In the first part of this episode, Vahid took center stage, fighting his grueling mystical duel with Cirl-of-the-Storms, holding back the hdour's storm spirits. As they struggled, Cirl spoke to the Seeker, offering grandiose visions of their shared destiny, calling them brothers in fate and urging the Seeker to abandon his earthly concerns for a higher battle among the storm clouds. The temptation stirred the bound storm spirit within Vahid's cloak, lifting him toward the sky as his hubris warred with his humanity.
Below, despite the Pad and Anwen’s heroic efforts, the Delve's defenses began to collapse. At Sorrow’s Gate, blood-mad pack drakes broke through his spear line, sending the defenders into panicked retreat up the terrace stairs. With fires spreading through the upper city and desertion rippling through the remaining reserves, the unified defense of Gordin's Delve crumbled into chaos.
Suspended between earth and sky, Vahid faced another fork in the Seeker’s path: embrace his growing power and engage the hdour in direct sorcerous combat that could devastate the Delve, or renounce his hubris and withdraw to save lives alongside his mortal friends.
Before we reveal Vahid’s decision, we’re going to check back in with Anwen. In the previous reader poll, we decided that she would pursue the Stormcrows into the town — a task that will only get harder now that the Delve’s defenses are collapsing and the town is descending into anarchy.
Scene 9: Descending to the Delve
“Anwen!” She starts awake to hear her name spoken by another than the Lady of Crows. Baraz kneels before her. She is again clinging to life on a jagged stone overlooking Gordin’s Delve. The Lady is gone, though her chill remains. Anwen hears the sounds of fighting again, this time louder and clearer, and the smell of smoke stings her nostrils and makes her tears flow. Below, in the town, fires are burning.
“Anwen, praise the Thunderhead for your damned stubbornness! You are alive!”
“I am, Baraz, I am,” she says, coughing. “How goes the fight above?”
His face falls. “Lost. Once you fell, the Stormcrows scattered us. I retreated with a few survivors, but I came back to find you. I didn’t know if anyone yet lived who would.”
“Who survives?” she demands, taking hold of Baraz by his leathers. “Mutra? Padrig?”
“Mutra fell. I am sorry. As for the old bandit, I do not know. There is still fighting at the gates, but the stormcrows are in the town, spreading fear and fire.”
Anwen strikes the stone. “I’m sorry, Baraz. I failed. I couldn’t hold them. But the fight’s not over.”
Baraz smiles sadly. “I know. Come — I can help you climb back up. Then, we must part ways. I must make sure Madame Parvati is safe. Where will you go?”
Anwen’s eyes fall on Maël’s aetherium javelin, its blue-silver blade still gleaming despite the blood streaked across its length. She hauls herself to her feet and takes it from his dead fingers; they surrender it reluctantly. The weapon feels light and eager in her grip.
His question answered enough, Baraz offers her his broad shoulder for support. “Can you climb?”
“I have to.” Every movement sends daggers of pain through her battered body, but Anwen forces herself to put one foot before the other until she reaches the steep rock face. Baraz follows her up, and hand over hand, they make the climb. Despite the heat rising from her exhausted body, Anwen still feels a cold prickle on her shoulders as she climbs, the gaze of the Lady still lingering on her.
Her crows are thick on the ground when they reach the trail, and when Anwen and Baraz haul themselves over the ridgeline, they take flight, circling overhead. Bodies are everywhere, many more Delvers than Stormcrows. Where the fighting was thickest, Mutra slumps against a boulder with two javelins piercing her chest. Her black iron jaw hangs open, and her eyes look up into the starless sky.
The pair of them pick their way through the battlefield. Baraz finds his chain where he left it, wrapped around a foe’s throat, while Anwen scavenges an aurochs-hide shield, hung with nomad charms of bone and grey feathers from another fallen Stormcrow. Hanging at the dead man’s waist is a leather waterskin. Anwen cuts it from him and takes a long drink. The liquid, whatever it is, burns like fire in her throat and spreads a prickly numbness through her limbs. Its warmth seems to chase away the cold presence of the Lady, and when Anwen looks up at the circling crows again, they seem to be nothing more than birds, hungry for their next meal.
Here, Anwen is triggering Recover:
Drinking some Stormcrow battle-brew isn’t the finest medical care, but it’ll do to trigger the move. We’ll count Prosperity as 0, so Anwen gains 4 HP back, putting her at 5. Not a ton, but she might be able to take a hit. Back to the fiction:
She takes another draught of the substance and then lets the waterskin fall back to its owner’s side. Baraz watches her, his face lined with worry, but he says nothing, and together, they descend from the trailhead, back towards the town.
