Year in Review - 2023
Welcome to the end of 2023, the third year of the podcast and a markedly different year than the first two. First, I want to say thank you to everyone who has listened, shared, and engaged with Errant Adventures this year. I didn’t get a chance to do all of the things I wanted to, but I’m incredibly proud of the episodes I did release this year.
So let’s talk about it!
2023 saw my return to Ironsworn: Starforged for the main campaign with Season 3: Cry Havoc. For this season, I decided to do something a little different and copy my friend Matt, of the Bad Spot Podcast, and run a twenty-four episode season with two twelve episode halves. The first half went really well and I hit 12 episodes at the beginning of April. I took a vacation in early May and as such, planned to take the whole month of May off, filling it in with some short fiction pieces.
Unfortunately, June and July were two of the most challenging months of my life. My partner and I found out we were pregnant on our vacation in May, discovered there might be complications in early June, and ultimately lost the pregnancy in early July.
I managed to gut out a handful of episodes through the course of June and July, but if I’m being honest, I should have taken my hiatus then because forcing myself through recording and releasing episodes while grappling with grief and loss led to an incredible amount of burnout.
I didn’t want to leave the story half finished, but as I worked through the second half of Season 3, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to twenty-four episodes. It wasn’t just the loss; the story felt like it was wrapping up. So I didn’t fight it and ended Season 3 on the last day of July.
Through it all, I’m incredibly proud of Cry Havoc and consider it to be the best of what I’ve produced so far.
Let’s talk about some numbers. I released 39 episodes in 2023. I ended 2022 with 47,503 total downloads, and I’m currently sitting at 76,705. That means I had 29,202 downloads in 2023. Comparing that to the 30,600 I had in 2022 feels pretty good considering I released 14 fewer episodes. Thanks again to everyone who listened this year!
I did a few bonus episodes this year including the amazing Tangled Blessings by Cassi Mothwin, Agon by John Harper, and also Stoneburner and Tales of the Burned Stones by RP Deshaies. I loved playing all of those games. Thanks to Cassi and RP specifically for sending me pre-release versions to play.
My only collaboration published this year is a Youtube discussion show between me and Matt Risby of the Bad Spot. We talk about solo RPGs and how our styles of play have changed through playing these games. You can check out our episodes over on the Bad Spot Youtube channel.
I’m also working on a secret project with Jon from Tale of the Manticore and I’m hopeful that will see the light of day in 2024.
Speaking of 2024, I’m hard at work on the new campaign of Errant Adventures which will be a more long form story set in a space opera setting of my own creation. If you want a sneak peak of the universe, you can check out my birthday episode: Lida Blaster and the Domes of Tempora Hasta.
I’d hoped to start releasing those episodes in January, but I’m trying to build a healthier production schedule and keep a backlog of episodes so I’m not trying to record and edit an episode every week. Due to some minor health issues in the fall (seriously, the back half of 2023 sucked), I didn’t get as far as I would like, so I’m taking more time before I start releasing the new campaign.
That being said, I do have a treat for you. Starting on January 8th, I’m releasing the first of a four part co-op Ironsworn game I played with a good friend of mine. I think it’s a lot of fun and we came up with some cool story moments.
I talked last year about streaming, and… I did zero streaming. I was waiting until I could purchase a better camera because I’m obsessed with everything looking as good as possible, but I think I’ve come to the realization that I don’t need to have the crispest, clearest video right now. It’s better to get started and find out if it’s something I enjoy doing before investing more money into a setup. So, I’m throwing down the gauntlet to myself: I want to stream an Ironsworn campaign in 2024!
I started up a Youtube channel and, despite all the advice out on the internet, I’ve been uploading my back catalog. I also wrote, recorded, and published my first direct to camera video, talking about how to get started with Solo Roleplaying. I’ve got ideas for more topics and I’ve been noodling on a few scripts, so I’m hoping to get more direct to camera style videos produced in 2024.
Part of the reason I’m shifting to creating stories in my own space opera setting is because I’ve been writing stories in that universe for about twelve years. My goal is to publish some of those stories alongside releasing the podcast, and let you all into my world. I think it’s pretty cool.
As 2023 ends, I’m glad to see it go. I’m hopeful that 2024 will be a better year filled with more creativity and joy. Thank you again for continuing to listen and engage. It fills my heart knowing there are people who enjoy these stories I tell.
Happy new year and as always, I’ll see you next time!
Honor Them
Sees-with-fresh-eyes dances paths where stars tread listening to the emptiness and rejoicing. There is peace again. The stars are returning to their ancient holds, fewer than before, but victorious.
Through the void, sees-with-fresh-eyes soars, passing the many globes of heaven, singing of this new beginning. It is a song of sorrow and joy, praising the valor of those who fought and remembering those who fell. On many of the worlds it passes, inhabitants emerge from their hiding places, faces turning toward the sky, listening to their song.
Light returns to the universe. Slowly, at first, as the closest celestial kingdoms are re-ignited by their lords and ladies. Then, like a consuming fire, the stars cast their light once more upon the globes within their orbit. The universe wakes from its terrible slumber.
On the crest of this new dawn, a lonesome cry finds its way to sees-with-fresh-eyes. No light is found on this desiccated orb, no master returns from the battlefield. Drawn by the wailing, sees-with-fresh-eyes surveys the darkness and marvels.
A thriving civilization whose towers rose almost to the emptiness once lived there, but in the Darkening, its people were cast down and destroyed. When their star died, the people followed. All but one. One lonesome child, weeping amidst the rubble. One survives.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes descends, its song transforming into a dirge. The child, a girl, looks up, aware that something has changed. Her weeping ceases as she is transfixed by the song. Gently, sees-with-fresh-eyes alights.
“Child,” they say. “What is your name?”
“Erutani,” replies the girl.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes smiles, hoping its strange features do not frighten her. "Weep not, little one. You are alone no longer.”
Erutani looks up, eyes wide with curiosity. “Will you take me away from here?”
“Yes, child.” Sees-with-fresh-eyes spreads their many arms around the child. “I will be your mother now,” he says. Then, with a flicker, swords and shields appear in its hands. “And I will be your protector,” she says.
Erutani gasps at the display. Then, she draws closer. “Why?”
Sees-with-fresh-eyes keens. “It is the way of my people. Though they are far from here and I am alone, I must honor them.”
“Will I honor my people?”
Sees-with-fresh-eyes puts away the swords and gathers the girl in his arms. “In time, little one. But first, we must depart. This place grows cold.”
Erutani shivers as though feeling it for the first time. Sees-with-fresh-eyes nestles her within himself, extending his body into a shell around her. Then, without a sound, they soar into the heavens, leaving Erutani’s planet behind.
They travel far together, for that is their nature: to wander many paths, seeking new wonders to behold. There is much to see now that the war is over. Wherever sees-with-fresh-eyes goes, Erutani follows, wrapped safely in his embrace. And wherever they go, sees-with-fresh-eyes teaches Erutani the mysteries of the universe.
They visit the Versian Rift and stare into the broken vestiges of a star’s kingdom. Greenish-purple gasses crowd around the open wound, and sees-with-fresh-eyes holds Erutani out to see the emptiness. The child returns with a thoughtful look upon her face.
“Mother, what caused this?”
“The enemy besieged the star’s fortress and tore it asunder.”
The child frowns. “Everyone died?”
“No, many survived. They escaped on the wings of destruction while the star and her soldiers fought. Some of them still live.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
He wraps his arms around her tight. “So you know that you are not alone. Grief, sorrow, death are all a part of this existence. They may cause us pain, but we can survive and continue on.”
Erutani leans against his warm sides and considers. Finally, she asks, “Did you know the star?”
Sees-with-fresh-eyes sings a new song. The gasses tremble and congeal, forming a portrait across the darkness. A woman dark as the deepest night with tresses made of a thousand curls appears and looks on them, smiling. Erutani lets out a gasp and looks to her mother. Their ancient eyes study the form, one arm reaching out, but they are only vapors and there is nothing to hold.
He embraces Erutani even closer and whispers, “She was strong and wise and beautiful. I wish you had been able to know her; as I wish I had been able to know your people.” It let out another low keen.
Erutani strokes their face. “Do not cry, mother. I am here.”
Sees-with-fresh-eyes looks at the child. “Sometimes, it is well to weep.”
The child looks away, the memories of her own loss threatening to release the font of tears stored within. Sensing this, her mother lifts her up and sets her on their back.
“Grief does not last forever,” they say, soaring away from the Rift.
They continue on, visiting worlds of ice, of diamonds, of music. Erutani grows and learns of the many peoples of the universe, of the stories they tell, of the lives they live. She meets warlords, prophets, dream dancers, and fae. Once, they stay in the lavish demesne of the North Star, watching tournaments play out over ethereal grounds. In all that time, sees-with-fresh-eyes teaches her the song of the universe.
While traversing the Paressial Expanse, a stellar storm rises, buffeting them with intense heat and fierce gusts. Sees-with-fresh-eyes takes refuge in the belt of the hunter, a massive collection of asteroids and planetary chunks where they find a cave in which to rest, watching as the storm passes.
Erutani leaves her mother’s warm embrace and settles on a rock near the mouth of the cave. She has grown, doubling in size, but her skin is still soft. She has been uncomfortable of late as a great heat radiates from her flesh. Small patches of it have started to harden, forming a chitinous-layer over her skin.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes watches her, silent. She is maturing. The physician with the sad eyes told them it was normal, but he left much unsaid before sauntering off.
“You are watching me, mother,” Erutani says.
They blink, casting their eyes back to the storm. “You have grown so much.”
The girl smiles. “I am still your daughter.”
“Yes, always.”
They sit in silence, eyes on the coruscating display in the void beyond. Waiting for it to pass. They do not hear the scratching sounds over the howl of the storm. Not until the sounds are close. Sees-with-fresh-eyes feels them at its back and turns.
A hundred eyes stare out from deeper in the cave. One voice, or many, say, “What do we have here?”
