Episode 65
The tips of the spikes drew nearer. She saw only a future of darkness and pain. She’ll try to break free again.
Face Danger with Iron
2 = 1[d6]+1
12 = 8[d10]+4[d10]
Uggg. What a roll. 2 vs 8 and 4. That’s a miss.
(Miss Count 13/24)
She’s destined to get consumed by this thing, me thinks.
Time slowed...
Scott Buckley music for you for this scene. I love his music and this track is particularly fitting! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mL-U325z...smnnZHsocG
The flaps of alien shadow-skin slapped down around her upper torso, and she felt pain and loss as the shadow spikes drove into her shoulders and arms, pinning her down against the ground. She screamed in agony and felt the tongue-like suckers latch onto her temples, her mouth, her nose.
I must say I love the simple elegance of this system and how quickly I can create an engaging creature with a single stat of “Troublesome”, but as you have seen, because of its features and tactics, it’s proving far more than just Troublesome. If its features had been slow and ponderous and dull-witted, she would have had time narratively to strike at it several times with her bow before it even got close. But no, it’s fast and can climb on walls and all sorts of nasty stuff...
Back at it.
First and foremost, because she’s in a dangerous encounter, she takes 2 damage. It’s trying to subdue her completely first before sucking her memories dry.
Her health is now 1/5.
She’ll Endure Harm
1d6+1
7 = 6[d6]+1
2 = 1[d10]+1[d10]
Well, well well. Hoozah! That is the BEST she could have rolled in this situation! A strong hit and a match! She embraces the pain and takes 1 momentum (now -1/10). She’s still at 1/5 health. But more importantly, the best match she could have received: double ones!
Let’s review the rules:
-- rule snip --
MATCHES
When you roll for a move, you
should be on the lookout for a
match on the challenge dice. In
cooperative and solo play, this is
your trigger to add a twist, create
a new complication, or otherwise mix things up. Something interesting,
unexpected, or unusual happens. If you’re unsure, you Ask the Oracle, which
is a move you use to ask questions or check for inspiration. If you’re playing
with a GM, a match on the challenge dice can be their prompt to introduce a
surprising turn of events.
The outcome of a match should be evaluated based on the result of your move.
• Strong hit: The match should represent a twist in the narrative, something interesting, or a new opportunity.
• Miss: The match should represent a heightened negative outcome, a complication, or new danger. Things get worse for you in an unexpected way. You can also let the intensity of your success or failure frame how you interpret a match. Rolling matched 10’s on your challenge dice should prompt you to introduce a harrowing turn of events or a dire failure. It’s as bad as things get.
-- end rule snip --
“Mother!” she groaned against the pain but struggled still, refusing to give in to her approaching doom.
If anyone in this place of death and darkness could hear her, surely Mother could.
She felt a wet, sticky, sucker-tipped tentacle, its texture like that of a rough tongue, trying to cover her mouth. She twisted and bit down hard on the tentacle. She felt the rubbery texture give way. Felt liquid gush onto her face. She tasted its blood, cold and thick and alien. The dark viscous substance spurted over her face, ultra-saturated with iron. She gagged on it. Choked on its fetidness. Acidic bile rose in her throat.
The creature hissed and reared back,, and the tentacle and tongue released, retracting, dropping her. She fell with a clang against the iron floor. The shadow beast backed up, wary. The other one had finished growing its leg, and like a noxious fruit, ripened in its foulness, dropped to the floor with a scratching, skittering thud.
The two creatures drew closer, one on either side of her, splayed tongues darted out again, tasting the air.
“Mother! Save me!” she coughed, wiping her mouth. She struggled to her feet and picked up the spear. She spat the brackish substance from her mouth and wanted to vomit. It tasted of death and decay and sorrow entombed in despair.
(She still has initiative now and the positive narrative event I imagined is still occurring.)
“Eilwen...” a voice whispered gently, caressing her, whether in her mind or outloud, she could not tell.
Is it the voice of her mother?
I think in this place of shades and ghosts and shadow horrors that that is indeed likely.
(Likely | 6[d10]) Yes
Track switch:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_HAaH-U...cG&index=6
She felt a warmth that seemed to envelop her, and the faint blue light from her amulet grew brighter, a sphere of bright light that extended outwards.
Do the creatures turn and run? They hate bright light. I’m going to cut her some slack and say it’s likely.
(Likely | 6[d10]) Yes
Thank goodness! The monsters being defeated or retreating counts as a milestone to return Gethyd to Valeri, but more importantly they’re gone!