The smoke grows thick as they descend into the Delve. The thicket of tents and lean-tos at the base of the goat trail has been burnt and trampled. A few goats, still penned in, bray plaintively, and Baraz knocks over the rickety fence, setting them free. Further down the avenue of the fifth terrace, Anwen can make out dark shapes moving in the smoke, darting from building to building. Shouts and cries in the many tongues of the Delve ring out.
Anwen breaks into a run up the street, with Baraz following close behind. They pass one of Draigh’s men, his blue sash stained with blood, hanging by a thick rope from a high window, swaying slowly. As they approach, angry shouts and the sounds of struggle come from within, and a pair of rough-looking men emerge in the doorway. They wear no Bosses’ colors, and have the look of miners from Mutra’s crew, perhaps, or some of Odo’s old cult. Each of them drags two cowering Delvers with them — a woman and three children. Anwen catches glimpses of their terrified faces.
“You there! Stand fast!” she shouts.
The men halt and turn towards her, all bared blades and angry snarls. When they take in Anwen’s blood-painted face and Baraz’s looming presence behind her, they grow uncertain.
“There is still a battle to fight,” she says. “Follow me.”
“And who the fuck are you?” the elder of them growls, brandishing his hatchet at her. At his side, the woman’s eyes plead with Anwen.
“Wait, Jas,” his comrade mutters. “I think that’s her. The warrior from Stonetop.”
Jas looks at her with newfound wariness. “These are Honest Draigh’s lot,” he says, nodding at the hanging corpse. “That one got what he deserved, and this lot were helping them count their coppers.”
Anwen advances a few steps, and the younger man releases his captives. “It’s not worth it, Jas! Come on!” He throws down his dagger and flees.
Jas swears under his breath and follows. The pair beat a hasty retreat down the avenue and into an alley, leaving their captives behind. The woman falls to her knees, her children gathering around her. The oldest of them, just a dark-haired shaggy boy, seizes up his tormentor’s blade and raises it at Anwen, and she recognizes instantly the anger and fear in his young eyes.
Anwen puts up the blood-stained javelin and keeps her distance. “It’s all right now, lad. Take your family to one of the serais, you’ll be safe there.”
The woman spits anger and bitterness back. “You think these scum will welcome us after what Draigh did? You are a fool.” A sob wracks her body as she gathers up her children and retreats into her home, slamming and barring the door behind her.
Anwen pounds the doorpost, but the woman does not answer. She whirls to Baraz. “Why are people giving up? The battle can still be won!”
Baraz shakes his head sadly. “It’s not one battle anymore, Anwen. It’s a hundred battles, a thousand. Every bit of greed, hate, and petty vengeance is now fuel on the fire.” He nods up at Draigh’s dead man. “This is only the beginning. We must see to those dear to us; it is all we have left.”
From higher in the Delve, the keening of hunting horns cuts through the din. A booming war cry from the tenements above echoes off the valley walls. “Let this cursed place be ashes! Let the blood of these stren turn the wheels of fate!Tor wills it!” A chorus of voices replies: “Tor wills it!”
Baraz grips Anwen’s shoulder. “I cannot go with you to the upper terraces. I am sorry.”
“I know, Baraz. Thank you for everything.”
The hulking Lygosi’s eyes are heavy with sadness. “If you survive what comes, remember: There is succor at Madame Parvati’s. A secret path to the tunnels below, and from there, away from this place. I hope you will find us.”
The two part ways at the grand stairway, Baraz descending towards the Swap, Anwen racing up to the burning terraces above.
The Delve Burns
Setting the Scene: Vahid’s struggle
With Anwen brought back into the fight, we’ll return to Vahid’s perspective, which means first and foremost we must see how you chose for him in his present dilemma:
A near-run thing, but Vahid sees destiny in the skies above the Delve, and he feels he must pursue it.
Before we dive in, I wanted to share a bit about how I’m approaching the sorcerer’s duel. This will be an extended dive into Stonetop mechanics, skippable for folks who prefer just the fiction.
The most basic weapon in Vahid’s aresenal is his tame spirit bound to his Flying Cloak, which he can command to use its moves (they are: bear its master aloft; manifest a storm as it flies; wreak havoc on its surroundings; fling lightning from a raging storm). This uses the Order Followers move.
