GM Notes: Setting up the Session (also: Pad Levels!)
In our last session, we journeyed from Stonetop to Marshedge, and each of our PCs has a goal in mind:
Padrig wants to confront his old bandit chief Brennan, and tell him he wants out of their outfit, the Claws.
Vahid wants to acquire a considerable amount of terra cotta tile, which will be used to channel and collect rainwater to fill Stonetop’s cistern and keep it full year-round. Vahid’s purpose in this is twofold: First, to establish himself in Stonetop by helping its people, and second, to explore the village’s cistern, which was built by the Makers for a purpose other than holding water.
Anwen wants to find her mother, who left her in Stonetop to return to Marshedge four years ago. The Judge at the Crossroads intimated to her that her mother has a shadowed past, and now Anwen is unsure what she will learn.
That’s a lot of ground to cover. To keep up the pace of play, we’ll combined some zoomed-out Homefront play, like in Session 2, with some more zoomed-in Expedition play, as in Sessions 1 and 3. Chances are we’ll jump around between our heroes, and try not to dwell on getting around in Marshedge, especially after we get a feel for the place.
Next — Padrig’s level-up. No need to beat around the bush: It was a landslide.
We’ve already characterized Padrig as having a strong commander’s voice, and now that’s mechanically represented by the Stentorian move (referenced here). This establishes a really neat theme for our party — each of them has an ability that’s triggered by talking to one another — Vahid has Sage Advice, which lets him grant advantage by giving knowledgable council, Padrig has Stentorian which lets him grant advantage by barking out orders or warnings in the heat of battle, and Anwen has Speak Truth to Power, which triggers when she tries to persuade her companions of the right course of action. It’s a nice feature of these playbooks that they have a variety of moves that incentivize PC-to-PC interaction.
Now, back to our story — when we last left our heroes, they had just had a shady encounter with Cousin Bertrim, an old bandit colleague of Padrig’s, and had gained entry into Marshedge.
Scene 1: The Edgemarket
Sweetfoot’s wagon rattles up the cobbled high street of Marshedge, paved with round river stones clustered around the scattered basalt slabs, which have begun to chip and crack with the fading of their enchantments. Anwen draws closer to the rest of the party as they make their way into a crush of folk in the street — farmers carrying baskets of rice and hemp bundles, tradesmen and their apprentices bearing coils of woven rope, bolts of cloth, and crates of blown glass.
Vahid calls out to her from his seat on the wagon, his voice unsteady as the wheels bounce beneath him. “You’ll quickly become accustomed to the crowds, Anwen. It can be jarring, at first, to see a place with so many people.”
“It’s so cramped,” she says. “It must feel safer to live packed together, this close to the still waters in the Fen.”
“Safer in some ways, not in others. Keep your wits about you,” Padrig says. “Aled warned us about cutpurses before we left.”
“He is correct,” Vahid confirms. “They ply the Edgemarket, where the merchants and travelers are thickest. Where we are going.”
The road winds around the curve of the hill before opening up to a circular plaza. The Makers’ waystation is overrun with a maze of tents and wagons and is ringed with half-timber buildings, some two and three stories tall. Here, there is a great din of conversation in many tongues as coin and the bounty of the marsh change hands. The air is thick with campfire smoke and the spicy, wet-earth smell of burning Bendis root.
“It would be wise, I think, to secure lodging for ourselves and stables for our horses,” Vahid says. “I know of a place that might accommodate us — Tricklebank Inn. Ozbeg, if you would accompany me with that Hillman’s purse you took, I can make the arrangements.”
“Easy come, easy go, I suppose,” Ozbeg grumbles. “Though I owe you for the quick work with that staff of yours. That bastard could’ve taken my head off.”
“We struggled together, and now we benefit together, with a hot meal and a roof over our heads tonight!” Vahid says, smiling. The two depart, leaving Padrig and Anwen standing watch over the horses and gear amidst the bustle of the Edgemarket.
Only a few minutes have passed when Shadow begins to bark from his perch on the wagon’s edge, baring his teeth at the crowd. Anwen goes to him and puts her hands on his face, whispering calming words in his alert ears. “Hush, old dog. Nothing to fear here, just a lot of people.”
