Guest Post: Alex's Ironsworn Journal - Chapter 1 - Kuno’s Parting Gifts

Continuing guest host Alex's Ironsworn campaign journal.

Chapter 1 - Kuno’s Parting Gifts

Varro stepped out of the village storehouse with a packet of lampsoot ink and a bundle of supplies for his journey. 

His uncle was dead, the thick leather-bound tome of lore still unfinished, the task of filling it now Varro's. His ancestors had believed this land and all its strange things could be known, understood, not just endured, and they swore on iron that they would bring it about. Or so Uncle Kuno told him. And now that vow had fallen on him. He had renewed it as he knelt over his uncle's grave, his hand on the iron clasp of the tome itself. Then he had stayed up all night poring over its contents, though he knew them well, wondering where to start. How to start. The book spoke of mystics and sages who lived in the Hinterlands, of elves in the Deep Wilds and of the Broken Ones who had first claimed these lands and been corrupted beyond recognition. He had fallen asleep dreaming of such things. And perhaps they were only dreams after all. But he would find out. 

He stepped out into the cold daylight to see Serenne standing by the path. No attempt to pretend she hadn't been waiting here to ambush him. 

"You're really leaving, then?" 

He nodded. 

"Chandra asked me to convince you to stay. She told me to be subtle about it, but you know me. So... stay." 

Varro smiled. "I already touched iron." 

"I thought as much. It's just... your uncle cared about that book. But he cared about this place, too. He wanted peace with Newstone. He wanted it more than anything. And now we have it - but it's so fragile. People are saying Wenin is right. Half the village would be behind him if he moved against Chandra tomorrow." 

"I know. And I'll be back. In fact I wanted to ask you something. I want to make a copy of the book. In case... well, in case anything happens to me... out there. And if I make a copy, I want it to be safe." 

"You want me to be guardian of your special book?" Serenne smirked as she said it. 

"I really do. And I want you to speak to Chandra for me. Let her know I'm not abandoning the Wick, and she does have my support." 

"So not only are you walking out on me, you're making two demands as you go." 

"Aren't we friends?" 

"I was your uncle's friend. I was your weapon instructor. Speaking of which, is that stick all you're taking?" 

Varro raised the oak staff, his uncle's second parting gift to him, and spun it with a flourish into a fighting position. "It's enough." He lowered it, and took a step towards Serenne, holding out his hand. "You're my weapon instructor. I'm your talekeeper. Say you'll speak to Chandra for me, at least that." 

Compel +Heart: Strong Hit

She clasped his hand. For a moment the usual sardonic glint left her eyes. "I'll speak to her. And I'll guard your spare lore tome too. That means you have to come back, so come back safe, alright?" Varro tapped the end of the staff on his chest in the gesture known the length of the River Kenning: your words in my heart. 

"Something else," said Serenne, "if you're going south. The traders from Merlo were talking about the Elder Wolf again. They swear blind it's real. They sent nine spearmen to hunt it and they found them in pieces strewn over an acre. They said people have started calling it a god, calling for sacrifices. Maybe that can be the first entry you make in your book. Just... stick to asking the locals about it. Don't try to see it for yourself. Promise me that." 

"Aye," said Varro. The militia captain looked doubtful, but she said no more, save to bid him goodbye. 

He made no more stops. On the outskirts of the village he crested South Hill and looked at his home. The Kenning drifted between the houses and the pastures, glinting in the morning light, drifted by the graveyard where his uncle lay. He wondered if he truly would survive to return here, if he really had the iron. He wondered if he was abandoning the people he was meant to serve, in favour of the unknown ancestor who had begun the archive tome. He wondered if that ancestor was a fool, and the archive a fool's vow. 

Then he turned his back on White Wick and sat down in the grass. He took out the tome and flipped through it. He knew exactly the page. He knew exactly the words, but he read them anyway. Along the Kenning and in all the Havens folk tell of the Elder Beasts. These beasts are like their common brethren but that they are of prodigious size and unusual ferocity. It is said that they are not true beasts but spirits of the land, and that to be killed by such a being is to become one with the land. Thuswise is it said that some folk revere them, and that once the mystics knew rituals which would summon an Elder Beast and bind one’s folk to its will. Beyond this is said nothing, and none alive claim to have met one. 

Varro ran his hand over the empty remainder of the page, and the empty page opposite. Then he closed the book and for the second time he placed his hand on the broken iron clasp. He shut his eyes. "I will see the Elder Wolf that stalks the south. I will learn all there is to know of it and put it in this book." 

Swear an Iron Vow +Heart: Weak Hit 

But this time the words of his vow sounded unconvincing in the light of day. Such a creature, if it really existed, would be impossible to get near enough to see with his own eyes. And if what Serenne's trader friends from Merlo said was true, all kinds of rumours and theories might be swirling around, perhaps the same kind of petty arguments that had divided White Wick, that he had thought he was escaping from. He would just need to get to Merlo and find someone who knew something true. 

He put the book away, stood, and began the walk down the south side of South Hill, towards the bank of the Kenning. 

Undertake a Journey +Wits: strong hit 

-1 supply, +1 momentum, marked progress

Chapter 2: arrive at Newstone