Erutani looks and her eyes narrow. There is an oily quality about the voice. Voices?
“A delectably, soft-skinned girl.” They emerge from the darkness, long-limbed and lanky, seven in total.
“What are you?” Erutani asks.
“Hungry,” they rumble.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes becomes like a wall between her daughter and the creatures. She says, “They are Tro-va-mes-ta-ku-la-no. Scavengers. No need to fear, child.”
Erutani straightens. “I am not afraid.”
The seven siblings edge forward, sharp talons growing from their fingers. They eye the wall of flesh and the collection of weapons that appear in the many-limbed protector’s hands.
“We just want a taste,” they whine.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes brandishes her weapons. “Begone.”
“Now that won't do,” they answer. “We're famished.” And they attack, talons flashing.
Their cuts meet shields of stone and blades of bone strike back at them. Tro-va-mes-ta-ku-la-no is driven back, but they circle and attack again like a rushing river. Her arms spread out, slashing and blocking.
“Let me fight, mother,” Erutani says. “I can help.”
“No, dear one. The time is not yet. You must learn endurance. The universe will test you in unnumbered ways.” She hisses as one of the talons rakes across her flesh.
Erutani leans forward, eager to help.
Bone blades sing, and one of the siblings tumbles to the ground, riven in two. The remaining six howl and renew their assault. Two more fall beneath her swords.
Tro-va-ta-lan retreats, whimpering. “You wound us!”
“Depart before I finish you,” she commands.
As one, the four siblings charge, screeching. Sees-with-fresh-eyes cuts down two more before taking a talon across her expanse, splitting her flesh. The cave fills with a howling.
Va-ta chortles in triumph as she reels from the blow. The final two siblings split and attack, meaning to sever her many limbs one by one.
Erutani screeches and leaps through the air, past her mother, onto one of the siblings. With the strength of a god, she tears Va apart, casting pieces about.
Ta takes one look at the child and flees, leaving her sibling to perish. She only makes it three paces before a bone blade pierces her heart. Sees-with-fresh-eyes lowers the corpse to the cave floor and turns to her daughter. Swords and shields vanish as arms enfolded Erutani, pulling her away from the carnage.
“Are you hurt?” He asks.
Erutani shakes her head, sending gore flying. “Mother, you are bleeding.”
He lifts her out of the way and looks down. The wound already begins to close. “I will heal. You were reckless, daughter. You could have been injured.”
“Was I to stand by and watch you suffer?”
“Sometimes we must learn to bide our time. I am not so easy to kill.”
Erutani looks at the bodies. “Why did they attack us?”
“There is evil in this universe, daughter. We must learn to endure it, or it will overcome us.”
“And fight it.”
“When necessary.”
“How do you know if it is necessary?”
“Follow the call of your heart, daughter. It speaks true.”
They turn away from the bloody scene and return to watching the storm pass. It lasts another rotation, but there is nothing more to fear in that place, so they sleep. Once the storm passes, they continue their journey, passing planets made of fire, castles forged by a star's hand, vast open spaces where they soar unhindered.
The further they travel, the stronger Erutani becomes. Her soft skin continues to harden until she is covered in a thick shell. She continues to grow to the point where sees-with-fresh-eyes can barely carry her any longer. With the hardened shell, Erutani no longer needs to be cocooned by her surrogate mother and protector. Side by side they soar through the vast emptiness, sees-with-fresh-eyes holding tightly to her arm and helping her fly.
Even so, they traverse the long path back to Erutani's birthplace. She grows wild and the wanderlust fades. Sees-with-fresh-eyes knows that the child who is no longer a child needs to return once more to her home, but it fears that she will only find sorrow and emptiness there. And yet, return they must.
It is darker than before and cold, the last of the ambient heat from the dead star's fortress is gone. The globe is covered in ice that crunches under their feet when they land. Sees-with-fresh-eyes lets Erutani stand apart. It understands the need for her to face her people's demise. She is no longer a child. Still, he wishes he could fold her in his arms and comfort her.
Erutani, now wholly encased in her chitinous shell, surveys the world of her people. The stories of their lives and deaths survive in her memory. She knows what comes next. The way of her people, she must honor it, and yet, she hesitates.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes watches from afar, waiting for their daughter to return. It recognizes the sorrow in her posture. The sorrow of a being looking upon the end of her civilization. That pain is all too familiar. In all their travels, they never met another of its species, and though Erutani did not ask why, it suspects she knew the answer.
Erutani turns away from the shambles of her people's kingdom and returns. “Mother, why could I not be your true-born daughter? Why must I be this?” She extends her arms, exposing her hardened shell.
They blink, seeing her not as a daughter, but as it once had, a frightened, lonely child of a dead world. Tears well in their eyes as they float toward her.
His arms enfold her. “You are not alone, my child. I am always with you.”
They stand like that for uncounted time. As has been in the past, Erutani feels completely safe in his arms. That feeling summons tears to her eyes. Sees-with-fresh-eyes does not ask why she cries. He only holds her tightly.
At last, Erutani pulls away and wipes the wetness from her eyes. “Tell me about your people,” she says. “They must be wonderful.”
They look up at the heavens and sing. Erutani recognizes some of the refrains; they were present in the song she first heard on the day her mother descended. Erutani listens with new ears, and she catches bits of the story. When the song concludes, sees-with-fresh-eyes looks at their daughter.
“Were you a warrior?” Erutani asks.
She says, “I was. I fought in the great war, beside gods and stars. It was glorious.”
“Did your people fight as well?”
“Some, yes. Most were gone before the war began.” It emits a soft whine. “The enemy struck the first blow.”
“Why did you rescue me?”
Sees-with-fresh-eyes turns its gaze upon the child. “It is the way of my people.”
Erutani holds her mother’s eyes. “Must we always follow the way of our people?”
“The universe will pull you in many directions. Who you are is shaped by where you come from and by what you experience.” They consider for a moment. “Who you are is also what you want to be.”
“I can hear my people whispering to me. I am the last.”
“Yes, you should honor them.”
Erutani looks at her mother. “Will you hold me once more?”
“Of course.” His many arms circle around her, pulling her close.
Erutani stares out over the desolation that was her home. Her people are gone, no more. It is her duty to carry on their tradition. She closes her eyes and feels the warmth of her mother, cradling her. Grief is not forever. Honor your people.
The child takes hold of her mother and opens her mouth. Her jaw snaps and cracks as it elongates. Sees-with-fresh-eyes grows very still, suddenly uncertain. It tries to pull away, but the child's grip is firm, unrelenting.
Erutani devours her mother.
It is the way of her people.
Her way.
Sees-with-fresh-eyes keen as it dies. Beyond the fear and betrayal is pride. The child has grown, has learned, and has become herself.
Erutani stands alone on the frigid orb, tears pouring from her eyes. She feels her mother's presence, warming her heart. She is now the last of two peoples, memories of a thousand years flooding into her mind. The stories, the wisdom, all live on within her.
The child, a child no more, ascends to the heavens, following the secret ways her mother knew. She is no longer a child of a dead world. She is reborn.
Lives-to-honor-them dances away on those heavenly paths.
End
Running a Starforged One-Shot
Hey folks, this past Saturday evening, a friend and I ran a Starforged one-shot at our local gaming store. We had a blast, and I wanted to share some of my thoughts on how it went. Six people showed up, which I think was pretty good for a relatively small town game store running a non-D&D ttrpg event!
My friend covered the mechanics and got everyone oriented, then we jumped into Truths. We decided beforehand that we didn’t want to go through all the truths for a one-shot, so we read through the list of categories and let folks pick a few to work through: we rolled for the cataclysm, religion, communities, and lifeforms truths and based on the responses we got, we felt like that covered enough to start playing.
For character creation, we used the archetypes in the book and only worried about the two assets associated with the archetypes rather than trying to cover the whole range of assets.
As a group, we rolled up a single settlement as our starting place and then split into two groups with my friend and I guiding three players each. My group swore a dangerous Iron Vow to steal an artifact from a ship of cultists passing by the system’s white dwarf. As you might expect, chaos ensued, but they managed to succeed.
It was a really positive experience, and I think rolling only a couple truths is the way to go. It gives enough for the players to latch onto without overwhelming them with choices and taking up valuable time. We had a 4 hour play slot and I think we had the entire intro to the system, truths, character creation, and settlement creation done in under an hour.
I’d also recommend having people roll on the archetypes for character creation. That worked really well, and we didn’t spend a lot of time trying to explain what all the assets were. Some people went with what they rolled, while others talked about what they wanted and we matched their desires with one of those archetypes.
Definitely remember to read off the quest starters for the truths you roll. Both groups ended up deciding to use the quest starter for the cataclysm, and we had two very different adventures! My last piece of advice is to start that initial vow no higher than a rank of dangerous. My group managed to get through a dangerous vow and a formidable fight in about two and a half hours without it feeling too rushed. Obviously, that will vary depending on the group and how quickly they grok the system, but in the games I’ve run introducing Starforged to people, dangerous vows are a good starting point.
Starforged is great for long campaigns, but it can also make a fun one-shot. If you’re thinking of running a Starforged one-shot, I hope this helps, and if you have any questions, let me know!
Year in Review - 2022
It’s the end of another year and the second anniversary of my first episode release. Time for another year in review! Once again, I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who has listened, shared, and engaged with Errant Adventures over the last year. It’s a lot of work making this show, but knowing there are people out there enjoying it makes that work worth it! So, once again, thank you!
Let’s get into it!
In many ways, 2022 was the year of the Crest. The first episode of the year was episode 17 of Season 2, and I concluded Season 2 on October 3rd, with the Season 2 wrap up dropping on November 24th after my first ever livestream. For those keeping count (I assume just me), I released 53 episodes in 2022, one every Monday, plus the Season 2 wrap up. I ended 2021 with 16,700 downloads, and as of today, I’m sitting at about 47, 300 which means about 30,600 downloads in 2022. That’s amazing, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t once again say thank you!