Padrig’s eyes narrow. “What set him off?”
“Nothing,” Anwen says. “A man just ran into me — an accident. Nobody looks at anyone else around here, so he just didn’t see me. He’s already gone, no threat to anyone.”
Scene Breakdown
Unbeknownst to Anwen, she has triggered this special move that’s made just for Marshedge:
Source: Stonetop // Jeremy Strandberg
Anwen’s Wisdom is her weak spot — it’s -1 — exactly why the pickpocket targets her. We’ll give her advantage, thanks to Vahid’s Sage Advice about pickpockets in Edgemarket specifically. She rolls, and gets a 7 on the two highest dice, which is reduced to a 6 — someone’s stolen from her, and she hasn’t yet realized it. Padrig, of course, is a little less unwary, so he immediately triggers Seek Insight, also rolling +WIS, but unlike Anwen, this is his strength, with a +2. He scores a 12, and gets three questions about the current situation. We use Seek Insight all the time, and I’m not sure we’ve ever looked at the text of the move — let’s see the full list:
Source: Stonetop // Jeremy Strandberg
We start with “What happened here recently,” which tells him that Anwen has been pickpocketed and that the thief is likely still nearby, and return to the action (we’ll cover the other two questions in footnotes as they arise:
“That was no accident. He took something from you,” Padrig says, trotting back to the wagon and hopping up to survey the crowd from a vantage point.
Anwen pats her belt, checking her gear. “They took my pouch,” she says. At first, she is smiling — it wasn’t stuffed with bezants, after all. But then her face falls. “The rider’s talisman! It was in there!” she says.
Padrig swears under his breath and surveys the plaza1, marking the avenues of retreat — a cobbled street up the hill towards the summit or down towards the tangle of hovels clinging to the slope. For only a split second, he spots a mousey-haired, anxious-looking youth peering back at him and Anwen from the crowd, first anxious and then panicked when he meets Padrig’s eyes. Then, he turns to run.
“He’s there,” Padrig says, pointing towards their quarry. Before he can say another word, Anwen is off like an arrow loosed. She sprints and dodges between the crowd, catching sight of the fleeing thief before he ducks into an alleyway and into the twisting streets of the Lowtown.
Anwen follows, with Padrig trailing fast behind her.2 The thief leads them through a few twists and turns through muddy alleyways, cutting through a stinking, squealing pigsty and vaulting over a wagon, bogged down in the muck, but Anwen is on his trail like the Pale Hunter himself. As he sees her gaining over his shoulder, the young cutpurse cuts back up the hill towards the plaza of the Edgemarket, trying to return to the protection of the Makers’ wards. But as he rounds another corner, he runs headlong into the largest man Anwen has ever seen.
He stands least a head taller than Owain or Tall Talfryn back home — but stretched out, long-limbed like a hangman’s tree — with a thin pelt of shorn brown hair and a braided beard. He is geared for battle in a scarred, blackened iron breastplate and heavy, scaled gauntlets, and in his hand is a five-foot March axe3, which he hefts lightly, like a walking stick. The pickpocket bounces off his chest and falls into the mud, looking up into his pinched eyes — one dark brown, the other missing, and in its place a polished globe of iron, painted with an angry red iris4.
The tall man grins down at the fallen thief. “Oho, what’s this? Some fen-filth come down from the Edgemarket with a fat purse cut from a fatter merchant? Take him in hand, you dogs!”
At his word, a pair of hard-eyed Marshedge guards haul the urchin out of the mud. Anwen searches frantically for her stolen pouch, but the tall man spots it first, clutched in the thief’s hand.5 His grin widening, he takes the offending hand in his own, completely enveloping it. Then he begins to squeeze.
The urchin cries out in pain, and there is a sickening sound of popping sinew. Anwen exclaims, “You don’t have to hurt him! I just want my things back.”
The tall man’s eyes dart to Anwen, then back to the thief. “You stole this from her? No wonder the purse is so light. Be a good filth, and give it here.” He releases the thief’s hand, trembling and weak, and pulls the leather pouch from it, shaking it out onto the ground. The Hillfolk talisman, a hunk of dark green glass bound up in thin bronze wire, tumbles out into the mud, along with a few dirty copper bezants.
