Session 9.3: Sworn

Padrig considers the oath. Much is asked of Anwen. Owain asks for his due.

Last episode, the party grappled with the internal politics of the village, which threatened to overshadow the looming crisis of the long winter and the dwindling food supplies. Anwen approached Cerys to intercede on the party’s behalf with her son Owain to cool the growing strife between them.

Cerys agreed, on one condition: that Padrig swear a sacred, and magically binding, oath to never hold the title of Marshal of Stonetop — perhaps a transparent effort to defend her son’s role in the village, or perhaps genuine concerns for the difficulties presented by Pad’s bloody past. Meanwhile, Vahid watched from outside, hoping to use his arcana to assay Cerys’ trustworthiness, but unfortunately, a pair of Owain’s bravos distracted him from his mission before Vahid saw them off with a show of arcane power.

This left the party at a crossroads: They could put their trust in Cerys, agree to her terms, and rely on her to do justice if Owain breaks faith and continues to cause trouble with the party. Or, they could refuse, and prepare for the worst: Owain, despite his cruel and bullying way, still has some stalwart supporters in the village, so a feud between them and the party could be a bloody one.

We put the question of how to go forward to a vote. I’m happy to say that this month’s poll has an all-time high number of votes for PTFO:Stonetop. I was hoping to set up a really thorny choice here, so I take the numbers as a sign that I was at least partially successful. Thanks to all who voted — and if you’re not generally a voter (or a commenter!) let me know in the comments what it might take to get you in the mix!

Normally I would share the results before we dive back into the fiction, but in this situation, I think it’s right to play a bit coy. This decision is something the party has to make together, and there was were a lot of interesting points of view in the comments, which I want to capture in the dynamic of the PCs. So, they’ll hash it out a bit before we land on the poll results. We’ll jump back into the fiction with a scene set at the Companion’s lodgings — we haven’t really spent any time there before, and it’s a chance to see how the reformed bandits are settling in. At the gaming table, this would be a worldbuilding question put to Padrig and Anwen’s players: “So, the Companions have been living here for two years now. What does the place look like?”

Scene 5: The Companion’s Hall

The day’s light is fading as the party returns to the Companions’ lodgings at the western edge of the village. The hearth burns within, at the far end of the hall, with the warriors’ straw mattresses and rough wool blankets in rows along the long walls. Ozbeg’s billet has a woven rug from the Peaks, stitched with stars and sacred geometries, Hari’s and Hartig’s are together, near the hearth, with Ronhl and Merid’s saddle-turned-pillows and horse blankets opposite them. Quiet Quill’s bunk is pressed into the far corner, with the two iron-tipped Marshedger spears crossed above it. By the door are Anwen’s spare belongings: her Hillfolk sword of stolen iron, a patched woolen blanket, and a bed of straw where Shadow¹ sleeps restlessly. Only Donal’s place is absent, having eagerly gone to live with his inlaws.²

In one corner, lit by the hearth’s red glow, is a wooden shrine carved by Ozbeg’s fighting knives with the names of the company, living and fallen. On the shrine sit trophies and remembrances from the Companions’ short but distinguished history — the blue-feathered arrow given as a gift to Padrig from meistr Juba³, the bronze needle that wounded the nosgolau on the road to Marshedge, Aled’s dagger, still razor-sharp from the day he died⁴.

Vahid enters first, and settles near the hearth, cross-legged on a low stone stool, to warm his hands by the fire. He meditatively packs some dried leaf into a Marshedger’s ceramic pipe as Anwen and Padrig enter, him thoughtful, her quietly storming.

“I can’t believe you’re considering this. You can’t!” she sputters. Shadow’s tail stirs and he raises his head alertly at the sound of her voice.

Padrig shakes the snow from his furs and comes to the hearth, sitting across from Vahid and stripping his gloves. From his belt, he takes the seed, and places it on the warm stone, never taking his eyes from it. “Anwen, if you feel that way, why did you even bring me this thing?”

