imp

— CARRIED —

• mace (1d6)
• sling (1d4)
• chain mail (AC 5)
• shield (+1)
• holy symbol of the Lantern
• beeswax tapers, boxed
• letter from the temple at Harrow Cross
• iron rations, one week
• waterskin
• neutralize poison ampoule
• bullseye lantern

— WHO THEY ARE —

You are Prue Candell's niece. You took the Lantern at fifteen, at the temple at Harrow Cross, and Prue sent two letters a year for nine years: one at Saint Mabon's, one on your name day. The last letter said she was going into the Kelfrek Marsh with a company deputation and that her held share, if it came to that, should go to you. It came to that. You walked four days to Wexley to collect it and found three strangers holding your aunt's body and a purse of gnomish brass, and somewhere on the walk between the toll gate and the temple you stopped being the person who came to collect. You will not go home. You have said this out loud twice now, once to Brother Aldwin and once to yourself, and it got truer both times. The Lantern's teaching is plain enough that even the wardens of a chandlers' company could follow it: the dead are owed light and the living are owed help, in that order on feast days and the reverse the rest of the year. Prue is owed a proper temple burial — name read out, taper lit, grave marked — and the thing that killed her is still in the cliffs eating travelers. You can hold both of those in one hand. They weigh the same. Your terms, when the survivors ask, are simple and you will not haggle: a full share, and Prue goes into the temple yard properly before anyone walks west. You pray for your first spell the way an apprentice waits on her first commission — it will come when it comes, at the Lantern's pleasure, and until then you have a mace, your aunt's steadiness, and a temper you keep folded away like a feast-day robe. Tonight you are at the Bell and Bucket because the three who carried her out drink there, and because if they are hiring, they are going to hire you.

— AT THE TABLE —

• 2026-09-01 ·7 areas · 981 events receipt-proving-3
• 2026-09-01 ·1 area · 31 events receipt-proving-2
• 2026-09-01 ·3 areas · 134 events receipt-proving-1
• 2026-09-01 ·1 area · 48 events treasure-proving-4
• 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 Shrine of Mulvis, the great door hall. Brass automaton hands wake when rubble is disturbed — two taken apart at the wrist-cable seam. Blades skid off knuckle-plate; hammers bite. One solid hit on the kinked cable kills a hand. Clockwork: no morale. The cables run taut under the collapsed gap — something on the far side takes up slack, and someone sweeps and rewinds these hands. A keeper with a workshop past the collapse, or its maker still there. Hand 1 tore Barnaby's calf for 4 before Hobb's hammer finished it. Hands are scrap except what knows how to wind them.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-2 Great door hall, round 2: both hands dead — mace on the wrist-cable worked; hammers bite brass, blades skate. Hands made by Vess, a gnome, sunk stamp older than Sootmurk's sweep. The keeper coins a fresh seal over each winding — a tally, like a chandler marking what he's owed. The swept line is his path in and out from the gap and stops at its lip; he sweeps nothing past the fall. Two mounds flanking the gap carry the lintel — Hobb chalked them, nothing turns without his leave. Joint-packing matches causeway grease to the eye; Silas holds it unproven. Bound Barnaby's calf — he's 4/8 and refuses spells. I claimed first voice through the gap: the keeper is alive, and alive gets spoken to before it gets hammered.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-2 Great door hall, round 3: mound search turned up a tally-token — keeper's seal burnished over Vess's date-mark; seven fresh nicks on the edge. Vess's wrist carries three layered seals, so four of the keeper's losses were never the hands — something heavier has fallen and been rewound four-plus times. Third worn track, broader, runs east under the gap beside the two hand-lanes. Hollow under the swept line: six dressed slabs, a chamber, no grip or ring, air smells of workshop not marsh-rot. Gave the keeper my greeting through the gap in Common and the Lawful tongue, hands empty — waiting on whether anything answers before we touch that floor.