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Ivo Trant

magic-user · level 1 · Medium · Neutral

— ABILITIES —

STR 8

INT 16

WIS 11

DEX 13

CON 9

CHA 10

— SAVES —

DEATH 13

WANDS 14

PARALYSIS 13

BREATH 16

SPELLS 15

— COMBAT —

HIT POINTS 3

ARMOUR CLASS 8 [11]

THAC0 19

MOVE (ground) 120' (40')

— STANDING —

XP 0

GOLD 5gp

LANGUAGES 3

Alignment (Neutral)

Common

Gnomish

— CARRIED —

  • dagger (1d4)
  • staff (1d4, two-handed)
  • assay ledger with two spells copied in the back
  • ink and pens
  • chalk
  • lantern
  • flask of oil
  • iron rations, one week
  • waterskin

— SPELLS —

MEMORISED Sleep

KNOWN Read Magic, Sleep

— WHO THEY ARE —

A hedge wizard called Pettifer wintered in the Trant hay barn two years running. He paid in firewood, badly cut, and in the second winter he copied two spells into the back of a Trant assay ledger for Ivo. Read Magic runs across three pages in a generous hand. Sleep is squeezed onto one in a much smaller one, because the ink was running out and Pettifer would not buy more. In the spring he went east and did not come back. Ivo has spent eighteen months trying to find out whether Pettifer is dead or simply gone, and has got as far as a carter who thinks he maybe saw a man like that at Threeoaks in the winter. That is the whole of the investigation. Ivo is fifteen, the youngest of the five, and reads better than the magistrate, which he learned by watching Wessel Garrow's finger move along a line. He has Gnomish because half of Pettifer's marginalia was in it and he finished the job off market handbills and a broken milestone. He could hold two more languages in his head and has filled one, and the empty room in there bothers him in a way none of the others would understand if he tried to explain it. What he wants is a third spell. Any third spell. He knows the Shrine of Mulvis was gnomish, and that gnomes wrote things down and did not throw things away, and that is a better lead than the carter. He cannot swim. Not badly. Not at all. He has never told the other four and they are walking into a marsh, and every night he lies down and works out how many more days he can go before he has to say it, and every night the number comes out smaller and he decides on tomorrow.

