Last episode, the party did its level best to make peace with Owain, the village strongman, so that they could work together to shore up the Stonetop’s dwindling food supplies by hunting a dangerous cave bear. To take a step towards securing Owain’s cooperation, Padrig agreed to terms set forth by Cerys, the village’s priestess: He would promise never to challenge Owain for his leadership of Stonetop’s militia, in exchange for Cerys forcing Owain to play nice. Pad’s promise was sealed by Cerys’ strange magic — he was asked to swallow an ensorceled gwir-nettle seed, which will kill or maim him in a most painful way should his word be broken. The party also agreed that, if their conflict came to a head with Owain, that Anwen should stand as Marshal in Padrig’s stead — a weighty commitment for the young Would-Be Hero.
When Padrig approached Owain, the Marshal of Stonetop was willing to help, but on one very unpalatable condition: Pad and Hywel, the head of the hunters’ lodge, would agree to him as the leader of the expedition and defer to his orders.
The session concluded with Anwen making a bold promise: Instead of relying on Owain and his warriors to hold the bear at bay, she would do so alone. After a brief debate, the party agreed, with Padrig heading off to persuade Hywel of this new plan.
Last week’s poll was to determine Anwen’s advancement for Level 5 — to coincide with her commitment to someday stand as Stonetop’s Marshal, we selected from three moves focused on leadership. Let’s see what you all selected for our Would-Be Hero:
A very slim majority for Aura of Courage. This move could be immediately relevant for Anwen — if she stands fast in front of the bear, she’ll lend her courage to all the other hunters and Companions present.
We’ll rejoin the action with a montage to cover the planning and lead-up to this endeavor. From a system standpoint, we’ll represent the hunt as a short expedition: The characters will gear up, head to the cave, attempt the hunt, and return — hopefully triumphantly!
Montage: Preparations
Hywel is grim-faced and silent as Padrig relays Owain’s demand that night in the hunters’ lodge. Dozens of antlers hang from the ceiling, and the firelight casts jagged shadows on the old huntsman’s face as he replies.
“I expected as much. Owain holds his own pride dearer than the commonweal; he has since he was a boy. We should prepare for a season of graves.”
“There might be another way,” Padrig says after a short silence. “Anwen is prepared to hold the beast at bay. Herself.”
Hywel shakes his head dismissively. “That would mean near-certain death — if she were to stand fast. And if she were to break and run, it would mean your men and mine would be next under the bear’s claws. The spearmen must divide the beast’s attention between them — three or four spears, biting and retreating like wolves might stand a chance. A lone warrior? None.”
“I am not the hunter you are, Hywel. But I know warriors, and Anwen is one of a kind. I have seen her face things that are the stuff of tall tales. This summer, when the Thunder Drake attacked the village, it was her speartip that put an end to it.”
Hywel raises an eyebrow. “I heard it said it was the militia that put paid to the drake, after your people slowed it down with your arrows.”
“That’s the story Owain prefers, no doubt. But I was there, and I know what I saw.”
Padrig triggers Persuade: 3+6+1 Charisma = 10, Strong Hit
A strong hit means Hywel is either convinced, or he reveals the easiest way to convince him. For this situation, I think it’s reasonable that he’d want to see some sort of proof of Anwen’s prowess, so we’ll make that the condition Padrig needs to fulfill.
As part of this montage, we can also trigger another homefront move: Bolster.
Source: Stonetop // Jeremy Strandberg
The party doesn’t have long before the village’s food situation becomes dire, but we can envision that she and Ozbeg will train hard for a week, both with the spear and with the makerglass battle axe, in preparation for the hunt, which will give her 1 Preparation to augment a roll in the coming hunt. Back to the action:
Hywel strokes his grey beard, quiet and thoughtful, and Padrig presses his advantage. “She’s been training with the Companions. Come take her measure yourself, at least.”
Hywel agrees, and three days later, they meet in the western fields near midday. The day is cold and rainy, but Anwen and Ozbeg train still, and Padrig and Hywel watch from a distance as Oz puts the young warrior through her paces.
Ozbeg has erected a scaffold and hung it with shields, crudely painted with a snarling bear’s face, the black charcoal lines streaking in the heavy rain. Anwen strikes true over and over, from close in, lunging to the spear’s full reach, feinting left and right, until Pad’s shoulders and calves ache in sympathy from watching her. Then Oz sets her to dodging and blocking, swinging a heavy deadfall branch at her, testing her swiftness and her shield arm’s strength to its limits.