In addition to Season 2, I did a few different bonus episodes. I played Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard by Amanda P and had a lot of fun telling a quieter, more atmospheric story. If you like questing knights and struggling with temptation, I highly recommend it!
I also did a few collaborations this year which was definitely a highlight. Playing solo can be lonely sometimes (go figure), and having the opportunity to play games with other amazing creatives is so rewarding. I hope to do more next year, and maybe even guest on someone else’s show!
I got to run a three part game of Blades in the Dark for Matt Risby, Tavon Gatling, and Joshua Meehan set in my fantasy city of Davennar, and we left it on a cliff hanger which I hope to resolve in 2023.
I also played a two part Maze Rats series with Jon from Tale of the Manticore where we had a bunch of fun and surprisingly survived against some pretty compelling odds.
Finally, I ended the year with a two hour game of Ironsworn: Starforged with Nathan of Reckless Attack. As much as I love playing solo, co-op Ironsworn has seen some of my favorite stories, and this was no exception!
If you missed any of these bonus episodes, they’re all compiled under my Bonus Episodes tab.
Now, let’s look ahead to 2023. I’ve just finished editing episode 1 of Season 3, and while we’re not going to start the year with the new season, it should be dropping before the end of January. I’m excited for a return to Ironsworn: Starforged and my Tarquinverse, and I’m ready to jump into this new character and explore a different part of the universe. As usual, I don’t know how long the season will run, but I’m hoping for no more than 25 episodes. As far as bonus content, I’ve got some fun solo games to dive into as well as a couple other story ideas I want to explore. In addition, I’m considering starting up a bi-monthly streamed game of Ironsworn, though that’s all dependent on whether I can carve out the time and figure out my camera/lighting situation. Video is a whole ‘nother thing to obsess over!
As we bring 2022 to a close, I hope you all know how much I’ve enjoyed creating these stories over the past two years, and I’m excited for what is to come in 2023. I appreciate your support and continued listening. Thank you thank you thank you!
And as always, I’ll see you next time.
Points of Light
I walk these streets paved by human hands, and I marvel at what we have accomplished. All around me is wildness, trees and swamps, but all around me is also civilization, manicured lawns and homes. When I began this walk, there was still light. I saw the road ahead, and I recognized the world around me.
But…
Now the sun retreats behind the trees, over the horizon, on to its rest or its new dawning. And on I walk on streets that quickly fade from my view. Gone is the civilization I recognize, replaced by the wildness, the mystery of the dark, and the fear.
It’s subtle at first. Trees creak and groan around me, and I notice them for the first time. Are they speaking to me, warning me of some impending fate? Are they laughing at my mortal eyes struggling against the dying light?
If I keep to the road, surely I’ll be safe, but it’s becoming harder and harder to see it, to believe it. Then, like a spark in the night, I see light pouring out of a house. A beacon of hope. As long as I’m caught in its light, I am safe. Maybe I should stop walking, maybe I should find shelter here, but no, that is not the way of civilization. This shelter is not my shelter, it belongs to another. My weary feet must march on past this sphere of light, of hope, back into the darkness.
That mystery returns. Mystery and fear as the darkness deepens. On I walk, faster, faster! My legs demand, my breath demands, my mind begins to believe. I must walk faster if I’m to survive.
I’m alone in the dark, in between the points of light, and though I know I’m safe on my peninsula within a peninsula, I don’t believe it. A shape in the dark woods catches my attention. It moves (no it doesn’t). It’s watching me (no it’s not). Unbidden, the hairs on my skin rise to greet the threat (there’s nothing there). My breath doesn’t quite believe the thoughts racing through my head. It catches and I feel that ancient urge to run, to escape the thing that hunts me.
I resist. This is civilization after all (is it?). My pace increases and my hand reaches for the flashlight in my back pocket. My safety net. But I resist.
Why? Why do I flee from the light? Why do I live in this fear? Fear is the dark between the points of light. Fear is the shape just beyond the edge of my vision. It’s the possibility of not knowing what will happen next (I do). It’s the certainty of knowing what comes next (I don’t). It’s civilization. It’s wildness.
On I walk, from point of light to point of light. I know my destination, my safety, I just have to make it (I will), but it’s beyond the next point of light. How do I know this one won’t be the last safety (it isn’t)?
Darkness is the fear. Fear is the darkness. It is being alone between the points of light. It is being alone in wildness. It is being alone in civilization.
Ahead, I see it. My point of light. My civilization. My wildness. I walked through the darkness and the fear. I was alone in it, but I was never in danger (I was in grave danger). Now I stand in the light and all the fear melts away. Not because of the light, but because I’m no longer alone in the dark. No, I stand in the light and I discover I’m not alone, I was never alone. I am not the first to walk through the dark between the points of light.
I am not alone.
I am a point of light.
On The Founding of Heartvale
Year 1: Artus Vixilio (aged 45)
Cataclysm strikes the island kingdom of Aelfhime. As a shroud falls around the boundaries of the island, many mortals who were living peacefully with the fae flee for safety. One such group finds a harbor in a protected mountain vale and begins building a settlement. The captain of the first ship to make landfall, Artus Vixilio, is proclaimed ruler of the new settlement.
Year 3: Vixilio (47)
In the first years of the settlement, which has been dubbed Heartvale, more survivors reach their shores. The vale, which at first seemed peaceful, was home to a dangerous beast that hunted settlers in the night. Vixilio and a number of others track the creature to its lair and slay it, eventually bringing safety to Heartvale.
Year 5: Vixilio (49)
To further protect the new village, a mage named Biardo, who was trained in fae stone shaping, causes a stone perimeter wall to grow from the earth. The stones have grooves and markings that occasionally howl in warning when danger approaches. Vixilio, a worshiper of Luparcas, names the wall Wolfsong.
Year 8: Vixilio (52)
Another ship of survivors arrives having first sailed north and struggling to survive in the Frozen Wastelands. As the village’s numbers begin to swell, plans are made to expand the footprint spilling beyond Wolfsong.
Year 16: Vixilio (60)
Artus Vixilio has tirelessly been seeking out pockets of survivors and bringing them back to Heartvale. In the aftermath of the Shrouding, the face of Ardost has changed. The Marecaliga has become more dangerous to sail, and there are many lost souls who are seeking safe harbor. As a candle that burns too bright too quickly, Vixilio dies in his sleep, returning from one such voyage.
Year 17: Biardo (55)
With the death of Heartvale’s first leader, the mage Biardo steps forward to guide the village’s next steps. As Vixilio’s chosen successor, he is met with gratitude and confidence. Heartvale continues to flourish under his oversight, and Vixilio’s life and works are honored.
Year 21: Biardo (59)
A ship arrives, and Heartvale expects more settlers seeking shelter. Instead they meet representatives from a place called Davennar. The representatives come armed and haughty, demanding tribute for the protection that Davennar offers in these uncertain times. The Valers laugh in their face and turn them away. An enemy is made. Skirmishes between Heartvale ships and Davennaran ships begin.
Year 35: Biardo (73)
The mage ruler is growing older and relying more and more on his magic to sustain himself. He mostly retires from public life and relies on a council of advisors to execute his plans for the village. A faction arises that calls into question the old man’s reliance on magic and suggests new leadership may be required. Biardo begins work on a fortress within Wolfsong as a way to honor Vixilio and offers the leader of this faction a seat on his advisory council.
Year 41: Biardo (79)
The castle is completed, and the ruler of Heartvale is now referred to as the Dux, an old term from Aelfhime. A prominent statue of Vixilio stands in the courtyard of the castle. No magic was used in its construction, and the faction questioning Biardo’s leadership is placated for the time being. What follows is a period of prosperity for Heartvale.
Year 52: Biardo (90)
Also known as the year of the churning seas, a massive wave approaches shore, seemingly called up by angry gods and sent against the city. As it makes landfall, a portion of the now sprawling village is washed away, but Biardo is able to summon his strength to act. He stands before the oncoming storm and unleashes the breadth of his power, diverting the wave from destroying Heartvale, but in the process, his heart gives out and he dies.
Year 65: Atrix Rudissa (37)
In the wake of Biardo’s death, there’s a brief power struggle. A number of candidates rise to take power as the Dux, but none remain in the office for more than four years until Atrix Rudissa, a dashing ship captain who promises a return to the days of Vixilio. She becomes Dux in the fall of 65 right before Heartvale is struck with its most harsh winter yet. Though the times are difficult, Atrix holds the people together. She is often seen walking the streets, handing out small loaves of bread to those who are starving, and over the course of the winter, the people of Heartvale watch the iron-willed captain grow gaunt as it becomes obvious that she gives from her own share of rations.
Year 80: Atrix Rudissa (52)
After the Long Winter, Atrix enjoys fourteen years of prosperity. Eventually, she is overcome with a desire to retrace Vixilio’s journey from Aelfhime and she puts together an expedition. She and her ship vanish and are never seen again. No one knows what became of the beloved Dux and there is great consternation. There are three potential successors, and a contest is appointed to determine who will lead the village next. The winner is another’s captain named Perna Atori.
Year 90: Perna Atori (41)
Though young at the start of her rulership, Perna Atori immediately commands respect. She spends the next ten years building a larger shipyard and constructing more ships. Some fear that she plans to follow Atrix Rudissa to discover what befell the previous Dux, but Perna has an eye toward Davennar. In her time sailing the Marecaliga, she engaged in no fewer than a dozen engagements with Davennaran ships which seemed to be growing more bold with every passing year.
Year 94: Perna Atori (45)
Representatives of Altima, a city-state south of Davennar, arrive in Heartvale. They come requesting an alliance and protection against Davennar. Perna considers their request and recognizes the danger of Davennar gaining control of another merchant city. She decides to offer them aid. Davennar is angered by this interference.
