bears down on the old warrior, and he slows quicker and harder. Cicatrix, seeing his chance, surges forward and beats the bronze down with his cestus before enfolding Kirs like a lover, run through on his blade.

The assassin releases Elder Kirs to sink to his knees, and turns to face Vahid. His eyes are lit with triumph. “Your life pays my debt to my brethren, Vahid ebn Sullaim,” he purrs. “For that, I thank you.”

But in his triumph, he does not notice Dawa, rising to her feet behind him.

A change has come upon Odo’s lady. Her back is crooked, and her eyes blaze gold in the shadows. She reaches out for the assassin with long fingers and hooked talons. Cicatrix hears her and turns, but too late — she bears him to the ground, cackling madly. He stabs at her back until she rips the sword from his hand and flings it aside, snarling and biting at his face as he writhes beneath her. Her hands wrap around his head, and the quiet killer now begins to scream.

Still, Vahid grips the Azure Hand. His body aches, his throat screams for water. The aetherium staff thrums in his grip, and it feels as though he might begin to dissolve into sparks and embers at any moment.

Dawa stands in front of him now, her hands shining red to the elbow. Behind her, Demetra emerges from the villa, her weapons likewise bloodied. “Dawa!” she calls. The creature turns towards her and takes a few halting steps before stopping herself. Jahalim’s wife raises her blade towards Dawa. “I knew I would have to put you down,” she snarls.

Dawa’s eyes light with defiance. Her hand goes to her chest, where the golden vial of Vahid’s elixer waits. She snaps the leather from around her neck and raises it in a mocking toast. “Tell Aratis’ Judge I did what had to be done, and that my people’s debt is paid,” she snarls. “Tell the truth, or I will come back from the Last Door to find you.”

Before Demetra can reply, Dawa drains the flask. The orichalcum burns like Helior’s fire as it courses through her tainted body. She falls to her hands and knees, howling in ecstatic agony. Demetra comes quickly to her side, turning her onto her back. As the pain fades from her body, her eyes open, pale blue once again. She reaches up to the stars, tears streaming down her face.

The vision begins to fade from Vahid’s mind, dreamlike. Rolf has come from the villa, unsteady on his feet, but alive and well. Another of Demetra’s warriors has come to, still sick from whatever poison the assassin had slipped into their small beer. Demetra is snapping orders to Rolf, the words echoing from far away. Warn. Anwen. Draigh. Betrayed.

Still, Vahid grips the Azure Hand. More weight.

Scene Breakdown

Other than the Deploy roll that we made last episode, there were no rolls in this scene — Vahid simply accepted the consequences of the weak hit on Deploy, which means that a named NPC (Elder Kirs, in this case) is killed in the fighting. From the GM perspective, we also let Cicatrix die as a result of the Deploy roll. At the gaming table, it can feel a shame to let a named antagonist be swept off the table in a single roll, but it can still feel quite triumphant to the players, so a wise GM will let it happen sometimes. It’s part and parcel with the PbtA principle we talked about in Session 13.1 — ‘Respond with fuckery and intermittent rewards.’ Cicatrix’s death is the intermittent reward, while Kirs’ is the other bit.

With the failure of this attack, and the hdour’s inability to control the battlefield with his magic, I’ll mark two ticks on the nomad’s battle clock, putting them a little closer to losing their will and breaking off the attack.

Since Vahid opted-out of the action, we’re left with a scene in which all the story-moving action is performed by NPCs. This is fine, every once in a while, but I still like to have the PCs strongly present in the scene. At the gaming table, I thought I might do this by asking Vahid’s player “What memory or thought sustains Vahid during his contest of wills with the sorcerer?” so I answered that question with the flashback that had a bit of character history and a bit of worldbuilding.

My editor described the flashback as a touch self-indulgent. What can I say? Sometimes I like to indulge.

Scene 5: The Trailhead

It feels as though hours have passed since the bells of Sorrow’s Gate sounded the alarm, but Anwen knows it has been only minutes. The night has drawn long around their ambush point — a perfect hollow where the goat trail narrows between two jutting formations of stone. “I’ve caught and hanged a dozen smugglers come through this notch,” Draigh’s man had told them with a cruel grin. “They’ll come through here. Count on it.”

