Session 17.3: Dawn

Padrig has words for Vahid. Anwen speaks her challenge. Two warriors duel at dawn.

Last episode, the party rode out from Stonetop to find the Sun-Spear Band, their old Hillfolk allies, and a possible inroad into Cirl’s host. They journeyed across the summer Flats, braving razor-grass and merciless sun. But when they finally reached the Sun-Spear’s riding-grounds, they were called stren and told to remain outside the camp.

One of their Hillfolk comrades, Merid, returned with news: Juba, the Sun-Spear’s old meistr, has been overthrown. An old veteran named Maikl leads the Sun-Spear now, and he wants nothing to do with magic, outsiders, or the hdour’s war. He forbids the party from his camp and bids them never return.

Vahid would not have it. Maikl’s banishment breaks the Lawkeeper’s custom and Juba’s sworn oath, and the Seeker demanded they call him to account before the blooded of the tribe. Padrig, ever cautious, warned against this reckless path. Vahid’s parting line was a challenge: risk all for the cause, or return to your hearth.

Of late, Padrig has kept a cool head in the face of Vahid’s hubris. But it is possible to push a man too far. Is this that moment? We put that question to y’all, and here’s what you chose:

The Seeker is right about Maikl, and Padrig knows it. But being right is not the same as being owed obedience, and Padrig was a bandit captain not so long ago. He knows there are moments you cannot let disrespect stand. We rejoin the fiction with this conflict coming to a head.

Scene 2: A campsite on the Flats

Crack.

The back of Padrig’s right hand lays across Vahid’s cheek before he can say another word.

The blow sends his gaunt body reeling¹, and he staggers backwards and falls to one knee, the Azure Hand falling into the grass at his feet. For a moment, it is dead silent — Mado’s hand is on his blade hilt, Anwen’s mouth is open in shock.

“How dare you…” begins Vahid, but Pad cuts him short.

“How dare I? I have dared much in my long days, Vahid. I was living the blood-and-iron life while you were still tied to your mother’s apron strings. I will not have you speak so carelessly when the matter is spending other men’s lives.”

Vahid boils back up to his feet, the Azure Hand rising to meet his grip with a crackle of power and the smell of burnt metal.

“You forget yourself, bandit,” Vahid says. His voice has gone low—if he were not looking at the man, Padrig might not recognize it. “‘Hold nothing back.’ It was you who begged this of me, and it was my power that saved us from Odo Thriceborn and his creatures. And now you strike me for speaking the plain truth. How should I answer this insult to my person?”

Above, the sky rumbles, and the white clouds darken. A shadow falls over the company, and even the crickets fall silent. Why am I not afraid? Padrig waits for his heart to quicken, the familiar eagerness that comes before blades are bared, but it does not come.

“You speak like a master,” Pad says, his voice quiet. “Are you my master, Vahid? When did you grow so much greater than your friends?”

The Seeker does not reply. But as Pad watches his face in the silence, he thinks he sees a hesitation, ever so slight, in his pure blue eye.

Then Anwen steps between them. “Peace, both of you.”

It breaks the spell. Vahid turns away, his face upturned into the wind. “Of course,” he says. His voice is lighter now, the thunder gone from it like a passing storm. “This changes nothing. We require the Sun-Spear’s aid, and so we must call Maikl to account for his band’s honor.”

Padrig nods. “This is so. He has forced our hand, even if he is too much of a fool to realize it. You may have to kill him, Anwen.”

Anwen’s eyes fall. For a moment, she looks very much like the girl who first begged Padrig to let her join the Companions, four summers past. When she looks up, she is Stonetop’s marshal and champion again.

“Then let’s be about it.” She shoulders past him, pauses, and turns back. “The two of you: Say whatever you must to settle matters. I’ll have no more strife between us.” With that, she leaves them, Mado and Merid trailing after her as she stalks in the direction of the Sun-Spear camp.

Vahid and Padrig face one another in silence for a time. But the old bandit is patient, and it is the Seeker who breaks the silence.

“What would you have me do, Padrig?” he says. The lordly tone is gone from his voice. “Cirl-of-the-Storms is too great a threat. You know as well as I the power he wields, and he aspires to powers still greater. If he grasps them, he will wreak a terrible desolation.”