(Return Gethyd Vow - Progress now 3/10)
Instead of shadows twisting about her, the light grew. It wrapped around her, a nimbus the color of one of those rare and pure, cloudless, cobalt-blue mornings when the sky is tinged with purple fingers, and a breath of pink wreathes the snow-white peaks. The beauty of the vision staggered her. She could taste the cold snow that hung on the mountains, and she half expected to see Aron next to her, grinning in anticipation of a fine hunt on a fine day.
Instead, she saw a beautiful blond woman she at first did not recognize.
“Mother?” she asked but heard not her own voice. She was both there, but not there.
The vision solidified around her.
Mother looked more beautiful and younger than she had ever seen her.
Her father, Cadfael, came up behind Arwed and wrapped his arms around her, clasping them against her bulging middle.
“A girl?” he laughed. “How do you know? You’re not some kind of seer are you?”
She smiled and leaned against him, caressed his face with one hand, and rested her other hand on his atop her large abdomen.
They stood some distance outside their longhouse near a ledge. Eilwen felt the crisp clear air and smiled again at the beauty of the scene. Her mother’s smile was infectious. The look of such satisfaction and...peace on Arwed’s face caused a pang in Eilwen’s gut from the desire to share in it.
“Call it a woman’s intuition, husband.”
“I won’t argue that,” he said, pulling Arwed against him. She snuggled back into his warmth and together for a long moment they smiled out at the pink-tinged peak together, swaying slightly together to some unseen music as the sun slowly warmed the peaks with its glory.
“Here, feel this,” Arwed said after a moment. “She’s awake.” She repositioned his hand lower and to the side.
He grinned when his hand bounced slightly off her taut belly. “Ha! If this be a lass, then she’ll be trouble!” he brushed away Arwed’s hair with his chin and kissed her cheek and then her neck. He laughed, feeling the thump under his hand. “And another kick! She’s a fiesty one!”
“She is indeed that,” Arwed said. “As healthy as an ox. She must have some of your temperament.”
“Ah, the feisty she gets from you,” Cadfael smiled. “What do you want to call her?” he asked.
“Eilwen,” she smiled.
“A good name. I like the sound of it.”
“It’s more than just sounds. Do you know what it means?”
He shook his head.
How cool is this... I didn’t know it when I picked her name as PC, but it’s perfect.
http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/0/Eilwen
“It means...brow-blessed, holy, pure, and white--like this snow.”
“It’s perfect,” he said and breathed warmly on her neck..
“It’s a name befitting a princess,” she nodded with satisfaction.
“A princess eh? What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing...” she smiled up at him. “It’s a good name as you say,” she smiled again, tilted her head, and they kissed.
The tenderness she had witnessed and the love she felt from her mother stung Eilwen’s heart.
....
Another track change for another scene:
Gotta love Scott Buckley: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXvh7jno...cG&index=7
In the light, a part of her swam, and the vision changed.
Instead of light there was dark.
Instead of peace and joy, a cry and pain.
Blood, water, and tears.
A birth.
A storm ravaged the longhouse. Inside, a soft warm glow from the oil lamps hanging from rafters and the fire at the hearth, kept the dark at bay. The winds beat furious and fell blasts against the sturdy home, and the mountain sent flurries of shifting snow in ragged shouts of wind that clawed down into the longhouse’s chimney, disturbing the flames. The house smelled heavy with sweat and weariness.
Inside his home, Cadfael watched as the weather-beaten face of the midwife cleaned up the birthing clothes and dropped them into the fire where they hissed and sputtered for a moment before a gust of air flamed the logs. The smell of burning cloth, blood, and bile made him want to gag and he breathed through his mouth. But soon, the air cleared.
“It is done,” the old woman said. “Congratulations, Cadfael. You’re the proud father of twins! A boy and a girl.”
“Twins!” Cadfael gasped and leaned against the central beam for support. “There’s two of them?”
“That’s what twins are,” the old woman gave a wry smile and she held up two fingers. “Two. Twins.”
“Twins...” His astonishment changed to a grin. “How are they? How is Arwed?”
“The boy is healthy....But the girl,” she shrugged and shook her head. “Her fate is...uncertain.”
“Uncertain?”
“During the birth, the boy’s cord was wrapped around her neck. She went without air for a long while. I...did what I could to help her. She’s breathing now, but...it’s difficult for her. Only time will tell.”
He gripped the woman’s arm. “And Arwed?”
“Tired and resting. It was not an easy pregnancy, slender and small as she was. Me thinks she wasn’t ready for two.”
“Two...” he breathed and shook his head again, still in awe at the prospect.
“I’ll leave you now,” the woman’s voice creaked. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“My thanks,” He nodded and helped open the door as the old woman trundled out of the longhouse into the deathly cold night. A swirl of snowflakes and a gust of frigid air swept into the main chamber. He shut the door quickly, but it was some time before the warmth from the hearth could reassert itself.