“Because it’s proof of what we’ve all been saying! That she and Owain are dead-set against us. That she’ll do anything to keep Owain where she’s put him, and she’ll keep doing it even with the hdour at our doorstep!” She turns to Vahid. “Seeker! Tell him! Even if he doesn’t want to be Marshal, Cerys could still use it to hurt him!”

Vahid raises his eyebrows and takes a slow puff on his pipe, the scent of earth and spice mingling with the smoke. “Much of Cerys’ power in the village stems from the mystery that shrouds her magic. Clearly, she has some old wisdom, and the will to make use of it. If she truly hates and wishes to destroy you, Padrig, no doubt she could find a way to maneuver you into an impossible position.”

Anwen gestures emphatically to the Lygosi, stamping a foot with vindication. “Padrig, that sorcerer is coming. And who knows what trouble Brennan is stirring up in Marshedge? We promised Maeve that we’d help her⁵ — she was brave and honest, and we couldn’t have freed you without her. Who else is going to lead us through all this?”

Pad looks into the hearth, considering his answer. In the quiet, Ozbeg enters and gingerly steps his way to the hearth. “Wind’s picking up. It’ll be a cold one tonight, and old Ozbeg’s seen a few cold nights,” he says, to no one in particular.

“Oz, Pad is thinking about going through with this.”

Ozbeg sighs in exasperation, both at his chief and at being drawn back into the debate. “Seems a bit drastic, chief, if you’re asking.” Pad turns to looks at him expectantly. “If the Seeker knows for sure that Owain is coming for us, what are we waiting for? Call him out on the judge’s day. Lay it out as clear as you like, so even these dirt farmers understand: If they leave him in charge, this village will burn. And old Ozbeg’s seen a few villages burn.”

“We didn’t come here to make me chief of Stonetop, Oz.”

“Maybe not,” the old bandit retorts. “You didn’t join the Claws to be chief, either. But you fuckin’ should have been⁶. Wouldn’t have got us massacred in the Delve, would you have?”

“Brennan would be right beside you, ready to call Owain out, and damn the bloody cost. If it comes to a fight with Owain, there are a hundred ways it could turn to shit, and maybe, just maybe, a narrow path through.”

“And letting Cerys put her magic on you is any better?” Anwen cries. “She can’t be trusted, Pad. She lied to me, hid the truth from me for all these years, about my mother. She did nothing while my she was all alone, in that awful place⁷.”

Vahid clears his throat, and taps his pipe on the hearthstone. “It is true, Cerys did keep your mother’s secret. But I have not seen her to be faithless. On the contrary, when she has always moved against us, it is always in the open.”

Padrig shakes his head decisively. “It doesn't matter. Whether or not I trust her enough to accept her bargain, I can’t be marshal. She is right, and so is Vahid. It would be too easy for my troubles to become Stonetop’s.”

“This is what Cerys wants! She just wants to protect her son, and she’s using your past to do that!”

He turns back to Anwen. “Forget Cerys, Anwen. We know what is coming to this village, you more than anyone. Owain can’t lead us against it. Can you?”

Anwen stops short and backs away from the hearth, into the cold and shadows. She sits on her mat and draws her father's tattered grey cloak around her. “Why would anyone follow me? I’m not anybody in this village. I didn’t even have a place to stay before you took me in here.”

“These bumpkins haven’t seen a real champion this generation. Owain certainly wouldn’t know one even if they were pissing in his groats,” Ozbeg mutters. “Just show your worth to ‘em, girl, and they’ll follow.”

Vahid takes another deep drag on his pipe. “Indeed. Things have changed since last winter, Anwen. There are people in this village who have seen greatness in you. The herdsfolk count on you as their protector, ever since you saved Olwyn from the drake.”

Anwen falls silent, and Pad’s face twists with reluctance. “Anwen, I know it is a great thing to ask of you. If you tell me you truly cannot bear it, then we will seek another path.”

“I don’t know anything about leading.”

Ozbeg grunts. “The leader ain’t the best one at leading. They’re just the one everyone can agree on.”