“I know what we fight, Vahid. But what are we fighting for, if not one another? For our kith and kin and our allies? A moment ago, you were ready to call down the storm upon the Sun-Spear—folk we’d fought with, feasted with. Mourned with.”

Here, I wanted to be surprised by how Vahid would respond to Pad’s appeal to his humanity, so I gave it up to the dice. Since Pad is trying to remind Vahid of past events, I decided to use the custom move we wrote in Session 15.4, Recall Memories:

When you try to recall memories of your past life, roll +WIS: on a 10+, you remember clearly. If you act on information in the memory, or share it with someone to influence them, gain advantage on your next roll. On a 7-9 choose 1:

• Your memory is cloudy or fragmentary.

• You remember nothing of what you are trying to recall, but instead memory of your spirit-life. It may or may not have anything to do with what you were trying to remember.

• Your memory is clear, but deeply colored by the perspective of your spirit-self.

Vahid triggers Recall Memories: 6+1+1 WIS = 8, Weak Hit

I chose option 1. Has a cloudy memory of their time with the Sun-Spear, the warmth and friendship he experienced despite their mistrust of his magic, and he is chastened, for now. Back to the fiction:

The Seeker falls silent, his eye downcast.

Padrig puts his hand on the scholar’s shoulder. He is still young. It is easy to forget, after all that’s happened. “You are a good man, Vahid. All those seasons ago, it was your wise counsel that put me on a better path². I will never forget that. You should not either.”

The old bandit watches his comrade’s face for any sign of what might be in his heart. The Seeker’s pure-blue gaze is restless and abstracted, as though he searches for something lost.

At last, he speaks. “I will try, my friend.” Vahid looks up to Padrig and bows his head, an apology, perhaps. With a nod, Pad accepts it for whatever it is, and the two of them mount their horses and ride to rejoin their company.

Scene 3: The pale of the Sun-Spear camp

The new meistr comes for them before they reach the camp’s boundary.

Pad sees the riders first as they crest a hilltop, a line of them rising over the tall grass, standing in their stirrups with bows in hand. Stern-faced Maikl leads them, with ten of the Sun-Spear’s blooded, armed and armored for a fight. Ronhl rides with them, his face set like a man riding to a funeral.

The riders rein up a dozen paces off and sit their horses in a loose crescent, hemming the party against the open Flats. Maikl swings down from his saddle. He is an old warrior, like Pad — hair shorn close, a sunburst tattoo just visible beneath the stubble, and a leathery face that’s been broken and healed more than once. He calls out to Merid, at Anwen’s side. “Rejoin your kin, Merid. Unless you mean to stand against us with these stren.”

The young Hillman looks uncertainly at Padrig, who gives him a quick nod. Maikl sneers. “Who commands you, boy? The meistr of your band? Or this outsider?” Merid is shame-faced as he spurs his horse forward to join Ronhl.

“Maikl-kamrad,” Padrig says. “It is good to see our brethren among the Sun-Spear again.”

Maikl spits on the earth. “I am no brother of yours, stren. Ill-luck has followed us ever since we gave you and your magus our bread and salt. Take your curse from our riding-grounds, we are godly people here.”

“When we last left these grounds, we left as friends. Juba renewed the oaths that held between the Sun-Spear and the Stonefolk, since the days of our fathers.”

"Juba does not speak for the Sun-Spear. I do."

“A band’s oath is not like a saddle that can be set aside when a day’s ride is done.” Padrig raises his voice, and he can see a few of the blooded at Maikl’s side shift uncomfortably in their seats. “I thought the Heolings were as constant as the sunrise. Have the Sun-Spear forgotten what it is to keep faith?”

“We keep no faith with stren.”

Pad nods to Anwen. There it is, girl. You must call him out. Her jaw sets, and she spurs her horse forward. The tall upland steed, Hillfolk bred, paws the earth as it dances forward, sensing its rider’s readiness.

“Oathbreaker I name you, Maikl of the Sun-Spear. Face me in the circle, or let all the tu’d know your shame,” she calls in loud, halting Steptongue. Padrig gave her the words, and she said them well enough. Now let’s see how this old warrior plays it.

