In the last episode, we wrapped up Session 4 and rolled the Seasons Change move for the summer. Summer was kind to Stonetop and our heroes: This season will begin peacefully, and the village receives two seasonal boons. The first will be an extra Surplus, to prepare for winter, and the second was an opportunity to gain insight into one of the threats facing them. Here’s what y’all chose:
So, Session 5 will begin largely focused on Stonetop’s internal dramas, rather than the outside threats growing on the Flats and in Marshedge — the priest of Tor will definitely be able to counsel Anwen on her upcoming initiation, and how to deal with Owain, and Vahid will also have access to her to ask questions about the cistern, should any arise. And never fear, those who voted for another option: We’ll certainly revisit the other threads in future Seasons Change rolls. We’ll start with a scene with Anwen — this gives her a chance to lay out her initial plan of action this session, and learn about the opportunity to speak with the priest of Tor before the initiation challenge ceremony.
Setting the Scene for Anwen
We’ll start this Session with Anwen and a near-peer of hers — maybe someone who’s recently undergone an initiation challenge, and who is sympathetic to her situation. Now that we’re back on the home front, we want to take a few opportunities to flesh out the villagers and tie the PCs to the community here. Dipping into the Ironsworn Character Oracles, we get an Athletic Herder, whose goal is to Protect a Person.
Based on that, we’ll envision Cadoc, a goatherd. He’s 22 years old, with some natural athletism that’s been honed by chasing goats around the hills near Stonetop for the last decade or so. To complicate things a bit, he promised his uncle, who died a few winters ago, he’d look after his less sensible cousin, Tall Talfryn — a member of Owain’s warriors’ circle, and one of the people who might be chosen to duel Anwen. We already mentioned Tall Talfryn, way back in Session 1, Episode 3, in Scene 7, when Anwen first spoke about her initiation.
Cadoc and Anwen are friends — she pitches in on a lot of jobs around the village, and goatherding is one of them. We’ll further envision that it was Cadoc’s father, Cadwyn, who gifted her Shadow, the runt of his family’s litter of herding dogs, and the hound comes along when Anwen helps out with driving the goats to the hills and back. At the gaming table, this information might be conveyed with a quick conversation between player and GM — i.e. “Anwen, tell us who brings you the news about the travelling priest,” but in our case, we can explore it a bit more with a short scene. We’ll open this session on Cadoc and Anwen heading to the spot where the goatherds spotted the wandering priest’s campsite.
Landscape with a Goatherd // Claude Lorrain
Scene 1: A hilltop, two miles beyond the Old Wall
The green and yellow grasses of the flats whip by Anwen and lash at her legs as she sprints up the gentle slope. The summer sun is high in the sky, and blazingly hot. Just behind her, she can hear Cadoc’s feet pounding the earth, and Shadow’s excited barks as he lopes alongside them.
She reaches the crest of the hill and turns, raising her hands triumphantly. “You’ll have to find some quicker goats to herd if you want to keep up with me, Cad,” she says, though she must fight to catch her breath every few words.
We trigger a move here to see who won Anwen’s race, more for fun than any real game outcome:
Anwen triggers Defy Danger with Constitution: 4+5+2 Constitution = 11, Strong Hit
Cadoc slows to a stop just short of the hill’s crest and doubles over in exhaustion. “I was ahead of you most of the way. You’re not fast; you’re just stubborn,” he replies. “Like my goats!”
“Stubborn, and the victor!” she says, laughing. She takes her waterskin from her belt and takes a long drink before offering it to Cadoc, who accepts it, mock-grudgingly. He is a tall, well-muscled man, with short, brown ringlets. His handsome face is marred by pox scars on his cheeks, but his hazel eyes are bright and alive, even in defeat.
“Come on,” he says, after drinking deeply. “We should be able to see the storm-priest’s camp from here.” He and Anwen search the horizon — the Flats stretch endlessly out to the clear blue sky, a sea of green and yellow, broken here and there by bright isles of red and white wildflowers, or a scrubby, windblown tree, barely clinging to the loose soil.
“There,” Cadoc says, pointing. A thin, subtle curl of grey smoke can be seen against the sky, its source nestled amidst a few large boulders rising up from the grassland. “Olwyn brought her herd out to this hill yesterday and saw her. She tried to approach, but the storm-priest chased her off — with a voice like thunder, she said.”