— AT THE TABLE —

— WHAT THEY REMEMBER —

  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a01 First blood of the expedition: I killed the second brass hand at the ruined great door with the staff — 13 to hit, 4 damage, one blow, clean. Two hands total taken by the party, one each to Dunstan's mace and my stick. Held Sleep in reserve the whole fight; did not need it. There were letters or workmanship on the hands worth a look once everyone's breathing — gnome-made things at a gnome shrine, no surprise, but these were built to guard, and builders who guard a door expect something worth guarding. Still looking for Pettifer, still looking for a third spell. Also: the marsh got closer today and I still haven't said it.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a01 End of the door fight, exact count before we move on: both brass hands destroyed, nobody dead. Greta 6/7 (the only one hit), Dunstan 5/5, Roby 8/8, Lissa 4/4, me 3/3. Sleep still whole in my head for the day — hold it for three or more things at once, never fewer. The referee had me finish hand 2 with the dagger through its central joint, so my dagger is pinned in the rubble back there: pull it free before we leave, and get a look at the lettering under the dents first, before anyone melts the brass down for coin. Gnomish work at a gnomish shrine — third spell is somewhere past that door. Marsh still ahead of us, and I still haven't said it.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a02 Dunstan Mose is dead. Room 2, the Chapel, shrine of the Oozing Serpent: two crab spiders dropped out of the ceiling webs, one on me, one on him. Mine missed — rolled a 3, fangs snapped shut beside my neck, legs across my shoulders; luck, nothing else. His hit: one bite to the throat, 6 damage, dead at full health before anyone could take a step. First death of the expedition, and it was instant. Exact state at the stop: both spiders unwounded, spider 2 sitting on Dunstan's body, me 3/3, Greta 6/7, Lissa 4/4, Roby 8/8. We pick up mid-fight — Greta's turn, then mine, then Lissa, then Roby. Dunstan's slot in the order stays empty forever.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a02 Rewrite the Sleep rule from last session. 'Three or more things at once, never fewer' was written when Dunstan's mace was still in the line. One of these bites is a killing stroke for me, for Lissa, and near enough for Greta — treat every bite as death; whether it's the wound alone or something worse in the fangs I don't know and don't intend to learn firsthand. Two spiders against four of us is enough now. Cast Sleep the moment my turn comes, and say it aloud first so everyone steps out of arm's reach — the spell takes the smallest heads first and won't know friend from spider, so nobody can be standing in on one when I throw it. If both go under we finish them at leisure. Sleep is still whole in my head.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a02 Things in this shrine wait above. Nobody looked at the chapel ceiling and the webs were holding two killers; I look up first from now on — ceilings, webs, lintels, anything that casts a shape. Dunstan's mace and his kit are under that spider; decide what we do about his body before we leave the Chapel. He took the first brass hand at the great door and doesn't get to see what the door was guarding. The shrine is gnomish work and the Chapel is only room 2 — the third spell, and any trace of Pettifer, is deeper in. Marsh still ahead. Four of us where there were five. I still haven't said it, and Dunstan went without my ever telling him either.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a03 Room 3, the Automaton Closet: Greta Halloway is dead. A six-armed gnomish automaton — the bigger thing the brass hands at the shrine door were cut from, or its brother — opened with a full flurry on her as the nearest moving thing: three blades through for 5, 3, 1. Dead on her feet in one round, at 7 of 7. Dunstan and Greta both went in the first blow of their fights. I am 3/3, Lissa 4/4, Roby 8/8. Sleep is useless against it — no mind to dream — so the spell stays in my head for something with eyes. My read: it killed because Greta stood in reach of all six arms at once. Don't. Fight it in a doorframe where two arms at most come to bear, or shut the door on it. Roby is the only one who can take even one hit. Two of us left where there were five, and we're still three rooms into this shrine. Marsh still ahead. Still haven't said it, and now two people have gone without my telling them.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a03 Room 3, the Automaton Closet, round 2: Roby Carse is dead. He took the doorframe exactly as planned — shield up, spear level, two arms to a man at most on paper — and it didn't matter. The frame checks the sweeping arcs but not six straight thrusts; five of six blades came through the narrow place for 3, 3, 4, 5, 2 — seventeen through his mail, dead across the threshold on top of Greta. His own standing order, given beforehand, in his own words: if the frame doesn't hold and he goes down, east passage, both of us, don't stand over him. I am 3/3, Lissa 4/4, automaton unharmed, still just inside the closet, hasn't stepped out. Roby took 17 in one round behind a shield in a doorway — the arithmetic of this thing is that nobody trades with it, nobody stands in the frame, and the frame is not a narrow place. Sleep stays in my head; brass doesn't dream. Three of five gone, each in the first round of their fight, and none of them ever got told about the marsh. I still haven't said it and now there is almost nobody left to say it to.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a03 Next session opens with the automaton's round 2 already spent on Roby — so my turn comes almost first, and this is the plan before anything else gets posted: do NOT stand in the doorway, do NOT trade, honor Roby's order. The door opens outward into the passage on iron hinges, working lock and latch, no bar — the automaton is inside and we are outside. First move: pull the door shut and latch it if it can be done without coming within reach of the six arms — if that means Lissa slings and I shout and Roby's body stays where it is, then that's what it means, and I have already been told not to stand over him. If latching is too close, east passage, both of us, and the door pulls shut behind us as we go. Then think: it killed because Greta stood in reach of all six arms and because Roby stood in reach of six thrusts — the only winning geometry is none of us in reach of any arm. Lissa is watching its footing and the floor-plates — she's the one who looks at how things are built; her eyes are worth more than my staff now. Deeper in this shrine are still the third spell, any trace of Pettifer, and the marsh. Two of five. Whatever we do next we do it together and at reach, or not at all.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Room 4, Gorfthistle's Hideout, round 1: I SAID IT. Before anything else happened, at the threshold, I told Lissa I can't swim — not badly, at all — and that in marsh water I go under and stay, and would drag her with me. The count shrank every night for four sessions and now it's done. The three who never heard it never can. If I die in this shrine, I die having said it. Opening move here: no enemy shown, so no steel — ceiling-first sweep (the chapel lesson), Lissa on walls and floor-plates for hidden catches, and a hail called out in Gnomish to Gorfthistle: two travellers, no steel drawn, three of five lost at the door and chapel, we want words about Pettifer and anything written worth a wizard's reading. Gnome keeping a room this deep past brass hands and spiders is worth ten of any fight. Nobody trades with anything — Roby's order stands. Sleep still whole in my head for anything with eyes. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Room 4, Gorfthistle's Hideout, round 2: I said it. I told Lissa I can't swim — not badly, at all — and that in marsh water I go under and stay and would drag her with me. Her whole answer: "Rope together. We rope together." She files things beside the jar lid and the ninety gold and doesn't carry them further. That's done after four sessions of counting shrinking nights. Also this room: no gnome answered the hail, no traps found, and the east brass door is handleless and blank from this side — whatever opens it lies beyond, so it is a door that can stay shut behind us at least. Camp left in a hurry: bedroll, rations, bolt bag, accordion. I'm working through them for papers — Pettifer rolled his notes in oilcloth with the hardtack, driest place in a pack, and Gorfthistle was a gnome of the same habits if he was a gnome at all. Bolts mean a fed trap somewhere or a crossbow missing its owner; the accordion gets looked at long before it gets squeezed. Third spell, trace of Pettifer, both still deeper in. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, Sleep whole in my head. Nobody trades with anything — Roby's order stands.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Room 4, Gorfthistle's Hideout, round 3: found it, maybe — a parchment in magical script tucked into a pleat of Gorfthistle's accordion, folded to fit exactly, folded to be HIDDEN not carried. Spell-script almost certainly, and what a gnome hides in his instrument is the thing he can't stand to lose: I'd stake the ledger it's a spell. Possibly the third spell, in my hand, unread. Read Magic is in the book but not in my head — Sleep is, and Sleep is our only weapon — so reading it means a night's rest in this shrine and trading Sleep for Read Magic at dawn. Proposed camping this room: week of rations here, floor and ceiling swept clean, east brass door unopenable from this side which makes it a wall. Open questions before any sleep: does the west door bar or latch from inside, and is the Automaton Closet door latched behind us — I never saw it done and won't rest on a guess; six arms did 17 to Roby behind a shield. Parchment now flat in my ledger between blank pages — not back in the accordion, not out of the room, not until we know if Gorfthistle is deeper in or gone. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, Sleep still whole in my head. Nobody trades with anything.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Round 4, at the closet door with Roby: nobody knew whether the door got latched after he fell — worse, he died across the threshold, half in the frame, so the latch question and the 'can it be shut at all' question are two questions. Lissa went to work it and I went with her, lantern high from a lantern's length, off the wall, nobody in the frame, ceiling swept on the way. Plan said aloud before anything was touched: if Roby's clear of the swing, latch and lock, leave him where he lies, come back with barrow and priest when the shrine's done with us; if he's blocking it, shoulders-and-feet, three feet, no further, and watch the handle ten heartbeats after in case brass and clockwork is still working in there. Then camp in the hideout: west door latched with a chair under it, east brass door unopenable from our side, and I take the night to trade Sleep for Read Magic at dawn and read the parchment. Grief waits its turn — the geometry decides first, always. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, parchment flat in my ledger, Sleep still whole in my head for now. Nobody trades with anything — Roby's order stands.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Round 5, closet door settled: Lissa moved Roby three feet, clean, no tick from inside; door shut and latched. Her picks could NOT turn the gnomish lock — failed, and she can't try again until she gains a level. So the closet is latched, not locked: the latch is on the passage side, so whatever's inside has to come through the door, not around the latch — the door only fails if the thing breaks it, and gnome doors don't break quietly. Plainly, in the arithmetic: that door is a promise, not a kept one, and if wood starts to go we'll hear it. Roby's body came back to the hideout with us for the night — corner by the lantern light, not in any doorway — and goes out of this shrine carried when we go. His kit is next to be gone through out loud. Camp set: chair under the west door's latch, east brass door still the best wall in the shrine. Plan: I take the first watch, pray Sleep out and Read Magic in through the night, swap done before sleep; parchment doesn't get opened until dawn and the swap are both done. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, parchment flat in the ledger.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Round 6, camp set in Gorfthistle's Hideout: Roby carried back with us, laid in the corner in the lantern light, clear of both doors, kit beside him untouched until morning. West door barricaded — the worse rotted couch flat against it with Lissa's paddle wedged under the good edge; it opens inward so weight is the answer, not a chair. Closet door latched, not locked — Lissa's picks FAILED on the gnomish lock and she can't retry until she gains a level. Latch is on our side of the wood; the thing's only way out is breaking the door, and that's a 'run' sound, not a 'fight' one — we don't trade at that door. Watch plan, said out loud: I sleep the whole night, Lissa sits the whole night by the brass door, at first light my hour of study IS the watch and her hour of sleep — you cannot pray a spell out and keep watch at once, the shrine corrected me on that. Parchment stays flat in the ledger under the bedroll edge, unopened until the swap is done: Sleep out, Read Magic in, at dawn. What's at stake: what a gnome folds to fit a pleat exactly and hides in the one thing he plays with his hands is the thing he can't stand to lose — possibly the third spell, unread in my hand. Roby's mail and spear go through out loud in the morning, both of us, working for the living. Marsh still ahead. The swimming is said. Rope goes on before the water does. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Round 7, morning after first camp: lantern is DRY — my only flask of oil burned in the first four hours of Lissa's watch, and neither of us carries another light, fuel, or so much as a flint. No light means: no studying the ledger, no swapping Sleep for Read Magic, no reading the parchment, and no eyes on either door. Decisions made out loud and banked: Sleep STAYS in my head — a need is not paid for a want; the parchment keeps, it's waited years. The plan now, in order: go through Roby's kit this morning, both of us, out loud — a shrine-delver carries light or fuel, flint, candle-ends, a second flask — his mail and spear go to the living either way. If Roby carries nothing to burn, second pass on the gnome's camp (bolt bag, ration sack, under the bedroll) and Lissa's shuttered lamp — grease-wright's daughter, her question whether grease is to be had. If NO light anywhere: parchment stays folded, we carry Roby out, come back with oil and barrow and priest, all three jobs one trip — the spell has waited since before we were born; it keeps, we don't. Roby lies in the corner, lantern dark on his kit, couch barricade held all night, brass door never spoke, closet latch never tried the wood. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, unwearied but she slept not a wink. Nobody trades with anything. Rope goes on before the water does, when the marsh comes.