Anwen rises and comes back to the hearth, her face warmed by the glow of the red embers, and she meets Pad’s eye. “If we’re going to do this, I’ll need help. From all of you,” she finishes, her eyes darting between Vahid and Ozbeg.

Scene Breakdown

By this point, it should be pretty clear how the poll fell out. Let’s take a look at the exact result:

I tried to touch on a number of arguments from the comment thread (at least those that would likely be expressed in-character), but despite all the good points made on both sides, there was a strong majority for trust, and the high road.

Back to the action:

Padrig nods. “Let us swear to one another then. We'll work as one to keep this village safe."

Anwen nods eagerly, and then stops short. “Does anyone know the right words for oath like that?”

Vahid strokes his beard. “I know the words of sacred contract from the Hieros Nomos of Aratis.”

Ozbeg spits on the earthen floor. “This is no dusty Lawgiver’s oath, Seeker,” he says, drawing one of his fighting knives. The hilt-bells jingle softly as he motions to each of them. “Hold out your hands, the three of you.”

Above the warm hearth, the three cut their hands and cast their blood into the fire, speaking the words the old mountain man gives them.

“Though we are not of the same blood, we hereby pledge to join our strength and purpose as oath-kin, and seek to walk side-by-side through the Last Door on the selfsame day.

If I ever betray my oath-kin, let the Thunderhead strike me down with five vengeful thunderbolts.

If I ever flee from my oath-kin’s side, let the Slayer-of-Beasts pierce my coward’s heart with seven arrows.

If I ever deny my oath-kin succor, let the Rainmaker’s blessings forsake me for a thousand days.”

If this were Ironsworn, here’s where they would touch iron. I included this oath-scene for a couple of reasons — First, I always like an opportunity to tie the PCs tightly together, nipping any “why are we doing this together?” questions in the bud.

Second, it’s a bit of a nod to Ironsworn. I assume if you’re here, reading the umpteenth chapter of a solo actual play, that you’ve probably heard of Ironsworn. If you haven’t, it’s worth checking out at the link above — its creator, Shawn Tompkin, is probably one of the most influential drivers of the cultural moment (however niche) solo RPGs are currently having.

And finally, it just felt right. All this started with Padrig agreeing to help Vahid travel to Marshedge to buy some tile. Here, the PCs are contemplating something much more grandiose — taking over the wartime leadership of the village and leading it through the coming dangers. It seemed right that they would mark the occasion with some ceremony.

When the swearing is done, Anwen looks to Pad as she wraps a bandage around her hand. “What about Cerys? What about the seed?”

“We’ll go and speak to her, the Seeker and I. See if we can glean which way she’ll break. But if you are willing to stand in the marshal’s place, it might just be the right path.”

Anwen looks skeptical, and Pad puts a hand on her shoulder. “If we mean to protect this village, it’d be best if we had her help.”

“I still don’t trust her.”

“Then trust me.” Padrig rises, and motions to Vahid. “Come, Seeker. Let us plot our approach.”

Scene 6: The Healing Hut

The next day dawns with gusting wind and heavy snow, blanketing the village before the sun has even risen. Vahid and Padrig meet on the village green and trudge through the knee-deep snow, the Seeker carefully following in Padrig’s careful footsteps. The ground around the healing hut has been cleared by diligent acolytes, a pair of young village girls in green-and-white wools and doe-hide cloaks, who scamper through the snow when Pad and Vahid enter the hut. Within, a third girl stokes the hearthfire, but the hut is otherwise empty. The girl silently gestures for them to sit, and hurries off to join her sisters, wherever they have gone.

Vahid sits, cross-legged on the hard, stone chair, willing his third eye to open and reveal the eddies and whorls of thought-auras surrounding him. Pad’s calm, cool aura vibrates with concealed alertness, and Vahid can just sense the young acolyte’s anxious fastidiousness fading from the room.

They wait, for a time. The hearth’s glow fades, and it grows cold in the room. The two need not confer with one another to know what Cerys is up to. Vahid, shivering a bit, closes his eyes once again to meditate, as Padrig stands and paces slowly, as his aura becomes tinged with impatience, and they wait longer.