“Chased her off? Why?” Anwen asks.
Cadoc shrugs. “Who knows? Tor chooses odd folk to be his priests. My grandfather knew her when she was younger; he said she never belonged — she had fits of anger and outbursts. A storm-priest offered to foster her and take her as his apprentice. Her family was relieved,” he says.
Anwen is quiet as she digests this. Cadoc, realizing perhaps he struck a soft spot, quickly changes the subject. “Why did you want to see her now, anyway? She’ll visit the village again, soon enough.”
“I want to ask her about my initiation. I don’t know what to do — I’ve been training to prove myself by combat, but Owain will choose my opponent. The other aspirants get paired with fighters they’re a match for, but Owain told me this winter that if I enter the circle, he’ll put me against the very best.”
Cadoc sighs. “That’s most likely my cousin Talfryn. He’s Owain’s favorite up-and-coming warrior these days,” Cadoc says. “It’s a shame. I promised my uncle I’d look after him, but he’s obsessed with proving himself to Owain. Barely listens to me at all.”
“Do you think I can beat Talfryn?” Anwen asks.
“It’ll be close,” Cadoc says. “You’re quicker than he is; he’s stronger than you. And you’re both as tough as wisents and twice as stubborn. Hard to imagine either of you throwing down your shield and yielding.”
“I’ve got a few weeks yet, and I’ve been training hard. But even if I can beat Talfryn, Owain might find some other way to hold me back. It shouldn’t work this way; it isn’t fair or right.”
“Agreed,” Cadoc says. “But sometimes the world isn’t fair.”
Anwen takes her waterskin back from him with a playful punch. “I hope that’s not what you tell your goats when the wolves are circling,” she says. “Come on, let’s go see the priest!” She takes off at a jog down the hill with Shadow darting after her, disappearing into the tall grass.
Scene 2: The storm-priest’s camp
The storm-priest’s camp is nestled between three large, teardrop boulders, their sharp ends each angled towards the sky, sheltering a campfire, a simple bedroll, and a crude drying rack made of thin, bound sticks. On the rack rests a trio of brown, pebbled pack drake hides, freshly skinned and still wet with blood, and beneath the rack is a woven basket filled with shiny black talons and pointed, bone-white teeth. When Anwen and Cadoc arrive, the camp is deserted and silent — the only noise is the cracking and popping of the fading campfire and the ever-present buzz of insects in the hot summer air.
Anwen approaches the campfire and calls out. “Hello? Storm-priest?” Cadoc follows cautiously behind her.
Anwen looks up when a shadow falls on her face: Perched on one of the great boulders above is a great, shaggy form, darkly silhouetted by the high, noonday sun. Its shape is roughly human, but with a tall head topped by pointed horns. Before Anwen can make sense of what she sees, the creature lets out a deafening roar — a single word, “BEGONE!” rolling out over the grasslands like a thunderclap, sending flocks of birds into the sky in alarm.
This character is calling on the power of a minor arcanum:
Source: Jeremy Strandberg // Stonetop
At the tabletop, we’d show this ability directly to Anwen’s player, planting the seed that she might attempt to learn this power someday. To resist it, Anwen steels herself and calls upon her constitution.
The sound fills Anwen’s ears and rattles her teeth. For a moment, her heart stops, and she feels her legs tense to flee unbidden, but she steels herself, digs her heels into the soft earth, and refuses to turn and run, instead drawing her sword from its place at her side and raising it on guard. Behind her, Cadoc scrambles backward, and Shadow yelps, diving back into the tall grass.
“I’m here to see the priest. I’m not afraid of a little shouting,” Anwen says. Her voice quavers a bit, but her sword is steady in her hand.
“You sound afraid,” comes the reply. The alto voice has a strange, echoing quality to it.
“I’m not running, am I?” Anwen retorts.
The figure laughs, clambering nimbly down the boulder a ways before dropping down to the campsite with an all-too-human grunt. No longer blinded by the bright sun, Anwen can see the tall, bronze mask of the fierce face of Tor, crowned by slashing bolts of lightning, and the shaggy cloak of dried, woven grass. The mask is thrown aside, revealing a copper-skinned woman of perhaps 40 winters, with pale blue eyes and close-cropped black hair, only lightly streaked with silver. “No, you’re not,” she says. “Nor did you thoughtlessly strike at me. Neither fight nor flight. Not every animal is capable of that,” she says, grinning a bit at Cadoc and Shadow, who are sheepishly collecting themselves behind Anwen.