Hywel watches impassively. Padrig frowns, and calls out to Ozbeg. “The axe, Oz.”
Ozbeg waves in acknowledgment, and speaks to Anwen quietly, the sound of their voices drowned out by the rain. She trots off to her gear and comes back with the strange, milky white double-axe. Ozbeg hauls up a heavy granite fieldstone from the ground and places it on a stump before stepping back and nodding at Anwen.
Hywel’s eyes narrow. “What manner of weapon is that? I’ve never seen its like.”
“We found it in the ruins beneath the cistern. The elders know of it, but no one else. It’s makerglass — sharper than steel, and no power wielded by human hands can shatter it. Or so the Seeker tells me.”
Anwen swings the axe over her head and brings it down in a clean stroke onto the stone. There is a flash of light, a shower of sparks, and a resounding ring like the clear tone of a bell. The fieldstone is cleaved cleanly in two, and Anwen wrenches the axe free from the stump beneath it. Ozbeg holds up the two halves to Padrig and shouts over the rain. “It will do for our fat friend, I think!”
Hywel looks back to Padrig. “Very well. We’ll want to wait for the next clear, still day. No wind to betray the presence of the hunters.”
“Come find me when the day is upon us, and we’ll be ready,” Padrig replies. The two old hunters clasp arms and Hywel takes his leave.
GM Prep: Hunting the Bear
Before we set the scene for the hunt, let’s take a step back, look at the stats for the bear, and talk about how to run this moment from the GM’s perspective. Here’s our friendly neighborhood cave bear:
16 HP, Armor 1 and 1d10+4 damage is nothing to sneeze at, but Anwen has tremendous survivability, with moves like I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again, and Never Gonna Keep Me Down means that she can half damage dealt to her by accepting a consequence, gets advantage to strike back, and gives disadvantage on damage when she’s near death. So, it's unlikely (though not impossible) the stakes of this fight are Anwen's life or death, and more likely that the bear might use its moves like move with surprising speed and grace and sniff out food, or trouble to spot the other hunters and go after them, putting people Anwen cares about and has promised to protect in danger. Ultimately this fight should be relatively easy for Anwen and the party — they’ve fought greater foes than this, but it’ll still be quite impressive to anyone who sees it happen.
So, as the GM, I initially envision this scene beginning with Anwen luring the bear out of its lair with some sort of bait or ruse. If that gambit goes well, the bear might come out slowly, giving the waiting hunters an easy first shot. If it goes poorly, the bear might rush out quickly, surprising Anwen, or sniff out the trouble outside its den, possibly waiting and forcing her to confront it inside its lair.
Now let’s set the scene and see what happens:
Scene 6: The Great Woods, at the base of the bluff
On a cold, still morning, they gather at the winding path down to the forest floor, and descend into the Great Woods. Padrig, Quiet Quill and Anwen come for the companions, while Hywel brings his right hand, Bryn, a dark-haired huntress who looks Anwen up and down with an appraising eye as they walk in near-silence to the mouth of the cave.
As they approach the lair, Padrig speaks quietly to Anwen. “We will wait, hidden at the tree line. The wind is still, so the beast may not smell us, but a bear sees as well as you or I, so we must remain hidden until we strike. You must draw the beast to the open ground where we can get the clearest shot at its flanks. About ten paces from the treeline — I marked the spot by laying a shield on the ground. Bring it as close to that spot as you can, and hold it at bay.”
Anwen nods, listening silently as Pad recounts the plan for the third time. “When our arrows strike it, the beast will come at you hard, or perhaps break for one of us. Use your spear. Keep your distance. And once it begins to slow, look for an opportunity to end it with the axe.”
Anwen’s solemn face momentarily lights with a smirk. “Ozbeg calls it ‘Bearkiller.’”
Padrig chuckles and raps his knuckles on a tree trunk. “A fine name for it, if a bit premature.”
“We’re here,” Hywel growls. “Come here, girl. Let us speak to god together.”
The other hunters busy themselves with preparations, gathering deadfall branches and piling snow for hunter’s hides at Pad’s direction. Anwen stands before Hywel, and takes from his pack a palm-sized stone pot, sealed with wood and wax. He cracks it open, and Anwen smells the metallic tang of blood.
“Hare’s blood. Stag’s would be better, but we have none. Kneel, girl.”