He can also use another key move for this conflict: Borrow Power, from the Blessed playbook. This represents the dark magic he learned from the hdour during his vision quest, and which he first used in Odo’s lair to defeat the Thriceborn and save his friends. When he uses this ability, he invites a storm-spirit into his body, giving him the ability to use its moves himself. When he does this, it is a huge strain to his body — he is not prepared to contain the vis of the spirit in his flesh, which generally means taking damage, debilities, and triggering Defy Danger with Constitution. Victory or defeat in this duel will likely come down to how much Vahid’s already-strained body can sustain the forces at play. To represent the hdour’s mystical staying power, I’ll do a quick 4-tick clock:
To add some complexity to the duel, last episode I established the presence of a few specific storm-spirits. Here’s the relevant passage:
“Before Vahid’s eye, the spirits resolve into powerful and majestic eidolons — one leaps and charges like a nomad rider, a swift and untamable wind, another rolls and bellows like a bronze-clad warrior of the elder days, still another twists and turns like a dancer, casting rain and sleet about her.”
These three quick descriptions suggest different movesets implying speed/aggressiveness, power/strength, and agility/evasiveness respectively. A sorcerer’s duel where they just fling lightning at eachother until one falls from the sky would be straightforward, but not very compelling, so these spirits create opportunities for the two fighters to use a wider variety of maneuvers.
At least, that’s the theory — if Vahid throws a few Miss results to start the fight, none of it might matter. Since the reader poll chose to embrace the hdour’s power, we’ll make an initial roll for Vahid to withstand the strain of binding a spirit to his mind and flesh:
Vahid triggers Defy Danger w/ Constitution: 5+5+1 Constitution = 11, Strong Hit
At least we know he’ll start strong. Throughout the rest of this scene, I’m going to put the mechanical asides in footnotes, to avoid breaking the rhythm of the fiction. Back to the action:
Scene 10: In the skies above the Delve
High above the smoke and flame, Vahid hangs suspended. The winds of his eager spirit-companion, His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder, bear him aloft, higher and higher until the Delve is just a smear of orange flames and grey smoke. The winds have risen, surging past the Seeker’s weakening focus, and they have whipped up the fires set by the Stormcrows, spreading up towards the tinderbox of the upper terrace, thick with rickety wooden tenements.
But Vahid’s attention is fixed ahead, where Cirl-of-the-Storms waits within a churning whorl of black cloud. Vahid’s senses are wide open to the unseen world, eddies and currents of elemental vis and human thought meld and blend in many colors, like a makerglass window. He has crossed the threshold now—abandoned the struggle below for the realm of sorcerers and the spirit-lords of the sky.
Cirl-of-the-Storms speaks to him in the tongue of spirits, his voice resonating through the Azure Hand, Vahid’s conduit to the unseen world. “At last,” the sorcerer exults. “Is it not glorious to stride the world as living gods, Vahid?”
“You are mad,”Vahid sends back. “I take up this power only that you might be cast down.”
Vahid reaches out with the Azure Hand, beckoning one of the storm-spirits to him — a rolling, bellowing thunder-spirit, with an eidolon like a bronze-armored champion of the elder days. The spirit bows before Stormcatcher’s staff, and Vahid summons it to himself, opening the wound in his mind that allows the spirit’s pneuma1to seep in. His heart begins to race, every beat like thunder. An army of thousands roars in his ears, calling him to glory, but Cirl’s voice cuts through the din.
“So it was when I took up this mantle, as you well know, Seeker. I took it to save myself and my teacher, but it opened my eyes to a powerful fate, and I grasped for it.”2
“You will lead your people, this whole land, to doom. You must relent.”Vahid does not whisper these final words in the unseen world — he bellows it in the true one, his thunder shaking the granite walls of the valley.3
The hdour is driven back by the force of Vahid’s thunderclap, the vis gathered around his body flickering and diminishing in Vahid’s storm-marked vision. But swiftly, the sorcerer summons his spirit-legions to his side. Hisaura of power flares as he binds another spirit to his flesh, and then he is charging towards Vahid with the speed of a sirocco.
His foe is upon him before the Seeker can react, and Vahid braces himself for the bone-crunching impact.4 Cirl slams into him like a charging aurochs, and the force of the blow sends Vahid tumbling down towards the blazing town.
For a moment, he fears he is lost, but the spirit of his cloak catches him on a cushion of wind, and his fall arrests, some twenty feet below his attacker. Vahid’s body, already strained from holding back Cirl’s storms, is now on fire with pain, radiating from his side, and when he touches it, his hand comes away wet with blood.
The hdour looms overhead, a bloody bone dagger in his hand. In Vahid’s storm-marked eye, he sees the sorcerer’s powerful aura5 — the roiling vis of the storms he has enslaved, contained in a shell of pure will. Looped around his neck is a string of heavy stone prayer beads, each the size of a man’s fist, carved with Maker runes that shine like silver in the unseen world, and with each pulse of Cirl’s aura, they respond in kind.