“Bronwyn is my name. And you are Anwen, I think,” she says, smiling knowingly. “I remember a girl with fire-red hair and anger in her eyes. I knew I’d find you with a blade in your hand when you’d grown up a bit more. What’s brought you to speak to me?”
“I’ve come to ask about my initiation. I have fallen into strife with my foster family, and now I do not know my path through Tor’s rite. I’m afraid I’ll never be accepted here,” Anwen says in a rush.
The storm-priest gestures to the campfire. “Sit, and tell me about it,” she says. “I’ve some drake meat cooking in the embers.”
Anwen lays out her worries as the storm-priest busily prepares the meal — red-brown hunks of sizzling flesh, bundled in Flats grasses and buried in the burning embers. Anwen pauses to take a bite, and grimaces at the overpowering bloodiness of it. Bronwyn chuckles. “My old teacher said drake meat tastes like being punched in the teeth. He would know, I suppose,” she says.
“But what should I do? About Owain? About the trial by combat?” Anwen asks.
“You should win.”
“But all the other aspirants will be fairly matched!” Anwen protests.
“All the better, for you to show your quality.” Bronwyn skewers another cut of drake meat from the embers and bites off a chunk.
“What?” Anwen cries.
“Anwen, the purpose of Tor’s rites are not to give each little boy and little girl a fair chance to win a game, and in winning, to be recognized as an adult,” Bronwyn explains. “It is a chance for you to show your quality, for the whole village to see, so that no one could doubt your gift to the commonweal.”
“What about the challenges?”
“Tor doesn’t care about them. Tor doesn’t ask us to perform rites in his name. Tor has worked his wonders in this world to spark in us the virtues he holds dear — the courage of the Slayer of Beasts, the open-handed generosity of the Rainmaker, and the vengeful strength of the Thunderhead.” Bronwyn pauses to pick her teeth with a sharp drake talon, before continuing. “We do our finicky work to put up fieldstones and stacked stone walls around these virtues — accept a challenge from your elders, fight in the circle, and you will be recognized among us. But Tor doesn’t care about the rites; he cares about what they call forth from us!”
“So what are you saying? The rite doesn’t matter at all?” Anwen asks.
Bronwyn jabs her with a hot stick from the fire, Anwen cries out a bit at the sting. “You came to me looking for a hole in the garden wall, young one. Is that too big a gap for you to sneak through?”
“I don’t understand — what should I do?”
“First, you should face the challenge by combat. Owain will make it hard on you. Sometimes, the storm rages, but we must endure,” she says. “Second, to win your challenge is not to overcome your opponent — it is to prove that you can stand, fearlessly, to protect your neighbors.”
“But Owain is the judge of it!” Anwen protests.
“Owain judges the duels! I judge who has shown their worth!” Bronwyn roars. Once again, her voice rolls across the Flats like thunder. Cadoc starts, Shadow lays flat, ears down, by the fire. Her voice now drops to an urgent whisper as she takes Anwen’s hands in hers. “Show the village your worth. Show them the Rainmaker, the Slayer-of-Beasts, the Thunderhead, lives in you, and I will make sure you are recognized. Can you do that?”
“I won’t rest until I have,” Anwen replies.
Bronwyn chuckles. “I’m sure you won’t. The fool who persists in her folly will become wise.”
After a short, quiet moment, Cadoc stirs. “Anwen, we’d best be heading home. My father will need my help to bring in the herd after he gets back from the judgments at the Pavillion,” he says.
Anwen starts. “The judgments are today? I thought it was Tor’s Day!” she says.
Cadoc shrugs helplessly. Anwen shoots to her feet. “Thank you for your wise counsel, Bronwyn! I will think much on what you’ve said!” she shouts, as she runs back towards the village, Cadoc and Shadow trailing quickly behind her.
Anwen is racing to the judgements to support her friend and mentor, Padrig, as he pleads his case to the elders. Now we’ll transition to an extended Padrig scene, as he has a lot of things to explain to a lot of people. First, he has to tell his crew what happened in Marshedge, about Brennan’s plans and his own, and let them choose, and then he has to explain himself to the village elders, coming clean about his past, as he decided to do while on the road home from Marshedge.