She kneels before Hywel, and he paints her cheeks and forehead with red. For a moment, Anwen thinks of Kirs’ face, painted with his horse’s blood to draw the carrion drakes near, and she suppresses a shiver.
“Tor, Slayer-of-Beasts, hear me, for my people are hungry,” Hywel whispers, his bloody hand on Anwen’s forehead. “We dedicate this hunt to you. Lend your daughter the swiftness of the hare, to slip the jaws that snap and claws that catch. Let our quarry think us rabbits, when we await him as wolves. Let us be the hunters this day, and not the prey.”
Hywel nods to her to rise. “Go, Anwen. Deliver us our quarry.”
Anwen turns, and walks into the open. She breaks the treeline and crosses onto the rocky ground. Ten paces ahead of her is the shield Pad laid out, still blackened here and there with charcoal from her week of training. Up an embankment is the yawning cave mouth, dark and quiet.
Then, a hundred feet up on the ridgeline above, she sees movement. Gathered there is a crowd of Stonefolk. Squinting against the morning sun, Anwen can see Vahid’s sky-blue robes, and with him, Cadwyn and Olwyn, Rhys, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, plus a dozen other villagers. Even a pair from Owain’s circle — Tall Talfryn and Royce — look on. When Anwen meets their eyes, Talfryn touches his breast in a salute, while Royce looks away.
Quick aside here — Vahid’s not much of a hunter, and blasting an animal with elemental force is not a great way to preserve its meat, so he’s sitting this one out. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be helpful, in his own way: While Pad and Anwen prepared for the hunt, Vahid spread the word of Anwen’s undertaking. This raises the stakes for the expedition — if things go smoothly, this is another entry in Anwen’s legend. If they go south, then there’s an audience to see just how bad it gets. No pressure!
Anwen turns back and surveys the field. At the treeline, Padrig has left the makerglass axe, waiting for her in the stump of a fallen tree1. On the right, she sees the spots where Bryn and Hywel have hidden themselves, and on the left, Quill and Padrig. She tests the straps on her shield arm once again and grips the ash of her spear haft tightly before turning back towards the cave mouth.
She takes a few steps towards the cave. The shadowed entrance seems to open wider as she approaches, rising above her like the Last Door. Her breath starts to shorten as fear grips her for a moment. She looks back up at the clifftop, to her friends and adoptive family. Then she thinks of Owain, warm by his hearth, unwilling to put his pride aside and stand with them, and anger boils up in her, driving her forward toward the cave.
She stops a few paces before the cavern’s maw. There, she strikes the haft of her spear on the rim of her shield: Once, twice, thrice. She raises it for a fourth strike, and then there is a deep, rumbling growl from the darkness, and the sound of claws scraping against rock. Anwen starts and steps back, leveling her spear towards the cave entrance, and waits, but it is silent once again.
Then it emerges from the shadows, slowly and ponderously. Its fur is brown, fringed with silver-grey at its massive, humped shoulders, and its grizzled face is bone-white, giving its visage the look of a skull.
It treads forward on all fours — its front paws are huge, each the size of Anwen’s shield, and tipped with long black claws. It scents the air cautiously as it approaches Anwen, sniffing and growling deeply. It claws the rocky ground, kicking up grit and tearing great furrows in the earth.
Anwen backs up, giving it ground, approaching the spot marked by the shield. She and the bear lock eyes, and it rears up on its hind legs. The beast stands ten feet high, and it roars its defiance — the sound fills Anwen’s ears, and she can feel the bass of it in her chest.
She darts forward, hoping to prick the beast and draw its ire. Her spear strikes out like a viper and Anwen feels it bite into the bear’s thick fur, but she sees no blood on the blade. She withdraws and dances backward as the beast drops to all fours and lunges at her, its claw swiping at empty air as she leads it toward the treeline.
Now the bear stops short, another ten paces from Pad’s shield. It pounds the rocky ground with its hulking paws and yawns its jaws wide, showing rows of thick, yellow dagger-teeth. Anwen falls back until she stands atop the mark, and waits, her own shield raised, her spear held high. Then, it charges.
A thousand pounds of seething, churning muscle and claws descend on Anwen, crossing the ten paces between them in the space of a single breath. She dodges to the right, and her shoulder explodes in agony as she feels the bear’s claws against her shield, scratching deep gouges in the wood and wrenching her arm to the side. The leather straps strain and the shield shudders, but it holds. She hears the whistle of arrows loosed, and the bear roars in pain as the shots strike home.