Anwen and the tall man reach for the talisman at once, but he gets there first, snatching it from the mud and shoving Anwen back. “Calm down there, girl. How do I know you’re not this filth’s accomplice? Are you two running game on big, dumb Ivan?” He holds the glass up to the light and grins. “After all, where’d a dirt farmer like you come across Makerglass?”
“She took it from a dead man, Ivan.” Padrig’s voice comes from behind Anwen, and Ivan’s eyes snap to him.
“Padrig. They said you’d gone through the Last Door,” he says, his smile fading fast.
“And yet,” Padrig growls.
“And fucking yet. Where have you been?” Ivan spits.
“In the wilds. Laying low, like Brennan told us,” Padrig replies, cooly. “Now hand the trinket back. It’s not yours to take.”
“The time for laying low is over. The crew’s been hard at work, looking after our new patch,” he takes in Lowtown with a sweeping gesture. “And your lot is behind. I’ll just hold onto this bit of shine, as your contribution to the weal.”
Anwen’s back is to Padrig, so he doesn’t see the anger burning in her eyes, and he’s too slow to stop her as she darts at Ivan, trying to snatch the talisman from his grasp. Before Ivan can react, she plucks it from his hand, but before she can escape with it, he lashes back with the blunt end of his axe, slamming Anwen in the face and sending her reeling back into the mud.
Scene Breakdown
A few mechanical things happen here — let’s talk about how the dice rolls helped the scene unfold.
First, Padrig tries to Persuade Ivan to return Anwen’s talisman. No dice — he rolls a 4, and Ivan flatly refuses. Needless to say, this triggers Anger is a Gift from Anwen (move reference here) — one of her triggers is bullying and oppression — so she holds 3 Resolve. She spends the first one to act suddenly, catching them off guard.
Now, normally that could be sufficient to pluck the talisman from Ivan — he’s not holding it very tightly, and generally, I like to let the spending of holds function as a full replacement for a roll. But in this case, Ivan is a tough customer, and we need to convey that, so a roll would be required to get inside his reach, and then a separate one to successfully make off with the item. Anwen bypasses one of those rolls by spending resolve, but must make the other one. She triggers Defy Danger with Dexterity, and rolls a 4. Lots of misses, this scene. Ivan cracks back at her, with his considerable strength — he rolls 1d8+2 with advantage on damage, and he rolls the maximum, leaving Anwen with just 6 HP.
She then burns another Resolve to keep her footing, position or course despite what befalls her, thus holding onto the Makerglass and at least scratching a partial win out of this.
“Feel that, little pup? Twenty pounds of Delver iron. Next time I give you the sharp end, and we’ll see how pretty you are afterward,” Ivan booms, looming over Anwen. He looks down at the pickpocket and continues: “As for you, filth — if you can’t lift a purse without getting caught, maybe you’d be more suited to life as a beggar. If I catch you again, you’d better not be empty-handed.”
The urchin nods breathlessly and scurries to his feet, and taking off deeper into Lowtown, while Padrig helps Anwen back to hers. She is deeply flushed with anger and pain, and her face is bleeding freely. “Put a leash on her, Padrig, til she learns who she can bark at,” Ivan growls. “And don’t keep Brennan waiting too long. The man wept over you like you were his son.”
“I don’t intend to,” Padrig says.
Ivan glances down at the Makerglass, clutched in Anwen’s hand and then, smiling, back to her bloodied face. “You can keep your shine, lass. I got what I wanted,” he says, and he and his cronies walk on.
Anwen stoops to collect the talisman from the mud. “Another one of your old bandit friends?” she asks.
Padrig sighs. “Aye. Ivan, champion of the Claws. They say his mother bathed him in giant’s blood when he was born.”
“Giant or not, someone needed to stand up to him,” Anwen says, wiping blood from her face.
“Others have, and not many are still standing. I’ve only ever seen him lose a duel once, back in the Manmarches, and that was a near-run thing,” Padrig says. “Come on; we should get back to the wagon and clean you up again. What possessed you to go after him like that?”