Setting the Scene for Padrig
In fiction, and at the gaming table, it’s not great to have the same conversation twice, and if Padrig’s conversation with his crew goes smoothly, there’ll be a lot of overlap between what he tells them and what he tells the elders. As such, we’ll make a quick Persuade roll, and if it gets a strong or weak hit, we’ll abstract that conversation and put more focus on the conversation with the elders.
The crew isn’t quite convinced — most of them are ready to stop running for a while, but they’re wary of the villagers, and afraid of being driven out of town again, like they were in Gordin’s Delve. To fully persuade them, Padrig will need to prove that the village will accept them, and to do that, he has to convince the elders. We’ll open with Padrig heading into that scene:
Scene 3: The Pavillion of the Gods
Aratis’ Day falls in the middle of the week, the day of balanced scales, and this Aratis’ Day is hot and dry on the village green of Stonetop, where stands the Pavillion of the Gods.
Other than the Standing Stone, the Pavillion is the tallest building in Stonetop: Its timber supports are stout maple logs, intricately carved with storm-whorls and wind-spirals, cut down and dragged from the foothills of the Huffel Peaks some 50 miles away, and the thatched roof is supported by four tremendous rib bones, each covered in Hillfolk scrimshaw depicting the ancient friendships between Stonetop and the nomad bands.
Tor’s sacred stone and endless sky lords over the Pavillion, but the lesser divinities of Stonetop make do with three shrines — humble stone cairns, topped with idols. Helior the Lightbringer’s shrine is marked by a wooden disk painted with old, flaking gilding, surrounded by burning candles and caked with wax. A painstakingly pruned hazel tree grows from Danu the Earthmother’s cairn, its roots intertwining with the stacked stones and stained with goat’s blood. And finally, on Aratis’ altar sits a roughly-forged set of balanced iron scales and an old, well-used smith’s hammer.
It is around Aratis’ altar that a crowd, perhaps 50 strong, of claimants, witnesses, and onlookers gather, surrounding Garet, the town’s judge. He is among the oldest men in Stonetop, having seen seventy-five winters, and his once-powerful frame has softened with age. His face is lined with deep crow’s feet, and his hair and beard are the color of white granite, but his blue eyes are still sharp and attentive. He sits cross-legged on an old but well-kept rug, woven with black and white thread, the bound chronicle of Stonetop at his right hand, and Vahid across from him, seated with his writing desk, vellum, and a reed pen at the ready.
Alongside Garet sit the other elders of Stonetop.
NPC Breakdowns: The Elders
At the gaming table, this scene would involve a ton of questions and brainstorming between players and GM, to define these characters who resolve disputes and sit in judgement over matters of law and tradition in Stonetop. For our purposes, we’ll dip into the Ironsworn Character Oracles — each elder will have a random descriptor and a role within the village, and we’ll also roll on the “Theme” table that gives us a broad sense of what they represent about the village’s culture.
The first elder, we’ll call Marged. On the character oracle, we get Kind Artisan, and her theme is Protection. Stonetop doesn’t have many artisans, but one trade that might exist is stonecutting — the people of the village live in houses made of stone gathered from the remnants of the ancient, ruined Old Wall that encircles the village’s farmland. We’ll envision that Marged is well-loved by the people of Stonetop, and taught the current generation of stonecutters, two of whom are her sons. People respect her as a hard worker, and she and her work gang have rebuilt many of the older houses in the village, earning the thanks of the families that dwell in them. In her old age, she worries she could’ve done more — the only fortifications that Stonetop has are a waist-high stacked stone ringwall around the village proper and three wooden watchtowers, and that seems like little defense against the crinwin, let alone other threats.
The second elder, we’ll call Pryce. On the character oracle, we get Cautious Trader, with the theme of Survival. Pryce is the youngest of the elders and is the village’s main trader with Marshedge. He knows the merchants from Marshedge who visit Stonetop (including Kiran, from Session 2, Episode 3), and has a good deal sense — some Marshedge traders that have come through believe Stonetop folk are easily taken advantage of, and villagers trust Pryce to protect them from a bad deal. Building on the Survival theme, we can envision that Pryce is concerned about the survival of the village — perhaps the last few winters were particularly harsh, and the village is starting to recover. Since Pryce is the youngest, he’s also the most recently ascended, and a few of the older village elders died in the recent lean years.