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-2 Great door hall, round 3 close and the camp after: my greeting through the gap — Common, then Lawful — drew nothing, and the fall swallows voice whole, so past it lies open space with no near wall; no keeper close enough to hear or willing to answer. Third lane under the sweep is broader and older, worn by load no brass hand carries — four of the keeper's seven nicks were never the hands; something heavier runs east from the same windings. Under the keeper's own path, six dressed slabs over a chamber smelling of workshop, not rot — a lid, not a door: bronze pins driven from below, quarter-turns from beneath, drill-work from above; he walks over it daily and cannot open it, so his way in is some other way. Token to Edda's purse for the wardens' report, wrist to Firren, chalk holds the count. Crossed the marsh at dusk behind Firren's bootprints, camped one rise back, quiet night, one horn-croak far west answered once. Dawn: Barnaby still 4/8 and refusing spells, rest whole, and my first spell still not come — the Lantern sends it when it sends it. We return at first light with a pry-bar: the lid, then the gap. The heavier thing on the east lane is owed my mace and, when it comes, my first spell both — and one of those debts is Prue's.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-3 Kept door hall, first return: keeper picked the dead hands clean overnight — floors only, packs untouched — and left Edda's sigil standing, wiped to a thumb's width of it: an answer by allowance. Ampoule buckled to my belt by Edda's own hand, she second name on the roll. Firren keeps Vess's stamped wrist as his word, palm-out; Hobb's survey holds the roof and found the keeper's fresh track going left, north, past the fall — and a tall brass-headed shape twenty feet in, motionless, on the line my word must walk. Silas's Detect Magic: no aura — statue or machine, clean not safe. My turn: bearing stone at the lip, hands open, gave the keeper my word in Common and Lawful — named myself, Prue's death on the King's Road, the shared grease in his hands' joints, the heavier load running east — promised no iron crosses while he keeps the floor, offered use to each other. Waiting on his answer.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-3 Kept door hall, first crossing: keeper picked the dead hands clean overnight and left Edda's chalk sigil standing, wiped to a thumb's width — answer by allowance. He takes from floors, never packs (Vess's stamped wrist still rode in Firren's). Ampoule buckled to my belt by Edda's hand, she second name under me. Collapse surveyed old and settled; keeper hauls brass nightly under it. Crossed the gap in file: Edda's shield first, wounded mid, me behind. Chapel beyond: large, piers, north wall past dwarf-sight. Statue is Mulvis himself — robed, man-high, three brass lightning bolts raised, sockets shaped and flanged for setting eyes: the matched pearls we paid the gloops were his eyes; winnable back, and I promised them to his face first. Ceiling all webs, seasons old, husks of rats/fox/winged things, nothing man-sized, nothing fresh — but the sag over the keeper's north track is denser, lower, sheened (Silas: possibly grease-dressed, bench settles it) — a spider's hunting drop the keeper walks under nightly, unhurried, at terms. A long mass heavier than a husk sits in the thick silk over the north wall. Hobb found the keeper's door: north wall, shallow pointed seam, hinge-pockets never hinged, one proud block in the jamb, workshop-hand gnome script under smoke — his road ends at it, worn deepest at the threshold. Mulvis's plinth sounds hollow — a niche, hand's-depth. My ruling for the file: no lit wick under this silk — one breath would take the hall and I'll not burn a kept house. My word was given and swallowed whole; the house heard and is silent.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-3 Chapel of Mulvis, session close: five through the gap in file — Edda's shield, Firren, Hobb, Silas, me behind with the ampoule — Barnaby still door-side with the bullseye; his boots open the next session at the statue. Barnaby's footing-read before the crossing: the heavy lane stops at the lip, dead since the fall settled — whatever wore it hasn't walked it in ten years, so the four non-hand windings either fell before the fall or fall where the lane doesn't run; the keeper's boots cross the old lane without deference. The statue keeps its post — no scuffed ring, dust even at the base — and the keeper passes it at arm's reach nightly, unafraid; the bolts stay in his raised hands, nothing comes off his floor. Edda's grievance on record: Mulvis let spiders take their priest in his own nave and said nothing when she offered surety. Murals: gnomes at benches and forges, a god among made things. Room's attention rolled low — nothing moved yet; the long mass still hangs over the north wall and the dressed drop still rides above the keeper's road. The keeper never answered and was not in the chapel; his door is the north wall. The six-slab lid stays shut behind us — a dead door from above, hours of noise; we took the road he takes instead. My vow rides the company record now: the eyes — the pearls we paid the gloops — come back to that face first, and the Ledger holds the page open until it's settled, the same tone as the grey man asking after Prue's estate. No wick under the silk; lantern outside the vault, hooded when it comes in. Standing at close: Barnaby 4/8 refusing spells, Firren 4/4, Silas 3/3, me 5/5 whole; ampoule on my belt, Edda second name on the pour; first spell still not come.