Cerys arrives and pays them no heed as she looks at the preparations her acolyte has made — wooden bowls filled with dried grasses and flowers laid out carefully in a row, and a stone jug of cold snowmelt. The young, straw-haired acolyte follows behind her and stand by silently, her aura roiling with panic.

The priestess waves a wizened hand in dismissal — “That is all,” and the girl vanishes like smoke. Cerys seats herself at her low stone table and regards the two of them. “Danu has little to say to you; late-comers, world-wanderers. She gives her blessings to those whose roots grow deep. Why have you come to me?”

Wordlessly, Padrig takes the seed from his belt pouch and places it on the table.

“I have come to say you are right. I cannot be marshal here, and what’s more, I never wanted to be.”

Cerys snorts. “I am not some summer child that you can fool with gentle words. You have played the part of the leader of men ever since you arrived here. Why do this, if not to rise above others in Stonetop?”

At this, Vahid opens his eyes, and the blue-white mote of light on his forehead illuminates the shadows. Cerys meets his strange eyes without hesitation, and her face is a mask of contempt.

“And you, magi. Such a greedy little mind, so hungry to see that which is rightly hidden from you. Come to plunder even the secrets of my own heart?”

Vahid does not rise to the bait. “It is a grave thing you ask of my friend. I would know what is in your heart when you ask it. In my place, would you not do the same?”

Vahid is trying to Persuade her not to make a big issue of this, and allow him to remain while she and Padrig talk. He’s not really persuading her with anything she wants so he can’t trigger Let’s Make a Deal. If Pad aided him and suggested Vahid’s absence would be a dealbreaker, then that would’ve come into play, but they don’t want to play this too aggressively, so Vahid’s acting alone:

Vahid triggers Persuade: 5+2+1 Charisma = 8, Weak Hit

Partial success — Cerys relents, but she is going to compose herself to the extent that it will be harder for Vahid to read her. Practically, at the gaming table, I would make my answers to Vahid’s Seek Insight questions (even) more vague.

Cerys draws herself up and returns her gaze to Padrig, now ignoring Vahid’s presence. But before Vahid’s eyes, her thought-aura seems to slow and freeze, hidden by an icy reserve.

“I only did what I had to. I saw dangers threatening the village, and I acted. My father taught me that much, at least.”

“And so richly you repaid him, with your absence. Protecting the village is Owain’s charge. These tasks properly belong to him.”

“I have tried to aid him, Cerys. On the day the village was attacked by the storm-drake, I sought to have council with him, and he would not hear me. My people could have just as easily stood aside, and then how many more would have died?”

Cerys leans back with a sour look twisting her face, but she does not gainsay this.

“You told Anwen the truth. I cannot be marshal. But I am worried for the village. A storm is coming, and Owain doesn’t know how to prepare us for it. He is too headstrong to accept aid. If Stonetop is to be safe, he and I will need to work together. We need an end to this strife between us. I trust that if I accept your terms and swear this oath to you, your son will heed you?”

“He will heed me.”

That seems like a good opportunity for Vahid to use Seek Insight to read Cerys’ (well-protected) mind.

Vahid triggers Seek Insight: 6+1+1 Wisdom = 7, Weak Hit.

Vahid can ask “Are they lying or trying to mislead? ” but that doesn’t seem quite right in this instance, especially if he’s getting vague answers (A ‘no’ answer doesn’t confirm she can be trusted — only that she believes her son is in her pocket). So instead, he’ll ask “What does she intend to do?” We’ll answer in fiction.

They are quiet for a moment, and Cerys fixes her dagger-gaze on Vahid. “Well, interloper? What do you see in my heart?”

Vahid clears his throat, and dismisses his mind’s eye, the mote of blue-white fading from his forehead. “I see that you would do anything to protect this village and its ways. I only hope that you will judge as an elder, and not as a mother. Without favor or malice.”