Then, we have the two elders we already know a bit about — Cerys and Garet. We know their roles, and a bit about their personalities, so we’ll just roll themes for them. For Cerys, the priestess of the Earthmother Danu, we get Bond. We’ll combine that with what we already know about Cerys and envision that she is primarily with keeping the village together, its traditions strong, and protecting it from strife and division. This also means keeping a certain amount of authority centered under her son Owain, as well as her second son, who we have yet to introduce — we’ll keep him in reserve for when we need to advance that threat a bit.
Finally, for Garet, the keeper of the public house and the judge-priest of Aratis, we get a theme of Knowledge. Good news for Vahid! We can envision that Garet, the oldest person in Stonetop, is curious about Stonetop’s past — we know Vahid has access to the Stonetop chronicle, but the cistern is still a bit of a mystery, so we can envision that there’s a bit of a ‘lost history’ of Stonetop, with pages erased or missing from the chronicle. Garet quietly encourages Vahid’s investigation, though as the judge of Aratis, he must maintain a bit of neutrality. We’ll also envision that Garet is generally curious about people — what makes them tick, why they do the things they do. Good traits for both a judge and the keeper of a public house.
Garet is the final judge of whether Padrig and his crew can remain in the village, but the other elders will have their say, and he must at least appear to weigh their counsel, to maintain his legitimacy. To structure this scene, we’ll play to find out what it costs for Padrig to earn their trust.
After that considerable aside, knowing a bit more about our elders, we rejoin the action:
Marged, stone-haired and leather-skinned, sits on Garet’s far left, nearest the crowd, amiably chatting with one of her burly sons. Next to her is Pryce, slender and pale, with rust-colored hair, who talks in hushed tones with Garet, a concerned look on his face. Cerys, to Garet’s right, looks straight ahead, with an expression of dignified detachment in her priestess garb — furs adorned with antler and rattling bone.
Garet waves a quieting hand to Pryce, and then holds his hands up for silence, the murmur of the crowd beneath the Pavillion slowly growing still. Then, into the silence, Garet speaks, assuming a stern demeanor.
“In this sacred place, on this day of balanced scales and in the sight of the Lawkeeper, let every man and woman remember the laws of Stonetop: Never to steal from your neighbor or the commonweal, never to bear false witness to the elders in council, and never to commit secret murder — to slay a neighbor and hide the deed. To break these laws is to suffer cruel exile or merciful death. So must it be.”
In response, the crowd murmurs as one: “So must it be.”
“If any wish to speak against a neighbor who has broken our laws, let them come forward now,” Garet says, his gaze sweeping once over the assembly, and then back again. The crowd waits in anxious silence.
Garet then clears his throat and smiles warmly, and the tension begins to seep from the room. “Other disputes, we settle among us all. Let those who wish our counsel, come forward now.”
Claimants from the crowd come forward — disagreements over old fieldstones and the parentage of goats and sheep are mulled over, a pair of betrothals are agreed, a divorce is brokered. Padrig waits, his chest tight, a vague memory of the sight of enemy arrows in flight flashing through his head. He glances back at his half-dozen warriors, in a tight knot at the periphery of the crowd, watching warily.
“Padrig, once of Stonetop, now of the Companions,” Garet says, smiling at him and gesturing him forward. “Come now. What counsel can we give you?”
Padrig winces a bit when Garet mentions the false name his band provided months ago, but he steels himself and steps forward. When his eyes meet Garet’s, the judge can see something is amiss, and concern clouds his weathered face. “I wish the counsel of the elders on how my comrades and I might stay in Stonetop, and make a home here,” Padrig says. “This was my home once, and when I was in need, I led my comrades here, and you gave us succor. If you would have me, and my warriors, we would make this place our home.”
The assembly stirs with excitement, curiosity, and trepidation. A man raises his voice from the back of the assembly: “I’ll count as a neighbor any man who’d take up arms and stand against the crinwin!” he says and is met with calls of agreement.
Padrig takes a deep breath and soldiers ahead. “Before you give counsel, elders, there is something I must lay bare. When we came to Stonetop, I lied — to you, Garet, and to you, Cerys, when I asked for the village’s hospitality. For that, I am sorry, and I ask your forbearance.”
The assembly goes silent. Cerys, hard-eyed and stern, speaks first. “You ask for forbearance, yet you have not undone your lie. What false witness did you bear to your elders?” she asks.