The beast swings its massive head to and fro, searching for its tormentors, and Anwen takes that moment to recover her footing and strike again, this time lunging hard at its flank. Despite its wounds, the bear is still swift, and it whirls to face Anwen, snapping at her with its powerful jaws. She meets its charge with the point of her spear, slashing a great, bleeding wound across the bear’s maw, but it closes its teeth on the spear’s haft and splinters it before bearing Anwen down with its bulk and tearing through her heavy hide armor with its raking claws.
Her vision tinges with red as she feels the rush of hot blood on her arm and chest as the rocky ground rushes up to meet her. Turning now on the hunters, the bear roars and charges towards Bryn, who has broken from hiding to fire a shot that arcs wide, missing the bear and disappearing into the snow. Padrig and Hywel’s shots thud into the bear’s muscled shoulder, but it doesn’t even seem to notice as it races toward the huntress.
Anwen surges to her feet and drops the broken spear, following after the bear towards Bryn’s hiding spot. She snatches the makerglass battle axe from the fallen tree stump as she goes, shouting for Bryn to fall back as she leaps towards the bear, raising the ancient weapon to strike.
The milky white blade meets the bear’s massive head and the blow again rings like a chime, echoing against the canyon walls. The beast goes limp, the strength draining from its powerful limbs almost instantly, falling at Bryn’s feet with the axeblade still sunk deep in its skull. The white glass haft of the axe is stained red with Anwen’s blood, flowing freely from deep gashes in her arm and chest, and her breath is ragged and unsteady. Bryn’s eyes widen with awe as she takes in the sight, and above, Anwen can hear cheers coming from the assembled crowd at the cliff’s edge.
Scene Breakdown
This is a fairly complex encounter with a bunch of different moves triggered, though not always the ones you might expect. Let’s break it down.
The first thing that happens is we bring Anwen’s fear into play — the village’s eyes are on her, she’s facing a monstrous foe, so it’s a fair moment for the GM to ask Anwen: How are you dealing with your fear? There are lots possible answers to this question — she could Defy Danger with Wisdom by trying to master her fear with pure willpower, or she might look to Padrig for support — he has a few Marshal moves that could help her here, like Stentorian or he could simply Aid her in whatever she chose to do. But instead, it seemed appropriate for Anwen to get a bit riled up — Owain’s arrogance and cowardice are keeping him from doing what he ought to, which is to stand alongside her. This lets her trigger Anger is a Gift, holding two Resolve, and she immediately spends one to put her fear aside and do what must be done,2 leaving her with one more Resolve for the rest of the fight.
The next move that’s triggered is Pad’s — he rolls on behalf of the group to see whether they’ve adequately concealed themselves from the bear. Padrig has used Read the Land here and has had time to plan the engagement, so he has advantage on this roll:
Anwen holds four Readiness and spends one immediately to deal her damage with disadvantage. She deals only 1 damage, which is negated by the bear’s armor. This is also her first Strong Hit after Anwen achieved 5th level, meaning she triggers Potential for Greatness3. Since her Constitution is already +2, we instead decide to increase Anwen’s damage die to a d8 — hopefully next time she rolls she can deal some damage.
Despite dealing no damage, her strike goads the bear to charge, placing it in the hunters’ firing line. Anwen has to dodge out of the way — she really doesn’t have the fictional positioning necessary to just go toe-to-toe with a massive cave bear.
She gets out of the way and isn’t grabbed or overrun by the bear, but she’s going to take some damage and lose her shield here. The bear rolls an 8, and Anwen deducts 2 for her armor, leaving her taking 6 damage and leaving her with 14 HP. We also trigger the GM move use up their resources to destroy Anwen’s shield, but she’ll spend a readiness to negate that part of the bear’s attack.
Now, the hunters take their shots. We have Pad lead the attack:
Padrig triggers Let Fly: 6+2+1 Dexterity = 9, Weak Hit.
They deal eight damage (Pad’s rolling 1d8+3 — +1 damage for every extra shooter) and the bear deducts one for armor, leaving it with 9 HP left.
The weak hit from Let Fly means that Padrig must choose a consequence from the following list:
The easy choice here is to deplete ammo — it keeps all the hunters concealed and safe, while still being able to shoot. Next, Anwen goes on the offensive (which means she loses her remaining Readiness):
Anwen uses her Preperation hold from the Bolster move to upgrade this Weak Hit to a Strong Hit. The bear’s total HP is within striking distance of Anwen’s damage given all her bonuses — she adds 1d4 for Payback, and she can also choose not to avoid the bear’s counter attack to add an additional 1d6 of damage as well, for a total of 1d8+1d6+1d4 damage — she needs to deal 10 damage to put the bear down.