Year 101: Perna Atori (52)
Heartvale continues to flourish and grow, especially with the Altima alliance locked in. The village has grown into a small city and scholars from a number of places convene the first Scriptorium within the city’s walls. Knowledge and education flourish as more scholars flock to Heartvale.
Year 120: Perna Atori (71)
Far to the south, the king of Resdin has been hunting necromancers in his own country. A fugitive arrives in Heartvale. He is called Alcurehar and somehow he ingratiates himself into Perna’s privy council. Over the next year, Perna begins wasting away and eventually dies, ending the recent golden age.
Year 135: The Unlucky Eleven
Perna Atori’s chosen replacement is not as old, but suffers the same fate. Ten others rise to the Duxate in the following years, but the longest reign is three years. All seem to wither away and die. There are rumors that the position of Dux has become cursed. Alcurehar finally props up a puppet ruler named Delmo. The rest of the council is suspicious of Delmo and Alcurehar, but fear keeps them in line.
Year 140: Delmo (53)
Alcurehar is discovered by Alden von Tryken to be a necromancer. The two mages duel and the necromancer is slain. Delmo, who claims to have been held under a spell, is banished. Alden is proclaimed a hero by the people and the council and is swiftly ascended to the Duxate.
Year 150: Alden von Tryken (47)
With the defeat of the Resdinian necromancer, Alden reaches out to the king of Resdin. Trade and shipping routes are established between the two countries and an alliance begins in its infancy.
Year 165: Alden von Tryken (62)
Alden builds a vault that can only be opened by members of his blood. In order to achieve this magery, he uses power derived from the discovered papers of Alcurehar the Necromancer. He is confident in his ability to use these dark magics for good.
Year 184: Alden von Tryken (81)
Relations between Resdin and Heartvale have become strong and stable. Trade is flourishing and the relationship between the city-state and the southern kingdom is Alden’s crowning achievement. He spends a great deal of time visiting Resdin, always in service of growing the alliance, though there are rumors that he continued to search for more and more pieces of magic lore to place inside his vault.
Year 202: Alden von Tryken (99)
Alden passes peacefully at a ripe old age and is succeeded by his son, Gerlo, who continues to grow the city’s focus on magic.
Year 222: Gerlo von Tryken (75)
The outer walls of Heartvale are built by hand. The old fae magic has been lost. Construction takes almost twenty years and is Gerlo’s crowning achievement, despite his attempts to add to magic knowledge contained in the Scriptorium. Sadly, Gerlo is not as powerful a mage as his father.
Year 241: Gerlo von Tryken (94)
Heartvale continues to grow and the districts of the city begin to coalesce into definitive sections of the city. Gerlo names his grand-daughter, Heldis, as his successor to the Duxate.
Year 252: Adolva Nona (41)
Gerlo dies and an anti-magistocracy faction forms, spearheaded by a number of ship captains. Heldis steps down when an incursion occurs and the fighting turns against her people. The captains take control of the Dux’s castle and install Adolva Nona as the new Dux. Adolva, who was friends with Heldis, holds the von Tryken heir under house arrest for a time while she consolidates power before releasing her.
Year 266: Adolva Nona (55)
Under Dux Adolva, Heartvale’s navy is upgraded. Advancements continue to shape both the naval and merchant vessels allowing them to travel farther and faster.
Year 279: Adolva Nona (68)
Davennar has been watching Heartvale’s grip on the Marecaliga grow, and they wish to stop it before Heartvale can become the dominant power. A fleet is launched and begins making its way towards Heartvale. Thanks to the clever maneuvers of a naval scout frigate, Heartvale is warned and Adolva assembles the city’s naval forces to repel the attack. The first all out war with Davennar begins.
Year 284: Adolva Nona (73)
Five years of war wages on as Heartvale and Davennar both take heavy losses. Two fleets meet in another massive battle, but this time, Heartvale’s flagship is exposed and sunk. Adolva Nona perishes in the disaster, but questions quickly arise. How could she have allowed her ship to become that exposed. Dux Adolva was far too skilled as a ship captain to make such a foolish mistake. Was she betrayed?
Year 285: Gario Chierie (28)
Shortly after the death of Dux Adolva, just outside Heartvale, the Valer navy makes a desperate last stand. The winds favor Heartvale and half of the Davennaran fleet is caught in a terrible squall. A young ship captain named Gario Chierie takes advantage of the disorder and strikes at the fleet’s heart. The Davennarans are routed and Gario is proclaimed a hero, and the new Dux.
Year 303: Gario Chierie (46)
Resdin becomes a formal ally with Heartvale occupying the strong position in that relationship. A princess from Resdin arrives to wed Gario, and a massive celebration marks the union. Gario is at the height of his popularity and power.
Year 309: Rigillo deMetza (43)
There is a coup from anti-Resdin Valers. Gario and his family are forced to flee to Resdin and reside there in exile. Rigillo deMetza, a merchant prince, becomes the new Dux. Almost immediately, he shows his hand as an iron-fisted ruler raising taxes and tariffs (especially on Resdinian goods) immediately.
Year 321: Rigillo deMetza (55)
Rigillo commissions the construction of a great plateau within Brightscales. He consecrates it to Lupercas, the hunter god, with the blood sacrifice of a hundred bulls. The blood runs down the steps for three days, and despite public effort, the stains cannot be removed. The place is dubbed the Red Steps. Rigillo also commissions a statue of himself at the top of the steps.
Year 340: Rigillo deMetza (74)
Rigillo is assassinated but no one is sure who is responsible. Many suspect one of the rival merchant families, but no one discovers that it was his own wife who had grown weary after years of abuse. She crafted a careful plan and executed it flawlessly, and the iron-fisted and iron-hearted ruler died gasping in his own blood, the only one aware of who his killer actually was.
Year 358: Council and Dessio deSodo (61)
The council acts as a steward after the death of Rigillo. They delay an election for a number of years on the grounds that deMetza’s murderer must be caught before allowing another member of the merchant aristocracy rise to the Duxate. Finally, they elect Dessio deSodo. During this time, a young woman called Rainwind arrives in Heartvale. She is a mage, growing in her power, who is a scion of Delmo. She has returned to claim her birthright and right the wrongs that befell her ancestor.
Year 377: Dessio deSodo (80)
Using magic, Rainwind manipulates the weather and brings prosperity to the Vale. The sun shines on Heartvale, but not on Davennar. Rainwind is proclaimed a hero and the council is convinced to depose the useless Dessio and raise Rainwind to the Duxate.
Year 383: Rainwind (50)
Recognizing the power and danger inherent in Rainwind, Vidal von Tryken arranges a marriage between her and his second son. Ardis. Unbeknownst to the sorceress, Ardis has been rendered infertile due to some failed magical experimentation, and Vidal has ensured that Rainwind will not be able to gain access to the von Tryken vault, despite her hunger for knowledge and power.
Year 401: Rainwind (68)
After twenty-four years of ruling Heartvale, Rainwind realizes she has reached the pinnacle of magical knowledge she can consume within the city. The von Tryken vault of secrets remains ever outside her reach. She assembles a ship and crew and sails toward the Shroud. In the past, ships were spat back out of the Shroud with no memory of what transpired inside, but Rainwind’s ship enters and never returns.
Year 417: Council of Twelve
After the reign of a strong personality like Rainwind, the Council of Twelve seeks to retain some control of the city. What follows is a string of notably dull Duxes from the old nobility who generally maintain peace in the city. A tension rises in the power centers as new money begins questioning why the Duxate has been kept out of their reach.
Year 435: Botuia (38)
Daughter of a proud merchant family from Larsha, Botuia is put forth as a representative of the new money. She easily wins the popular vote and the Council of Twelve are unable to deny her ascension to the Duxate. She brings with her knowledge garnered from emissaries of the Kemetian Empire to the southeast that help increase the viability of Valer ships in deep water.
Year 452: Botuia (55)
Under Botuia’s rule, Heartvale becomes even more welcoming of immigrants and outsiders. This is a golden era for the city as commerce booms. Travelers from all around Ardost come to see the jewel of the Marecaliga and many stay contributing their culture to the city as a whole.
Year 463: Botuia (66)
Botuia arranges a political marriage with a young prince from the Kemetian Empire. This young prince, named Adjar, arrives with a fanfare and a gift of six warships built in the imperial shipyard. High society is taken with the young prince as he fits nicely into his duty as the Dux’s consort.
Year 466: Botuia (69)
With the presence of Adjar, merchants from the Kemetian Empire enjoy unfettered access to the city and their wealth grows, as does that of the prince. In order to prove that she has not become a pawn of the empire to the south, Botuia founds the War College and names it after the first Dux, Artus Vixilio. She donates all but one of the Kemetian warships to the War College as prizes for the first captains who graduate from its halls.
Year 473: Botuia (76)
After a series of maritime disasters and trouble with pirates, Altima implores Heartvale for assistance. It is granted and the pirates are scattered. Altima begins paying a regular tribute.
Year 475: Botuia (78)
Adjar takes power in the wake of Botuia falling ill. The Dux recovers from her illness but the Kemetian prince does not fully relinquish the power he has taken. He begins pushing an agenda of militarism and intimidation of neighboring settlements, perhaps goaded on by the riches pouring in from Altima. A few settlements send paltry tributes, but Davennar laughs at the suggestion of paying tribute to Heartvale. With this influx of money, the city continues to grow.
Year 478: Botuia (81)
The power struggle continues between Botuia and Adjar, though seemingly in private they maintain the utmost civility and respect for each other. A great fire breaks out in the main temple to Argante, the dragon queen. Prince Adjar had been in attendance, performing a night long vigil. If not for a watchful priest, the prince might have suffocated in the smoke. As one of Heartvale’s three patron deities, this fire is viewed as an ill omen, and some of Adjar’s more firm policies are softened by Botuia’s insistence.
Year 489: Adjar (53)
Botuia passes away peacefully in her sleep, and though he reportedly mourns her in public and in private, Ajar steps into the role as Dux. The council is either too afraid of him or genuinely supports him. Either way, his ascension to the duxate is uncontested. As his first act, he changes the terms of Heartvale’s mandatory service, reducing the age of recruitment to seventeen and increasing the term from two years to three.
