Guest Post: Alex's Ironsworn Journal - Chapter 2 - Close Call in Newstone

Continuing guest host Alex's Ironsworn campaign journal.

Chapter 2: Close Call in Newstone 

The weather was calm, the journey easy alongside the River Kenning. Varro had wondered if he should wait for the next trade run so he could have ridden on the barge with Mai, but now he was glad he had chosen to walk. The sun was well past its apex and a bracing chill had entered the air when he arrived in Newstone. Nevertheless, his plan was to see if there were any more supplies for purchase and get moving again quickly, then camp by the road tonight. He didn't want to spend any more time among the Newstone folk than he had to. Some knew him by sight, and who knew how they felt about the peace, when his own village was so divided. 

What's going on in Newstone? Trouble: a dangerous discovery. What kind? Lose enemy -- yes, they have lost their traditional enemy as they have made peace. Someone is upset, some rough and tumble warrior type who feels not raiding their neighbours is an affront to their pride. But what are they doing about it? Locate truth -- traders have loose lips, and this person has heard about Varro and his book - throw in a bit of day drinking and maybe getting hold of such an unusual object and claiming it as his own seems like a great way to hang onto some of that pride... 

Does Varro know Newstone well enough to go straight to where he needs to go to get some supplies without any fuss? Likely: 1-70 -- Yes

Sojourn: Miss

He walked alongside the river, briskly, not looking at the fishermen where they were bringing in their nets. They looked at him though. Before he could reach the little path that led up to the village square and its tiny market stand, a shadow fell across the path before him. In front of him stood a bear of a man with thinning hair, a broad flat face like an anvil, and a flask of something in one hand. 

"Happy rains, outsider." The anvil face didn't look happy. 

"Happy rains to you," said Varro. He moved to skirt around the man and continue on his way. The man shifted to block him. Varro was aware of the fishermen to his right having stopped fussing with their nets. He should have skirted the hill and avoided the whole village. 

"I know you. From White Wick. Kuno's boy." 

"Then you have the advantage of me. What's your name, friend?" The man turned to the fishermen. 

"Friend! Aye, all of us friends now. Friends and allies 'gainst the cold, and balls to our slain kin, aye?" Varro said nothing. The man straightened up, the anvil face looming above Varro. "They say your uncle left you that book of his. All the secrets and lore o' the Ironlands. I think we should see it." A gaggle of fishermen had grouped together. Varro wanted to look at them, wanted to see their eyes and know what they were making of this, but he didn't dare. "Now we're all friends, I think you should show us yer uncle's book." 

"I'm sad to say the book is mostly empty pages. That's what I aim to change. When it's complete there shall be copies, and every village shall have one." 

"Isn't that fine? I say we should see it now." 

Varro risked a glance at the fishermen. They were watching with undisguised interest. Was he going to do it? What choice was there? 

"When my great-uncle gave my uncle this book, he told him the opening of it was a serious thing. He said 'Kuno, herein is set down the hard-won lore of our ancestors. Those who laid the stones of the fort at Merlo, and who drove the giants north to the Hinterlands. And when the Broken Ones came and they set the farms ablaze, our grandsire went back into his farmhouse to retrieve this book. His face and his arms were scarred like the wastes of the Black Crater, and the smoke went into his lungs and he never spoke again. But this book is worth it, because the knowledge it will one day hold can bind us together as Ironlanders, in friendship against the cold.' So if I show you this book, then truly we are bound in friendship, as you say." His voice had risen as he spoke, and he wanted to look again at the fishermen, many of them now, but he dared not take his eyes from the eyes that glinted in that anvil face. 

Storyweaver, Secure an Advantage +Heart: Strong Hit 

A cry came suddenly from the gathered men to Varro's right. "Aye! Hear him, Faldon, the boy speaks well." A murmur of ascent. The anvil face wavered for an instant. 

"Let's see it then," said Faldon. 

Varro set his staff to rest against his shoulder, unslung his pack, and took the book from its hiding place in the inner pocket. He opened it, without needing to look, to the page that had come to his mind. "See here. The tale is told of the Golden Salmon, who spoke the tongue of the Ironlanders and told them the ways of the river." In his mind he asked the unknown ancestor who had begun the book to watch over him. And he handed it over. 

Face Danger +Heart: Miss, burn momentum -- weak hit

Faldon held the book. Now he made his own cautious glance at the group standing nearby, easily a dozen folk now, all of them watching intently. The one who had spoken before now came forward, peering at the open book. He read aloud the brief tale of the Golden Salmon, and of Kollia Riverborn who had befriended it and learned from it how to work the river without angering its spirits. 

By the end of the tale, Faldon's face had softened. Whether he had truly embraced the book's spirit of camaraderie, or whether he had simply feared the judgement of the fishermen, or whether he was merely grateful that his friend had spared him revealing that he had no letters - Varro would not know. But when Faldon pointed to the horizon and said the sun was low now, and that as Newstone and the Wick were joined in friendship at last Varro should come with him to the tavern and share in Newstone's ale, Varro realised he would be staying the night here after all. 

The fishermen packed up their nets and the whole crowd of them went to the tavern. Varro read to them from the archive, and told them other tales that were not in the archive, but that Uncle Kuno had told him from memory. 

Storyweaver, Forge a Bond: Strong Hit 

He slept on a bundle of furs in the fishermen's storehouse, and left Newstone the next morning, smelling of fish and with a headache, but in high spirits all the same. 

Chapter 3: continue the journey, and a waypoint that is not a village...