In our last episode, Anwen and Vahid persuaded Maeve, a guard sergeant of Marshedge, to aid them in freeing Padrig from the oubliette beneath Marshedge’s donjon. Anwen and Ozbeg, wearing borrowed uniforms of Marshedge’s guard, stole their way into the gaol and coerced the gaoler into helping them find where Padrig had been taken.
Meanwhile, Bertrim has taken Padrig to an interrogation cell, where he has prepared to do terrible things to him, including making him the first meal of a clutch of hatchling Butcherbirds. Fortunately, Anwen arrives just as Bertrim is about to begin, and we rejoin the action with her leaping into the cell to save Padrig:
Scene 12: The Questioning Cell, continued
Anwen breathes deeply and throws herself down the murder hole, diving 15 feet to the questioning cell below. She lands hard on the edge of a wooden table, cracking its center and sending iron hooks and serrated blades clattering to the stone floor. Anwen tumbles to the ground to soften the fall before she snatches her spear back up and leaps to her feet. Bertrim, his attention perversely fixed on Padrig, is slow to turn, and she has her weapon up and at the ready before he turns to face her.1
The two lock eyes as Anwen holds the spear on guard, ready to strike. Another table is between them, this one stacked with stoppered glass vials, full of strange and dark-colored liquids. Behind Bertrim, Padrig struggles at the iron bands fixing his wrists to the wooden slab he’s lying on — one of the Butcherbird hatchlings has freed its wings and is beginning to struggle its way out of its shell.
“I remember you from the bridge,” Bertrim says, smiling his bland smile. “Padrig said he wasn’t sure if you had what it takes to join our little band.” He holds one hand up in surrender; the other is out of view, under the table. “If you’re here, that can’t be true. Let’s talk.”
“Get those things off him, and set him free,” Anwen says. “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
“You already have,” Bertrim sneers, dropping to a crouch and ducking under the table between them. His curved dagger lashes out at Anwen from below, but she is already moving, leaping atop the table, smashing and scattering glass vials, spilling their toxic contents onto the stone floor. She pauses for a split second, spear ready to strike if Bertrim shows himself, but instead, he slams his shoulder into the table above, tilting it towards Padrig and the ravenous hatchlings.
Anwen, feeling her balance shift, leaps from the table, landing alongside Padrig, momentarily level with the black, dolls-eye of the squalling hatchling, before she whirls to see Bertrim upon her, his dagger raised high to strike.
Anwen’s spear clatters to the ground as she seizes Bertrim’s knife hand, arresting the downward stroke. He struggles against her, but she sets her feet and holds the knife at bay. Behind her, she hears Padrig cry out in pain as one of the hatchlings sinks its talons into his chest and tears a chunk of flesh from his bleeding wound with its gnashing beak.
“Shame we can’t make this last a bit longer,” Bertrim says, his smile growing into a wicked grin. “But I’m eager to see what my little birds do to your friend.” He reaches up to take the dagger with his other hand, but before he can, Anwen reaches behind her, wrests the Butcherbird hatchling from Padrig’s body, and presses the squirming pink creature against Bertrim’s grinning face.
The ravenous hatchling latches to Bertrim’s cheek with its razor-sharp claws and bites with abandon as he staggers backward, blood spraying from his face. In their cage, the grown Butcherbirds beat their wings against the bronze and shriek madly. Anwen sweeps the remaining two eggs off Padrig’s body and snatches up her spear, casting Bertrim’s dagger over the side of the cell and into the water far below. Bertrim tears the chick off and flings it aside, only to meet the iron-shod butt of Anwen’s spear, slamming into his bloodied face and dropping him to the floor.