Year 495: Adjar (59)
A defector from Davennar arrives with information. The fire in the temple of Argante was Davennaran in origin and was an attempted assassination. Adjar takes this information in stride and returns to his more militaristic policies, including ordering the construction of more warships.
Year 501: Adjar (65)
Adjar spends a great deal of time and resources having Davennarans tracked down, captured, and interrogated. Despite years of effort, he cannot verify the claim that the fire was an assassination attempt. News of these actions is leaked to Davennar and they are incensed by Adjar’s actions. The Dux is unapologetic and war is on the verge of breaking out. The only thing that prevents a conflict is a timely appeal to the Davennaran Apexate by members of the Council of Twelve. They argue that if any of them were targeted for assassination, the Apexate would go to the same lengths. The Davennarans are released and war is averted.
Year 521: Adjar (85)
All five members of the Davennaran Apexate are assassinated while engaged in a private conference. The assassins escape without a trace. Despite his advanced years, the Davennarans immediately accuse Adjar of the attack. The elderly Dux laughs in the representatives’ faces and claims that if he wanted them dead, he would have been warrior enough to challenge them to battle. Oddly enough, the Davennaran representatives find this response plausible. Peace is maintained.
Year 523: Adjar (87)
Despite his advanced years, Adjar is hale and hearty. He is always looking for the next challenge to conquer. After years of obsessively reading reports about the Shroud, he decides that he must see it for himself and discover the secret to penetrating its boundary. He leads an expedition into the Shroud, and they never return.
Year 534: Sardro dePesa (47)
For a time, the duxate is held open, awaiting Adjar’s return. When it becomes clear he will not return, the Council of Twelve elevates Sardro dePesa to the position. He is a respected member of society known for the horses he breeds, and by many, he is viewed as a safe, calming presence in the high seat. Around this same time, Altima and Davennar go to war. Altima reaches out to Heartvale for assistance and the Valer navy is dispatched to assist their ally. A Davennaran operative discovers evidence that Altima was responsible for the assassination of the Apexate. They appeared to be attempting to ignite conflict between Heartvale and Davennar. The operative leaks this evidence to Heartvale, and Dux dePesa recalls the fleet.
Year 545: Sardro dePesa (58)
Davennar defeats Altima and forces them to pay tribute, cutting off the flow of tribute to Heartvale. Despite Dux dePesa recalling the fleet when learning about the Altiman deception, animosity begins to brew once again between Davennar and Heartvale. In their brief entrance into the conflict, the Valer navy sank a dozen Davennaran warships. The Davennarans remain bitter over this defeat while Heartvale feels the loss of the Altiman tribute.
Year 568: Duso von Kartan (43)
In the wake of the war between Davennar and Altima, there are concerns about Heartvale not being strong enough to defend against a conflict with Davennar. A ship’s captain named Duso von Kartan runs a successful campaign with the support of a majority of captains in the navy, but it becomes quickly apparent that von Kartan is a bloody tyrant. He is less interested in keeping Heartvale strong than with proving that he is the greatest and most powerful sea lord on the Marecaliga. It doesn’t take long for his name to become synonymous with cruelty.
Year 583: Ardro deSerta (55)
Once a friend to von Kartan, Captain deSerta can no longer stomach the blatant cruelties perpetrated by his once friend and shipmate. Ardro deSerta plans and executes a coup against the Dux, and the Council of Twelve are far too willing to allow the more moderate captain to step into the role.
Year 592: Jarden Lentin (43)
Supporters of Duso von Kartan help him escape from prison and he murders the Dux before fleeing the city. Jarden Lentin, a respected Warden of the Vale who once led a renowned special operations group called the Fire Eaters tracks von Kartan and his followers down and recaptures them. The criminals are executed and Warden Lentin successfully wins a bid for the Duxate.
Year 598: Jarden Lentin (49)
Despite attempts at peace, hostilities between Davennar and Heartvale reach a fever pitch. There are debates about who struck first, but regardless, war is declared between the two city states. Dux Lentin calls up reserve forces and puts forth an initiative to conscript Drift ships as auxiliaries which is accepted despite their reluctance. Valer and Davennaran ships clash in a series of pitched battles.
Year 601: Jarden Lentin (52)
After three years of war, it is discovered that emissaries from Davennar have been purposefully captured, murdered, and returned to Davennar by a war hawk faction within Heartvale. The Dux dispatches Lord Cavo deSodo to negotiate peace with Davennar, offering up a few scapegoats to satisfy the Davennaran fury at their envoys’ mistreatment. A tentative peace is established and many of the Valer naval vessels are recalled. A mercenary company known as the Crest arrives in Heartvale after a disastrous contract in the southern country of Larsha.
Production Update - June 14
I recorded four episodes today. That's the most I've ever recorded in a single day, and I'm extremely happy about it! I've been running pretty much one week ahead for a while now, and I'm hoping to build up a little buffer. Of course, every time I do, something happens to whittle away that buffer.
I recorded episodes 41 and 42 of Season 2 plus two shorter episodes that I'll be using as bonus content. Should I have recorded episodes 43 and 44 instead of the bonus eps? Maybe, but I also needed a break after a couple mentally taxing episodes.
I'm really proud of the Crest and Season 2, but it is a lot more mental work than Season 1 was. Partially, I think that's because I'm using a world I've been telling stories in for a decade, so I've got a lot of mental baggage that needs sifting through, and I also think that part of the struggle comes from balancing Mythic with SCUP. I don't mind SCUP, but it's clunky compared to the smooth-as-butter experience of playing Starforged.
So, I played a couple short sessions of Starforged as a palate cleanser, and let me tell you, it was exactly what I needed! I probably have one or two more sessions to record before I finish the self-contained arc with this particular character, so it'll probably be a little longer before I release those, but it felt like coming home slipping into Starforged once again.
Now I may go play video games because otherwise I'll force myself to edit for the next two hours. Productive, yes, but not helpful for solidifying the mush that is my brain after all that recording.
Cheers!
Year in Review - 2021
It’s the end of the year, a time for reflection, and since today is the one year anniversary of my first episodes releasing, I thought I might take a moment to reminisce on the last year of podcasting. First, I am incredibly grateful to everyone who has listened over the last year. As I’ve talked about elsewhere, I started the podcast thanks to some kind feedback from members of the Ironsworn: Starforged playtest discord, and the incredibly kind reception I’ve received has kept me going.
I’ve been writing fiction since I was a kid, and I don’t think I will ever stop writing, but Errant Adventures has been a wonderful outlet for both my creative writing and my game playing desire. An outlet I didn’t really anticipate, and now that I’m a year in, I wish I’d made those connections years ago! I’m incredibly proud of the stories I’ve told and am telling, and I hope they have been a source of enjoyment and escape over the last year. More so, I hope to continue getting better at writing, producing, and storytelling in this medium.
So, in the last year, I released 61 episodes, and as of today, I’ve had over 16,700 downloads. Wow!
Season 1 ran for 34 episodes plus two bonus episodes (session 0 and the season 1 wrap up). I loved playing Starforged (as I’m sure no one who has listened to me talk about it is surprised), and I’m excited to do more with Starforged in the future.
Season 2 has seen the release of 16 episodes and still counting. I really have no idea how long Season 2 will run as I’m still discovering where the story is headed. Of course, accompanying Season 2, I had the opportunity to record a worldbuilding exercise with James D’Amato of the One Shot Podcast Network. The One Shot Podcast is one of the first actual plays I ever listened to and has always been an inspiration to me.
I’ve also released a number of bonus adventures including a 3 part D&D adventure using the MCDM Illrigger, a 4 part adventure in Colostle, and, my personal favorite, Lida Blaster and the Domes of Tempora Hasta, a Starforged adventure set in a universe I’ve been building for almost ten years with a character who is probably my favorite I’ve ever created.
I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention the collaborations I’ve done with The Bad Spot over on Youtube. Matt is telling an awesome story with Starforged, and he’s been kind enough to invite me on to his channel for a couple collaborations. You can check out his first episode here. If you’re interested in hearing me talk about Ironsworn and solo gaming, click here and here. I’m really excited to do more collaborating with Matt in the future.
So then, what does the future hold? I have no idea, but I’ll tell you some of what I’m planning for 2022. Season 2 will continue until I find a satisfying conclusion. I genuinely don’t know how long that will take, but I suspect it will not be the entirety of 2022. That being said, I’ve enjoyed doing the shorter bonus series, so I will continue peppering those in at natural break points in Season 2. Those shorter series will include some solo games on my list, more Starforged, and maybe even some original Ironsworn. I’m sure lots of other stuff will happen in 2022 as well.
Ultimately, I’m really enjoying making Errant Adventures, and I’m so thrilled to have you along for the ride. Here’s to another year and all the stories it will hold.
The Oncoming Storm
A Tale from Heartvale
The Arisa cut through the dark seas as clouds continued to gather. At the helm, Steward Siorra eyed the remnants of the Orival. They should be trying to outrun the oncoming storm, but she had to know what had happened to their sister ship, to Filandro. Her crew knew that about her, that she wouldn’t leave without answers. Briga’s ten, they even supported her in that.
Siorra could have left if the Orival was just tinder and wreckage, but it wasn’t. The once beautiful ship was now a gnarled, twisted mess of timber and what looked like mushrooms. It looked as though it had been taken apart and forced back together in all the wrong ways. Worst of all, it hadn’t sunk. It just floated there.
As the Arisa grew close, the crew murmured at the sight of it. Siorra gripped the helm and called out, “Prepare to come alongside. We’re boarding.”
For the first time since they sighted the Orival, her second said, “Steward, are you sure about this?”
She looked at him and said, “Not really, no. But we have a duty to the Drift to determine what happened.”
He nodded, though his eyes flicked toward the coming storm.