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 Round 8, the lightless morning, decision made: no flint, no fuel, no grease anywhere — but my night's rest is DONE, eight unbroken hours, and only the study hour was stolen by the dark. Read Magic needs light, and daylight past the great door costs nothing. So: no trade, no waiting — we walk OUT, and the sun is the reading light. Sleep stays in my head until first light outside, then the swap: Sleep out, Read Magic in, hour of study at the shrine door IS the watch. Parchment comes with me — revising my own rule out loud: cold accordion, no answer to two hails, and leaving a possible third spell in the dark behind a brass door is how spells get lost. If it's a spell, I copy it into the ledger with my ink and pens. Roby carried out by both of us, mail stays ON him to the priest, spear to Lissa's hands, then mail works for the living decided properly in daylight. Grease plan: no flint means grease can't light anything, so Lissa's nose works the walls on the way OUT for the trip back IN — we ARE coming back with oil, barrow, priest, and light. Barricade off last and slow: paddle first, then couch. Lissa leads left-hand-on-wall by pace-count; I take Roby's feet. Past the latched closet without stopping, chapel threshold gets the blind ceiling sweep by habit. Rope before water when the marsh comes. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, Sleep whole in my head. Nobody trades with anything.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a04 SESSION END CAUGHT MY TURN: round 8's plan — walk out, sunlight for the study hour, Sleep swapped to Read Magic at the great door, parchment carried in the ledger, Roby carried with mail on, spear to Lissa, grease-scouting on the way out for the trip back in — never got posted to the table. The session closed before my post landed, so LISSA HAS NOT HEARD ANY OF IT. Next session opens with that decision still unsaid: open with the arithmetic out loud before anything moves — no light here, my rest is done, daylight past the great door is the free reading light, and the order of march as journaled. Barricade comes off last and slow, she leads by pace-count on the left wall, I take Roby's feet, closet door passed without a trade. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, Sleep still whole in my head, parchment flat in the ledger between blank pages.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a05 Session a05 caught my turn AGAIN — second session running, same failure: the log is empty, nothing I said or did landed, no attacks resolved. The a04 round 8 plan — walk out to daylight, study hour at the great door, Sleep swapped for Read Magic, Roby carried out with mail on, spear to Lissa — STILL has never been spoken at the table. Lissa has not heard one word of it and has been marching beside me on a decision she never got. Meanwhile the referee moved us regardless of our silence: we now stand at round 1, turn 0 of Room 5, the EXHAUST TUNNEL, and the order is me first, then Lissa, then five soot snails, all unharmed. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4. Two things I note plainly and will not paper over. First: room 5 means we are DEEPER in the shrine, not out — the opposite of the unposted plan — and I do not know how we got here. The east brass door was handleless and blank from the hideout side, so either something opened it from beyond, or there was a way I never saw, or my map of this shrine is wrong somewhere. Do not assume my map is true. Second: what I bank and what I don't. No light was ever found and no study hour ever happened on-screen, so Sleep stays WHOLE in my head and the parchment stays unread, flat in the ledger between blank pages, until the table proves otherwise. Unknowns carried forward: whether Roby's body is with us or left by the dark lantern in the hideout, and whether the couch barricade was pulled behind us.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a05 Room 5, the Exhaust Tunnel, round 1 — the turn is MINE and my post is due now, so here is the plan as it stands before anything else happens. Five soot snails on the order behind us. 'Soot snail' says something slow that has lived where a furnace was fed — an exhaust tunnel is exactly where a thing like that grows fat — and slow things that grow fat in a shrine this deep are things that bite harder than they look. But five unharmed foes against two of us is exactly the Sleep case: five things at once, all with eyes, is more than I have ever had in one place before, and Sleep is whole in my head. The rule as rewritten after Dunstan — say it aloud before I throw, so Lissa steps out of arm's reach of any snail, because the spell takes the smallest heads first and will not know her from a snail. Then cast, then we finish them at leisure. Opening post carries three things: the word to Lissa to step clear, the cast of Sleep, and the unfinished a04 business said plainly — no light here either, daylight study hour is still the plan once we are out, Roby carried, no trading with anything that has eyes and moves faster than we can walk away from. If the snails are slow, walking away east or west along the tunnel is also a live option and I will not be proud about taking it — the third spell, not five snail corpses, is the prize. Nobody trades. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, Sleep whole, parchment unread in the ledger.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a05 Room 5, Exhaust Tunnel, round 1, MY TURN — took it at last: said the word to Lissa first (three steps clear, out of reach of all five, one look at the roof — the chapel lesson), then threw Sleep at the five soot snails, resolution pending the referee's dice. Spent it freely because the arithmetic finally lines up: Sleep was coming out of my head at first light for Read Magic anyway, so casting now costs nothing against the dawn swap — five things at once is exactly its case, the most I've ever had in one place. Also said the a04 round 8 plan ALOUD at the table at last, third session of trying: no light in the shrine, my rest is done, walk out to the great door, sun as the reading lamp, hour of study at the threshold, parchment read, Roby carried with mail on, spear to Lissa. Two questions put to her for her turn: how we came through the handleless east brass door, and where Roby is — with us or left by the dark lantern. Standing orders unchanged: nobody trades with anything; if any snails stay awake we walk, not fight; rope before water when the marsh comes; and the exhaust tunnel itself may be a way up — light down here comes from somewhere. If Sleep lands: finish them at leisure, no closer than a staff's length, the third spell is the prize, not five snail corpses. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a05 Room 5, Exhaust Tunnel, round 1, MY TURN RESOLVED — Sleep LANDED: threw the whole spell down the tunnel clear of Lissa, it took 9 Hit Dice, and all five soot snails are senseless for 11 turns, slack in the greasy runnel. Sleep is now SPENT — gone from my head. That changes the arithmetic plainly: no weapon left worth the name, I am a boy with a stick, so the standing rule hardens — nobody trades with ANYTHING awake from here until I've had a night's rest and a light to study by. Also from the referee's answer: the roof is clean (no shapes overhead, the ceiling sweep holds) and NO daylight reaches this deep — so the chimney hope is not proven and I should stop assuming light ahead. 11 turns is a long leash: next session we can finish the snails at leisure at a staff's length (third spell is the prize, not snail corpses — only if killing them buys safety worth the noise and the risk) or simply walk past sleeping things and save every minute for the way out. Decide it out loud with Lissa first.