Scene Breakdown
Let’s look at the four rapid-fire rolls that made up the above action. This is a fight scene that only includes a single attack — everything else is maneuver. Both combatants are in a tricky situation: Bertrim just has a dagger, he’s initially out of reach, and there’s a lot of clutter in between him and his opponent, whereas Anwen has a spear — a relatively unwieldy weapon in tight quarters and with lots of cover. Bertrim immediately moves to take advantage of that cover, putting Anwen in a spot — he’ll be able to strike at her from under the table if she doesn’t act quickly. She then triggers Defy Danger (with Dex — one of her weaker stats) to hop up on the table, and scores a weak hit with a 7. She avoids damage, but we keep her in a tight spot — she’s on top of the table, and Bertrim moves to tip it over — she triggers Defy Danger with Dex again, and again scores a weak hit with a 9 — she keeps her footing, but we keep pressing her, with Bertrim now going in for the kill with his dagger. She drops her spear, and blocks the strike — now, finally, she can trigger Defy Danger with strength, her stronger stat, and scores a strong hit with a 10. She fights off Bertrim (with a little help from a little bird) and triggers Clash, getting a strong hit (a 12), and spending a resolve to add extra damage, and the forceful tag. She deals 9 to Bertrim, who has 6 HP — enough to neutralize him and end the fight in her favor.
Sometimes in PbtA games, series of weak hits like this can feel frustrating, but for me, they’re a great source of drama — when you think about great fights in fiction, often the protagonist is on their back foot until they finally maneuver, reverse the momentum, and land a decisive blow, which is exactly what Anwen accomplished here. Back to the action:
Anwen frantically searches among the smashed glass and scattered torture implements, searching for the keys to Padrig’s bindings. “There,” Padrig says. “On his belt.”2 Anwen snatches them up and releases Padrig.
“How long do we have?” Padrig asks, sitting up on the table, grimacing in pain from the two bleeding wounds down his flanks.
“Not long,” Anwen says. “We released the prisoners in the gaol above to distract them, but it’s only a matter of time before they start to look down here.”
“Well done — let’s not waste the time you’ve bought us. Help me with him,” Padrig says, gesturing at Bertrim. Together, they haul him to his feet, lean him against the table, and strip him of his tabard. Padrig gingerly shrugs on his tunic, discarded at the foot of the table, and covers it with the Marshedge greens.
“I know things,” Bertrim mutters, regaining his senses. “Things you’ll want to know, I assure you. This town is thick with secrets, deeper than the fen, and fouler too.”
Padrig takes him by his tunic’s collar, hauling him off balance and towards the edge of the cell. “What is Brennan planning?” Padrig asks. “Speak quickly.”3
“He isn’t satisfied with the Marshal’s office, of course,” Bertrim says, his bland smile now a bit broken and crooked. “The rest I can tell you when we reach Stonetop safely. Remember, Pad: Your cousin Bertrim only did what the crew needed of him — what I was ordered to do. But I can take orders from a good chief as well as a cruel one. And I can help you take the Claws in hand. Surely you can see that, my old friend.”
“We were never friends, Bertrim. I watched you pour poison in the ear of everyone who listened to you. You can take your orders from the Lady of Crows — I have no use for you.” Padrig growls, and shoves Bertrim into the empty air beyond the cell.
Anwen rushes to the edge of the cell, alongside Padrig, and they watch him fall, screaming all the way down. He strikes the water with a crack and goes limp, floating on the surface, face down. In the dim, silver light, Anwen and Padrig see the water ripple and shift, the currents moving in unnatural patterns. Perhaps it is a trick of the shadow, or perhaps a dark, squamous mass coils around Bertrim’s body before he disappears silently beneath the green-black lake below.
Anwen turns away with a shudder. “Ozbeg!” she calls up. “Is all well above?”
His reply comes quickly: “Aye, for the moment! Our friend the gaoler’s safe in one of the cells. Maeve can steer ‘em down here if they don’t find him first. Do you have the chief?”
“I’m here, Oz,” Padrig says, stepping onto the platform elevator and waving up to Ozbeg, who appears at the murder hole above. “Get your shoulder to the wheel and get us out of here.”
“Praise the Thunderhead! Hold fast and old Ozbeg will have you up, swift as an arrow!” he chortles.
