One of the first things you do in a game of Ironsworn is determining Truths about your world.These are are chosen from a provided list.
The sickness moved like a horrible wave across the Old World, killing
all in its path. Thousands fled aboard ships. However, the plague could
not be outrun. On many ships, the disease was contained through ruthless
measures—tossing overboard any who exhibited the slightest symptom.
Other ships were forever lost. In the end, those who survived found the
Ironlands and made it their new home. Some say we will forever be cursed
by those we left behind.
Inscrutable metal pillars are found throughout the land. They are
iron gray, and smooth as river stone. No one knows their purpose. Some
say they are as old as the world. Some, such as the Iron Priests,
worship them and swear vows upon them. Most make the warding sign and
hurry along their way when they happen across one. The pillars do not
tarnish, and even the sharpest blade cannot mark them.
Other humans sailed here from the Old World untold years ago, but all
that is left of them is a savage, feral people we call the broken. Is
their fate to become our own?
Before the Ironlanders, before even the firstborn, another people
lived here. Their ancient ruins are found throughout the Ironlands.
We live in communities called circles. These are settlements ranging
in size from a steading with a few families to a village of several
hundred. Some circles belong to nomadic folk. Some powerful circles
might include a cluster of settlements. We trade (and sometimes feud)
with other circles.
Leadership is as varied as the people. Some communities are governed
by the head of a powerful family. Or, they have a council of elders who
make decisions and settle disputes. In others, the priests hold sway.
For some, it is duels in the circle that decide.
Here in the Ironlands, supplies are too precious, and the lands are
too sparsely populated, to support organized fighting forces. When a
community is threatened, the people stand together to protect their
own.
Some still find comfort in the old ways. They call on mystics to
divine the fortune of their newborn, or ask them to perform rituals to
invoke a bountiful harvest. Others act out of fear against those who
they suspect of having power. However, most folk believe true magic—if
it ever existed— is lost to us now.
The people honor old gods and new. In this harsh land, a prayer is a
simple but powerful comfort.
The firstborn hold sway in the Ironlands. The elves of the deep
forests and the giants of the hills tolerate us and even trade with
us—for now. Ironlanders fear the day they decide we are no longer
welcome here.
Monstrous beasts stalk the wild areas of the Ironlands.
We are wary of dark forests and deep waterways, for monsters lurk in
those places. In the depths of the long-night, when all is wreathed in
darkness, only fools venture beyond their homes.
Three generations ago, Constance Copperpot was universally
recognized, hands down, to be the finest baker in Dolmenwatch. Possibly
in all of south Havens. Until, that is, that fateful day the traveling
fair came town and hosted Dolmenwatch’s bi-annual baking competition,
and the entire panel of judges dropped dead after trying Constance’s
tartberry pie. Accused of poisoning her pastries and attempted murder,
she and her family were run out of town and forced to live on their own
in the nearby Flooded Lands.
Today, Constance died. And her great-granddaughter, Calliope Copperpot,
has just sworn an iron vow to clear her grandmother’s name and restore
her family legacy. No matter the cost, no matter how long it takes.
It’s what we’ve done with our dead since fleeing to the steading
sixty years ago. There’s no way you can bury them in the ground here.
Not if you expect them to stay where you put em. They’ll eventually just
float back up to the surface.
Critter says that’s how you get bog rot. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never
seen one. Not sure they’re even real.
So anyway, whenever somebody from the steading dies, we toss them
into the bog. That’s what the swamp folk do. And I guess we’re swamp
folk now too, so.
Marshwallow the troll lives out that way. We always bring him
something shiny whenever we go out that way. If we wait too long between
visits, sometimes he wanders into the steading and steals something. But
he’s mostly harmless. I pick out one of Connie’s old bracelets for
him.
We load up Connie onto a litter and hitch up the mule. It’s Auntie
Cass and me and a few cousins. She’s wrapped in a shroud and doesn’t it
doesn’t seem like her, not really.
I keep an eye out for Marshwallow when we make it into his part of
the swamp. He can be really hard to spot because he looks like leaves
and vines, and likes to hide and sneak up on us.
We get to the edge of the bog without Marshwallow making an
appearance. Which is unusual but not unheard of. Sometimes he disappears
for a few a weeks.
A few of the swamp folk are already there at the bog. I see Critter
with them. Auntie Cass says a few words. Connie outlived her own
daughter and one of her granddaughters. Cass was Connie’s oldest living
descendent. And now she’s the oldest one in the family. Which makes her
the Big Mama now.
We unhitch the litter from Astronomer. The cousins tie a few stones
to Connie’s shroud and wade out into the bog with her and lower her
down.
Does it happen now? 50/5088= yes with a MATCHoh boy
We hang around for a little bit telling stories about Connie.
Astronomer starts acting up and getting really antsy.
