Ironsworn RPG, Session 8

Start from the beginning

Previous Session

A nightmare

Sleep.  No! Hunger.
Awakening.  Not again! Famished.

A hand, raised in front of my face.  No, this is not me.
The skin, pale.  So tight to the bone it almost seems transparent.
Wake up!

No meat on the bone.  A flex digs the elongated, ragged,  fingernails into my palm its palm.  I must wake up!
There’s no pain.  No blood.  Just the hunger.  Make it stop!

Time to get up.  Wake up! It’s dark here.
How long has it been? Wake It knows the way. up!

Kori and Nia carefully escorted the bonewalker toward the circle.  It lurched between them, kept safely away by rope taut between them.  Over its snarls, Nia asked Kori why he’s seeking a mystic.  He shared a little about his nightmares – not the worst details, but enough.  “I’m sorry,” Nia said.  The frequency and severity of the dreams has varied over his life and travels, but it has always been present.  His parents always remarked how frustrating he was to get to sleep as an infant.  He had an herbal pouch containing various sleep aids that at least allow his body to get rest even when his mind was racing.  Despite the circumstances, Kori couldn’t help but chuckle as Rythane perched and croaks triumphantly on the head of the furious bonewalker.  Kori silently cursed himself for laughing near Nia who had been through worse than him the past few days losing her husband and perhaps her community.  He didn’t hear her react, hopefully he hadn’t offended her.  Best not to look back, and just continue forward.  Kori pulled out a stick, and began carving while he walked.

By the time they got back to Deveza, the last beams of sunlight winked out on the horizon.  A platform was finished being raised for speaking.  There were screams when the bonewalker was noticed.  Kori reigned it in, and they tied it to a tree outside of the circle.  Kori  decided to guard the bonewalker until the trial, while Nia talked with her neighbors and gathered support from those that would listen.  Kori continued carving by torchlight, with the clattering of the hungry dead and a hungry raven to keep him company while he practiced what he was going to say in his head.

When Kori noticed moving torchlight in the circle, the hour of the trial had come.  Kori approached the crowd alone, and he was admitted to the platform to speak.
“There will be change here, whether you like it or not.  Kiah’s death means the end to the dark ritual that gave you your unnaturally bountiful harvests.  Some of your community has known this for decades, and some of you are just learning of it this week.  I have the evidence, which I will show soon.  I have some of the answers.  But the question of ‘why’ is the reason we are here tonight.  Life in the Ironlands has been unforgiving.  If our ancestors didn’t take every opportunity that presented itself, we may not be here today.  At the same time, relying on those plentiful opportunities is why they had to leave the Old World.  They didn’t have the foresight to save opportunities for the future generations.  Or creating them.  Are we doomed to make their same mistakes?”

“Hang him,” someone shouted among the crowd. “He killed Kiah, he killed Bevan, he killed Abram, and Morien is unlikely to see another nameday.  He’s an outsider, and his hands are wet with our blood, he probably killed Shekar too.  He brings horrors here to frighten us so we won’t linger on his lies.” The crowd whipped into a frenzy, spurred by the people who were complicit in the sacrifices.  Nia pushed her way to the front, and calms the crowd holding her hands up, and revealing the scar from her cut palm, “His words are painful but they are true.  The trial must continue.”

Kori held up the ledger and spoke, “From Abram’s house, a ledger of names.  Names of those lost, and more.  It appears as if everyone in the circle is accounted for.  Some of you were mere years away from slaughter, and others were safe because they knew too much, or were good friends of Kiah or Abram.  Some of you may not hold the positions among her inner circle that you thought.”  He began reading off the names of the next few years of planned sacrifices.

The crowd shuffled, the complicit people unsure of themselves and their standing. Kori held up another book.  “This is Kiah’s diary.  It describes what you all went through in your old circle.  It’s a story all ironlanders are familiar with, but you lived it first hand.  She was willing to do anything to save herself.  Most would.” Above the crowd, Asha’s voice called over the silent crowd from Rythane, “One sacrifice a year is worth it to never have to know that pain again.”  Kori continued, “To do something to save more than yourself could be noble in any other circumstance.  But she didn’t see herself as a hero.  Doing this hurt her, she burned candles of atonement that night.  It hurts all of you.  Their blood is on your hands.  This trial is how you atone.”

A voice shouted out from the crowd, “Now we have to go back to the dark times.  We’ll starve again because of what you’ve done.”  Another voice, “Hang him.”  The circle whipped into discontent.  Rythane croaked out “Kill the bastard” in Kiah’s voice.  Many screamed out, but others looked to their neighbors and said nothing.  Kori nodded to Nia, and she took an escort to bring the bonewalker to the stage.  Its eventual appearance made the din louder for a time, but they quieted down eventually.

Kori continued, “Avella was sacrificed this year for your crops.  A sweet girl by all accounts.  But perhaps an easy choice after ‘the curse’ took her father the prior year.”  The bonewalker screamed, its glowing blue eyes darting between the feast presented in front of it.   Something in the dark echoed its scream back.  The fading sunlight had accelerated its decomposition during the walk back to the circle, but it was still identifiable as their former neighbor, Lago.  “Despite her guilt, she couldn’t bring herself to burn the bodies, and give their spirits rest.  It might attract attention.  All part of the plan.  They died betrayed by a friend, but that only began their suffering.”  In mimicry of Bevan’s voice, “The sacrifices must continue” was shouted from Rythane’s perch on a nearby building.

The shout echoed across the courtyard, but not only from the dead man’s voice.  Others took up the call, “Never again.”

The circle became a frenzy, pushing in on him, overwhelming the temporary stage.

Kori had to dodge and use the bonewalker for cover, drawing his spear to keep the mob away.  The fear of the dead worked well enough.  Nia worked to get the crowd calm enough to finish the trial, but Kori was losing his optimism.  He drew some papers from his pouch and shouted angrily, “She buried her notes on the dark ritual in the woods.”  Nia shouted, “No!” and clambered to stop him.  The crowd pressed in again.  “This choice was made for you last time.  It’s easy to hate me for stopping it so you don’t have to reflect on what you’ve done.  Would you then choose it willingly?”

He saw others in the circle turn on each other instead of him.  People scrambled towards him, but others turned around.  Resigned people holding the angriest back.  “These pages are blank.  I burned her notes.  Never again.”  The hope died in their eyes when they realized, the passion leaving them.  The elderly herbalist Glynn climbed the stage, with help, getting the attention of everyone.  “The outlander has said his piece.  It’s time to vote.”  Nia joined Kori, and reached for his hand to hold.  All they could do was wait.

The vote was called for the execution of Kori and Nia.  Neighbors looked to each other in silence.  A public vote meant they would have to stand for themselves, and none were prepared to.  People started returning to their homes when it was clear.  There would be tough times ahead again, but they were Ironlanders, they would endure.  Never again.

If I end up continuing to play, I will probably delete the following and include it elsewhere.  

Blue text is my thoughts or meta commentary

Red text is backfilled, added after the fact some time in the future, and was not present when originally written