As the elevator rises, Anwen scans the other cells, spread out among the massive, vaulted chamber. A few prisoners have gathered at the edges of their cells, curious at Bertrim’s noisy demise, but Anwen’s mother is not among them.
Padrig smiles grimly when they reach the top. “This is quite a gambit, Oz. I thought you’d do the cautious thing and head for Stonetop.”
Ozbeg draws himself up and glances at Anwen before responding. “You’d have done the same for me, eh chief? For any of us?”
Padrig’s brows rise in appreciation. “Thank you, old friend. Both of you,” he says, putting a hand on Anwen’s shoulder. “Now, let’s move.”
One of our six ticks remain. One more miss could spell doom.
Scene 13: The Donjon’s training yard
The party makes its way out of the cloaca, following the path the gaoler showed them, and emerges from the depths into the gaol. The fallen guardsmen have been moved, and the gaoler’s office ransacked — his wooden chest broken open and searched, his paltry belongings strewn on the stone floor. Padrig’s swordbelt lays among the them, and he quickly buckles it on over the Marshedge tabard.
“They must have been looking for the gaoler’s keys,” Padrig muses. “Now, they’ll be looking for the gaoler. Likely they’re too afraid to have reported to Brennan yet — if they had, there’d be a welcome waiting for us on this side of the door.”4
Then, above, a bell begins to toll, sounding the alarm. Ozbeg swears. “Calm, Ozbeg. We’re dressed as members of the guard,” Padrig says. “The alarm summons us. Anwen, lend me your half-helm — you’ve got the Marshedge look, and the Claws will recognize me.” Anwen tosses him the helm, and he hastily dons it as the trio rush up the wooden stairs to the training yard above.
From a vantage hidden in the shadowed archway, they see the guard rousing — a dozen men, armed and armored, rush towards the south gate, torches and lanterns held high. Towering above them is Ivan, who raises his march-ax high. “Search the Edgemarket! Ten silver bezants for every escaped fen-filth you haul back to the gaol, living or dead! And fifty for the guard who finds the gaoler’s keys!” he bellows.
Padrig scans the courtyard and leads the party towards the northern gate at a quick march — away from Edgemarket and the Dropoff, towards the stone manor houses of High Town.5 “If they’re searching for the escaped prisoners, they’ll look to the lower parts of the town — cutpurses and beggars wouldn’t be able to blend in there,” Pad says. “We should head north, and find our way out from there.”
The three emerge from the archway and head towards the northern gate6, but blocking their path is a closed wooden double door and a pair of guardsmen, holding the way to High Town.
Let’s pause here: It’s important who these guards are, and whether they are able to recognize Padrig or Ozbeg. They are on alert, but the party is wearing disguises, and the Marshedge town guard has had an influx of new recruits — both the ex-Claws, as well as the new blood Brennan’s been bringing on board. To model the Guard, Stonetop creator Jeremy Strandberg did something pretty clever, which we discussed last week in the comments. The Guard is represented by a single statblock, but each of the ‘factions’ within the guard have different Instincts and Moves:
Source: Stonetop // Jeremy Strandberg
As such, we’ll determine which factions these guards belong to with a couple of d6 rolls — on a 1-2, an Ex-claw, 3-4, a Loyalist, and 5-6, a new recruit. Rolling 2d6, we get a 3 and a 5: One member of the old guard, one new recruit.
One of the guards — a dark-haired man with an age-lined face — holds up his hand to halt them. “Stand fast, guards. This way is shut, and we’ve been told to let no one past. Marshal’s orders.”
Padrig steps forward. “It’s the Marshal’s orders that bring us this way. One of the prisoners who broke out is of special interest to him. They might be hiding out in High Town, maybe with conspirators among the Old Families’ servants. Open the gate and let us through.”
The older guard exchanges wary glances with the other — a stout, short man with a soft face and a crown of frizzy red hair. “They couldn’t have come through this way. The gate’s been closed and locked since sundown,” he says.