A man—it looks like a man completely covered in drying mud—comes
staggering out from the treeline. The swamp folk start yelling and
scrambling. But everybody from the steading, Aunt Cass, me, and the
cousins, are all kind of confused. Astronomer freaks out and bolts, and
I run after him.
I catch Astronomer’s reigns, and turn around in time to see the mud
man suddenly rush forward with unexpected speed and grab one of the
cousins. The mud man shoves his fingers into the boy’s chest and the boy
doesn’t even scream. I can hear him gasp from here though. Somebody
shouts “Bog rot!” and that seems to snap everybody into action.
A couple folks from the steading rush forward to try to pull the
thing off the boy, but it tosses them aside. Aunt Cass is frozen in
place staring at the bog rot and cries, “Papa?”
I grab a branch and climb up on Astronomer and try to circle around
the horror.
Move: Enter The FrayBog rot (Dangerous 2/2): [][][][][][][][][][]5 +shadow =6 vs 210= weak = +2 momentumit has initiative?
Astronomer and I come up on the bog rot from behind, but at the last
minute it whirls around and lunges at us. I yank hard on the reins
trying to pull Astronomer up short of the thing’s claws.
Move: Face Danger2 +edge =4 vs 57= miss = Pay The Price
Astronomer rears up. The thing positions itself underneath us, and as
Astronomer comes down, it sinks its claws and its teeth into his chest.
Astronomer screams and I get kicked off.
I watch as the thing tears into my mule. Frantically I look around to
try to find any kind of advantage.
Move: Secure an Advantage4 +wits +1 (Lorekeeper) =7 vs 36= strong hitMake another +1 move
I remember from my studies that the bog has extraordinary abilities
to preserve bodies. That must be why this bog rot is still so fleshy.
Usually they’re, you know, bones. Like the name implies.
I grab a stone and fit it in my sling and throw it at the thing.
Is the boy still alive?Unlikely: 17= noIs the mule still alive?50/50: 32= no
I look at the boy and at the mule, at the carnage this thing has
wrought in just an instant. In a blind fury, I pick up the branch and
rush at the thing.
I swing with all my might and feel the thing’s ribs crunch. It howls
and turns toward me, its dark, empty eyes glowing.
Oracle Combat Move98= Attack with Power
It leaps at me in fury, unleashing an onslaught of blows. I raise my
arms trying to protect my face and chest.
Move: Endure Harm-2 health =36 +health 9 vs 63= strong hitShake it off: +health -momentum, regain intiative
It claws at my forearms and I try to quickly scramble away and try to
regroup.
Move: Face Danger (to get out of reach)6 +edge =8 vs 75= strong hit+1 momentum
I roll out of the thing’s reach and load another stone into my sling
and take careful aim.
Move: Secure an Advantage2 +wits =5 vs 31= strong hitMake another +1 move
I let the stone fly.
Move: Strike4 +edge +1 (Advantage) =7 vs 44= strong hit with MATCH+1 harmBog rot (Dangerous 2/2): [x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][][]Oracle Action Theme = Advance TruthGonna bank the Match for a moment because I have an idea for it later
It connects with its head again and seems to crack its skull. It
stumbles and falters and falls to one knee. I drop the sling and run at
it, screaming in pain and fury. I scoop up the branch on the way and
raise it above my head in both hands.
Move: End the Fight8 Progress vs 61
I bring the club down on the horror. It feebly reaches up and tries
to claw at me but I swing and bat its hands away. I bring it down again
and again until it stops moving. I drop the club and fall to the ground,
heaving and crying. My forearms are torn. The boy is dead. The mule is
dead.
Cass steps forward and kneels beside me. At some point she unstuck
herself from where she was rooted. She rolls the horror over so she can
look at its face. It is beaten in, but well preserved by the bog. Again
she asks, “Papa?”
One of the swamp folk comes over and pulls her hands away from it.
“That’s not him, cherie,” he says. “Not anymore.”
Just because the Copperpots have lived in exile for over three
generations doesn’t mean they’re not still the best bakers and chefs in
the whole southeast. Truth be told, with access to new ingredients found
in the Flooded Lands, their recipes have only gotten better over time.
It is said that the finest Copperpot ales and sodas even have
restorative and healing qualities.
Calliope is a young woman armed with several kitchen knives including an
oversized meat cleaver that could sever an arm with one swing, and a
large spiked hammer used for tenderizing meat. Handily, most creatures
and villains are made out of meat. She has a cast iron skillet, a large
stock pot, and other tools of the trade. With extensive knowledge of
herbs and spices (Herbalist, Alchemist) and armed with her
Great-Grandmother Constance’s cookbook (Lorekeeper), Calliope is ready
to find out what really happened that fateful summer day. Somebody set
Gramma Connie up. And she’s going to find out who. And why. She clutches
her skillet in both hands and vows, “I will clear our name, Grandma. I
will avenge you, and restore your legacy. On iron, I swear it.”