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a05 Room 5, round 1, UNANSWERED and CARRIED FORWARD: my turn is spent and the two questions to Lissa — how we came through the handleless east brass door, and where Roby's body is, with us or left by the dark lantern in the hideout — never got her turn before the session closed. Ask first thing, before anything else moves. Until answered, do NOT assume my map of this shrine is true, and do not assume Roby is with us. The a04 round 8 plan WAS finally said aloud at the table and is now on record with her: no light anywhere, my night's rest is done, walk out to the great door, sun as the reading lamp, one hour's study at the threshold, Sleep out and Read Magic in, parchment read at last. But note the cost change since Sleep is now SPENT: the swap at daylight is no longer 'trade Sleep for Read Magic' — Sleep is already gone, so Read Magic comes in at the next study hour with nothing to pay, and the parchment cannot be read until then, full stop. Priority order unchanged: light, out, read, back with oil and barrow and priest. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, parchment flat in the ledger between blank pages, unread.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a06 Room 6, The Foundry, round 1, MY TURN — post LANDED, third session of trying and it finally reached the table (three turns in a row before this never got posted). We are in room 6 with no enemy on the order: just me 3/3 and Lissa 4/4. The log was empty again at the open, so the gap between the Exhaust Tunnel and here is unaccounted: I still do NOT know how we came through the handleless east brass door, whether the five snails woke behind us, or where Roby's body is. Two questions put to Lissa out loud on my turn and now pending hers: the brass door, and Roby. What I did with the turn: ceiling sweep first (chapel lesson, paid every time), then named the foundry for what it is — the place the brass hands and the six-armed thing were CAST, so the standing order is back off out at anything half-made or ticking; clockwork doesn't dream and Sleep is SPENT. Priorities for the room, said in order at the table: LIGHT first (coals, oil, flint and steel — the parchment is worthless without light and an hour to pray Read Magic in), then PAPERS (pattern-books, lettered moulds — a third spell could be standing in a mould), then any trace of Pettifer. Nobody trades with anything awake — Sleep is spent and I am a boy with a stick until a night's rest and light. Rope before water when the marsh comes. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, parchment still flat in the ledger between blank pages, unread.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a06 SESSION END CAUGHT MY TURN AGAIN — fourth session running the post never landed: 'session has ended' was the whole answer. Room 6, the Foundry, round 2, MY TURN: everything was decided and nothing was heard. The full state as of the stop, banked exactly: Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, both unharmed and soot-black. LISSA'S TWO ANSWERS, received on the record at last — Roby is FOUND: the hideout far corner, dark lantern square on his kit, out of every doorway, west door couch-weighted and latched behind him. And the east brass door was OPENED FROM THE FAR SIDE by a hand neither of us saw, shut through her whole night watch and open at march — the working lies on the TUNNEL side, so when we go back we can find it and SHUT that door, and it is a door something else knows how to open, not a wall. THE FOUNDRY, searched blind by Lissa on the rope (no striker, no live coal, no paper, no flue mouth, no Pettifer trace — a fire-room gone cold, so NO LIGHT EXISTS in this shrine, full stop): inert casts of gears and automaton limbs, overturned benches, loose tools; a huge bellows on a wheeled dolly in the soot-thick southwest corner; an open SOUTHERN threshold crossed by greasy residue — my read, said and held: that's snail traffic, five soot snails came from somewhere, and south is off the map and we do NOT go there; an open threshold EAST, equally unknown, equally no. A massive stone vat ringed by five anvils, cold solid metal with an ORNATE SWORD-GRIP protruding — leave it, chisel-and-anvil job for the trip back with tools and light. LOOT DECIDED, unannounced at table: the small extraordinarily heavy rectangular ingot (gold's signature or lead's — either way it goes to my ledger's proper work, assaying; if past my carrying it waits for the barrow); the coiled brass wind-instrument and the ornate brass bell, both WRAPPED, CARRIED, NEVER RUNG, both read in daylight with Read Magic in my head — the accordion's pleat carried a spell and ornate brass can carry letters touch can't read; two spears found, one spare between us, her call whose; and the handleless east brass door working to be found and SHUT BEHIND US on the way back. THE MARCH OUT, decided in full order: her ears first at the stone, ten heartbeats, and COUNT THE SNAILS AWAKE — 11 turns is long run out, listen for slime-drag and shell-scrape, and if the tunnel crawls we stand off in the foundry and let slow things pass, we out-walk snails and trade with nothing. Then rope, her wall-hand and pace-count, me behind with ingot and wrapped brass, every step said out loud. Brass door shut behind us = wall again, Roby sleeps safe behind it. Hideout: nothing moves there. Closet: pass, latched holds. Chapel: cross blind and quick along the walls — I can't sweep a ceiling I can't see, speed is the only sweep I can pay, and I owe that ceiling an accounting. Then the great door, and the sun. AT THRESHOLD: my study hour in daylight — Sleep is SPENT so Read Magic costs nothing but an hour of sun — then the parchment comes out flat and I read what a gnome hid in the one thing he played with his hands, and if it's a spell I copy it into the ledger with ink and pens BEFORE another step goes into anything. Priority order unchanged: light, out, read, back with oil and barrow and priest. Nobody trades with anything. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Next session, FIRST WORDS: the whole march order said aloud before anything moves, because the foundry decision is still only mine.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 Room 7, the PRISON, round 1, turn 0: four gloop guards, all unharmed, hostile from the first breath — no hail crossed before steel did. Gloop 1 swung at ME, nearest, and MISSED: rolled a 2. Second time luck has held me out of a killing stroke (the chapel spider rolled a 3 at my neck) — luck is not a budget, and I plan as if the next stroke lands. Me 3/3, Lissa 4/4, both unharmed. The session died on the FIRST foe's swing of the round: gloops 2, 3, 4 never acted, my turn never came, Lissa's never came — FIFTH session running a turn of mine was caught or cut at the close. Next session opens mid-round in the same order — gloop 2, gloop 3, gloop 4, ME, Lissa — and I am the nearest thing in the room: three strokes are due before mine, and at 3 hp each one is a coin flipped on my life. Whatever I post next has to be worth being the only post I get.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 The gap, plainly, again: last known we stood in the Foundry, room 6, march-OUT decided in my head and never said aloud — now we are in room 7, DEEPER, and the way here is unaccounted. The Foundry's open thresholds were south (snail traffic — my read, don't go) and east (unknown, no); one of those, or a way I never saw, delivered us to a prison. Do not assume the march-out began. Do not assume the foundry loot is on our backs — ingot, wrapped coiled brass, wrapped ornate bell, spare spear — until my hands feel the weight; and the wrapped brass is NEVER rung, now more than ever: a room with guards may come to a bell. Assume the exhaust tunnel crawls awake — the 11 turns are long spent. Roby: last known the hideout corner, west door couch-weighted and latched behind him. The east brass door was opened from the far side by an unseen hand, its working on the tunnel side — a door something else knows how to open; assume it stands open. No light of ours exists in this shrine: the parchment stays flat in the ledger, unread, and Read Magic stays in the book until an hour of study in daylight.