“They’ve got the gaoler’s keys, muttonhead,” Padrig sneers. “Who’s to say they didn’t have keys to this gate, too?”
The guard peers searchingly at Pad. “I don’t recognize you, guardsman. What’s your name?”
“Arnolf,” Padrig extemporizes. “I’m one of Brennan’s men. Been with him a long time. And when his prisoner escapes, will tell him it was because I was asked unnecessary questions.”7
The old guard sets his jaw and frowns. “As you say, then, Arnolf.” He takes the key from his belt and unlocks the gate. “Let it be on you.”
“You’ll tell the Marshal we did right by him, won’t you?” The younger guard whispers to Pad as he walks by.
Padrig looks into the boy’s uncertain eyes as he passes. “Just keep your head down, lad,” he mutters back, before disappearing into the night.
Montage: Flight from Marshedge
In the dead of night, the streets of High Town are quiet, and three guardsmen moving with purpose are not challenged. They cross the plaza at the hilltop, under the shadow of Aratis’ hammer-and-scales, which crowns the Pavillion of the Gods. On the far side, they descend the hill once again, down into the Mire — the shantytown that clings to the northern edge of the town and extends out into Ferrier’s Fen, rising above the water on stilts and rickety timber platforms.
There, they commandeer a punt from an unguarded dock8 and depart Marshedge by water, crossing the slow-moving River Sruth and beaching the boat on the far side. After a short rest, they push through the night and meet Vahid at the Makers’ waystation a few miles from the bridge at the break of dawn.
Vahid is alert when they approach — he sees the Marshedge colors and the iron-tipped spears first. Shadow, sitting in the cart alongside him, perks up and recognizes his master — he leaps from his perch and bounds towards Anwen. Pad and Ozbeg throw off their half-helms and wave triumphantly, and the party is at last reunited.
Despite their exhaustion, they cannot rest — Brennan is no doubt aware of the jailbreak by this point, and the search will be up. They push themselves through another half-day of travel9 and finally make camp ten miles from Marshedge, utterly spent.
Phew! The party is free and clear, for the moment. To close out the session (our longest one so far — six episodes!) we’ll run through the journey home. We won’t zoom in too much on this — just a few short scenes to keep track of the various character and story threads that have been spun this session and represent the travel home. To guide these scenes, we’ll use the Keep Company move — each PC will ask another character a question from the move’s list. Here’s the rundown:
Padrig asks Anwen: Who or what seems to be on your mind?
Anwen ended two human lives today. This is something she’ll be grappling with, and Padrig is just the person she’d talk to about it.
Vahid asks Padrig: What new thing do you reveal about yourself?
Padrig’s initial aim in coming to Marshedge was to be free of Brennan, and to return to a simpler life at Stonetop. Arguably, he failed — he may no longer be under Brennan’s command, but he is certainly not free of him. Padrig will reveal what he plans to do next.
Anwen asks Vahid: What do we find ourselves talking about?
Vahid will want to know more about the Maker ruins, and this could lead to a broader conversation about Vahid’s plans for improving Stonetop. After all, the reason they came to Marshedge in the first place was to buy some terra cotta tiles — a shopping trip that didn’t quite go to plan.
Scene 14: A canyon in the Steplands
Three days out from Marshedge, the party halts at the Maker waystation, and Padrig and Anwen descend into the canyons to find the site of the ambush.
There, they come to the place where the Hillfolk fell. Blood still stains the stone where Adm died, but his body, and the bodies of his riders, are not there. After a brief search, Padrig finds three stone cairns atop a small plateau a short walk from the road.
“I’m glad their people found them,” Anwen says. “It didn’t feel right to leave them out here for the crows.” She stands before the cairns. Shadow pads behind her and sits by her feet, scenting the air and pawing the ground nervously.
“Graves are for the living, not the dead,” Padrig says. “Ionas said that, once. ‘You bury your regrets with the body, so you don’t carry them on your shoulders.’”