Cadfael paused for a moment and then pushed open the stitched leather curtain where his wife lay resting in the partitioned-off section for her birth. Her eyes closed in sleep, her breast rose and fell in deep sleep.
Then he saw them. Two perfectly formed babes lay in peaceful slumber in a simple wooden crib next to Arwed’s bed.
He reached down and brushed the head of each. The swaddling on the boy had come loose, and the boy, eyes closed in sleep, reached a pudgy fist and grabbed Cadfael’s rough finger with a small but firm grip. Cadfael chuckled, and with his other hand touched the girl’s head. She barely moved. He extracted his hand from the boy’s grip and gently wrapped the swaddling back around him, tucking it in close and warm.
Then he leaned closer to his daughter and held his cheek above her small face, stilling his own breath, listening. He felt warm air stir tentatively against his skin. Her breathing sounded labored. She puckered her face in a fierce scowl.
“You’re determined, aren’t you,” he whispered and then brushed his lips against her small forehead. The midwife had cleaned the babes, and she smelled clean and new and fresh, like the snow falling outside. Her skin had a bluish tint. He frowned.
“Breathe little one!” he whispered and looked about at his little family and then back at his daughter. “By the gods, keep breathing!” he whispered, his voice deepening with unexpected emotion. He gripped the edge of the crib with white fingers. “Breathe...”
He watched his children for a long time. The miracle of these new additions to their family astonished him. He couldn’t stop looking at them. And, for now, Eilwen kept breathing.
The fire in the hearth had died down some, and he put on some more logs, stirring the embers with a stick until the flames caught and began to lick the coarse wood.
Arwed stirred from her slumber at the crackle and pop of the flames. “How are they?” She asked him.
“Sleeping,” Cadfael replied. He knelt by her bed and took her hand in his. “What happened to your intuition?” he grinned. “A boy
and a girl?”
“I was partly right,” Arwed gave a faint smile. Her face looked haggard and worn. Sweat clung to her damp hair, and her hands trembled.
“Twins! By the gods, what a blessing!” Cadfael said again. He looked completely nonplussed.
“The gods abandoned us,” Arwed coughed weakly. “We are to make our own way in these lands now.”
He ignored that and grinned as he brushed aside damp locks of her blond hair, now darker from the perspiration. Her beautiful face lay half in shadow, half in light. “Twins, Arwed!”
“Twins,” she gave a weary smiled and nodded her head.
His smile turned to a frown as he thought of Eilwen and her labored breathing.
“What is it?” Arwed asked.
“Did the midwife not tell you?”
Arwed shook her head.
“It’s Eilwen,” Cadfael’s brow furrowed, and he looked from his daughter to his wife.
“Tell me.”
“She’s not breathing well.”
“Bring her to me,” Arwed said.
“Are you sure? She is sleeping, and you need your rest. I can--”
“Do it, husband,” she said. “You can do nothing here.”
Her stark reply stung, but he nodded, and his strong, scarred, weathered hands gently picked Eilwen up, a smile of pure love and joy on his face. “She’s so small. Such a small beautiful person!” He said in awe and handed her to his wife.
Arwed took Eilwen in her arms then nodded to Cadfael, her face serious. “A box is under my bed. Bring it to me. Set it here on the bed,” she pointed to the coarse wool blanket.
He looked at her, puzzled, but he nodded and pulled out a wooden box with an intricate carving on its lid, twisting vine-like branches of a tree. “I’ve never seen this box. Where did it come from?”
“You’ve seen it,” she said with unreadable blue eyes. “You just haven’t remembered.”
“What do you mean,” he asked, rubbing his finger across the beautiful wood. “I’d remember this box if I saw it. It's carvings are...exquisite!”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, taking the box. She traced a symbol on the lid, and it clicked open.
“Arwed,” Cadfael asked, slowly, a frown creasing his face. “What is this?”
“A tool to help our daughter.”
“What sort of tool?”
Arwed lifted the lid and moved aside a rich-looking moth-eaten cloth that covered something. Under the cloth, she pulled out a coarse leather sack. She undid the leather drawstrings and drew forth a set of dark disks, black, made of iron, bound together with a metal loop, angular markings covered the surfaces of the disks.
“This,” she said.
Cadfael’s eyes widened. “Is that...dark iron?”
She nodded and gave a mysterious smile. “‘Tis said that the ore was forged in the hot belly of the stars themselves.”
“But how?” his face held awe and trepidation. “Where?”
“No more questions,” she said. “I will help our daughter.”
