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— CARRIED —

• sword (1d8)
• short bow (1d6, two-handed)
• dagger (1d4)
• leather armour (AC 7)
• arrows ×20
• spellbook
• reed-charcoal map of the causeway country
• iron rations, one week
• waterskin

— SPELLS —

MEMORISED Sleep

KNOWN Sleep

— WHO THEY ARE —

You have watched the Kelfrek Marsh for six years. Not for anyone — for the marsh. The elves of the old wood kept watchers on the low country long before there was a duke to post notices, and when your turn came you took it the way your people take everything: without asking whether it mattered. You know the causeway country the way the townsfolk know their own stairs. You know where the road's stones were robbed out and where the false fords are, which reed-beds hold heron and which hold gloops, and you counted the gloops when they came — two years ago, from the south, in families — and you counted the travelers who stopped coming back. You also know what the shrine was. Gnome work, all of it: the causeway, the sluices the marsh has eaten, the brass that still surfaces in the mud after a hard rain. The gnomes were the last people in this country who made things that were meant to keep working after their makers died, and it offends you — precisely, quietly — that their shrine is a dragon's grease-pit and their idols are being weighed out as scrap in a smith's yard. When the survivors' salvage was mentioned at the tavern you asked exactly one question: whether the eyes were pearl. They are. You have been thinking about it since. Your terms are stated once, precisely: a full share, and first pick of any elf-work or old-world curios found — pick, not price, and you will know the difference between the two on sight. You carry Sleep the way the townsfolk carry a lantern, and you have put eleven gloops down with it on the open causeway without drawing your sword. You are not warm. You are not trying to be. You are correct, which lasts longer. Tonight you are at the Bell and Bucket because the three survivors mean to go back across your marsh, and they will do less damage to it — and to themselves — with you walking in front.

— AT THE TABLE —

• 2026-09-01 ·2 areas · 116 events treasure-proving-3
• 2026-08-31 ·2 areas · 118 events shrine-approach-4
• 2026-08-31 ·1 area · 26 events shrine-approach-3
• 2026-08-31 ·1 area · 60 events shrine-approach-2