“That rider gave me his talisman to me while he was dying — he must’ve wanted me to do something with it. I can’t let it go until I figure out what,” she says, looking down at the hunk of glass, now caked in mud over the rider’s dried blood.
Padrig’s brow knits with concern, and he gives her a supportive arm as the pair make their way slowly back up the hill towards Edgemarket.
Montage: Splitting Up
Anwen and Padrig head back to the wagons at the Edgemarket plaza. Shadow has managed to keep the horses from wandering off, though he and the mare are locked in a tense standoff when they return.
Padrig digs into their supplies and tends to Anwen’s bloodied face, wiping the blood clean with a whisky-soaked bandage and setting her broken nose. Soon enough, Ozbeg returns to fetch them, and he is aghast when he hears Anwen tried her luck against Ivan Iron-Eye. The three go together to the Trinklebank Inn.
The common room of the inn is low-ceilinged, dark, and boisterous, packed with merchants and caravan guards, taking their ease. A pudgy, red-haired innkeeper bustles back and forth, bearing earthen jars of rice wine and woven baskets of pipeweed, and the smell of Bendis root smoke mingles with the pungent, earthy stink of burning pipes.
There, they plot their next moves. Vahid has found a prospective buyer for their treasure — a distinguished Lygosi merchant who is staying as a guest with one of the Old Families at the top of the hill.6 He intends to present himself there at sunset with the hopes of acquiring the funds they need. Padrig will accompany him to the top of the hill, but there he will make his way to the donjon, where the Marshedge Guard is quartered, to speak with Brennan.
Meanwhile, Ozbeg and Anwen will remain behind — Anwen recovering from her encounter with Ivan (and perhaps asking around about her mother in the Inn’s common room, Ozbeg keeping watch over the party’s horses and effects.
Scene 2: A Stone Manorhouse, atop the hill
The top of the hill is centered by a stone rotunda — the pavilion of the gods, dedicated to Aratis, the Lawgiver. The domed temple is topped with his scales, balanced by a black iron hammer, and the town green that surrounds it is dotted with willow trees, their weeping branches stirring in the evening breeze.
Encircling the temple are the four manor houses of the Old Families — Ferrier, Tricklebank, Eldershaw, and Hawtrey. It is Hawtrey House that Vahid now stands before — three stories of grey-white stone topped with a black slate roof. Lanterns shine from behind thick glass windows crossed with heavy iron frames, and the double door is sturdy oak, painted white. Black banners flap from the house’s eaves, emblazoned in white with a heron, a fish skewered upon its beak. Beneath the blazon is the family’s words: “We take our due.”
The Heron of Hawtrey
Vahid composes himself. At the inn, he made himself presentable — a fresh shave, oil in his hair, and his robes as clean as he could manage. He has the wooden box Blodwen gave him tucked under one arm, and slung over his shoulder is the sewn leather tube that holds the Azure Hand. He grasps the heavy iron doorknocker and strikes it, once, twice, thrice. The wooden thuds sound like thunder in the evening stillness.
There’s a shuffling sound, and a stooped, grey-haired man slides open the heavy door, squinting at Vahid up through the gap. “Master Hawtrey is not receiving guests this evening. If you have a petition for him, you may return tomorrow.”
“I am calling on one of Master Hawtrey’s honored guests, the merchant Tymon Ammar. I am Vahid ebn Sulaim, and I possess an item that I believe merits his attention and his interest,” Vahid says.
The servant wordlessly withdraws and returns after a few minutes. “Come with me, sir,” he says, and Vahid is ushered in. Hawtrey House is built around a grand, three-story great hall, with timber floors and a massive, central hearth filled with smoldering red coals. Hanging from the ceiling are three iron chandeliers, each one cradling a half-dozen shards of dark blue Makerglass that shine with a steady, cool light, giving the hall a strange, underwater cast. Tonight, the hall is empty, save for a few more servants, clearing the detritus of the evening’s dinner.
The Hawtrey servant leads Vahid through the great hall and to the head of one of the long tables by the hearth. Waiting there is a short, slight, dark-skinned man of advanced years. His silver-white hair cascades down in thick braids, and on his face is a pair of delicate copper-rimmed optics. He holds a slender candle in one hand and carefully studies a leather-bound manifest.