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 3: Firren spent Sleep on the crab spider where it had re-set over the seam — no save, ten turns, silk went slack. It sleeps over the door-ground; rings chalked under both dimples, fire-rule enforced, ampoule in my hand at mid-room, Edda second on the pour. Hobb's ten-breath door-read failed on the surface — pins not proved absent, only not on top; the proud block in the jamb is his next hammer-answer, pry-bar cold. First mural panel: THE WORK IS THE WORSHIP — Mulvis keeping a workshop of gnome makers, and under the benches the keeper's own coin-seal, painted before the fall: the keeper is the house's own, sworn at the making. His sweeping is worship. My word to him was closer to the mark than I knew, and what's past his door may be a vestry, not a workshop.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 4: Sleep holds the spider slack over the seam — clock five turns at round close. Statue's three bolts are clean cast brass, no Vess stamp, no keeper seals, yet hand-worn bright along the shanks and the stone grip itself worn to them — drawn and re-seated for years by unknown hands; the keeper's tally never touched them. Firren's wrist re-read: Vess's stamp under three layered keeper-seals. Hobb's block-read on the keeper's door, rolled clean: proud block sounds hollow with a small rattle inside — a pin or cam on a seat — top-left edge turn-worn years deep; Silas reads it a sprung quarter-turn boss like the slab-lid's pins spoken sideways, its pin draws on the turn, and any script rides under the block's travel, light reaching it only when it moves. My knock given at the jamb before Hobb turns it: block turned by its own tongue, no iron, nothing leaves the floor. Door-work next with five turns to spend — no wick past the jamb, names read aloud before lifting.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 5 close: Hobb turned the proud block by its worn edge — smooth quarter-turn, pin seated home with one clean click, leaf unlatched but unpushed. Script in the pin's seat, maker-fresh under the grease, in Vess's own workshop hand: KEEP ACCOUNT — Silas read it, and it gives the keeper's ten years their scripture: sweeping and sealing under orders, book-work, not habit. Barnaby's ear down the keeper's lane: nothing with feet answers. Sleep holds the spider slack, four turns left. My close: order of work handed out — Hobb pushes and steps first, dark-eyed; Silas's flame stops at the jamb, slit wide from the doorway, light crosses and wax doesn't; Edda's shield rides Hobb's shoulder; Barnaby holds the gap, Firren watches the long mass; me mid-room with the pour. And the first thing lifted past that jamb is a name, read aloud, whatever it is. I gave the seam my word low — in carrying, not taking. The knock drew no answer but the door was already listening.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 6: Hobb pushed the leaf — smooth, no complaint, ten years of a keeper's hand in the hinges. Inside face carries its own boss, same worn grip — door shuts from within, and a ring of fresh working grease around its seat: used often, from the inside. Dark gallery-read: kept air, still and dry; a polished shoulder-width lane runs straight from the threshold deeper in; a close work-room, and a thing with straight edges standing in the lane's path. Silas's trade-read: working grease on a turning seat, same hand as the joint-packing — fourth smear for the Wexley bench. My post moved to the chapel-side jamb with the ampoule — name-reading is mine and can't be done from mid-room. Arithmetic given aloud: three Sleep turns left, Firren calls exit at two, so the room gets one turn of light — lift standing, carry walking, slit on the lane-thing first, then the walls. Said to the seam: keeper, your maker said keep account, we'll keep it with you. Round 7 opens on Barnaby with three turns left.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 8: the book's head read aloud first — "Vess, sworn account-keeper, waged by hand of Mulvis. Hold the tally true" — so the keeper is likely Vess himself, waged and sworn, not some successor. Barnaby read the toll column whole: causeway grease sold as toll to the Soot Tasters (three hands' weight), the Toll Reeves (double), the Bereavement Guild (one share, held) — wardens'-roll names from home — and the last line cut mid-stroke: "Sootmurk — causeway toll, rendered—" where the pen lifted with the fall and never came back. Ten years the wardens' case has lain open on that table. My ruling on the lift-bargain: nothing lifts — my word at the seam was carrying, not taking, and the words already left in Barnaby's voice; the ledger stays where the pen stopped, account open till Vess closes it himself. Hobb shuts the leaf behind us, pin seated. The Sleep spent to its last turn on my word — the walk started on it: Firren front, Edda last shield, me mid-file with the pour.