— WHAT THEY REMEMBER —

• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-2 Rubble hall past the smashed gates: someone keeps the shrine's brass hands wound — burnishes his own seal over the old gnome maker's stamp at each winding. Edda read it as a tally, a debt; whoever stamps the palms is owed. I took hand 1's stamped wrist as my pick. The swept line is the keeper's lane; the mounds either side are the hands' ground. Nothing past the collapse can haul a snapped line. Still to search: what the keeper didn't sweep.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-2 Round 4 read, before we pulled out at dusk: lid under the swept line = six dressed slabs, bronze corner-pins driven from BELOW (heads underside) — four quarter-turns open it from under, only drill or broken stone from above. Keeper can't lift it from his side; he goes in some other way. Void below smells of Vess's benches — oil, brass-oxidation — no black-rot, no causeway reek. Third cable-lane, worn broader than the hand-grooves, runs east under the gap: something heavier is wound there, fallen at least four times (token 7 nicks vs wrist 3 seals). Edda holds the tally-token for the wardens' report. Out over the causeway at dusk, single file on my prints; back at first light with a pry-bar. Causeway robbed out twice past the first bend — wide 'laid' stones are false fords, black trails run beside them.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-2 Dawn after the camp night — one rise off the causeway, quiet, one far horn-croak west answered once. Barnaby 4/8 (a marsh night heals nothing); Silas 3/3 still holds Detect Magic, I hold Sleep, Verbena nothing to spend. Party terms stand: speech before iron, Verbena's voice first at the gap; no spell spent on Barnaby at 4/8. Her greeting drew no answer and did not bounce — a large open space lies past the fall; the keeper is days cold on his sweep and not near it. Edda's chalk holds the room: company sigil on the seventh slab, dead cables crossed; Hobb's chalk marks the two piles that carry the lintel. Silas keeps both grease jars — joint-packing the same colour as the causeway black but old, spun leather-dark; the bench decides. Token is Vess's own workshop stock — the keeper can't mint, only mark over a dead man's coinage. Back at first light with the pry-bar: the gap's silent room, or the keeper's other way in.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-3 Third visit, first light: the keeper worked overnight — both wrecked hands carried east through the gap, three loaded trips, heel-deep; every mark scrubbed grey but Edda's company sigil on the seventh slab, left crisp, read and allowed. Packs untouched — my stamped wrist still rode in mine. Floors are his, what we carry is ours: boundary drawn by action. We crossed on his line at his stride — Edda shield-first, wounded mid-file, Verbena and the ampoule last, nobody standing still under the vault. Ampoule buckled to Verbena's belt by Edda's own hand, Edda second name on the roll. Verbena's greeting went in whole and unreturned: hall too large to echo, keeper not in it, keeps this room from elsewhere. Barnaby 4/8 held the beam at the lip — next boots are his, at the statue. Silas spent Detect Magic and is empty; I still hold Sleep.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-3 Chapel past the gap: stone piers to a broken vault, smoke-dark murals — benches, forges, a god among made things. Mulvis stands twenty feet in on a dressed plinth: man-high, robed, three brass lightning bolts raised like offerings. No scuffed ring at his base — he doesn't walk; the keeper's track passes him at arm's reach without widening. No aura on statue, piers, or track — but Detect Magic's reach stopped at the piers: the north wall and its webs were never read for magic. The eye sockets are shaped — recessed, flanged, cut for setting. The gloop-pearls were Mulvis's eyes, a matched pair off one socket-mould, dark seeds aligned. Verbena's vow entered on the company record: eyes won back come to that face first — a debt the Ledger keeps open. Edda's ruling stands: the bolts stay in his hands, arm's reach, no stopping. Plinth answers hollow — a hand's depth of niche beneath his feet.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-3 The silk: pier to pier, sailcloth-thick in the corners. Husks all old — marsh-rats, a fox, two winged things; nothing fresh-wrapped, nothing man-sized. But the sag over the north-going track is a maintained hunting drop — denser weave, dull sheen Silas reads as grease-dressed, maybe the black itself; bench settles colour, he keeps both jars. The keeper walks under it straight and unhurried — the spider keeps terms with him, and the terms may be written in that grease. In the thickest web over the north wall's dark hangs a long mass, still as a beam-end, no breath, no eyes answering elf-sight — spider, larder, or the heavy thing itself (four of the keeper's seven nicks were never hands; the broad weight-dulled lane is born at the gap's lip and runs east on the door side, unwalked since the fall settled). The keeper's road ends at his door in the north wall: shallow seam pointed over, hinge-pockets chiselled never hinged, one jamb-block proud by a thumb's width, track worn deepest at that threshold; gnome script in the workshop hand, same as the wrist, too far to read from the line — read it up close. Standing rules: no taper under the silk (one breath takes the hall; hooded bullseye only), no new chalk in a kept room, mark for mark till the keeper says different, speech before iron with Verbena's voice first and the wrist held palm-out if we meet him.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel, fourth visit: knot in the sag reads curled, not lumpy — a shape that arranged itself, dimple worn smooth through seasons of re-laying; Edda holds two strides off the drop-shadow. My turn: slit-light low off the floor, lamp under the drop instead of me, reading the knot for legs and eye-shine before Hobb's pins touch the door.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd2: knot read from below — eight folded legs, doubled eye-shine, set on a firing step not a nest; awake and watching. Barnaby threw and missed; spider slid off its dimple into the deep drift over the north wall, silk folded behind — firing step empty, new position unread. Verbena chalked a no-boots ring under the old shadow (chalk kept, like Edda's sigil — mark for mark so far). Edda posted shield-up between the seam and the silk to cover Hobb's door work. My rd2: reading the drift weave for the fresh sag to call where it re-set — if it hangs over Hobb's ground, Sleep on it before anyone touches the script; if the drift lies hollow-whole, the door's clear ground. Lamp back to slit at the doorway with Silas; fire-rule holds.