Cerys turns back to Padrig, her eyes hard as ice. “My son will swear the oath. No more strife with you and yours. I hope, for your sake, you will uphold your word as he does. Now — the seed. Speak the promise aloud.”

Once again, Pad speaks the oath words given to him: “I promise before Danu, for as long as I live, I will never lay claim to the title ‘marshal of Stonetop.’”

With that, he swallows the seed — its thorns scratch and scrape on the way down, and the coppery taste of blood, mingled with a strange wet-earth musk fills Pad’s mouth. Cerys watches, her eyes narrowing in appraisal as Pad rises and departs from the healing hut.

Vahid rises to follow him. “I stand ready to record Owain’s oath in the chronicle,” he says, pausing by the door. “It is only right, for a moment of such import.”

She nods gravely. “Come to the Pavilion of the Gods on the lawkeeper’s day. We will see it done.”

Montage: Treating with Owain

That Aratis’ Day, Owain appears before the elders, his father’s long blade slung over his shoulder, armored and geared for a fight. Standing before his mother, he all of the sudden looks young to Padrig’s eye. Pad thinks back to Owain as a boy — he was strong and angry and took to battle-games with unconcealed relish.⁸

Cerys calls him forward and Owain spits the words out like a distasteful meal.

“Padrig, I’m sorry for the strife between us. When you returned to Stonetop, I mistrusted you — and I had good reason to, we learned. But if you’re truly willing to serve Stonetop, I’m willing to give you a fair chance. Before my elders, I swear I won’t be the cause of any more discord with you and yours.” He looks at Padrig and nods with a small smirk. Pad accepts the gesture with only a touch of wariness, bowing his head respectfully. A relieved whisper runs through the assembly, as folk count their blessings that perhaps a blood feud has been averted.

Once the assembly has closed, Pad and Anwen meet Vahid on the village green, tramping their way through the muddy, well-trod slush.

“Well?” asks Anwen.

Needless to say, Vahid read Owain’s mind from a distance while the assembly met. Reading Owain’s aura amidst the hundreds of others is a tall order, so we’ll give the Seeker Disadvantage.

Vahid triggers Seek Insight: 4+4+2+1 Wisdom = 7, Weak Hit.

Once again, Vahid chooses “what do you intend to do?”

We’ll answer in the fiction:

“He has no intention of keeping his word,” Vahid replies simply. “His mind is an open wound — a spiteful hunger for violence, stewed in doubt, petty pride and vengefulness. But for a time, he will at least appear to. I sensed fear in him. Perhaps of the danger we pose, but perhaps also of his mother and what she might do if he forswears himself.”

Vahid strokes his beard thoughtfully. “In the meantime, winter shows no sign of giving way to Spring. If my mathema are correct, they will only last a handful more weeks, and then we will be making soups of bones and leather. If we are to act on Hywel’s plan, we should act now, while Owain must keep up appearances.”

Padrig nods. “I will go to him. Man to man, in front of the warrior’s circle. Hopefully, he won’t wish to look a coward before his men.”

The next day, Pad approaches Owain as he and the warrior’s circle train. The circle has been drawn near the village bluff, and the day is cold and clear. They spar with wooden staves and shields, practicing the dance of spears that every aspiring Stonetop warrior begins learning when they can walk.

Padrig catches his eye and calls for a word, but Owain makes him wait. He alone practices with a sword — a wooden blade made to match his father’s — and in the training circle at least, he is a devil with a blade. Pad watches as he fights, swift and strong, and with a brutish confidence that drives his opponent back and never lets them choose their blows. Even after three bouts he shows no signs of tiring, and after five, he retires, having taken only a single touch.

When the Marshal finally approaches him, Padrig nods respectfully. “Well fought, marshal.”

“Aye. What is it, Pad?”

Pad comes straight out with it. “The hunter’s lodge needs your help. I need your help. The winter has been cold and dark, and it may cast a long shadow over spring. We need more food, and there’s a chance at it down in the woods, but we all need to work together. As they did when your father led the militia.”

“Yes, I remember old Hywel rattling on about a sacred hunt and a big bear down at the bottom of the bluff. Now he’s got you pleading his case, eh?” Owain chuckles.