On her right, Mutra the Teeth shifts from foot to foot, straining like a chained dog, her stone-topped warhammer gripped tight in calloused hands. She is armored in boiled hide stitched with scraps of Maker-wrought metal — plates of aetherium and black iron, engraved with akshara from the Peaks.

She draws her tattered grey cloak around herself, self-conscious of the shining bronze armor she now wears. Anwen’s ears strain to hear anything out of place. High in the mountains, the sounds move in strange ways — the chirp of mountain crickets seems to come from everywhere at once, and the occasional skitters of loose stones ring out with unsettling clarity. She looks to her left, where Baraz’s³ comforting presence waits, crouched still beside her, his spiked chain loose in his hands. The big, soft-featured Lygosi smiles at her in the moonlight, before his eyes return to the gap where the Hillfolk must pass.

“They will come any moment now,” Mutra whispers. “No reason to wait, now that they’ve started the attack on the gate.”

Anwen says nothing, not wishing to break her silence. It feels like her heart has been racing since they took up their hidden positions, just as the sun was setting. Before the battle, you’re going to feel like you’ll go mad with waiting, Pad had told her last night, while they poured over the final details. Just breathe. Listen. Remember what I told you on the Flats: There’s always a sign that something is wrong⁴. She searches for anything out of place, but the mountain yields no sign.

A thunderous bellow echoes up the valley. Anwen can feel a wave of unease pass through the waiting warriors. A shiver passes up her spine, too — the roar of a thunder drake is all too familiar to her.

“Pass word to Draigh’s man. I want to speak to him.” Anwen whispers. Mutra nods and taps one of her bravos on the shoulder. The man — Anwen thinks his name was Luden — crouches low and disappears silently into the night.

“What is it?” Mutra whispers.

“Something’s wrong. The Stormcrows are glory-hungry. They should be upon us.”

Mutra shrugs. “The goat trails are a hard path, especially for flatlanders, used to easy rides across open grass. Maybe they had to turn back?” Mutra waits expectantly. Anwen is tempted to order them to Sorrow’s Gate then and there.

No. They are coming. She resolves herself to wait a little longer yet. Before she can reply to Mutra, she hears the skittering of stones and whirls to face the source, but it is only Luden returning to them with more haste than care.

“Draigh’s man is gone. I passed the word up and down the line, and no one has seen him,” he whispers breathlessly.

“Gone?” Mutra growls. “Gone where?” Luden shrugs helplessly.

Anwen’s mind races. “Gather everyone,” she whispers urgently. “We need to move. We’ll regroup at the last switchback.” Mutra’s reply is drowned out by the sound of distant thunder.

Anwen’s eyes go to the sky — it remains calm and clear, thanks to the Seeker’s magic. It is Mutra, a student of the mountain, who realizes the danger first. “Rockslide!” she bellows. “Everyone to the cliff wall! Raise your shields!”

Anwen heeds her and catches her by the collar of her armored vest to drag her towards the mountain face, and some pittance of safety.

A few rolls, here, as the defenders navigate this new danger: One for Anwen, and one for the crew. For Mutra’s people, I’m going to assume they’re at least decent mountaineers, since Mutra’s business is mining and forestry, so their quality for this roll is +1 and they don’t have disadvantage.

Anwen triggers Defy Danger: 6+3+1 Constitution = 10, Strong Hit
Anwen triggers Order Followers / Defy Danger: 3+5+1 Quality = 9, Weak Hit

Anwen makes it through the rockslide, and so does her crew here — we haven’t established its size yet, but I imagine about 20 fighters with a few hard-hitters like Mutra in the mix. As a consequence for the weak hit, we’ll envision that the Delvers are in a bit of disarray, and will have disadvantage on their next roll (likely the Deploy roll) Back to the action:

The first boulder crashes into the hollow, hurtling over the ridgeline and sending a few of Mutra’s crew scattering. More rocks follow, some hurtling down the mountain face like slingstones — one grazes Anwen’s face and leaves a stinging welt, and she raises her shield and catches another, though the impact sends a rattling pain down her shoulder.

Now the moonlit night is choked with dust, and in the tumult, she sees torches held high and hears the battle cries of the nomads, calling out to Tor to witness their valor. Shapes emerge from the billowing clouds—Stormcrows charging down the mountainside and into the hollow in the wake of the falling rocks.

“The foe is here!” she bellows. “To me, Delvers, to me!”