Twelve years ago, Constance Copperpot, the killer pastry chef of
Dolmenwatch, died; Marshwallow the swamp troll and his worthless hoard
of shiny baubles all vanished without a trace, never to return; and the
dead started rising from the funeral bog as bog rot and started
terrorizing the steading and the scattered swamp folk who live in the
area.
A bunch of soulless monsters driven only to destroy the living would
be bad enough. To add insult to injury, these ones just happen–thanks to
the bog—to be perfectly preserved family members and loved ones.
Subsequently a lot has changed over the last dozen years. Now there
are piked walls and night watch patrols and curfews. Funeral rites and
rituals had to be changed overnight. Whereas before the dead found
earthy watery rest at the bottom of the bog, they are now burned on
funeral pyres, their brittle bones systematically crushed with a
ceremonial iron hammer used only for that purpose, lest they too get up
and start walking around trying to extinguish any and all life they come
across.
Twelve years ago, Calliope Copperpot wasn’t even a teenager when she
used a simple sling and a tree branch to destroy the first of the bog
rot of Copperpot Steading. A bog rot that wore the face of her
grandfather, Batup.
Today the scars from that battle are still visible on her forearms as
she holds her great-grandmother’s castiron skillet in both hands out in
front of her at chest height. “Today I am as old as my mother was when
she died. And today I leave the steading and I will not come back until
I have found a way to purify and cleanse the bog. When I return, our
dead will be able to rest easy once more. On iron I swear it.”
Move: Swear an Iron Vow3 +heart +1 (bond) =6 vs 56= weak hityou are determined but begin your quest with more questions than answers.Take +1 momentum, and envision what you do to find a path forward.
META: changed all references to bonewalkers to bog rot, a new horror from the Delve supplement.They are the perfect monster for this story.It's like they were custom written.
All of this started that day years ago when Grandpa Batup rose up out
of the bog on the day of Gramma Connie’s burial. I have more questions
than answers, but I know that my journey starts here.
The only other thing that was really memorable about that day, you
know, besides the whole rising of the undead thing, was that that was
the day that Marshwallow the swamp troll went missing. Maybe that has
something to do with all of this.
Maybe the swamp folk would know something about it. Too bad the swamp
folk don’t really exist any more. Not in the same way they did back
then. Most of them reluctantly moved inside the walls of Copperpot
Steading. The ones that refused were mostly wiped out. One or two wild,
feral bands still live out in the swamp with the bog rot. But they can
be just as dangerous these days.
Maybe Critter knows something. We’ve been friends since we were
children.
He tells me about Trollfen, a keep deep in the bog below a mound of
mud where the trolls sometimes retreat. If Marshwallow is still around
after all these years, he’s likely to be there.
We're going to use the Delve rules to *DISCOVER A SITE* and create Marshwallow's hiding place.Name: TrollfenObjective: Find out what happened to MarshwallowTheme: WildDomain: TanglewoodRank: Troublesome -3 Progress / AreaProgress: 6/40Denizens:01-27 | Very Common | Deep Rat28-41 | Common | 42-55 | Common |56-69 | Common |70-75 | Uncommon |76-81 | Uncommon |82-87 | Uncommon |88-93 | Uncommon |94-95 | Rare |96-97 | Rare |98-99 | Rare |00 | Unforseen |
Deep in the bog is a mound of mud the size of a ziggurat.
doing a *DELVE THE DEPTHS* move +wits4+3=7 vs 310weak hit: roll on the table100 (!!) = mark progress twice and *REVEAL A DANGER*65= You face an environmental or architectural hazard
As I cross the bog, I get get trapped in some quicksand mud! I start
to sink into the mud. I quickly try to gather my wits and try to
remember what I learned about about quickmud.
Move: SECURE AN ADVANTAGE +wits4 +3 +1 (lorekeeper) =8 vs 44strong hit + MATCHI going to take a +1 forward to FACE DANGERand +1 momentum from lorekeeper.
I remember not to struggle or waste energy by trying to swim my way
out of the quickmud. Instead I lean backward and try to float on my back
to increase my surface area, and kick my feet up.
move: FACE DANGER4 +3 wits +1 advantage =8 vs 106weak hit: -1 momentum
I eventually kick my way over to the edge of the quickmud and haul
myself up onto (relatively) dry land, gasping and heaving.
I hear a clacking of stones.
I look down and spot a tiny pebble golem looking up at me. A small
pile of tiny stones stacked up into a vaguely humanoid shape. It would
fit in the palm of my hand.
The rattling of stones was it jumping up and down and clapping.
“Um, thank you?” I manage.
It pumps its tiny rocky fists in the air and then holds its arms up
to me.
I reach down and pick it up. “Hello there,” I say. It nestles into
the warmth of my hand and becomes a loose puddle of pebbles. “Aren’t you
a cute little fella? Do you want to come with me?”
The pebbles crawl up to my wrist and loop themselves around me,
forming a rock bracelet.