As Pad speaks, Owain keeps glancing back to the circle, watching his fighters mock-battle. Pad raises his voice, pitching it over the wooden crack of stave against spear, and Owain’s eyes snap back on him.

“We need to work together, Owain. If we’re going to see the village through the trouble ahead.”

Cerys’ intervention made this conversation possible in the first place, but Pad still needs to sell Owain. Gross.

Padrig triggers Persuade: 2+5+1 Charisma = 8, Weak Hit

Owain is willing, but he has a condition. Needless to say, as we don our GM hat, we should make this condition as distasteful as Owain himself.

“The trouble ahead, eh? We’ll see about this sorcerer. It sounds like your and Anwen’s bluster to me. But my mother interceded on your behalf and pleaded with me to mend my strife with you, so all right: My circle will join your hunt.”

Pad breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Before the thanks have left Pad’s lips, Owain continues. “But I lead. You and Hywel must follow me into battle with this beast. That is the way of things; that is what is due to my station.”

Pad sighs ruefully. “Why must there be this anger between us, Owain? How did I wrong you so?”

Owain clears his throat — now Pad has his full attention. “You may think I don’t remember what you were like when you were young, Padrig, but I do. Many of us do. Sharp-eyed Padrig. Such promise. Even my father said there was a fire in you. But many of us knew it was just the airs you put on — acting the champion, like you were better-than, holding yourself above the rest of us, just because you could draw a bow well enough. A coward’s weapon. It was good when you left, and you shouldn’t have come back.”

He shrugs and turns his back, going to rejoin his warriors. “But now I suppose we have to make do. Let me know Hywel’s answer.”

When Padrig recounts this to the party back at the Companion’s Hall, Anwen explodes in anger. “What is this, if not strife?” she sputters. “Those are not words of kinship! How is he not forsworn, this very day?”

Vahid sucks in his breath. “He is not wrong — as the marshal, he is due some deference. And Padrig did ask him from where their strife arose.”

Ozbeg looks up from sharpening his fighting knife. “You can’t be considering this, chief. We can’t follow that beggar’s cur into battle with a hundred-stone bear.”

“No. We will not be putting ourselves under Owain’s orders. But without his spears, we've got no way to hold the bear at bay.”⁹

“The gods take Owain. I’ll do it myself.” Anwen growls.

Ozbeg chuckles heartily and slaps his belly. “Anwen, always full of fire. Hywel said we’d need a thicket of spears. You’re a sharp thorn, girl, but you aren’t a thicket.”

Anwen fixes Ozbeg with a fierce glare. “I stood against the Judge at the Crossroads alone, while you sounded the retreat, old dog. It was my thorn that killed the thunder drake, not Owain’s thicket. And it was me that took the storm demon, even after Kirs had fallen. Am I your champion of Stonetop, Oz? Or no?”

All eyes are on her now as her voice grows more and more determined.. “You said, ‘show them your worth, and they’ll follow you.’ Isn’t this our chance?”

Pad glances at his bedroll, where a razor-sharp battle axe of grey-white Makerglass rests, wrapped tightly in unassuming goat hide.¹⁰

He rises. “I’ll speak to Hywel.”

We’ll close there! This was a very homefront-y episode — lots of people talking about feelings and making promises in thatched halls. I promise some action to close out this session, as we go into danger to feed the village and maybe, just maybe, see things come to a head between the party and Owain.

For this week’s reader poll, we are going to level up Anwen — I haven’t been doing a great job keeping up with writing up the end-of-session moves, but our heroes are beginning to operate on a scale where they answer ‘yes’ to most if not all of the XP questions at session close. When I went back and did the math, everyone was due for a bump, so we’re going to start leveling the party over the course of the next few episodes.