We’ll model this challenge as a Persuade roll — Anwen has advantage as a result of Speak Truth to Power. Pad is also aiding her, but advantage doesn’t stack, so we’ll just say without his quick Steptongue tutoring, she couldn’t have done this in the first place.

Anwen triggers Persuade: 1+1+2+1 Charisma = 4, Miss

Ouch. Maikl’s not having it. But to keep the action moving forward, rather than outright refusing the challenge, we instead use the GM move put someone in a spot. Anwen’s challenge is unsuccessful, but maybe someone else’s will stick?

All the Hillfolk’s eyes are on their new meistr. He snarls. “You are not worthy to question my honor, stren bitch. The storm has marked you, and you have become like our enemies.” He points his spear at Anwen’s storm-scarred arms. “I will not fight this thing for my honor; this magus’s thrall.”

Pad grimaces. The blooded riders that surround Maikl seem unmoved by Anwen’s challenge — the arrows stay knocked on their bowstrings, and their eyes are on Anwen and her storm-marks, and Vahid and his strange, unsettling mien. Not on their faithless chief.

Nothing for it now, old man. Padrig urges his horse forward, alongside Anwen’s. “Maikl of the Sun-Spear,” he calls out in loud, clear Steptongue. “Oathbreaker, I name you. Let us settle this in the circle. If I fall, my company will leave your riding grounds.” Pad searches the faces of Maikl’s riders. A few of them whisper among themselves, and some look to Maikl now, their hands leaving their bowstrings.

Maikl is silent. His face is a mask of fury. Padrig keeps his voice quiet and even. “You’re not afraid of me, are you Maikl?”

“Dawn, stren. My priest will draw the circle. You will see the Crowmother before you see another sunset.” He pulls his reins savagely, wheeling his mount and leading his riders back to camp. Only Ronhl hesitates, offering Pad a slow salute before rejoining his band.

Scene 4: The Flats

It promises to be a beautiful dawn, and Pad sleeps fitfully enough that he sees it coming. The sky goes from grey to rose-pink, and the dew steams off the grass where the light warms it, and the larks are already up, wheeling and singing over the spatters of red and violet wildflowers. A poor morning to die on.

Vahid is awake when Pad rises from his bedroll, staring into the fire—Pad wonders, briefly, if he can recall seeing the Seeker sleep since that night he returned from the Thrice-Betrayer’s tomb. You can worry about that on the morrow, fool.

He turns towards the east, where the sun will soon rise, and feels the warmth on his face. It is not his first duel — Pad has killed two men in the circle before, and fought a third until they cried mercy. Before each duel, he remembers the edged anxiousness, the fear alloyed with the near-certainty of victory. Today, the certainty is gone, but the fear remains.

Mado stirs behind him, and after a few moments, the young warrior is at his side. Pad is thankful that Mado keeps his silence—the nattering and bravado before bloody business always set his teeth on edge. Instead, Mado hands him his sword without a word.

“Good man.” He unsheathes the blade and looks down the edge. Good iron. He unwinds the belt and buckles it on, giving his swordhand a few stretches and shakes, banishing the morning aches that seem to rise with him every day. Mado goes to rouse Anwen — she sleeps heavily these days, ever since she took on the marks of the storm. Then, the company mounts and makes a quiet procession to the killing field.

The ground the Hillfolk have chosen lies a little east of the camp, where a creek flows down off a low rise to the north, shallow but quick, shining in the dawn’s light like hammered bronze. The circle is already cut into the grass — twenty paces, scratched with a spear-point, the quarters marked with feathered lances driven into the earth.

The band is gathering to watch, ahorse and afoot, at the top of the rise, crowded on both sides of the creek. There is Ronhl, ahorse with the blooded, there Merid, with the young warriors yet to prove themselves. There is Juba, with his wife and daughters, each of them twice-blooded, having slain a foe and born a child for the band. Their faces are grim; only the men who stand at Maikl’s left and right hands seem eager for the fight.