Despair claws at Vahid’s gut. He is stronger than I. He has armored himself in ancient arcana and trained his body and mind to contain this power. I am overmatched, but there is no way but forward.
He reaches out with his mind to the spirit bound in his cloak. “Now is our greatest battle, my friend. Slay this usurper and win your freedom. Hold nothing back.”6
His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder roars in approval, and gathers a great mantle of dark clouds around him. The spirit’s eidolon takes shape, a mighty lion-headed asura, and he surges towards the sorcerer. Cirl-of-the-Storms bounds away, loosing cutting gales like arrow volleys, but Vahid’s spirit shields them both with a wall of wind. Then, his many arms twist in an elaborate mudra, and a torrent of lightning pours forth from his open jaws.7
The storm is unlike anything Vahid has ever seen. The night is illuminated, brighter than the brightest sunrise, and countless branches of white arc upwards towards the hdour, and down into the town, fires blooming where the lightning touches.
The true world turns eerily silent. Vahid distantly notes his eardrums are likely burst, but there is no time to concern himself with the flesh, for the unseen world still roars and howls in his ears. He beckons to another spirit — the dancer-eidolon cloaked in dark, swirling mist and droplets of rain, and drinks in her pneuma.8Now host to two mighty storms, Vahid’s body is a riot of pain and power — he swallows bile and his vision darkens at the edges, but still he holds fast.
Meanwhile, the hdour contends with His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder — strike after strike finds the sorcerer’s body, burning away his protective magics. Concealed in the clouds, Vahid watches as the Cirl’s body begins to show the strain of grasping powers never meant for mortal men — branching wounds open on his arms and chest, blood steaming in the cool, high air.
The Seeker, unseen, draws near his harried foe. This close, Vahid can feel the vis pulsing beneath his skin. He raises the Azure Hand towards his foe, and, with the last of his strength, he reaches into the unseen world, grasps the spirit bound to the sorcerer’s body, and pulls with all his might.9
Cirl whirls on Vahid, instantly sensing the source of this assault. Drawn to Stormcatcher’s staff, the spirit begins to pull away from his body, and in the unseen world, Vahid can hear an awful tearing sound, like flesh being parted from flesh. “You think you can take this power from me, Vahid?” he howls into the wind. “Your path here was naught but silken sighs and inkstains, mine was forged from steel and soaked with blood! Die now, and in your sacrifice, let Stormcatcher be reborn!”
With that, the sorcerer yields his hold on the spirit within him, forcing it into Vahid’s open, wounded mind. Weakened by his many ordeals, the Seeker cannot contain it, and his body is wracked by its unleashed vis.
His senses fail him. The unseen world falls silent, and his vision fades to black and then to nothingness. As he plummets to the earth, he hears his mother’s voice. “Please, Vahid. You must not go. My heart could not bear it if you were to die so far from home.”
We will conclude this two-part episode here. Vahid managed to wound the hdour, perhaps preventing him from achieving his final goal of destroying the Foundry, but at a terrible cost to himself and the Delve.
Since we don’t have a poll this week, I’d like to invite you folks to comment on the story so far — feel free to say any old thing you like, but I have a few questions that I’m curious about:
This week’s reader poll marks a significant movement in Vahid’s character arc — one where he crosses a line from heroic altruism into something darker. When I initially set out writing PTFO:Stonetop, all the characters were portrayed as people striving to do good in the world, each in their own way, and I think a lot of long-time readers appreciated that positivity. How do you feel about how the story has unfolded? Does Vahid’s hubris feel earned? Is this a direction we want to continue to explore, or would it be more satisfying for Vahid to pull from the brink somehow?
How do you feel about the outcome of the battle? Did this defeat feel ‘earned’ from the player perspective? Would you be crying foul if we were at the gaming table? Have you ever lost a pivotal fight in a TTRPG and lived to tell the tale?
I have yet to make a Death’s Door roll for Vahid. At the gaming table, how might you handle the possibility of his death? As GM, would you take steps to avoid making the roll at all? Would you hew to the outcome, no matter what? Would you find a way to bring Vahid back? After all, Stonetop does have Revenants, Ghosts, and Thralls of the Things Below who can all cheat death!
Share your thoughts about these topics, or any others, in the comments!
I needed a word to describe a spirit’s essence, personality, and identity (distinct from its power/energy, which we use ‘vis’ to describe). I landed on pneuma, an ancient Greek term for breath/life/spirit.
Here, Vahid is using Borrow Power to use one of the bronze warrior storm’s thunderous battle cry to stun the sorcerer. He rolls a Strong Hit and succeeds while retaining use of the ability for the future. I mark the first tick on the hdour’s clock.