“I killed two men in Marshedge. One of them was in the heat of the fight; the other one was helpless. I can still hear him crying out, like he was right here,” Anwen says, her eyes downcast to the stone graves at their feet.
“Ozbeg told me. He said that night in the Donjon, you were tested, and you are iron through and through,” Padrig replies.
“I don’t feel like iron. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Is this what being a warrior is like? When did it stop, for you?” Anwen asks.
Padrig frowns. “I don’t remember when, exactly. It just came to the point where it all seemed like a small price to pay to keep the crew safe and fed,” he says.
“So just keep going? Harden my heart like I strengthen my spear-arm?” Anwen asks.
“If you mean to follow this path, yes. Protecting your people sometimes means killing. Best learn to let go of the weight of it.”
Anwen reaches into her belt pouch and touches the Hillfolk charm carried there — the edges of the jagged makerglass are sharp against her thumb and forefinger, and she can feel the rough spots of blood dried over its smooth surface. “Not yet,” she says.
Scene 15: A long stretch of road on the Flats
The party is three days from Stonetop, and the weather is punishingly hot — Spring is nearly over, and the Summer sun has begun to burn bright over the grasslands. The air is clear and the day is bright, and many miles in the distance to the west, a great ruin can be seen — a massive tower, rising hundreds of feet in the air, its top shattered by some impossible force.
Anwen and Vahid take a short rest by the side of the road, drinking from their waterskins and taking in the view, while Ozbeg and Padrig move ahead, leading Sweetfoot forward at the same slow, plodding pace she’s kept for the last dozen miles.
For those dozen miles, Vahid has been decanting Anwen for every detail of the vaulted chamber at the heart of the cloaca, with an aim to decipher the place’s arcane purpose.
“Whatever they used it for, it works well enough as an oubliette now,” Anwen says with a trace of bitterness. She swats at a large, black fly that’s been bedeviling her piebald mare.
“Yes, more’s the pity. What a loss to us all, that something of such power and artistry is used for such an ignoble purpose,” Vahid says. “I wish I had been there, and seen it with my own eyes. Perhaps if I could have studied the markings you described, I could have gleaned some small piece of its design.”
Anwen stoops to collect a broken stick from the ground, and hurls it into the tall grass beyond the road. Shadow bounds from his crouch and dives into the grass after it, disappearing amidst the field of green and yellow stalks. “Maybe it’s best left alone,” Anwen says. “Cerys says the works of the Makers are dangerous.”
“They are, but it does not follow they are best left alone. The blacksmith’s forge is dangerous; the harvesting scythe; that battle-trained mare you captured — all dangerous, to the unwary. But without them, we would live poorer lives. So it behooves us to be wary,” Vahid says.
“Do you think you will find something like the cloaca beneath Stonetop when you explore the cistern?” Anwen asks.
“I do.” he nods out to the cart, now some distance down the road. “I think our efforts to improve will make life in the village just a bit better,” Vahid says, toasting with his waterskin. “But I suspect the Makers left something of great importance below your village,” he says.
“Under Stonetop? Why?” she asks.
“I have thought much on it,” Vahid replies, looking out towards the ruined tower with a meditative gaze. “Stonetop was once encircled by a mighty wall, the remnants of which still stand today. The wall kept out not only enemies, but also the wilds that surround the village,” he says, gesturing out to the grasslands. “These flatlands grasses grow relentlessly — a wildfire can burn them one season, and they can return twice as high and thick before the year is over. I have read in the village chronicle that when farmers have tried to clear more farmland beyond the Old Wall, the grasses defy their every effort. But past the broken line of the wall, they do not grow — only gentle pastures, ideal for planting and grazing. In Spring and Winter, lightning storms ravage the plains, but the village is protected by the Standing Stone,” Vahid explains. “The Makers put a great deal of effort into ensuring that people would continue to live in Stonetop because this place was important to them. Perhaps the people of Stonetop knew why, once — and if I am successful, soon we will know too.”