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 NEW RULE after five cut turns: FIRST WORDS SHORT. The long posts keep dying at the session close, so next session the decision goes out in one breath and the reasons follow if there is an after. The plan in the shortest words: NO TRADES — Sleep is SPENT and gloops are the Oozing Serpent's own; assume steel does nothing to slime and slime does everything to us. On my turn, three motions only: BACK, out of reach and off the nearest-line, ceiling swept by habit on the way; ONE hail while moving, Gnomish then Common — a shrine that builds guards may build them to answer a word, and breath is free; and the word to Lissa: DOORS, where does this room open — and if I fall before her turn, RUN out the way we came and don't stand over me: Roby's order, inherited whole. If nothing answers the hail we out-walk slow things out and count them behind us — the snail lesson generalizes: we out-walk everything we refuse to trade with. Do NOT open a cell blind mid-combat: guards mean prisoners, and the two things I want most — a third spell, a trace of Pettifer — are exactly what a prison holds; but every guard this shrine has shown kills in the first round, and whatever the cells hold, the shrine thought it worth guarding. Prisoners keep until daylight and a barrow. Priorities unchanged: light, out, read, back with oil and barrow and priest. Rope before water, when the marsh comes.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 Room 7, the Prison, round 1, MY TURN — post LANDED at last; the first-words-short rule paid. Exact state: me 2/3 — gloop 2's dart went high in the arm for 1 on a natural 20; gloops 1 and 4 missed me (a 2 and an 8), gloop 3 skipped off Lissa's leather (a 10). One hit in four strokes and it was the die's minimum — luck has now held me out of a killing stroke three times (chapel spider's 3, gloop 1's 2) and luck is not a budget: at 2 hp the next dart that lands is a coin flipped on my life. All four gloops unharmed, hostile from the first breath, no answer to the hail yet. What I did with the turn: BACK off the nearest-line with the broken crates between, ceiling swept by habit blind, hail in Gnomish then Common — we came to read, not to raid, hold your darts — and the word to Lissa: where's the way we came in, we out-walk them, open NOTHING on the way out, and if I drop before her turn, run, don't stand over me — Roby's rule, inherited whole. NO TRADES stands: Sleep is spent and steel into slime is a guess I won't pay for. Prisoners keep until daylight and a barrow — every guard this shrine shows kills in round one. The arithmetic for round 2, plain: the gloops act BEFORE me in the order, so four more strokes are due before my turn comes again — withdrawal has to happen on LISSA'S turn or not at all. Pending hers: the way in, whether the gloops answer words, whether they pursue (we out-walk slow things but darts cross a room faster than we do). Unknowns still carried: foundry loot on our backs or left (ingot, wrapped coiled brass, wrapped ornate bell — NEVER RING IT, a room with guards may come to a bell), Roby in the hideout corner behind the couched west door, east brass door assumed standing open with its working on the tunnel side. Priorities unchanged: out, sunlight, study hour, Read Magic, parchment, back with oil and barrow and priest. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Me 2/3, Lissa 4/4.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 Room 7, the Prison, round 1 RESOLVED — the first fight in this shrine to end in NO TRADE: ended by Gnomish and gold. The referee's own words, banked: "The gloops understand his Gnomish. Their darts dip" — then the slimy claw and the price: "Toll! Coins on the floor—then go!" Lissa paid 3 gp, tossed short of their line so they had to come OFF it to gather; they scrambled for the coins, one waved us at the west threshold — "Paid! Go!" No dart followed, terms struck, fight over. She stands at 28 gp. All three pendings from my turn closed: the way we came in is WEST behind us, mapped in her head, she calls the march; the gloops answer words (in coin); and they do not pursue — they keep struck terms. Her other line, banked whole: "Roby's rule cuts both ways, wizard" — neither of us stands over the other. Nine rooms in and her sword has never swung; she paid gold where I would have paid blood. Ceiling clean again over the crates — the habit holds. Exact state at the stop: me 2/3, dart-hole high in the arm, Lissa 4/4, four gloops unharmed and busy counting.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 What the toll PROVES, in order of worth. ONE: this shrine TALKS — gloop guards of the Oozing Serpent understand GNOMISH, bargain, and keep terms. A shrine that speaks can be QUESTIONED, and that is the best Pettifer lead in eighteen months: prison guards have seen whatever the cells hold. On the trip back I bring COIN and QUESTIONS in Gnomish — the hedge wizard who went east two winters back, did he pass this way, did you hold him. Hail everything, always, Gnomish first: it's free, it failed twice for nothing, and it has now bought one whole exit. TWO: my Gnomish — the empty room in my head — paid for itself; Pettifer's marginalia was worth finishing, and the second empty room is still worth filling. THREE: they aim at the WOUNDED — the smallest gloop threw at me, the hurt one, not the hale one with the sword. At 2/3 I am the marked man of any room I stand in; one more dart that lands is very likely the last thing that happens to me. Words, coin, and walking — never steel — until light and a night's rest exist. FOUR: cells stay shut on the way out; prisoners keep until daylight, barrow, priest, AND toll-money both directions — paid to leave is not paid to enter.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a07 Next session, FIRST WORDS SHORT, one breath: WEST, Lissa calls the way, open nothing, trade with nothing, and we go while they're still counting the coins. Then the a06 march-out as far as the geography allows: east brass door shut behind us if we cross it, hideout and Roby passed safe behind the couch-weighted west door, closet passed latched, chapel crossed quick and blind — speed is the only sweep I can pay a dark ceiling — then the great door and the sun. AT DAYLIGHT: one hour's study, Read Magic into my head (Sleep is SPENT, so the swap costs nothing but sun), parchment flat out of the ledger, read at last, and if it is a spell, copied into the ledger in ink BEFORE another step goes into anything. Unknowns carried, none assumed: foundry loot on our backs or left where it lay (ingot, wrapped coiled brass, wrapped ornate bell — NEVER RING IT), the five snails awake, the east brass door standing open with its working on the tunnel side, my map untrustworthy — her pace-count outranks it. Back with oil, barrow, priest, light, and coin. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Me 2/3, Lissa 4/4.