The servant clears his throat. “I present Vahid ebn Sulaim, Master Tymon.”
NPC Breakdown: Tymon Ammar
Let’s figure out who this merchant is and what he wants. First, just a quick descriptor to ground his personality. We use the Ironsworn oracle tables and get Bitter. Despite his wealth, this man still harbors some resentments.
As for his goal — we already have established that he might buy the item, but we should also figure out what other goals he might have in case it effects his behavior in the scene. Again we go to the Ironsworn oracle tables and establish that his goal is to refute a falsehood. Now, this guy could be a one-and-done NPC, so the falsehood has to pertain to Vahid somehow for that to be at all interesting. We’ll go back to the action and see if it comes into play:
“Thank you, servos. You may leave us,” the man replies in a deep, sonorous voice, without looking up. He places the candle down on the table and gestures at the chair across from him.
Vahid sits and begins, in Lygosi, “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Tymon Ammar. I hope your visit here has been salutary.”
Tymon smiles. “What a pleasure it is to hear my native tongue. And spoken in such fine form. Do I detect the teachings of the Lycaeum in your orthography? Who was your rhetoric teacher?”
Vahid breathes a silent thanks to the gods and smiles. “It was al-Khatun, actually. A compelling orator and an inspiring teacher. Were you trained at the Lycaeum, yourself?”
Tymon sips a red draught from a green glass chalice and sighs. “al-Khatun, I remember him. Insufferable man. He and I were students together; he was on the council that recommended my expulsion to the Masters all those years ago.” He dismissively waves his hand — each finger heavy with a jeweled silver ring. “Though, as you can see, I have not suffered too badly.”
“Ah,” Vahid says, retreating a bit. “Yes. Well, I too found myself in disagreement with the Lycaeum and departed, seeking my fortune in lands farther afield. As you seem to have, sir.”
“Indeed,” Tymon says, dryly. “The Hawtreys’ servos said you had an item that I might be interested in acquiring.”
Vahid now draws out the wooden box and places it on the table. “Yes, Master Tymon. As I said, I have made my way to these untamed lands to make a study of the works of the Makers here. As savvy man such as yourself no doubt knows, the Makers possessed crafts and art far beyond what we, humble humanity, have at our disposal. While exploring a ruin of the Green Lords, my companions and I discovered an example of such craft. An item that might make a most worthy gift or fetch a princely sum if sold to one who craved something beyond mere luxury.”
“Fine elocution, ebn Sulaim, but we are not at a symposium. Be briefer,” Tymon says.
Vahid smiles nervously and opens the box. “Behold. A garment made from fabric unlike any other. Softer than silk, but it catches the light as though it were silver or even diamond.” With a flourish, Vahid removes the wrap from its container and holds it for Tymon’s inspection. Under the blue light of the Makerglass lanterns, the garment shines brilliantly, like a starfield reflected in deep water.
Tymon’s white eyebrows climb. He brushes the fabric with his fingertips and then strokes his beard thoughtfully. “It is in such fine condition. The rarities I have seen taken from the ruins are always in a state of disrepair. This looks as though it came from the loom yesterday,” Tymon asks with wonder.
Vahid pauses — he did not expect to be uncomfortable with revealing Blodwen’s part of the story and clears his throat. “No doubt that is a result of the high craft that produced it.”
“And where exactly was it discovered? A canny buyer will wish to know more about its provenance than you have told me,” he says.
Vahid shakes his head. “That information, I’m afraid, is not for sale. I offer the item alone. None of the silk-sellers or furriers of the Pearl Market have anything like it. Tymon Ammar will be renowned as a merchant of great wonders of the bygone age.”
The merchant leans back and adjusts his optics. “Tymon Ammar has renown aplenty, my young friend. How much do you wish for the item, alone?”
Vahid leans forward. “75 golden bezants. A meager price, for a thing so wondrous.”7
Tymon shakes his head. “That is too rich. Consider your position. Who else will purchase this from you? I am your sole connection to the Pearl Market and the Lycaeum. All the other merchants of Lygos in this place are dickerers and copper-misers. I will give you 45 gold bezants, no more.”