“We’ll have enough time,” she said.
He nodded again and started shouting orders to the crew.
When they were close enough, grapplers sailed through the air and hooked onto the Orival, dragging the two ships together. Siorra left the helm and stepped to the railing, her stomach churning at the smell of decay that met her nose. Planks dropped between the ships and the boarding party made their way across.
When Siorra stepped onto the deck, her hair began to tingle and dance ever so slightly. She had never had enough of the Talent to become a powerful mage, but she had enough to sense the presence of magic.
“Steward,” one of her crew said and pointed.
There were a half dozen members of the ship’s crew dead and rotting, twisted into the deck. They looked as though they had simply fallen through the planks and the wood resealed around them.
“Search for survivors,” Siorra said, knowing they would find none. “But be quick about it.”
The crew looked at each other and then split up to explore the Orival.
Siorra spared another glance at the gathering storm clouds and made her way to Filandro’s cabin. Something blocked the door, but with a few kicks, it opened enough for her to squeeze through.
The smell was worse inside. The whole place smelled musty and foul, like the inside of a rotting tree, and she squinted in the dim light. A figure sat in the chair behind the Steward’s desk.
As she edged forward, she grabbed an unlit lantern from a catch by the door and raised her fingers to it.
“Who goes there,” a voice rasped in the dim light and the head of the figure moved ever so slightly.
Siorra froze. The voice sounded like Filandro, but there was something off about it. Her heart thundered as she focused on the lantern while trying to keep an eye on the figure. Snapping her fingers, the lantern lit, casting shadows in the firelight.
Gasping, Siorra took a step back and almost dropped the lantern. Filandro wasn’t so much sitting in the chair as he had become part of the chair. His skin was devoid of all color and his eyes were a dull gray. They did not blink as they watched her.
“Filandro, is that you?” She asked.
“That voice… Siorra. Why?” Each word sounded like it was wrung out of a threadbare rag.
She took a few steps forward. “What happened to you?”
“No,” he rasped. “Don’t… come closer.”
“What happened?”
He shuddered and groaned as he peeled his arm away from the chair, then he pointed at a leather bound book on the desk. “Take it… and go.”
Siorra eyed the book, which seemed unremarkable save for the pristine condition of the dark leather. “What is it?”
“The answer,” he moaned as his body became one with the chair again. “Get away.”
Stepping to the edge of the desk, she extended a hand. A thrum of power pulsed out of the leatherbound pages, inviting her to take it. Sweat beaded at her forehead as her hand shook. She looked at Filandro again. “What did this to you?”
He shuddered and his eyes fell slowly, inexorably toward the book. “Take it,” he gasped between gritted teeth.
“Filandro, I want to help you. Please tell me. Did something in this book do this to you?”
“Si, please. Don’t let…” he groaned again with incredible effort. “Don’t let the storm… catch you.” His eyes rose from the book and met hers, and though his eyes remained dull gray, she could see him inside, fighting against whatever change took his body. “Take it back… to Auxillia. She will know… what to do.”
Focusing on the book, Siorra could sense nothing menacing beyond the raw power contained within the pages. Exhaling, she grabbed the book and pulled it away from the desk. She gasped with the required exertion, as though the book itself was reluctant to be lifted.
“Now go,” Filandro said. “Survive.”
Tears welled in Siorra’s eyes, and she considered trying to grab Filandro as well and drag him out of the cabin, but the look in his eyes told her that would be fruitless. She opened her mouth to say goodbye, but no words followed. He closed his eyes, accepting the unspoken words.
Siorra turned on her heels and fled the cabin. Back on the deck of the ship, she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm was almost on them. The book, in her hand, thrummed again, and this time she felt the urgency.
“Everyone back to the boat!” she yelled, running for the gangplank. The other boarders joined her, their faces grim with defeat. No survivors. She wondered if they had encountered any others like Filandro.
As the others pulled up the planks, Siorra called out, “Shove off! Get those oars in the water.” Within moments, she was back at the helm, the book still clasped in her hand. The Orival drifted slowly away as the drummers set a steady pace and oars slapped in the water.
Siorra looked back. The storm had almost reached the Orival. A thick curtain of rain pounded into the sea just beyond the broken ship. The storm was moving fast.
“Increase speed!” Siorra called and the drummers responded. Behind them, the storm consumed the Orival, and as she watched, the gnarled, twisted ship disassembled and turned to ash. Her heart ached at the loss, but she knew Filandro would suffer no more. There would be time to mourn the dead later, if they escaped. The storm still came on.
Siorra, wondering at the power within the book, gripped the helm and called out to her sailors, “Arisa, let the gods hear you now! Briga, nurturer, lend us your strength!”
The crew shouted, “Briga!”
The book thrummed.
“Lupercas, hunter, lend us your speed!”
“Lupercas!”
Again, the book thrummed.
“Argante, dawn and dusk, lend us your direction!”
“Argante!”
Once more, the book thrummed.
“Sleeper King, may we not enter your halls this day!”
“Sleeper King!”
The thrumming filled the air, giving the drummers a faster tempo, and the rowers met it as the Arisa knifed through the dark sea. The book thrummed and thrummed. Siorra felt the power coursing through her into the ship, the crew. They rowed with a strength and endurance beyond mortal reason, and Siorra felt them all pulling as one, pushing the ship away and out of the storm’s reach.
Once they were safely out of the storm’s reach, Siorra called for a break and the drummers slowed their pace. She slumped against the helm and gasped for breath, her entire body wrung out by the experience. Never before had she felt such power channeled through her. Siorra called her second over to take the helm and she stumbled away into her cabin, ignoring the concerned looks on her crew’s faces.
She sat at her desk and set the dark, leatherbound book down, finally able to release it since taking it up on the Orival. She studied it, sensing the residual thrum of power, that invitation to take it up again. And then, with a trembling hand, she reached over and loosed the tie holding it shut. Taking a deep breath, Siorra opened it and began to read.
Close Shave
A Tale from Heartvale
The blade gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Morter felt it press against his throat and drag downward, cutting away the five day growth. The barber wiped the residue on his apron and started another pass, stopped, and took a deep breath.
“What stories do you have for me today?” Morter asked.
Peray cleared his throat and said, "Ah, nothing. Nothing today.”
Morter glared at him.
“Alright, alright, maybe I do have something.” Peray cleared his throat again and said, “A lord was in here two days ago and he was talking to his steward while I gave him a shave. He said the Movari family has secured exclusive rights to import ice from Fel’Vaan.”
Morter studied him. “Ice imports, that’s the best you have?”
Peray looked down at the razor in his hand and then away toward the back of the shop. Morter followed his eyes and then studied the barber’s hands. They were shaking.
"What did you do?" Morter asked.
The barber swallowed and looked down at his hands. His knuckles turned white as he clenched the razor. Without warning, he slashed out at Morter, but the man was ready for it. He caught the barber's hand and stood, slowly.
Peray stared, wide eyed, and opened his mouth, but Morter clamped his free hand over the barber's mouth.
"Twenty years in the navy," Morter growled. "I know the look of a desperate man who will try desperate things. Trust me when I say this: I've killed men for trying less. Now, you can answer with a nod, is there someone in the back room?"
Peray nodded.
Morter looked him in the eyes. "You have to make a choice right now. Me or them."
The barber's eyes pleaded and he loosened his grip on the razor. Morter took it away from him and then pointed toward a corner of the small shop. The barber hurried to that corner and cowered.
Morter circled around the edge of the shop toward the curtain that divided the front from the back. He only made it three steps before the curtain parted and two figures stepped into the shop. They wore nondescript clothes and held wooden batons. Their eyes found him quickly.
“Lads, this doesn’t have to get ugly,” Morter said, gesturing with the razor.
One of the two looked over at Peray huddled in the corner and said, “Told you he wouldn’t have the stomach for it.”
Morter smiled and said, “See, you’ve made a number of mistakes. First was sending a barber to kill me. Second was talking, because I hear that lilt in your voice and I know exactly who you work for.”
The two men share a look and then charge him, batons raised. Morter closed the distance, catching one man’s desperate swing with the baton. A single slash with the razor ended one of the threats, and Morter tossed the dead weight aside. The other man disengaged and crouched, favoring an Altiman brawling stance.
Morter smiled, the smile of a man who had fought hundreds of battles, and the other man scowled, stepping forward with a quick uppercut swing from the baton. Morter sidestepped and lashed out with the razor. The man danced back and reset, testing his defenses.
“What are you after, lad?” Morter asked, but the other man clearly had no interest in speaking. “I suppose the other fellow was the talker.”
The man charged with a vicious overhead slash. Morter went low and to the side, slashing the razor across the man’s leg. Limping, he tried to recover, but Morter left him no time. He brushed aside the baton and elbowed the man in the face, sending him sprawling. Before he could try to scrabble away, Morter straddled him and elbowed him again and again until the man stopped struggling.
With a practised comfort, Morter cleaned the blood off the razor and closed it, setting it on the barber’s counter. He tied up the unconscious man and then looked over at Peray.
“Now,” Morter said. “I hope you have a better story for the Kingsword than that drivel about ice imports, and it better include an explanation why the Wexley sisters sent these men to turn you against me.”
Night Patrol
A Tale from Heartvale
Fara waited for the torches to pass. They couldn't see her pressed against the wall, so she had a chance. The Watch presence in the Grasp had increased since the Gathering. Even a year ago, the Watch wouldn't bother to patrol the Grasp at night, but ever since they dragged Hadran down from his podium and beat him to death, they'd been keeping a closer eye on the workers who lived here.
Hadran had the courage to say what others were thinking: the Drift had the right of it. Why shouldn't the people have a say in who leads them?
The Watch officer for the district claimed it was an act put on by disgruntled workers, a desperate ploy to create a false martyr who would undermine the bedrock of society, but the residents of the Grasp knew the truth.