This is a big moment for Anwen — she’s set herself on a path that could see her as one of the most powerful and influential people in Stonetop, with a pair of strong advisors to back her. I want to do something special for this level, in addition to selecting a new move: As Anwen’s character is starting on this path, we’re going to change up the Fear section of her character sheet. Here’s the relevant bit:

Truth be told, “they won’t take you seriously” has been on the ropes as a major fear for Anwen for a while. After all, she’s done a lot to build up her confidence, overcoming lots of big, terrifying foes, and winning glory in a warrior’s circle. Now seems like a good time to codify a significant character change. Now, the question is: What fear should replace it?

My initial instinct was That you really aren’t cut out for this, which is perfectly applicable to the situation at hand, but I think What you must do is a bit more all-encompassing. Not only is she afraid she’s not equal to the task, she also still has a bit of a soft heart, and she’s afraid she’ll have to order her people to their deaths, and fully harden her heart to taking lives herself. So, we’ll move forward with that in mind — when I’ve got my GM’s hat on, I’ll be looking for opportunities to push on that fear.

In addition to re-imagining her fear, we’re going to choose a new move — this time dipping into the marshal list and looking farther afield. Here are the trio we’ll consider:

1. Speak Softly: “When you offer peace and your enemy refuses, gain advantage on your next roll against them.” This feels right in Anwen’s wheelhouse, and something she would make a lot of use of.

2. Armored: We’ve considered this one before — it allows Anwen to wear heavier armor and carry a shield more readily. It will also mean that Anwen will receive a suit of armor from someone as a gift — a nice character moment given her ongoing transformation.

3. Aura of Courage: “When you stand fast in battle, allies who can see or hear you are unaffected by fear or doubt.” This move is from outside Stonetop — it comes from the Paladin playbook from Homebrew World, another excellent Dungeon World hack also by the creator of Stonetop. I like this one for its irony — Anwen herself is plagued by fear and doubt, but she is a font of courage to those around her.

As always, mash the button below to make your choice known!

Housekeeping

Just a quick scheduling note: I will be taking next week off to rest a bit and catch up on some other work. PTFO will resume on November 12th.

Fun fact: This month marks PTFO’s first anniversary — the oldest readers of PTFO:Stonetop have been following these characters for a full year (both in real time and game time!). Heartfelt thanks to all who open these emails week in and week out, whether you started last year or yesterday. I’ve had a blast playing this thing out with you folks, and I can’t wait to find out what happens.

1. Apologies to any fans of Shadow; he has been absent for a while. But he’s a good dog, he’s safe, and he definitely still exists!

2. Waaaaay back in Session 1.1, Donal married Nia, a local Stonetop girl — one of the company’s stronger bonds to the village.

3. Plucked from the dead frythanc, in Session 7.2.

4. Old Aled’s death in defense of Stonetop against the Storm Drake in Session 5.3 helped persuade the village elders to let the Companions stay, so it’s natural they give him his due here. Even though he was a bit of an asshole.

5. Maeve, a sergeant of Marshedge, is a veteran of the Guard, and opposed to the new Marshal, Brennan. Anwen gave her (and Pad’s) word that they would return to Marshedge and help deal with Brennan back in Session 4.4.

6. We know Ozbeg is resentful of Padrig’s reluctance to stand up to Brennan back in the old days — he even made Padrig swear that he wouldn’t put them under Owain’s command. You can see that moment in Session 5.3, during Aled’s funeral.

7. Anwen’s mother, Sianna, is imprisoned in the cloaca beneath Marshedge. Anwen hopes to free her by hunting down her corrupted father, once she is ready to face him — you can refresh your memory on this storyline in Session 4.3.

8. This is a bit of a retcon — back in Session 9.1, I described Owain as of an age with Padrig, but the more I thought about it, the more I think he has to be younger than that — being a younger leader makes him feeling threatened by Anwen a little more credible.

9. You might recall that Padrig swore an oath specifically not to do this to Ozbeg and the rest of the Companions. I considered making this a reader choice, but I just don’t see Padrig ever agreeing to this.

10. This axe is a treasure the party reclaimed from the House of Nine Thunders, the ancient Maker complex hidden beneath Stonetop back in Session 5.4. Padrig’s only wielded it once — it’s not really his style.