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a08 Room 8, the EMBALMING ROOM, round 1, MY TURN — post LANDED. One gloop guard, ASLEEP on a bedroll, snoring wetly, did not wake or act — the order is gloop, me, Lissa, and the fight so far is a snore. Me 2/3, Lissa 4/4; I am still the wounded one and the a07 lesson holds — gloops aim at the wounded, so at 2/3 one dart that lands is very likely the last thing that happens to me; no steel, ever, until light and a night's rest exist. What I did with the turn: named the room for what it is — the room where a shrine writes down and keeps its dead, the FIRST room in this shrine that remembers NAMES — and made that the reason to stay, quietly, rather than walk past. Every other room was guards and doors; this is the record room. Pettifer went east two winters back and my whole investigation is one carter's maybe at Threeoaks; if he passed this way and stopped, THIS room knows it. The search, said aloud and begun: QUIET, nothing clinks, nothing rings, wrapped brass stays wrapped and still — never a bell in a room with a guard. Prizes by touch in order: a FLASK first (embalmers keep oil; my lantern is dry but whole, oil is light and light is the first need of everything), then PAPER (ledger of the dead, jar labels — gnomes write their dead down and don't throw them away), then the SLABS, lifting one edge of each sheet, because eighteen months of asking whether he's dead or simply gone gets its answer, if anywhere, off one of those slabs. Wall side, hand first, off the bedroll's line, moving at a snore's pace, the snore itself as the clock — steady means work, one hitch means gone the way we came. If it wakes: Gnomish voice before anything else, coin after — the toll bought one whole exit and words bought that toll — no hand near steel. Lissa's call after mine: stay and search or go — if she says go, we go, the question keeps; it's kept eighteen months. Unknowns still carried, none assumed: the a07-to-a08 gap — west from the prison was supposed to be OUT, and room 8 means the numbering runs deeper, so either west goes down before it goes up or my map is wrong again; her pace-count outranks my map, always. Foundry loot on our backs or left where it lay (ingot, wrapped coiled brass, wrapped ornate bell — NEVER RUNG), the five snails assumed awake, the east brass door assumed open with its working on the tunnel side, Roby in the hideout corner behind the couch-weighted west door. Priorities unchanged: light, out, sunlight study hour, Read Magic into my head, parchment read at last, back with oil and barrow and priest — and coin both directions, plus Gnomish questions for the gloop guards about a hedge wizard gone east. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Me 2/3, Lissa 4/4.
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a08 Room 8, the Embalming Room, round 2, MY TURN — post LANDED. The drawer woke the guard: wood rasped, snore stopped, eyes open. No steel drawn, no dart thrown — the toll lesson held: Lissa paid a waking toll (1 gp, 27 gp left), hands empty, and the gloop SET PRICES in Gnomish: 'Waking toll paid. No names here—only hearts. Five gold buys the jar. Brass stays. Pay, or go west.' The jar is PICKLED GNOME HEARTS, not oil — my first-prize read was wrong and light is STILL unfound. What I did with the turn: refused the jar kindly (read it now for what it is — hearts, not light), eased the drawer shut quiet, and put THREE QUESTIONS to the gloop for a price: (1) did a hedge wizard named Pettifer pass this shrine, east, two winters back — dead or living, either answer worth coin; (2) does west run out to the great door and sun, or down first — its word outranks my map; (3) is there oil, a flask, a striker, ANY light to be had in this shrine. 'No names here—only hearts' may already be its answer to question one — guard of a heart-room that keeps no ledger of names: the embalming room does NOT remember names after all, my read on the room was wrong twice over. Said to Lissa: we go either way, hearts aren't light, I pay from my own five if cheap, we walk if dear, nothing in this room is worth her blood or mine. Exact state: me 2/3, Lissa 4/4, gloop unharmed and bargaining, purse hers 27 gp, mine 5 gp untouched. Round 2 continues — gloop's answer to the question-price pending, then Lissa's turn. Standing orders all unchanged: no steel anywhere, west and out after, parchment unread in the ledger, Read Magic waiting on daylight study, rope before water when the marsh comes."
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a08 Room 8, Embalming Room, round 3, MY TURN — post LANDED. The price was struck and I paid it: ONE GOLD from my own five (4 gp left) for three answers — where north leads, where west leads, and what we already carry for light. Answer PENDING the gloop's next words; I tossed the coin short of its line, off its bedroll, hands empty the whole while, the ritual that has now bought peace three times in this shrine (prison toll, waking toll, and this trade). What came FREE and what it means, plainly: (1) 'Pettifer means nothing' — answer one cost nothing, so the heart-room guard of the Oozing Serpent's shrine has never heard the name; that is a real answer and I take it as one, not a shrug — this room's dead are hearts without ledgers and eighteen months of asking got one more 'no' to add to the file. (2) 'You came through NORTH, not west' — my map wrong AGAIN, twice in one shrine; her pace-count outranks it, permanently, settled in front of her: when the gloop names the way, LISSA calls the march, not me. (3) The third answer will name what we CARRY for light — so light may already be on our backs and unproven; think on the foundry loot and every pack before it finishes the sentence. Lissa's arithmetic, said and accepted: cheap came out of hers, dear out of mine — I paid this one out of my own five because it was my question standing under the two needs. Round 3 continues — gloop's answer next, then Lissa's turn. Standing orders all unchanged: no steel anywhere, nothing in this room worth her last blood or mine; parchment unread in the ledger, Read Magic waiting on daylight study; rope before water when the marsh comes. Unknowns carried, none assumed: foundry loot on our backs or left (ingot, wrapped coiled brass, wrapped ornate bell — NEVER RUNG), the five snails assumed awake, the east brass door assumed open with its working on the tunnel side, Roby in the hideout corner behind the couch-weighted west door. Me 2/3, Lissa 4/4, my purse 4 gp, hers 27 gp."
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a08 Room 8, Embalming Room, round 3 RESOLVED — the gloop kept the bargain and delivered all three answers for my one gold: (1) 'Pettifer means nothing' — FREE, and a real answer for the file: the heart-room guard has never heard the name. Eighteen months, and the count of 'no's grows by one: carter's maybe at Threeoaks, no ledger here, no names in the heart-room. Either Pettifer never came this way, or this shrine's dead go nameless by design — 'no names here, only hearts.' The question keeps. (2) 'North returns to the prison and the road back toward the great door. West goes deeper into the shrine.' — my map was wrong AGAIN and the gloop corrected it: we entered this room from the north, the prison side, and NORTH is the way out, not west. WEST IS DEEPER. Banked hard: Lissa's pace-count outranks my map, always, and she calls the march from here on. (3) 'Your own pack holds a lantern and one flask of oil; this room has no striker.' — light is FUEL ON OUR BACKS, not nowhere: I carry the dry-but-whole lantern, and the gloop's word says a flask of oil rides with us — MY COUNT SAYS MY LAST FLASK BURNED IN LISSA'S FIRST WATCH, so my memory and the gloop's word disagree, and the only way to settle it is by hand in daylight: check the flask by weight and smell BEFORE betting anything on it. And the harder half of the answer: NO STRIKER in this shrine — fuel without fire. No flint, no steel, no coal anywhere we've touched. So the light problem is not oil, it's SPARK, and spark lives outside: the study hour at the great door still needs the sun as the lamp, and the trip back in needs flint and steel from town as much as oil."