Padrig clasps his hands behind his back and stands tall. “I told you that we were a sworn brotherhood of warriors who protected those in need. That was a lie, and the truth is far bloodier. There is no such band as the Companions — we served the Claws, and we were bandits, thieves, and cutthroats,” he says. “We were driven out of Gordin’s Delve for our misdeeds, and came to Stonetop ragged and starving. When we first came, we intended to winter here and rejoin our comrades. But we are tired of running, tired of banditry. We cannot serve the Claws any longer.” A shocked murmur runs through the assembly.
Garet leans back and tents his fingers, his face grave and thoughtful. Pryce leans forward, his voice incredulous. “I have heard of the Claws — their reputation is a dark one,” he says. “Burnt hamlets in the Manmarches, Hillfolk encampments scattered and ransacked, families left to starve or to be preyed upon by the wilds. This is what you have been doing all these years since you left?”
Padrig swallows. “Yes, elder. My life after I left Stonetop was not a peaceful one,” he replies.
Cerys points at him accusingly, her bangles of bone and amber clatter on her bony wrist. “And if we accept you, how many feuds do you bring down upon us? How much blood-debt, how much strife do we invite?”
Padrig looks down. “That is a fair question, elder. There are some among the nomads and among the Delvers who would gladly see me dead,” he replies. “But strife is coming to our home, whether you invite it or no.”
Marged nods, as though a suspicion has been confirmed. “What strife do you see coming, Padrig?” she asks.
Cerys snorts dismissively. “Pah! He is stoking our fears so that we accept him and his murderous band,” she says. “Every able body in Stonetop is armed and ready to fight. And my son and his warriors’ circle will shield us from any danger that comes!”
Cerys is about to continue, but Garet cuts her off with a stern motion. She defers respectfully, but her eyes are alight with anger. “Marged asked him a question. I would hear his answer,” he says.
Padrig nods gratefully. “Our trade journey to Marshedge was a dangerous one. On the way, we were approached by Hillfolk, who sought to ambush us and capture Vahid. Their master is a sorcerer, and he sought the wizard’s staff that our scholar carries,” Padrig says, as Vahid winces a bit at the mention of wizards. “One of the Hillfolk claimed that this sorcerer is capable of breaking through the wards of the Makers’ Roads. If this is so, he can put every caravan from the Dread River to the Barrier Pass under his knife.”
A wave of fear goes through the assembly, and Garet raises his hands for calm and quiet. Padrig continues. “And once we reached Marshedge, we learned that the leader of the Claws, my old chief, Brennan, has been made the commander of the town guard there. After I told him I would no longer fight for him, he saw fit to acquaint me with the town’s oubliette. As best I can tell, he has gone mad — he intends to overthrow the Old Families and lord over Marshedge himself.”
The Pavillion is filled with a deep unease and hushed, fearful whispers. Marged’s face is lined with worry as she studies Padrig closely. He peers into her brown eyes, searching for a sign of what to say.
Here, Padrig is trying to get some sense of what assurances he might be able to give to Marged.
Padrig triggers Seek Insight: 1+2+2 WIS = 5, Miss.
Ouch. This is usually a slam dunk for Padrig, and could’ve really helped him with any upcoming Persuade rolls. Now, the situation is turning against him, and we rachet up the stakes.
But instead, he sees her harden against him. Marged looks to Cerys and nods sadly. “I fear you are right. I have no doubt that these lands grow more dangerous around us, but the solution cannot be to invite the wolves into our midst,” she says, turning back to Padrig. “I’m sorry, Padrig. Your father was good and honest, but I do not know the man who stands before me now. I think it would be best if you and your warriors moved on, and took the blood-debts you owe with you.”
Garet dismisses this with an emphatic gesture. “We cannot exile Padrig unless he has committed a crime against us. He is one of us — I was present at his initiation, as were all of you, elders. He left his home and went wandering, as others have before him, but this is still his home,” he says.
Cerys points her accusing finger now at Padrig’s crew, and the eyes of the assembly turn to them. “Very well, Padrig. If you wish to prove your contrition, then send your bandits away. Let them return to this Brennan, to trouble other folk,” she says.
Padrig looks down. “No. I can’t do that. They’re my people. My responsibility. Let them stay, and I’ll make sure they won’t trouble their neighbors. My oath on it.”