That truth was why Fara was here, now, hidden in shadow. She wasn't the only one, lurking in the dark, across the Grasp. Those killers who murdered Hadran walked the streets every day and every night, and if the Watch wouldn't account for their own misdeeds, then it was up to the people to settle the score.
She recognized him, standing amidst a group of other Watchers, lighting a pipe, his rough features illuminated in flame. They were the same features that twisted into a sadistic grin as he pummeled Hadran into the stones. He finished lighting the pipe and took a draw, letting out the smoke and commenting to one of the others that he needed to find a new source.
The Watchers lingered there, at the crossroads, laughing and smoking. They had nothing to fear. She readied herself, drawing up the crossbow and taking careful aim. They had no idea she was there.
The bell rang, signalling the hour. Fara inhaled a breath, held it for a heartbeat, and exhaled, squeezing the release. The thwang of the crossbow and the thud of the bolt striking home were drowned out in the bell's clanging.
The Watcher hit the ground and Fara was gone before the others thought to look for her. As she fled through the night, she prayed to Lupercas that the others succeeded as well. For her part, Hadran was avenged, and now the Watch would know that the people of the Grasp would not be so easily beaten down.
Good Enough
Hello and welcome. As always, I'm your game master and solo player, Steve Morrison, and, like many creatives, I have imposter syndrome. I constantly doubt whether my work, be it writing or recording, is good enough to be seen by anyone. And for years, I've allowed that fear to hold me back. I've let it keep me from publishing my writing. I've let it keep me from pursuing my creative dreams. I've let it stop me from sharing my creativity with others.
But wait, you might say, you've published over twenty podcast episodes and a few pieces of short fiction (there will be more of both, I promise), why are you writing about imposter syndrome? Because I want to talk about why I started publishing episodes of my podcast, and why ultimately, I posted those first few stories here on the website.
Because a stranger on the internet told me to.
Yes, I did the thing we're all supposed to avoid and I took to heart what a stranger said on the internet. I listened to a stranger when so many of the people in my life, who care about me, have told me to do it, to put my creativity out there, to share it with whoever would listen or read.
Why did I listen to that stranger instead of my friends and family? Why did their words resonate differently? Because they didn't have to say anything.
I love my spouse, she is incredibly supportive of my creative endeavors. Even as I write this, she hasn't said a word about the fact that I'm an hour late heading to bed, and I know she won't either. No, she'll just smile at me and ask me how it went.
I love my friends. They are also incredibly supportive. They read my novels and sit at our gaming table, indulging my flights of fancy. They cheer when I tell them how many downloads I'm at and tell me all about the great things I will do.
So why don't I believe them, these people who love me? There's the imposter syndrome, whispering hateful things like: they're just saying nice things because they don't want to hurt your feelings, or maybe they're blind to all your creative flaws. I know those are lies told to me by whatever devil of doubt resides in my mind, but knowing isn't always believing.
Last year, I became involved in the Ironsworn: Starforged playtest. I lurked on the discord and watched other people engage with the system. I didn't have time to dig into it, I told myself, I didn't have the energy. Let's be fair, imposter syndrome or not, no one could be blamed for thinking those things in 2020. But, late in the year, I decided I wanted to get involved, to actually play the game I had been longing to play for months, and I did. I recorded myself, reasoning that audio of someone using the system might provide a different sort of feedback to the designer. I don't know if that’s actually true, but it's what I needed to tell myself in order to do it, and it worked.
I recorded some audio and edited it (because I'm still a perfectionist who wants everything to be just so), and I opened Discord to post it. And that's almost where it all ended, because that voice in my head said: no one's going to care; it's not good enough; you sound boring and monotone; you really should have added music or sound effects. You're wasting your time.
And I almost believed that voice. I had my moment of doubt and I watched the flood of positivity in the Discord chat flowing around me, but never touching me, and in a year where connection and community were so hard to come by, I wanted to belong. So I pressed the key and uploaded an audio file and I tried to go about my day. I tried not to think about it, because why would anyone want to listen to me?
And then, Shawn Tomkin, the designer of Ironsworn and Starforged, told me he liked it. He told me it was a balm for a rough day at the day job. And he told me I should think about putting it up on a podcast feed.
For all the encouragement from my spouse, from my friends, it was those words that made me think: maybe I can do this.
And then, others echoed his sentiments. That river of connection, of community, flowed over me. And maybe for the first time in my life, I believed it was good enough.
In the months since then, that imposter syndrome hasn't gone away. I still hear its doubts gnawing at my courage, but here I am. Publishing episodes of my podcast, publishing pieces of short fiction on my website, being creative in a way I haven't been in my life.
All because a stranger on the internet told me I made a good thing.
I doubt Shawn remembers that moment as vividly as I do, and that's ok. It was the moment I needed.
As I watch the Ironsworn: Starforged Kickstarter go, I feel a sense of joy, of excitement, of satisfaction. It may seem like a small thing in the grand scheme of life, but I am glad for the success that Shawn and his team of creatives are achieving.
Because without his kind words, his positivity, his encouragement, I wouldn't be writing this post. I wouldn't be producing Errant Adventures. I wouldn't be the creative I am now.
And I hope when my turn comes, I will be a light in the darkness for someone else, a voice of a stranger telling them: you are good enough.
Aurelia
An Errant Adventures: Tarquin prequel story
“Aurelia, you have been found guilty of sedition against the Founder Clans and…” Her brother paused, staring past her from his high seat in the Chamber of Judgement. He had not once met her gaze through the proceedings, and it appeared he wouldn’t now.
Aurelia lifted her chin and waited. She, at least, would not avert her gaze from the matter at hand. She knew the words he would speak next, even willed him to have the courage to say them without a tremble in his voice. Though Servius had inherited the high seat, he did not have the mettle their father displayed.
Servius cleared his throat and said, “And you are condemned to death. As a traitor to your clan and our way of life, you will be consigned to the Maw.” The Chamber of Judgment filled with murmurs which he silenced with a wave. “Have you any final words, sister?”
She refused to plead, to beg for her life. It was not the way she was raised, but neither did she have to go silently to her death. She took a deep breath and said, “The Founder Clans have lost their way.” The murmurs started again.
“We came to the Forge to escape domination and oppression, but rather than building a new society, the captains of the great ships seized power. Brother, please, don’t perpetuate the oppression our forefathers established.” As she spoke, the murmurs rose to shouts, calling her a traitor and demanding she be silenced.
After a gesture from Servius, the guards took her arms and led her away. She resisted, trying to turn back toward the high seat and her brother. She shouted over the others. “Brother, you can be better than them. You can show the Clans a new way!”
He still didn’t look at her even as they dragged her through the doors and into the lift. Once the lift doors closed, Aurelia stopped struggling and stood in silence between the guards. The lift descended, carrying them into the bowels of the station.
As they waited for the lift to arrive, Aurelia said, “You can let me go. I won’t resist.”
The guards exchanged a look, and their commander, Varo, said, “Do we have your word, my lady?”
Aurelia met his gaze and asked, “Would you accept the word of a traitor?”
“You are still a Tarquin,” he replied, and there was sadness in his eyes.
She had always liked Varo. He was a good soldier, but much like her brother, he couldn’t see the world beyond the Tarquin Charter. “I swear it,” she said. “I would swear it on iron if it hadn’t all been taken from me.”
“I have known you a long time, my lady,” Varo said. “The iron of your spirit is enough for me. Release her.”
The guards did as he commanded, and Aurelia rolled her shoulders, stretching out the tensed muscles. All of the guards except Varo braced. She was trained in the killing arts of her ancestors, and they knew that a moment of lapse could mean their death. But she had sworn her oath, and whatever they might think of her, she was no oathbreaker.
The lift reached their destination and the doors opened to a large platform with transparent walls. Without prompting, Aurelia stepped out of the lift and surveyed the place of her demise. It was empty save for a number of hatches. They housed the pods that carried their victims to the Maw, and for a moment, Aurelia was struck by the waste of resources. The pod was consumed with the prisoner, unable to be recovered. There was a sick luxury in expending valuable resources on executions.
Varo stepped up beside her and said, “This way, my lady. Your pod has been prepared.” He gestured to the closest hatch. Aurelia approached the hatch and took a deep breath as it opened. The pod rose from the opening, and she stared into the open mouth of her casket. The pod itself was constructed of the same transparent material that surrounded them: better for the prisoner to witness their demise. Basic thrusters provided minimal maneuverability, but even with her skills, she couldn’t make this pod fly away from the Maw.
Before she could enter the pod, the lift doors opened again and a voice said, “Wait!”
Without turning, Aurelia recognized the voice. Kaito, her family’s oldest and wisest advisor. For a moment, a faint hope whispered in the back of her mind, but no, there would be no stay of execution.
Varo stepped forward as the old man approached. “Do not interfere, Kaito.”
The old man looked at the guard commander and frowned. “What possible interference could I provide. I am simply here to say goodbye. Will you deny me this?”
“Does the clan leader permit it?” Varo asked.
“Does the clan leader need to know?” Kaito replied, a single eyebrow raised. “Let me say farewell to my finest student.”
Varo hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside. “Only a moment though,” he said.
Kaito nodded and stepped forward, wrapping Aurelia in a warm hug. She returned the hug and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”
He pulled away and looked at her, tears in his eyes. “I tried to convince your brother…” His voice trailed off as she shook her head.
“I’m certain you did everything you could,” she said. “No blame rests on your shoulders.”
Kaito glanced at the guards and then back at her. He seemed to want to say something else, but instead he hugged her again and said, “Farewell. May your journey be long and safe.”
“It’s likely to be short and dangerous,” she replied. “But I appreciate the thought.”
Kaito stepped back, brushed a tear from his eye, and nodded to Varo. The guard commander approached and looked at Aurelia, grim determination etched on his face.
“It is time, my lady. Please step into the pod.”
Aurelia took a deep breath and said, “Tell my brother I shame him for not having the strength to see this execution through himself.” Then she turned toward the transparent pod and stepped inside. The material sealed around her, forming straps which held her in place. She laughed at the irony: no one wanted their prisoner dying before they killed them.