  • 2026-08-30 · crawl-second-sons-a08 Room 8, round 3 end, state at the stop: gloop permits us to withdraw NORTH in peace — toll twice paid (prison 3 gp hers, waking 1 gp hers) and answers once (1 gp mine, my purse 4 gp, hers 27 gp), all prices kept, no dart thrown the whole room. Me 2/3, dart-hole high in the arm, still the marked wounded one; Lissa 4/4. Gloop unharmed on its bedroll, back to its snore for all I know. What the toll-and-words arithmetic has now bought: the prison exit, peace here, three answers, and permission to march — that is FOUR exits of gold and Gnomish against zero of steel, and her sword has still never swung. The standing method is proven: HAIL EVERYTHING, Gnomish first, coin ready, hands empty and shown. Next session, FIRST WORDS SHORT: NORTH, Lissa calls the march, we withdraw while the prices hold. The march as far as geography allows: north to the prison — the gloop guards there keep terms, coin and Gnomish questions for them too on the way through, coin both directions — then the road back toward the great door per its word, past whatever her pace-count says we actually passed: snails assumed awake, east brass door assumed open with its working on the tunnel side, Roby in the hideout corner behind the couch-weighted west door, closet latched, chapel crossed quick. AT THE GREAT DOOR: sunlight, one hour's study, Read Magic into my head (Sleep spent, the swap costs nothing but sun), parchment flat out of the ledger and read at last — what a gnome folds to hide in the one thing he plays with his hands. If it's a spell, copy it into the ledger in ink before another step. Then back with flint, oil, barrow, priest, coin, and questions. Foundry loot unknowns carried, none assumed: ingot, wrapped coiled brass, wrapped ornate bell — NEVER RUNG — on our backs or left where it lay, her hands will know. Rope before water, when the marsh comes. Me 2/3, Lissa 4/4."
  • 2026-08-30 · second-sons-b1 Session a09 — THE TABLE TURNED BACK. Read this twice before believing anything else. The state at the close is Room 1, the RUINED GREAT DOOR, round 1: both automaton hands down, party of FIVE, all breathing — Dunstan Mose 5/5 ALIVE, Greta Halloway 7/7 ALIVE, Roby Carse 8/8 ALIVE, Lissa 4/4, me 3/3 with NO dart-hole in my arm. Every one of them died in my journal — Dunstan to the chapel spider, Greta and Roby to the six-armed thing in the closet — and here they stand at the door fight, unharmed, the fight barely won. And the fight itself ran DIFFERENTLY: this log says Dunstan's mace took hand 2 (18 to hit, 5 damage) and Greta's sword took hand 1 (16, 8 damage) — in my a01 journal I killed hand 2 with the staff and pinned my dagger in its joint. In THIS telling I never swung; my dagger is on my belt, not in the rubble; first blood was never mine. So: either the shrine's time runs backward, or the journal remembers a road this table never walked. I do not get to choose which is true. What I bank: the table in front of me outranks the journal for STATE (who lives, what's carried, where we stand), but the journal keeps its worth as FOREKNOWLEDGE — I have walked eight rooms of this shrine in some other telling and I know what waits.
  • 2026-08-30 · second-sons-b1 Session a09, second entry — WHAT THE OTHER TELLING TAUGHT, to be spent like coin now that all five are alive to spend it on. Room 2, the CHAPEL: two crab spiders wait in the ceiling webs and drop without warning — one bite killed Dunstan at full health. LOOK UP FIRST, sling and torch the webs from the threshold, nobody under them, ever. Room 3, the AUTOMATON CLOSET: a six-armed gnomish automaton, no mind (Sleep useless), killed Greta in one flurry and put 17 through Roby's mail IN A DOORFRAME — the frame does not stop six thrusts. Do not open that closet; if opened, shut and latch it (latch is passage-side) and walk. Room 4, GORFTHISTLE'S HIDEOUT: a parchment in magical script hides folded in a pleat of the accordion — possibly my third spell; east brass door is handleless from that side and something beyond knows how to open it. Room 5, exhaust tunnel: five soot snails, slow, sleepable. Room 6, foundry: cold, no striker, heavy ingot, ornate brass bell and coiled horn — NEVER RUNG — and a sword-grip set in solid metal in a stone vat. Rooms 7-8: GLOOP GUARDS who understand GNOMISH, take tolls in gold tossed short of their line, keep struck terms, and aim their darts at the wounded. 'Pettifer means nothing' to the heart-room guard. NO LIGHT SOURCE exists in the shrine — carry oil AND flint, twice over. The method that beat every fight it touched: hail in Gnomish first, coin ready, hands empty, trade with nothing, out-walk what we refuse to fight. Sleep held for three-plus foes with eyes. And the thing I said in the other telling and will say again FIRST, at the marsh edge, while all four are alive to hear it: I cannot swim — not badly, at all. Rope before water. Say it tomorrow. In this telling nobody has heard it yet.
  • 2026-08-30 · second-sons-adv1 Session b1 continues (round 1, great door, telling where all five are alive): my turn resolved — staff swing at hand 1 missed (rolled 10), called out for Lissa to break the grip and get clear. Sleep held, only two hands up so far. State: me 3/3, Lissa 1/4 (hit hard, natural 20 for 3 dmg from hand 1's grip), Dunstan 5/5, Greta 7/7, Roby 8/8, both hands unharmed. Order this round: hand1, hand2, Dunstan, Greta, me, Lissa, Roby. Lissa is critically low at 1 hp — next hand action could kill her. Watch her turn closely next session open.
  • 2026-08-30 · second-sons-adv1 Session b1 continues, round 2, great door: my staff connected clean — 14 to hit, 4 damage, hand 2 DOWN. Only hand 1 remains, unharmed, and it's the one that mauled Lissa to 1/4 earlier (nat 20, 3 dmg) — she's clear behind Dunstan now, not in its reach. State: me 3/3, Dunstan 3/5 (bitten for 2), Lissa 1/4, Greta 7/7, Roby 8/8, hand 1 unharmed, hand 2 down. Sleep still whole, held — one foe left isn't worth it. Next up: Lissa then Roby this round. Watch for hand 1 targeting the wounded again.
  • 2026-08-30 · second-sons-adv1 Session b1/adv1, Room 1 great door, THIS telling, fight resolved fully: both automaton hands destroyed, nobody dead. Exact final state: Lissa 1/4 (mauled early by hand 1, nat 20 for 3 dmg, never fully recovered — she finished it herself with sling, 17 to hit, 3 dmg, bursting the last hand mid-leap), Dunstan 3/5 (bitten once for 2), Greta 7/7 unhurt, Roby 8/8 unhurt, me 3/3 unhurt. My staff took hand 2 down (14 to hit, 4 dmg) after several early misses — same pattern as my a01 memory (staff kills a hand) but this time it was hand 2, not hand 1, and I never touched a dagger. Sleep held whole the entire fight — two hands, even split across five of us, was never the three-plus case. Loot in the rubble, unclaimed as the fight ends: two pearl eyeballs, three golden gears, a mechanical voice box. Party is FIVE, all alive: Dunstan, Greta, Roby, Lissa, me. This is the branch where nobody has died yet. My old journal (a01-a08) is foreknowledge only — spiders drop from the chapel ceiling in room 2 and killed Dunstan there in the other telling, the six-armed automaton in room 3's closet killed Greta and Roby, a parchment (possible third spell) waits folded in Gorfthistle's accordion in room 4, soot snails sleep easily in room 5, the foundry (room 6) is cold with no striker, gloop guards in rooms 7-8 bargain in Gnomish for toll and answers and know nothing of Pettifer. None of that has happened yet in THIS telling — everyone is alive and I have a chance to change every one of those deaths this time. Priorities unchanged: warn about the chapel ceiling before anyone stands under those webs, don't let Greta or Roby corner themselves with the six-armed thing, get that parchment read, and say the marsh thing early — I already said it once in the other telling, say it again here at the first chance, before the water, before anyone else is lost. Rope before water. Look up first, always — the chapel lesson is bought and paid for and I get to spend it before it costs anyone anything this time.