Unfortunately, the dice don’t cooperate, and she totals 7 damage after the bear’s armor, leaving it with a mere 2 HP. The dice perform substantially better for our ursine friend — it rolls the max, dealing 13 damage to Anwen, and possibly leaving her with 1 HP. She instead chooses to use I Get Knocked Down — she ends up with 8 HP, but she loses her footing and is borne down by the bear.
Pad now has a chance to end things with another shot:
Padrig triggers Let Fly: 2+1+1 Dexterity = 4, Miss.
Ouch. they deal no damage, though we envision a few shots landing anyway — it seems silly for them to all miss at this range, and we don’t want to make them seem incompetent. Now the bear’s attention is on Bryn, the huntress. Anwen spends her last Resolve hold to act suddenly, catching them off guard, picking up the axe and moving to intercept the charging bear. Grabbing the axe and attacking is a lot to get done quickly, so we have Anwen Defy Danger first:
She gets the axe, but she’s rushing to protect Bryn, and doesn’t have time to choose her moment. It’s all or nothing: She can proceed to trigger Clash, but she must do so with disadvantage.
A strong roll to close out the fight. She rolls a 3 for damage and avoids the bear’s counterstrike, and the makerglass axe cleaves through the bear’s tough hide, dealing enough damage to kill it.
Back to the action, and the aftermath:
Pad rushes to Anwen’s side, calling Quill over with a bundle of linen bandages and a skin of Stonetop whisky. He guides her to sit on the rocky ground next to the bear’s carcass and tries to take the axe from her, but her white-knuckled hand is clenched tightly around it, so instead he helps her place it in her lap and sees to the deep gashes on her arm and shoulder.
“You committed too early,” Padrig grumbles. “Should’ve kept your distance.”
Padrig’s reproach shakes her from her trance, and she smirks at him. “Next time I fight a bear, I’ll remember that.”
Padrig smirks back as he pours the stinging liquor into the wound. “See that you do.”
Anwen grimaces, and her gaze falls back down to the battle axe. The Maker runes etched into the blade are stained with the bear’s dark blood, vivid red against the milky white glass. She lifts it with reverence and presents it to Pad. “Thank you for lending me this. It served well.”
Pad demures. “Keep it. It suits you better than me.”
Anwen looks dubious. “Pad, this blade is straight out of one of Vahid’s legends. A real hero’s weapon.”
He shrugs. “That counts me out. Best you hold onto it until they arrive.”
At their side, Hywel takes his keen hunter’s blade and jabs it deep into the bear’s shoulder, marking the depth of the beast’s fat with his thumb. “He ate well this autumn. The Slayer-of-Beasts has rewarded your boldness, Anwen. Rest, while we do the knife’s work. The village will have full bellies for a while longer yet.”
Anwen sighs with relief, and Hywel gestures up to the crowd waiting at the clifftop, calling down more aid. Soon, a half dozen villagers are there to help dress and carry the carcass, and a dozen more are there just to see the sight, watching from an awed distance as Anwen rest and Pad binds her wounds.
That night, the tale is whispered by every hearth in the village, as hungry Stonefolk feast on carefully rationed bear stew. Talfryn relays the tale to the warrior’s circle, breathlessly recounting Anwen’s killing blow as Owain fumes in a silent, growing rage.
Setting the Scene: Owain makes his move
This session is focused on Owain as a threat, and the initial Seasons Change move was a miss, so from the GM’s perspective, we’re clear to keep pushing his agenda. He’ll be furious at being shown up. While it’s not common knowledge that he refused to support this hunt, there’ll certainly be rumors. He’ll want to take revenge, and try to take Anwen, Padrig, and the rest of the Companions down a peg. The threat move we’ve used most often for Owain so far is send someone else to do your dirty work, and given the situation he’s is in — having sworn off feuding and strife in front of the the elders — it seems like the thing he’d do now, as well.
We could have Owain strike directly at the party, perhaps ambushing them while they’re out in the woods hunting — a classic villain move. But that doesn’t really get him what he wants: Most of all, he wants to make them look bad in the village’s eyes. So, he’ll get together with his most loyal crony (thus far we’ve established that to be Royce) and try to make some trouble.