Maikl’s dark eyes watch as they approach. He’s stripped off his white deel robe, beneath is a shirt of boiled leather sewn with drake scales, worn with age and use. He stands at the circle’s far edge, the spear grounded butt-down at his boot, a good five feet of ash and a hand more, the head a long leaf of bronze. No shield — the proper choice for a duel, where reach and speed can tell before a swordsman draws close enough to strike.

The man and the ground. That is what Pad must know. He studies Maikl first. He is old — at least as old as Pad, perhaps older. The same grey in the stubble, the same slow economy of movement. He’s no young firebrand, to be goaded into a foolish strike. Whatever a hard life teaches a man about staying alive, Maikl has learned it, or the Last Door would’ve swung open for him long ago. But it cuts the other way too: whatever aches Pad endures, Maikl will likely feel too. Two old war-dogs, then. Soon one of us will rest. And for the other, another battle.

Maikl awaits. // Source: Midjourney

Now Pad turns his eyes to the battleground, searching for what Maikl saw in it when he chose it. The creek cuts the ring off-center, most of the water on Pad's side, and the margins where the cattle have churned it are soft black mud, thick with reeds. That much an unblooded boy could see, belike that is the point of it — a trick he’s meant to find, so he’ll miss the trick that wins the fight.

There, where the water runs a little faster over the bed: a path of firmer ground, gravel or a sandbar, cutting across the creek. High ground, hidden beneath the water’s surface. Maikl will lead Pad to it, drawing him into the mud beside it, and take him at the moment his foot sinks deep.

And finally, Pad marks where the sky is palest, where the sun will rise in a few moments more. Maikl has set the circle so that it rises at his back, and into Pad’s eyes. Of course.

A familiar face emerges from the band. Solnn, their sun-priest, her warm face more lined with age than Pad remembers. She is marked for the occasion, her leathery face is painted white with three yellow streaks drawn down her brow and cheeks and chin. Her robe is draped with the white hide of an aurochs, and in her hand she raises high a heavy piece of cut crystal, its many faces catching the light of the sun as it breaks over the rim of the world.

“Heol’s dawn is the light of truth,” she intones, and the band replies as one: ‘Heol kemn.³’

“He cleaves dark from light, truth from illusion, honor from shame. In his light, we are rightly judged. Maikl of the Sun-Spear, honored meistr, you are named oathbreaker. How will you answer?”

“With my life’s blood, for Heol.” His partisans raise their spears and shout.

“Padrig of Stonetop, you so name him. Will you withdraw, or answer with your life’s blood?” Pad knows what Maikl will say before he speaks. Let the others see: It was not I who wanted blood today.

Padrig calls out to Maikl instead. “Let us fight the sorcerer, Maikl. Our enemies are growing stronger while we fight one another.”

“Speak the words so I can kill you, stren. We have aurochs to hunt.”

“I will answer with my life’s blood.” The words of the ritual taste bitter on his tongue.

“Heol kemn,” Solnn intones. “Let the dawn’s light be your judge.”

And with that, the fighters advance into the stream.

---

The water is colder than he was expecting, and quicker, dragging at his boots. Maikl keeps his distance, forcing Pad into the middle of the stream, and keeps the long spear leveled between them, the bronze leaf turning slow circles in the air. He does not thrust yet, or feint, content to let Padrig come to him.

So Pad comes.

He closes behind his shield, the scarred oak up and angled, and the sun climbs into his face as he advances, exactly as Maikl meant it to. Helior’s light blazes into his eyes, and Maikl is a black shape edged in fire, faceless, his spear a gleam of swift-moving bronze. Pad pushes through the glare for the body behind it, his foot searching for a stone or firm sand, but it finds mud instead, his lead boot sinking past the ankle in the churned black margin.

The thrust comes the instant he steps wrong. His shield rises to catch the blade on the oak — but the bronze skids off the iron rim with a spark and rakes across his brow, a hot line above his left eye, and then the blood comes, warm and blinding, flowing down into the eye on his shield side.

Pad falls back, slashing to keep Maikl from closing to finish him and trying to blink the blood away. It does no good. The eye is half-drowned, and the world on his left goes red and stinging. The sun climbs.