Cirl takes the initiative and attacks. Vahid has the debility Shaken, which gives him disadvantage on Strength and Dexterity rolls, so he chooses to Defy Danger with Constitution. He rolls a Miss and suffers 6 damage, leaving him only 5 HP remaining — not good.
Vahid triggers Seek Insight, looking for some way to manufacture Advantage to avoid another catastrophic miss. He rolls a Weak Hit, and asks the question “What should I be on the lookout for?” He learns about the sorcerer’s physical prowess and arcane protections — at the gaming table, we’d reveal the card for the specific arcanum the hdour uses to resist the strain of elemental binding, which is Cold Mind, Iron Body. Those who have preordered Stonetop can check out that arcanum on page 11 of the PDF.
Recall that when Vahid first unlocked his Flying Cloak arcanum and made a deal with His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder, he promised to free him from the cloak if they defeated the hdour.
Vahid goes to trigger the Order Followers move to have his cloak spirit launch a lightning bolt at Cirl, but before triggering, I decide to use the GM move Offer an opportunity (with or without cost) and suggest that His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder could instead use his wreak havoc on your surroundings move. If he does so, no roll will be required, but there will be collateral damage to the town. Vahid takes the opportunity — he’s in too far, now. The move triggers, and we mark another tick on Cirl’s clock, leaving it half full.
Vahid takes on the spirit’s power and again rolls Defy Danger w/ Constitution. He scores a Weak Hit — he has access to the spirit’s power, but gains the debility Sickened, which gives him disadvantage on Constitution and Charisma rolls, making further rolls in this combat quite difficult.
Vahid is triggering the Azure Hand’s basic move here, used to capture a source of elemental power (in this case, the vis of the spirit bound to the hdour’s flesh.) He rolls with advantage, since he has the drop on the sorcerer thanks to his spirit’s concealment, which cancels out the disadvantage from Sickened. Unfortunately, he rolls a Miss here, and suffers enough damage to reduce him to zero HP, concluding the encounter.
Deeply satisfying read as always. In response to your questions - I'd say this defeat feels very well-earned, sometimes the dice are against you and as a GM myself I'm loathe to throw consequences this huge at my players but I consider that a failing on my part, seeing the good guys lose sucks in the moment but it's like in any good work of fiction, the bad guys have to win some to add to the satisfaction when they ultimately lose!
Vahid's hubris has been a long time coming. I think I've voted in every Vahid poll so far for him to chase down the path of darkness, because the scholar who pursues knowledge and power only to have it consume and corrupt him is such a classic and tragic trope, I can't help but support it.
On your last point, I will say this final battle felt an awful lot like watching Gandalf the Grey's final stand in Fellowship, and we all know how that ended...
I want Vahid to pull back from the brink, for this to be the event for him to realise the cost of the powers he is wielding. That might mean he embraces them for dramatic potential later, with eyes open…
The defeat was not unexpected- he wasn’t as prepared as Ciri, or as ruthless. The question is, will this like in many stories be the setback that drives him to ultimate success?
Vahid has to stay! But in what form? Perhaps he now resides in the azure hand, awaiting one brave enough to seize it to receive his guidance? Perhaps His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder rescues his master at the last moment - for he will only be released if they are successful, and it has been a long time since he has had a true offer of that!
Deeply satisfying read as always. In response to your questions - I'd say this defeat feels very well-earned, sometimes the dice are against you and as a GM myself I'm loathe to throw consequences this huge at my players but I consider that a failing on my part, seeing the good guys lose sucks in the moment but it's like in any good work of fiction, the bad guys have to win some to add to the satisfaction when they ultimately lose!
Vahid's hubris has been a long time coming. I think I've voted in every Vahid poll so far for him to chase down the path of darkness, because the scholar who pursues knowledge and power only to have it consume and corrupt him is such a classic and tragic trope, I can't help but support it.
On your last point, I will say this final battle felt an awful lot like watching Gandalf the Grey's final stand in Fellowship, and we all know how that ended...
I want Vahid to pull back from the brink, for this to be the event for him to realise the cost of the powers he is wielding. That might mean he embraces them for dramatic potential later, with eyes open…
The defeat was not unexpected- he wasn’t as prepared as Ciri, or as ruthless. The question is, will this like in many stories be the setback that drives him to ultimate success?
Vahid has to stay! But in what form? Perhaps he now resides in the azure hand, awaiting one brave enough to seize it to receive his guidance? Perhaps His-Laughter-is-the-Thunder rescues his master at the last moment - for he will only be released if they are successful, and it has been a long time since he has had a true offer of that!