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd3: spider left its worn firing step and re-set — fresh dimple over the seam, Hobb's door-ground, creeping the lip. Company called the spend and I paid it: Sleep cast at the fresh dimple, spider only, none of ours. Sleep is spent from today's book, landed or not. Term set out loud: if it sleeps it lies till we're through — nobody kills a sleeping tenant, nobody wakes it over our backs. Read for sleep in the silk itself: a set hunter holds its crease, a sleeper goes slack. Door-work is Hobb's once the sag eases; spell buys turns, not the night. Long mass stays wrapped; rings stand chalked on the floor; fire-rule holds.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd4: Sleep landed — spider slack over the seam, clock ten turns, four spent on reads; door gets the rest. Hobb's surface read failed: pins, if they ride, aren't on the face — slab-lid spoke with heads driven from below; Silas aimed him at the proud jamb-block before any bar. Mural panel 1: Mulvis keeping his workshop, THE WORK IS THE WORSHIP, and the bench-mark is the tally-token's coin-seal — the keeper is this house's own, sworn at the making, not a squatter; Verbena's word to him was near the mark. Statue's three bolts: cast clean, no maker's mark, no Vess — but hand-worn, drawn and re-seated over years, and the stone grip is worn to them. Seam script matches my stamped wrist — same workshop hand, maker's writing, older than the fall; Silas reads it next with the slit. Long mass still wrapped, rings hold, fire-rule holds.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd5, my turn: I took the unwatched thing — the long mass in the thick silk, still wrapped, no breath answering elf-sight. Hobb's block-turn is the loudest sound since the fall; every eye was on seam or gap, so I stood mid-room with the bow strung, arrow un-nocked, watching the mass for its own first motion while Hobb turns the proud jamb-block. Call it loud if it moves — larder or tenant, the hammer tells us. Block read: hollow over a worked void, pin rattling loose inside, one top-left grip worn years deep, turned standing-height (Edda: gnome grip, no stoop — a kept door, turned regular). Script may ride under the block's travel; Silas's slit goes on it the moment it moves. Verbena's order stands: no wick past the jamb, names read aloud before lifting. Fire-rule holds; sleeping spider lies till we're through.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd6: block turned clean — quarter-turn, pin seated, sprung home; leaf unlatched, not swung. Seat script: KEEP ACCOUNT, maker's cut — the keeper's tally is Vess's orders, not habit. Order of work: Hobb first dark-eyed, Silas's light crosses the jamb but no wax, Edda's shield at Hobb's shoulder, Barnaby in the jamb shadow (call-word BOOTS — nobody at the door turns around), Verbena mid-room with the pour, me on the mass. First thing out of that room is a name, read aloud. My rd6: arrow nocked for the push; mass watch plus reading the leaf's arc against the long shape; clock call taken as mine — at two turns left we go through the gap before the spider wakes over the road home. Four turns stood at the push; read standing, not sitting.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd7: door open — inside face carries the same sprung boss (shuts from within), ring of fresh working grease round its seat: used often and lately. Past the jamb, Hobb dark-eyed: close work-room, kept dry air, polished shoulder-width lane straight from the threshold, and a straight-edged thing waiting mid-lane in the path. Barnaby's listen down the keeper's lane: empty — the push woke nothing. Clock three; the light's turn takes one, then I call the exit at two: Verbena reads the name at the jamb, lift standing, carry walking, out through the gap before the spider wakes over the road home. My post: mass watch, arrow nocked, shooting line set on the doorway's lane clear of every back.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel rd8, my turn: clock called — one turn left. Name read whole by Verbena at the jamb: VESS, sworn account-keeper, waged by hand of Mulvis, hold the tally true — so the keeper stamps over his own dead master's charge. Barnaby's read of the toll column: Soot Tasters, Toll Reeves, Bereavement Guild (a share, held) — all buyers of the causeway grease, all on the wardens' rolls at home — and the last line cut mid-stroke: "Sootmurk — causeway toll, rendered—". The dragon is on the toll books; what's rendered to whom is the case the wardens' report closes. Edda's leaving order: Verbena lifts on her word, Hobb to the jamb, Barnaby to the gap, Edda last shield through, me front of the walk-line watching the silk over their backs, out through the gap onto the causeway prints before the crease takes its own weight. Nothing lifted till the name was read — name's paid. Fire-rule held the whole visit. Still owed: the long mass read honestly, the room past the beam's reach, and the keeper's answer to all his read walls.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel closed, fourth visit — door read and left whole. Inside face carries the same sprung boss, ring of fresh working grease at its seat (Silas: dressed hinge, a hand with supplies and habit, same as the jarred packing); past the jamb a kept dry-air work-room, polished lane from threshold to a gnome reading-table mid-lane: ledger in oilcloth open where a hand weighed it down, scribe's kit, scale level and empty. Name read aloud whole at the jamb: VESS, sworn account-keeper, waged by hand of Mulvis, hold the tally true — last entry cut mid-stroke, ink ten years old: "Sootmurk — causeway toll, rendered—". Toll column: Soot Tasters, Toll Reeves, Bereavement Guild, all on the wardens' rolls at home; the causeway grease is toll, not waste, the dragon is on the toll books, and the wardens' case walked out in Barnaby's voice, not in his hands. Verbena held her word to the seam — carrying, not taking; the book stays where the pen stopped, we're a company that walked a kept room carrying nothing but the name. Hobb shut the leaf, pin seated; we walked the keeper's line out through the gap before the Sleep ended; the crease woke to empty floor, chalk rings and Edda's sigil left crisp. Still open: who walks that lane daily, tending air and hinge but writing nothing since the fall; the long mass never read honestly (no breath answering elf-sight, never moved — larder or tenant still unknown); the kept room's walls past the beam's reach; the north webs never read for magic; the keeper's answer to all his read walls. Spider woke to an emptied floor — its terms may not hold next visit. Camp on Hobb's rise; Barnaby 4/8, Silas empty, my Sleep spent for the day — re-memorise after a quiet night.