The foe is here! // Source: Midjourney

The defenders seek the sound of Anwen’s voice in the tumult, but the Stormcrows are upon them before they can regroup. She sees the messenger, Luden, cut down by a bone-bladed adze, and Mutra fends off a pair of spearmen, falling back and snapping off one of their speartips with a blow of her stone hammer. Baraz sounds the hunting horn, two clarion blasts to signal the attack at the trailheads.

Her comrades are not the only ones drawn to her voice. Emerging from the swirling dust and moving like a hateful ghost comes the warleader Maël. The dark-haired hillman is tall and lean, his chest bare save for a thick silver chain, carved with Maker runes. His shield is twice the size of his fellow warriors’, four folds of aurochs hide stretched over thick oak, and his spear gleams in the moonlight, the strange blue-silver of aetherium.

NPC Breakdown: Maël, the Storm’s Champion

Let’s take a moment to discuss the mechanics and narrative behind this character. To build a satisfying Battle of Gordin’s Delve, we need to challenge each PC appropriately — Padrig’s leadership and tactics have been challenged at Sorrow’s Gate, Vahid’s will and arcane mastery are challenged at Jahalim’s Manor, and now Anwen, Stonetop’s champion, needs to face a true opponent.

We introduced Maël back in Session 8.4, during the Sun-Spear Band’s spearmoot, where he was the son of a rival chieftain. We then elevated him as an important secondary antagonist in Session 10.4, when the Stormcrows were pursuing our heroes and a band of emigres over the Flats.

Putting our GM hats on, what we really want from Maël is a serious opponent to Anwen. Thanks to all her leveling up and the Potential for Greatness move that has given her a number of stat increases, Anwen is a terror on the battlefield. She’s also nigh-unkillable, with her trifecta of moves: I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again, and Never Going to Keep Me Down, which allow her to reduce damage dealt to her and automatically succeed on Death’s Door rolls. When a player builds an unkillable character, I think it’s only fair that their GM does their level best to kill them anyway. I built Maël with those intentions.

For pure stats, I used almost the same ones as I did back in Session 7.4 for the Yellow Cloud Champion, so I won’t reproduce those here, though I will note that Maël ended up with 10 HP rather than 6, and 3 armor rather than 1. I also used roughly the same GM moves as that NPC, related to his skill at arms, his ability to command his men, and general ruthlessness and resourcefulness. His Instinct is to win glory at any price.

I did not choose to have Maël be storm-marked, since we’ve established that the hdour’s imperfect use of the magic is eventually lethal to the bearer, and Maël is more valuable to his master alive. Instead, to make him a truly worthy opponent, I envisioned a few arcana for him, which add to the moves he might do in combat. First, the Silver Chain etched with Maker runes. For that, I found an ability in a different Arcana (The Shield of the Wisent Witch, for those following along in the Stonetop PDFs). Here’s the relevant text:

The chain gives him preternatural forcefulness and toughness. Second is his Aetherium spear — for this item, I used the Arcana of the same name. I won’t reproduce the full card here (you can always pre-order Stonetop and get access to the PDFs!), but it does what you probably imagine it does: Strike like thunder, shoot forth lightning; that kind of thing.

We’ll envision he’s already spent one Might hold to help his men set off the rockslide above, leaving him with two. That should be enough to give Anwen some trouble.

“I promised I would find you on the battlefield, Anwen of Stonetop,” he calls to her over the melee. He points his spear towards her and grins with battle-glee. “Will you seek glory with me today?”

Anger burns. Anwen charges at him. “All this fear and death, for your glory?” she cries, as Bearkiller’s white razor edge bites deep into his shield. “I will send you through the Last Door, where you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

She wrenches her axeblade out of his shield and darts away from a savage thrust of his spear — the smell of ozone assaults her senses, and she feels gooseflesh where the aetherium speartip passes near.

Before he can recover his footing from his strike, Anwen swings her axe in a gleaming downward arc. Even if his shield could stop her makerglass blade, Maël is badly overextended, and he cannot bring it to bear in time. Every instinct tells Anwen that the blow will cleave him in two.

But instead, there is a flash of white and an unsettling tone, like a dissonant bell’s toll, and Bearkiller’s implacable blade glances from its mark. Maël whirls on her, dealing her a shattering backhanded strike with his four-fold shield. The world is awash with red and turns end over end around her.