Arwed unwrapped a portion of the swaddling. She pulled forth Eilwen’s right hand and placed her daughter’s hands on the iron and chanted:
“Iron, forged of stars,
Blessed by starlight
And shadow’s night
Imbue this little one
With your might.”
Then she pricked Eilwen’s tiny finger with a small iron needle, and a small jewel of ruby formed on the finger’s tip. The babe began to cry from the pain, awakening her brother who also began to squawk. Cadfael took a step forward but stopped from a stern glance from Arwed.
The twin cries of the babes seemed to urge the howling wind and the shutters and leather coverings shook and billowed. The fire guttered and then flared again in the hearth. In the dim light, Arwed smeared the ruby tip of blood atop the disks. A hiss of black mist and the blood disappeared, pulled down into the deep iron’s runes, darkening them red for a moment, then the red blood blackened as if burned away to ash.
“Arwed,” Cadfael choked, pulling back, his face stark white with fear. “What devilry is this?”
“Do not interrupt!” she hissed then pressing Eilwen’s struggling form against the iron disks chanted anew:
“Ironborn
Ironsworn
Forged of star and shadow
Ironsworn
Ironborn
Take upon you Iron’s power”
“You have made her Ironsworn?” Cadfael hissed, eyes alert and wide in alarm.
“The power of the metal is hers now,” Arwed said. “I will
not lose my daughter! Not when I have the power to save her.”
“But--”
“Cadfael,” her mother said, cutting him off. “I love you, you know that. But there are some things you will ever understand nor accept, and so it is better this way.”
“What do you mean?”
Arwed raised a hand and made a design in the air. Her hand trembled from the weakness of birth-giving, and Eilwen watched as if from two origin points, one from a memory as a babe, a memory she had forgotten, looking up into her mother’s stern sweat-drenched face, and one from her adult vision looking down, as a silent and invisible participant, somehow present but also apart. The mind-twisting origin points of the vision swam in her head, and she groaned, disoriented.
But she now saw the blue, shadow-misted rune hanging in the air. A rune Eilwen recognized. The Skaed rune. She watched her own babe’s eyes look upon the rune in fascination as it hung in the air, saw her baby hand reach out...
Cadfael hissed and scrambled to his feet, knocking over a pile of blankets. “Witch!” he hissed and backed to the door, a look of betrayal and confusion on his face. But Arwed gave a single word of command in an unknown tongue. He stilled and a glassy expression came over his eyes.
“You will forget,” Arwed said in a gentle voice filled with infinite regret and utter sorrow. Her mother blinked away a tear. “Would that I could share this with you, Cadfael. Would that we could be truly one, you and I, but your superstitions are far too ingrained. It will be better this way. I promise.”
Arwed’s face then looked up to the rafters, and Eilwen’s vision returned to her own adult form. And she saw a melding of the young Arwed with the older Arwed, two in one, superimposed atop the other, one light and youthful, the other darker, an older woman, not quite a crone, but trending in that direction as wrinkles and gray hair and dark decisionsmarred her mother’s youthful glow.
Both sets of eyes stared into her soul.
New track time!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msnp0pmv...G&index=18
“Daughter of Queens...” they said in tandem, one voice young, warm, but weary from childbirth, the other old, like the whisper of rubbed parchment on a gravestone. Both filled her mind with purpose, and she sensed Arwed’s admiration and...something else. Envy, maybe? Love, perhaps?
“Remember, Daughter, you are Ironsworn. Born of our twin bloods, born of iron! Imbued with a strength forged from the stars. There is more than blackness and shadow and darkness of night, as such provides rich tapestry to comprehend its opposite...the light!”
The vision ended, and Eilwen fell to her knees, gasping almost in pain at the flood of thoughts and knowledge. The nimbus of bright light expanded and exploded from the amulet, a sapphire sun dawning then and there. It surrounded and protected her, illuminating the iron pillars, chasing away the shadows.
And in her mind, the knowledge of a new rune coalesced: a rune of starlight and moonlight, cold and bright upon the snow, a rune that birthed the dawn-breaking purple and brought the golden sun and crisped the white mountains in a fiery glow.
I’m going to say from this experience, she’s no longer shaken, and her Spirit actually goes up by 1 automatically. Yeah, I might have milked this positive narrative for what it’s worth. But I gotta try and save our heroine, right? Fear not, she’ll probably die in the next episode anyway...
There’s a Lightbearer talent that allows one to store and use light like this. Given that she’ll likely be traveling dark roads more often in the future, I think that might be useful, so that was a bit of narrative scaffolding to allow that talent once she gets enough XP... assuming she survives that long.
Hope you enjoyed this episode. This was one of my favorites to write.
Great question. He was last seen in