Maikl steps back out of reach, unhurried, and lifts his chin to the watching band. “Praise Heol, the stren bleeds!” he cries, and his chosen men roar and shake their spears, and the sound rolls round the rise. I’ve bled before. Pad wipes the blood with the back of his shield-hand and finds Juba’s face in the crowd instead — the old meistr, pale and clear-eyed, watching with no triumph in him at all.

Enough of this. He cannot fight the sun. He must take it from him. He goes forward again — but slantwise this time, working to his right, feinting the shield high to draw the spear and then sliding wide of the thrust, giving Maikl a choice: hold his ground and lose the sun off Pad’s shoulder, or move to keep Pad in the glare and fall back from his hidden high ground in the stream’s center to do it. Maikl shifts.

The spear licks out again as he goes. Pad takes it on the boss this time, square, and the shock of it rattles up his arm to the shoulder, numbing the fingers—but it is a glancing strike, turned, and he keeps his feet and keeps coming, closing to where his sword can be his death. And now the light is in Maikl’s eyes.

Pad sees the old warrior squint against it, sees the spear-point waver for the first time, and does not wait. He drives in past the wavering point—inside the reach at last, where five feet of ash is five feet of nothing at all—and lays his sword across the meistr’s forward arm. The good iron bites. Maikl grunts, the first sound of pain he’s made, and the blood wells dark along his spear-arm from elbow to wrist, and his grip on the haft goes loose for a moment.

The crowd murmurs. Juba leans forward in the saddle, mouthing some oath or prayer.

Maikl falls back fast, spear tucked to his bleeding arm, trying to open the distance, to make his reach matter again, and Pad, half-blind, his own arm still ringing, presses after him into the deeper water. He cannot let him have the distance, especially when he is about to mount his high ground, the sandbar hidden beneath the water. Pad crowds in, leading with his shield, knowing a strike is coming.

It comes, and the brutal thrust punches clean through the oak. Maikl is stronger than Pad feared, and the bronze blade bursts through his shield, and the old bandit feels it take his hand where it grips the strap, a bright, terrible pain, burning from his fingers all the way up his arm.

He grinds his teeth till he tastes blood, and he does not drop the shield. His hand feels like it must be ruined—no time to look, eyes on the foe, eyes on the foe—and another fresh wave of agony comes when Maikl wrenches his spear free from the oak.

Now, old man. He thinks you’re finished, and that will be your last chance. Through the blood in his left eye, Pad sees Maikl stepping back, up onto the sandbar. He presses forward, his bleeding hand aches to betray him, but he simply does not let it. He locks his shield arm against his body and grips his sword tightly. Even though he is half-blind, he knows where Maikl’s next step will fall, and he sends a silent prayer to the Thunderhead that it will be enough.

Maikl rises up onto the sandbar, and the meistr lifts his spear for the killing drive. Pad crouches low and drives in beneath it, past the stabbing bronze, onto the high ground with him. The blade slides in below Maikl’s drake-scale shirt, and his mouth opens in a wordless cry. Pad takes no chances; he throws his whole weight behind the thrust until the blade pierces through, and he holds the old warrior close as an embrace, as his life’s blood mingles with the stream.

Scene Breakdown: The Duel

We’re going to close the episode here! What follows is an in-depth mechanical breakdown of Pad’s duel — read on if you are interested, if not, we will see the aftermath of the duel in Session 17.4, a week from today!

Duels can be tricky in PbtA games — usually player-characters have enough damage to dispense with mundane human opposition with a single strong hit. That means that the difficulty—and drama—of the duel depends entirely on the fictional positioning the GM establishes, and through that positioning, how many rolls the GM calls for before the PC can start making Clash rolls and dealing damage.

If this had been Anwen’s duel, I probably would’ve done it in one roll, but since it’s old man Pad stepping up to the plate, it felt more right to blow it out.

So, to get started, we used pad’s perception abilities — Read the Land and Seek Insight (with the Heavy move Situational Awareness) to establish a bunch of fictional positioning about the battlefield and Maikl’s likely strategy. This was the first roll of the combat:

Padrig triggered Seek Insight: 6+2+2 Wisdom = 10, Strong Hit.

That gives Pad three questions, and one freebie from Read the Land. The questions I chose were:

• (Seek Insight) What is about to happen here? The sun will rise in Pad’s eyes, giving Maikl an edge.