Padrig is trying to recover the situation, persuading Marged by offering to swear a personal oath.
Well, shit! This is two misses in a row, in a pretty high-stakes moment. This calls for a very hard GM move indeed. But hard moves don’t always need to respond directly to the move that missed — the classic example is known in PbtA/Dungeon World circles as “suddenly, ogres!” — i.e. any high-stakes miss could result in ogres bursting through the door and starting a fight, if it makes the story more exciting.
In this case, if we were to press this situation to its logical end, it might involve separating Padrig and his crew or even exiling him from Stonetop, and from a GM’s standpoint, we should be very reluctant to take away something that’s so central to a playbook — after all, one of the core GM principles in PbtA is be a fan of the player characters. So, instead, we’ll have this session take a hard left turn with some sort of dangerous plot twist — and perhaps give Padrig a chance to again prove his crew’s quality. Fortunately, the Ironsworn Oracles have a table for just this! We roll on the major plot twist oracle and get: A new danger appears.
“What worth is your oath?” Cerys spits. “You have already lied once, to the judge of Aratis, no less. How can we trust you now?”
Before Padrig can respond, thunderous blasts of a hunting horn cut through the crowd’s muttering, filling the air with the sounds of alarm. The crowd dissolves into bedlam — some rushing towards the sound to see what is happening, others racing home to check on loved ones or to arm themselves. Padrig shoulders through the crowd, joining Ozbeg and Vahid at the edge of Stonetop’s village green to see what danger has so aroused the villagers’ fears.
This seems like a good, high-tension spot to end on. What danger looms? We’ll put on our GM hats again and answer that question with this week’s reader poll. Here are our options:
Suddenly, Crinwin! It is a grave day indeed when the crinwin are bold enough to attack in broad daylight. Choose this one if you want to really throw the story for a loop — we haven’t worried about the crinwin since Session 1, and this will serve to refocus our heroes on the Great Wood and its mysteries, at least for a time.
Suddenly, Hillfolk! The sorcerer has gathered his power surprisingly quickly, and is striking at Stonetop for some unknown purpose. Choose this one if you want to advance an existing threat substantially.
Suddenly, Wildcard! What has arisen is a short-term, immediate threat, unconnected to those we’ve already introduced in the story. Perhaps it is a deadly wild animal or magical beast — the Great Wood and the Flats are well-stocked with prehistoric megapredators and strange arcane critters. Choose this one if you’d rather the story pick up more-or-less where we left off, after our heroes deal with the threat (or try and fail).
I’m excited to see what y’all choose! Click on the link below to vote, and I’ll see you next week. As always, thanks for reading!
I want to see more of the Hillfolk, but this seems like a rush introduction for them. I see the sorcerer as quite a serious, growing threat. This would make the Hillfolk more like a bunch of goons to defeat.
I don't know why the Crinwin attacking in broad daylight doesn't appeal. It almost robs them of their menace beyond the physical threat. Now them launching a surprise attack at night when everyone's asleep? THAT would be terrifying.
I'm going for wildcard, but something truly heinous that bloodies the entire village and leaves scars.
I really appreciated the asides where you call out how this might play out at a table and also where you provide more “GM lore” like that suddenly ogres detail.
The inline asides read much more smoothly to me than the footnotes, and I also feel moving them out of the footnotes let them breathe more and grow longer - they give more weight to the GM’s, dice’s, and oracles’ roles in shaping the story.
Man, those rolls sucked. Poor Padrig!
Choices, choices.
I want to see more of the Hillfolk, but this seems like a rush introduction for them. I see the sorcerer as quite a serious, growing threat. This would make the Hillfolk more like a bunch of goons to defeat.
I don't know why the Crinwin attacking in broad daylight doesn't appeal. It almost robs them of their menace beyond the physical threat. Now them launching a surprise attack at night when everyone's asleep? THAT would be terrifying.
I'm going for wildcard, but something truly heinous that bloodies the entire village and leaves scars.
I really appreciated the asides where you call out how this might play out at a table and also where you provide more “GM lore” like that suddenly ogres detail.
The inline asides read much more smoothly to me than the footnotes, and I also feel moving them out of the footnotes let them breathe more and grow longer - they give more weight to the GM’s, dice’s, and oracles’ roles in shaping the story.