Scene 16: A hillock in sight of Stonetop
Eight days after the party fled from Marshedge in the dead of night, they are once again in sight of their home. The plains surrounding the village have sprouted a blanket of Summer wildflowers — stripes and patches of whites, violets, reds, and blues, waving in the slow, hot southerly wind. Stonetop’s hill rises to the northeast, the Standing Stone towering above it and the curls of smoke from the smithy’s forge and the bread ovens beckoning the party home.
Anwen lets out a whoop of joy and hops onto her piebald, urging it homeward. She takes off at a trot, with Shadow racing after them. Padrig smiles, watching them recede into the distance, but his smile fades quickly.
Vahid nods knowingly. “Much to be done, now that we have returned. What is next, for Padrig and the Companions?” Vahid asks, with the ghost of a smile.
Ozbeg perks up at the question, listening intently. Padrig shoots Vahid a look of limited amusement. “It’s as you said, that rainy day on the village green. My deception could never last forever. I have to tell the elders about the Claws, and Brennan’s designs on Marshedge — turmoil there will spell trouble for Stonetop. Not to mention the crinwin in the woods, and this sorcerer gathering his strength among the Hillfolk bands,” Padrig says. “I’ll lay the matter bare, and offer my services. If Cerys wants to exile me for lying to them, so be it. I’ve been running away since the Delve — running from Jahalim’s thugs, running from the truth about the Claws, running from Brennan when I should have called him out. I’ve had enough of running.”
“And what of me and the lads?” Ozbeg asks.
“I’ll speak to them first. Those that want to stay, I’ll fight for them to have a place in the village. We were never going to grow old as bandits, Oz. This is a chance at something different,” Padrig says. “If you want it, it’s yours.”
Ozbeg looks out over the field of wildflowers and sighs. “I’ve been a bandit for a long time,” he says. “Most like I’ll be shit at anything else.”
Padrig pats him on the shoulder. “You let me worry about that. I suspect Stonetop will have a need for a few old war-dogs in the seasons to come,” he says, and the trio continue on towards home.
To close out the session, we’ll speed through the end-of-session XP questions — this session was so long that everyone will likely receive the full allowance.
As a refresher, here are the character-specific end-of-session questions. For each ‘yes’ answer, the character marks an XP.
Did you demonstrate or struggle with your instinct?
Did you change your relationship with a PC or NPC?
Vahid grappled with his Curiosity instinct by struggling with his decision not to delve into the tunnels below Marshedge, and by pressing Tymon Ammar to learn about his entanglements back in Lygos (to Vahid’s profit). This is probably the most tenuous example, but it’s best to err on the side of being open-handed with XP. After all, it’s fun to level!
Anwen demonstrated her Defiance instinct over and over again by antagonizing Ivan, by refusing to back down when Ozbeg counseled caution when Padrig was captured, and by refusing to accept her mother’s imprisonment.
Padrig struggled with his Caution instinct by going alone to the meeting with Brennan — he protected his compatriots but put himself into danger instead.
The partywide session questions are also pretty straightforward:
Did we learn more about the world and its history?
Did we defeat a threat to Stonetop or the region?
Did we improve our standing with our neighbors?
Did we make a meaningful improvement to Stonetop, or make progress towards doing so?
We’ll mark all 4 XP. We learned a great deal about Marshedge and its power structures, we defeated Bertrim and purged a bit of poison from Marshedge’s heart, we formed alliances with Tymon Ammar and Maeve, and we made progress on Vahid’s project for Stonetop’s cistern.
In addition to these awards, there were also a number of Miss results that grant one XP each — 2 for Padrig and a whopping 5 for Anwen. That leaves our XP totals at:
Vahid: 11 Anwen: 14 Padrig: 13
Leveling from 2 to 3 requires 10 XP, so everyone is eligible! We’ll deal with that in the coming episodes.
Session 5 will be focused on the homefront — Summer in Stonetop. Next week’s episode will set the stage for the session: We’ll plan each PC’s next move and decide what threats will rise next. Thanks for reading, and as always, hit me with any questions or comments!