We’ll close out the episode with a short scene teasing Owain’s counter-attack, as well as another level-up poll.
Scene 7: The Companions’ Hall, after dusk
It is a dreary, stormy night. Cold, heavy rain falls in sheets, and the Companion’s Hall is near-empty. Ozbeg and the others have gone to the Public House to drink and trade tales — the story of Anwen’s battle with the bear is still fresh in the hearts of the village, and the old mountain bandit happily tells it almost as though he was there. Only Padrig and Anwen remain behind. Pad fletches arrows by the hearth, while Anwen sits hunched over a small candle and a scroll given to her by Vahid — a fanciful tale of a bold prince who braves an ancient Maker ruin to find a cure for the plague that had laid low his father and mother.
Then, over the steady beat of rain on the thatched roof, Padrig hears a commotion — shouts and cries of alarm. Anwen looks up too, and she rises and heads for the doorway, but runs headlong into Merid, the young Hillfolk rider, who erupts in a torrent of rapid-fire Steptongue. Anwen’s eyes widen in shock and she shakes her head helplessly only catching a handful of words, and Ronhl’s name — the elder of the Hillfolk who joined them from the Sun-Spear.
Padrig rises and rushes to them, speaking softly but firmly in the Steptongue. “Peace, Merid, peace. Steady in your saddle. What has happened?”
The young Hillfolk hastily tries to compose himself when he sees Padrig. “Padrig-kamarad, I came as fast as I could. I am sorry — Ronhl and I, we were riding our patrol in the western pastures and came in late from the fields. We went to the larder for our nightly rations, and three of the Marshal’s men tried to stop us. Ronhl tried to speak to them in the Stonetongue, but they did not understand him, and we quarreled. They had cudgels, and they beat him.”
Padrig’s face darkens, and through the steady drumbeat of the rain, they hear a hunting horn call out in the night. “That’s Owain’s horn. He’s summoning the warriors’ circle to him. Is Ronhl alive? Wounded? Speak, man!”
“After they struck him, Ronhl drew his bronze and tried to warn them away, but they would not heed him. One of them rushed him, and the old man wounded him gravely. I do not know if the Marshal’s man will live.”
“Merid. Where is Ronhl?” Pad’s voice is an urgent whisper.
“He took his horse and fled the village, riding south, into the storm. He bid me come with him and said that we could not draw you into a blood feud. But in the confusion, I lost sight of him, and I came here to find you.”
Padrig puts his hand on the young nomad’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.”
Anwen waits breathlessly. “Pad, what is going on?”
He recounts Merid’s story in clipped, quiet tones. Outside, barking hounds and shouting men can be heard.
“We can’t let Owain find Ronhl before we do. He could kill him, and tell whatever damn tale he likes,” Anwen says.
Padrig nods gravely. “I’ll take the Companions and we will find him first. You must find out what happened — the whole story. What was said, who struck first, and why. Everything. If Owain calls this murder…” Pad’s voice trails off.
“He could demand the elders exile the Companions.4 All of you.” Anwen says.
“Aye.” Padrig says. “Best be about it, then.”
We’ll close there. I had intended to include another level-up poll, but this week’s episode is right on the edge of Substack’s length limit, so we’ll save Pad and Vahid’s advancements for another episode. Next week, we’ll play to find out if Anwen can get to the bottom of this unfortunate incident, and if Padrig finds Ronhl before Owain and the warriors’ circle does. See you then!
For this expedition, Anwen chooses a medium load, which gives her 4-6 “weight” to play around with. Her shield is 2, her long spear is 2, her hide armor is 1, leaving her with not enough to carry the makerglass battle axe as well. So, Pad carries it for her, and leaves it in an accessible spot for the battle. Not ideal, but better than not having it at all.
This is due to a promise Padrig made in Session 5.3 to secure himself and his band a home in Stonetop — specifically, that he would stand accused of any crime committed by a Companion.
“ We dedicate this hunt to you. Lend your daughter the swiftness of the hare, to slip the jaws that snap and claws that catch. Let our quarry think us rabbits, when we await him as wolves”
“ We dedicate this hunt to you. Lend your daughter the swiftness of the hare, to slip the jaws that snap and claws that catch. Let our quarry think us rabbits, when we await him as wolves”
Now THATs a hunters prayer!
Great episode! And damn Owain! Damn his eyes! [Shaking my fist at a storm-wracked sky from atop a rocky crag]