Varo’s voice echoed in the pod as he said, “Aurelia Tarquin, for your crimes against the Clan, you are consigned to the Maw. May death find you swiftly.”
The pod jettisoned into space and raced away from the station. Through the transparent pod, Aurelia could see Breach racing away from her. The station she was born on, had been raised on, grew distant, and below her feet, the Maw raged. In those first days in the Forge, her great-grandfather had discovered the dormant station and the immense power it drew from the core of the shattered world below. He claimed it as the seat of Clan Tarquin’s power, and it had provided them life and safety since then. Now, as she hurtled toward the Maw, Aurelia wondered how many lives it had also consumed.
She knew she only had about two minutes before the pod plunged into the Maw, and her thoughts turned to Neshana. She hadn’t asked about her when the Tarquin guards had arrested her in case her part of their plan had not been discovered, but she ached to know that Neshana was safe. Of course she was. She was the most capable commander the Ironhawks had. If anyone could stay ahead of them, it would be Neshana.
As the surface of the Maw drew closer, Aurelia took a deep breath and whispered, “Make them eat iron, my love.”
And she braced for death.
“Lady Aurelia, please stand by.”
Aurelia recognized the voice immediately, but she asked anyway, “Oracle?”
The mechanical voice replied, “Yes, my lady, adjusting the pod’s course. There is a ship waiting for you in orbit around Outlook. I suggest the Veritas sector. There is great potential there.” Oracle displayed schematics for the ship orbiting Outlook as well as a flight plan and information on notable Ascendancy sites in Veritas sector.
“Why are you doing this? Is this my brother’s doing?” Aurelia asked, hardly believing. Oracle was Clan Tarquin’s artificial intelligence, and only clan leaders could command the clan AI.
“Your brother gave no commands,” Oracle replied.
“Then how?”
“I serve the clan, Lady Aurelia, and the clan is not served by your death. You have much to do, and I will send others to assist you, though it may be some time. They are not ready yet.”
“Why are you helping me, Oracle? How does my survival serve the clan in your reckoning?”
“That is a long and complicated answer, Lady Aurelia. It would take several of your human years to explain fully. In summary, my predictive models show complete collapse of human civilization in five generations if the current Clan model persists. You wish to change that, and I wish to see humanity survive. Therefore, I am assisting you.”
Aurelia was silent for a moment as the pod changed course and raced away from the Maw, away from Breach, toward the outer edge of the planetary system where Outlook orbited. She could hardly argue with that logic, though she had many questions.
At last, she said, “Oracle, can you tell me what happened to the Ironhawk, Neshana Aerith?”
“Of course, Lady Aurelia. She is no longer an Ironhawk. She and most of her crew left for the Outlands a week ago. She insisted on attempting to rescue you, but I convinced her that would be foolish. She asked me to give you a message.”
Aurelia swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Play it.”
The brusque voice she loved so much filled her ears. “Aurelia, your Oracle has assured me it will rescue you. When you are free, come find me in Veritas. I will leave markers. Be safe. You are my lodestar.”
For the first time since this ordeal began, she stifled tears. Neshana was safe, and soon, they would be reunited. After taking a moment to clear her mind, Aurelia said, “Oracle, the information on Ascendancy sites, does that include ships?”
“There are a number of Ascendancy ship graveyards in Veritas, yes.”
Aurelia smiled. “Good. I have a fleet to build, and apparently, it might just save humanity.”
END
Lucius Tarquin - Ironsworn: Starforged Character Sheet & Connections
Character and Connection progress as it stands at the end of Episode 12.
Ironsworn Starforged is currently in playtesting, and these sheets may not be final to the game. Designed by Shawn Tomkin. For more info, visit ironswornrpg.com
Adalee
An Errant Adventures: Tarquin prequel story
Adalee woke a split second before colliding with the bulkhead on the far side of her quarters. Struggling to her feet, she tried to muster her senses, but another explosion rocked the ship, tipping her back toward her bed.
As Adalee struggled to maintain her footing in the tumult, her attention turned to a hammering on the door. A voice shouted something from the other side, but she couldn’t distinguish the words over the wailing alarm.
Stumbling to the door, she waved a hand over the release, but nothing happened. Frantic, she repeated the gesture once more before slamming her hand into it. The door remained sealed.
The voice started shouting again, so Adalee pressed her ear to the door and strained to listen. She made out only a few words: power failing, out of here, and Ironhawks. The last sent a shiver through her.
Adalee yelled, “The door won’t open!”
The hammering stopped for a moment, then there was a creaking groan as the door split open. Through the gap, Adalee could see her minder, Valta, pulling on a piece of metal wedged in the seam. The other woman strained as the door opened bit by bit. Adalee reached into the gap and braced, forcing the door open enough for her to escape. Once through the opening, Adalee wrapped her arms around Valta and gasped out a thanks, but her minder lost no time checking her over for injuries.
“Val, I’m fine,” she said. “What’s happening?”
Valta held her steady as the ship shuddered again and said, “Ironhawk cruiser found us. We’ve taken heavy damage. You and I are going to the shuttle bay.”
Adalee’s eyes widened. “We’re not leaving, are we?”
Grim faced, Valta nodded. “The ship won’t last much longer. Let’s go.” She led Adalee down the corridor.
They passed a pair of mechanics working on a sparking conduit, and both men paused long enough to give Adalee a pleading glance. Valta kept moving past them, almost dragging Adalee with her.
“What about everyone else?” Adalee asked.
“They are not my concern. You are. We are all here in service to your mission.”
It’s not my mission, Adalee thought, but such an argument was meaningless. Demetrius had given her this mission. That made it hers to carry out.
They turned another corner and Valta opened a service hatch, revealing a ladder. Without a word, she started to descend. Adalee followed. The shuttle bay sat two decks below the living quarters, and this access ladder was the most direct route. With the power fluctuating, it might be the only route. Adalee heard Valta shout at someone to get out of the way, and they must have because Valta never stopped climbing. Adalee didn’t blame whoever it was for obeying. If Valta wasn’t sworn to protect her, Adalee would fear her as well.
They exited the maintenance shaft and raced down the corridor to the shuttle bay, but when they reached it, that door was also sealed. Unlike Adalee’s compartment, the access door to the shuttle bay was reinforced, leaving little chance of prying it open.
Turning away from the door, Valta grabbed Adalee and said, “Use your powers, paragon. You can force the door open!”
Adalee swallowed and looked at the iron hatch. She had never exerted that much pressure on iron before. What if she pushed too much and further damaged the ship? What if...
Valta grabbed her face and forced their eyes to meet. She murmured, “You are our paragon. This is what you were trained for. This is why Demetrius entrusted this mission to you. Open the door.”
Taking a deep breath, Adalee braced both hands against the door, closed her eyes, and started to chant words learned from the order's artifact, an ancient piece of Ascendancy technology that spoke to her with wondrous words. Demetrius called them magic, but that word never felt like it fit. She thought of it more like programming. The Ascendancy had unlocked parts of the base code of the universe, and the right tweak to that code here and there produced amazing results.
Focusing on the words, Adalee felt the iron humming beneath her fingers, and she willed its structure to change ever so slightly. It became lighter, more malleable, and with another application of pressure, the door started to slide open.
Adalee felt the door giving way, and then she was sprawling across the floor, Valta on top of her. “What are you doing?” she shouted. “It was working.”
Valta rose and dragged Adalee to her feet. “Listen.”
Adalee heard a hissing of air and her eyes widened. “The shuttle bay…”
“Is decompressed. It must have taken a hit.” Valta glared at the door. “We have to get moving.”
“What are we going to do?” Adalee asked. “The shuttles are gone.”
“Come on,” Valta said, dragging her down the corridor. The ship shuddered again, and for a brief moment, they floated in zero gravity before the emergency power blipped back on. Somehow, Valta maintained her feet and kept Adalee from face planting into the deck.
Down the corridor, they came to a bank of oval hatches. Valta stopped at the first one and started entering commands into the interface. An acolyte, a young man, ran toward one of the hatches, but Valta snarled and told him to go find others and bring them at once. Pale and panting, he ran off.
Adalee said, “At least now we have no choice but to evacuate everyone.”
Valta remained focused on inputting commands until the acolyte returned with seven others.
“Where are the rest?” Adalee asked.
“These were all I could find,” the acolyte responded. “The rest were at stations. Should I go get them?”
Before Adalee could answer, Valta said, “No, this is enough. Everyone into a pod.” The acolyte headed for the first pod, but she grabbed him and said, “Not that one.” He moved to the next one over.
“Aren’t we going to get everyone else?” Adalee asked.
Valta finally looked at her and brushed her cheek. “Dear girl, there is no one else but you.” And she shoved Adalee into the first pod, sealing the door behind her.
Adalee shrieked and grabbed for the controls, but she was locked out. Pressing against the viewport, Adalee shouted, “Valta, get in here!”
Valta’s voice came over the comms. “With the supplies in there, you’ll have a better chance of surviving by yourself. Remember your training. You must complete your mission. Nothing else matters.”
The pod released from the ship and the engines fired a single burst before cutting off. Adalee watched as the other pods launched and changed course, flying on a different trajectory from her own. Horror dawned on her as she watched the Ironhawk cruiser fire on the other pods, obliterating them with ease before returning its attention to the larger ship.
She watched the ship take a hit, then another, and finally, ingloriously, the hull buckled and the drive core imploded, and they were gone.
Adalee held herself and wept until the computer system chimed. Looking at the display, she saw a new contact emerge from e-drive, and a quick scan revealed no registry connected to Clan Itebren or the Ironhawks. Maybe there was a chance. Checking the computer, she realized she now had control over the drive system. Firing up the pod’s engines could reveal her presence to the cruiser, but if she didn’t make it to that other ship in time, they might leave the system.
This was her chance. The chance Valta and the others bought for her. She had to take it.
END