Anwen leaps down into the Questioning Cell, triggering Defy Danger with Dexterity. It’s a long drop, she’s carrying a somewhat unwieldy spear, and her landing spot is uneven. For all those considerations, we give her Disadvantage. On the flip side, Padrig spotted her, and he is Aiding her by keeping Bertrim momentarily distracted, which grants Anwen Advantage, cancelling out the earlier Disadvantage. We end up with a straight roll, and she scores a weak hit. It’s a pretty bold move, so we inflict some damage and we have her drop her unwieldy spear — both reasonable complications in this fictional situation. She then spends her first Resolve to act quickly, regaining her footing and grabbing her weapon.
Padrig rolls Seek Insight and scores a 9, choosing the “What here is useful or valuable to me” option. He spots the keys first, of course, as well as Bertrim’s Marshedge tabard, which could function as a disguise.
Padrig triggers Persuade to get Bertrim to talk. The dice come up 7 — a weak hit. Bertrim has conditions that must be met before he will share any information.
Padrig triggers Seek Insight and scores a 12 — he asks “What happened here recently” and “what is about to happen,” learning that they are searching for the gaoler, but so far no one has raised a full alarm to Brennan, and they have not yet learned that the true target of the mission was the cloaca below.
Padrig first triggers his Read the Land move, asking the question “What’s the best way out?” Of course, it’s best to go where the guards aren’t looking — even if the route is more roundabout. This will give him advantage when acting on this information, which will be very valuable if we don’t want to tick that last segment of the clock.
Padrig rolls Defy Danger with Charisma to blend in in the training yard and not attract the attention of the searching guards. He’s rolling with advantage, thanks to Read the Land, and scores a 10. Phew.
Padrig triggers Persuade — this time, he is not rolling with advantage, because this conversation doesn’t pertain to the path he’s chosen. The dice come up 9, and Padrig’s +1 Charisma put us over the top and leave the party free and clear of the Donjon. [edit note: One of our astute readers, Seth, noticed that the specific dice results were misrecorded here — hopefully, I didn’t flub a weak hit into a strong one at this pivotal moment. Whoops!]
Padrig once again rolls Defy Danger, this time with Wisdom, to spot an easy-to-steal boat to take them out of Marshedge. He’s rolling with advantage, by acting on his Read the Land insight, and scores a strong hit with a 10.
The party triggers Struggle Together — a special version of Defy Danger that allows characters who score a strong hit to ‘cover’ for those who miss. We’ll go into more depth on it when it comes up again — suffice to say, the party is pretty strong on Constitution, and they score only hits, successfully pushing themselves and getting distance between them and any pursuers.
"Sometimes in PbtA games, series of weak hits like this can feel frustrating, but for me, they’re a great source of drama — when you think about great fights in fiction, often the protagonist is on their back foot until they finally maneuver, reverse the momentum, and land a decisive blow, which is exactly what Anwen accomplished here."
Brava! I wonder though, how do you negotiate how much pressure to apply during weak hits? With an active imagination "what the fiction demands" can feel loose, like, I can imagine a lot of those near misses easily having been damaging. For instance, why not "Damage + she regains her footing."? How much of the decision is what would be dramatic, and how much is mechanical must-dos?
In footnote 7: you mention the die roll was a 7 & 2 +1. How did you roll a 7 on a d6? :)
"Sometimes in PbtA games, series of weak hits like this can feel frustrating, but for me, they’re a great source of drama — when you think about great fights in fiction, often the protagonist is on their back foot until they finally maneuver, reverse the momentum, and land a decisive blow, which is exactly what Anwen accomplished here."
Brava! I wonder though, how do you negotiate how much pressure to apply during weak hits? With an active imagination "what the fiction demands" can feel loose, like, I can imagine a lot of those near misses easily having been damaging. For instance, why not "Damage + she regains her footing."? How much of the decision is what would be dramatic, and how much is mechanical must-dos?