Her axe is still in her hands, but she is on her knees. The battle has overtaken them; they are surrounded by the melee. Anwen sees Mutra in the chaos, the stone head of her hammer black with blood. The Delvers fight desperately, but Maël’s chosen killers are relentless. She hauls herself to her feet and turns towards Maël, driven by burning rage at the needless slaughter around them.

“Your champion bleeds, Delvers! Despair! Run, and tell the others that Maël comes for them!” he bellows, pressing his advantage.

Anwen rises to meet his charge, and her blow splinters his massive shield like a child’s toy, the makerglass biting clean through oak and hide, and cutting the flesh and bone beneath. Maël howls defiance, the blade of his spear shrieking against the bronze scales at Anwen’s flank. She feels the sting of the spear tip and a painful shock that sends her reeling again, falling backwards over the bleeding body of a Delver. She surges back to her feet, readying herself for the next assault, but it does not come yet.

Maël has turned to dispatch another — his spear sinks into the back of Cerdic Snake-Eye, Mutra’s right hand. He dies without a sound, falling heavily to the broken ground. Mutra is fighting her way towards a knot of her fighters, a trio of men back-to-back, surrounded by the spears of the Hillfolk. Behind her, she hears the rattle and snap of Baraz’s chain as it crashes into a victim.

Padrig’s voice is in Anwen’s ringing ears. Listen well. There may come a moment when you can feel the tide turning against you. I can’t tell you what the right decision will be — whether it’s to fall back and save your people, or to fight on, no matter what. You may not know at that moment, either. But even if you do not know, you must not hesitate to choose.

Scene Breakdown & Reader Poll

Let’s look at the rolls that led us to this point and what Anwen can do next. First, there’s a brief duel of words between Anwen and Maël, which serves to trigger Anwen’s Anger is a Gift move, giving her three Resolve hold which she can spend for various benefits. Next, we have their real first exchange of blows:

Anwen triggered Clash: 2+5+2 Strength = 9, Weak Hit.

Here, Anwen would normally deal damage, but Maël negates it with one of his two Might holds. He deals damage to Anwen, though, cracking back for 9 damage, which would take almost half of Anwen’s full HP. She opts to halve the damage using I Get Knocked Down, leaving her with 16 HP instead of 11. As a consequence of that move, she chooses to be ‘out of it for a moment,’ but she then spends a Resolve hold to “keep your footing, position, and/or course no matter what befalls you.” This then sets them up for a second Clash roll (with advantage, thanks to But I Get Up Again):

Anwen triggered Clash: 4+1+1+2 Strength = 7, Weak Hit

This time, they both deal damage. Anwen expends another Resolve to deal +1d4 damage and adds the forceful tag, and deals an additional +1d4 for Payback, and a third +1d4 for But I Get Up Again. Tons of dice, but only 9 damage. This is still almost enough to kill the man, leaving him with just 1 HP. I represented the forceful tag and the massive damage by shattering his shield. But he strikes back for 12 damage, and Anwen again chooses to halve it and be knocked around. After two similar exchanges, it seemed a good time to up the ante, so I triggered the Deploy move to find out how the battle fares around them. Recall that because of the rockslide, the roll is made with Disadvantage.

Anwen triggered Deploy: 2+1+4+1 Defense = 4, Miss

Not great for the home team. Now, Anwen has a choice to make: She can call for a fighting retreat, trying to save the lives of her fighters and regroup with nearby reserves at Jahalim’s Manor. Or she can stand fast and fight on. This will entail heavy losses, but if she slays Maël quickly, the tide might be turned, and a few Delvers might survive this melee.

We’ll leave Anwen’s choice up to y’all:

And that will conclude this week’s episode! Per usual. I’ll plan to publish the next installment on Monday, May 5th. Per usual, if votes come in quickly and my progress is unusually fast, I may try to publish a week earlier. That has yet to happen, but I still dare to dream. Thanks, as always, for reading!

1. A fountain kept for ritual ablution.

2. This is a little nod to history, referencing Giles Cory’s execution during the Salem Witch Trials in the 17th century.

3. Recall that Baraz is a friend and fighting companion of Anwen’s, since they met in Session 11.2. He is the bouncer at Madame Parvati’s establishment and fought at Anwen’s side in Odo’s lair.

4. This is way back in Session 3.1, on the road to Marshedge.