• (Seek Insight) What should I be on the lookout for? Maikl knows this ground well, and chose it for a reason, so he likely has a trick or trap planned.
  (Situational Awareness) Who or what here is the biggest threat? The reach of Maikl’s spear — Pad will have to get in close, but once he does, Maikl will be in trouble.

• (Read the Land) Where is the best location for a trap or ambush? The sandbar hidden in the creek, where Maikl can gain high, steady ground for a killing blow. Maikl knows it’s there, and he thinks Pad doesn’t know.

n.b., questions 2 and 4 are slightly redundant, but that’s generally OK — it’s an additional chance for Pad to cash it in for advantage on a roll. He’ll need every one of those advantages, too, since his Strength is +0 for Clash and his Dex is just a +1 for any relevant Defy Danger maneuvers.

Next, Pad had to close with Maikl:

Pad triggered Defy Danger w/ DEX: 2+1+1+1 Dexterity = 3, Miss.

Inauspicious, even with advantage. Maikl rolled only 3 damage, and Pad has two armor from his gear (shield and light armor), so that’s just 1 damage. But I chose to also inflict a problematic wound — the blood in his eye that will produce disadvantage, sometimes cancelling out his advantage. After all, we can’t make things easy for the old man!

A brief aside about problematic wounds

In the rules of Stonetop, you can find information about problematic wounds in the Harm and Healing chapter on page 227. Strictly speaking, we have made use of these wounds a little less often than the rules recommend — our combat tends to be a bit more fast-moving and cinematic, and when our heroes take HP damage, it doesn’t always slow them down. But by default, in Stonetop, when you inflict HP damage you are generally advised to also inflict a problematic wound that carries with it fictional consequences — much like the wound over Pad’s eye. Here, it seemed especially appropriate, since part of Pad’s arc is being too damn old for this.

Reeling from the blow, Pad now must try to close again — this time, the fictional positioning is he’ll force Maikl to give up one of his advantages, either the sun in Pad’s eyes or his positioning close to his ‘secret’ high ground:

Padrig triggered Defy Danger w/ DEX: 6+1+2+1 Dex = 9, Weak Hit.

He successfully closes the distance, and takes a hard strike to his shield that deals 3 damage after armor, but I decided not to pile on the problematic wounds.

Now he strikes:

Padrig triggered Clash: 4+6+0 Strength = 10, Strong Hit

No advantage this time, but it turns out Pad didn’t need it. A strong hit, but Pad only deals 3 damage, not enough to down Maikl with his 6 HP. Maikl falls back, wounded, and Pad must close again.

Padrig triggered Defy Danger w/ DEX: 5+2+3+1 Dex = 9, Weak Hit.

I chose to deal damage as Pad closed, and Maikl maxed out his damage, dealing 7 after armor. For that reason, I chose to go hard with another problematic wound. Pad is inside Maikl’s reach now, but must defy danger w/ Constitution to attempt an attack:

Padrig triggers Defy Danger w/ CON: 5+4+0 Con = 9, Weak Hit.

He masters the pain and moves to strike. Since it’s a weak hit, I posited that he has disadvantage when he strikes, but fortunately that’s canceled out by his last advantage from Read the Land.

Padrig triggers Clash: 5+5+0 Strength = 10, Strong Hit

Pad maxes on the damage die, dealing 8. Maikl is slain, and the duel is over.

That’s all for this week! Thanks, as always, for reading, and I’ll see you in your inbox next week, 7/6!

1. I did a quick Defy Danger w/ Constitution roll here for Vahid, on which he rolled a Miss. My intention here wasn’t to make a hard move if he missed, but just to see how he holds up to Pad’s strike.

2. This calls way, way back to Session 2.1. On the village green, Vahid implored Padrig to come clean about his bandit past: “But how long can your deception last? Forever? Think, Padrig! Look to the path ahead! ... Salonius the Wise once wrote: A wicked past can only be redeemed by a virtuous future.”

3. “Heol proclaims it,” the Steptongue equivalent of ‘amen,’ established back in Session 8. In the world of Stonetop, All the Steptongue is based on the real-world Breton language, and ‘kemn’ derives from the word “kemenn.”