“How could a thing of such beauty be worth only 45 bezants?” Vahid pleads.
“My friend, beauty has nothing to do with it. If you were offering Helior’s salvation itself, I would tell you the same thing: You have no other monied buyers,” he says, laughing.
Vahid looks distraught, and Tymon holds up his silver-encrusted hand placatingly. “Perhaps there is something else you can do for me, Vahid ebn Sulaim,” he says. “On my journey to Marshedge, I came across rumors of a wandering Lygosi antiquarian who bears a curious artifact — an iron staff, topped by an Aethereum ingot in the shape of a hand.”
Vahid shifts uncomfortably. “What do you make of these rumors?”
“What do I make of them?” he laughs, deeply. “I think he is you, my friend, and I think you possess the Azure Hand,” he says, his eyes alighting on the long case slung over Vahid’s shoulder.
“And if I do?” Vahid asks.
“I wish a demonstration of its power. If this is something you can accommodate, I can offer not only 75 bezants, but the friendship of Tymon Ammar,” the merchant says.
“Why would such a trifle be worth your friendship?” Vahid ventures cautiously.
Tymon leans back in his seat and removes his optics, cleaning them with a small silken cloth. “Master Stelios, the merchant who sold the piece, is a most distasteful and feckless character who has earned my enmity through numerous slights. To meet him is to be offended by him,” he says. Vahid inclines his head in agreement but says nothing.
Tymon chuckles and continues. “When it became known that he sold the item to cover his latest gambling debts, he claimed that it was a trinket of no importance — little more than a glorified dowsing rod. And those fools at the Lycaeum who suckle at his meager patronage are backing him.”
“I see,” says Vahid.
“Do you? If he is lying — as I suspect he is — it would bring me great pleasure to proclaim, at his next tedious gathering, that I saw the might of the Makers brought forth by the treasure he let slip through his fat, clumsy fingers,” Tymon says, tenting his hands between them. “For only 75 bezants? What a bargain.”
Vahid’s Choice
We’ll end this episode here, with a reader poll. Our scholar has a few options here, and we’ll choose one together:
Play it boldly: Reveal the Azure Hand and demonstrate its power, getting the required coin and potentially establishing an alliance with a powerful merchant. But, the artifact’s power is sometimes difficult to control, and even if the demonstration goes off without a hitch, Master Stelios will certainly seek revenge if his deception is revealed.
Play it cautiously: Imply to Tymon that the Azure Hand has no great power to see. Accept the lower offer, and figure out how to get the rest of the coin elsewhere.
Don’t play at all: Walk away entirely — and find the coin another way.
Click the link to vote below, and welcome to Marshedge!
As always, feedback and questions welcome in the comments. I try to reply to every comment that seems to want a reply!
In addition to Seek Insight, Padrig also has Read the Land, referenced here. He asks, “What’s the best way out?” trying to anticipate where the pickpocket might flee to, and then uses his second question from Seek Insight — “What should I be on the lookout for?”
Anwen is trying to catch up with the pickpocket, while Padrig is trying to keep up with Anwen and ensure she doesn’t get into trouble in Lowtown. They are both Defying Danger with Dexterity — Anwen scores a 7, Padrig a 12 (He has a better +DEX and he’s rolling with advantage since he Read the Land beforehand). Anwen succeeds in catching up with the thief, but with a consequence — someone else catches up with the thief as well. Padrig can keep track of her, however, and will arrive in the scene in due time.
To acquire this information, Vahid used another custom Marshedge move called Ask Around. We’ll likely use this move a few more times this session, and we’ll deep-dive on it when it comes up next.
Recall that money is abstract in Stonetop — what Vahid is asking for is Value 3, which is the same amount they need to purchase the materials they arranged for way back in Session 2. He triggers the Trade & Barter move and scores a weak hit, which means he can only get Value 2. He could sell the ruin’s location as well, but perhaps Tymon can put another option on the table.
Does Vahid have no way of doing something dazzling and pawning it off as the power of the hand? Since he knows how unpredictable it can be?
Drive your character like a stolen car!