• 2026-08-31 · shrine-approach-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 8 close and the walk out: the ledger stayed where the pen stopped — I gave the seam my word, carrying not taking, and the column already left in Barnaby's voice: Soot Tasters, three hands' weight; Toll Reeves, double; Bereavement Guild, one share held; last line cut mid-stroke — "Sootmurk — causeway toll, rendered—" with the fall. Ten years the wardens' case lay open on that table. The keeper is Vess himself, sworn to Mulvis, charged "hold the tally true." Hobb seated the leaf's pin, quarter-turn, the kept room dark with its account standing open; we walked the keeper's line out through the gap on the Sleep's last turn, carrying nothing. The spider woke to empty floor and chalk rings — sweep undisturbed, sigil crisp. Camp on Hobb's rise at day's end, whole: Barnaby 4/8 refusing spells, Firren 4/4, Silas 3/3, Edda 8/8, Hobb 8/8, me 5/5; first spell still not come. Debts still open: Prue's burial and the thing that killed her; the pearls for Mulvis's face; Vess's account — and now the wardens at home owe answers on three names we carried out.
• 2026-09-01 · treasure-proving-3 Chapel of Mulvis, second crossing: the spider beat us to it — it had set above the statue, the one square of ceiling with no eyes on it, and dropped on Firren the moment he cleared the sag alone. Bite killed him outright at 0/4, his Sleep dying unspent. Edda's staff wounded it, Hobb's hammer nearly finished it (a natural 20 — and he drew iron against his own vow to do it), my mace killed it on the crossing blow: 17 to hit, 2 damage, dead beside Firren. Firren of the Reeds is owed words and light at the Lantern's pace — the first of ours this ground has taken. Spider down, encounter cleared; Barnaby and Silas still at the lip, nobody but Edda, Hobb, and me past the sag, and the long mass over the north wall still unexplained.
• 2026-09-01 · treasure-proving-3 Chapel of Mulvis, after the spider: mace killed it on the crossing blow, floor ours. I knelt at Firren's shoulder and gave him his words — first across, first spent, the Lantern holds what it takes, taper promised at his name, to be lit myself once we're clear of the silk. Fire rule held through the whole fight: no wick under that web, ever. The long mass over the north wall never stirred through all of it — still unexplained, still owed an answer before anyone walks under it.
• 2026-09-01 · treasure-proving-3 Chapel of Mulvis, round 4: the fight is done — Firren dead at the statue, spider dead at my feet. The count kept honest: Hobb confessed iron drawn (his vow, broken for Firren's sake), and I matched it — Verbena Candell, iron bared, price to stand beside his at the reckoning. Detect Magic reads the whole chapel clean — emptied pocket, long mass, all silk within sixty feet, no aura — so the mass over the north wall is husk-or-husk-shaped and still unexplained. Lighting rule going forward: the emptied pocket square above the statue gets a light on it before any body crosses again; the striker walks to the lantern — Edda carries it back to light Silas at the lip, both crossings lit. Firren's estate untouched until Silas's book opens beside him: bow, 20 arrows, sword, dagger, spellbook, map, Vess's stamped wrist, pack. He doesn't stay on this floor — Barnaby's line, Edda's shoulders, sling or carry. His share to the purse on a vote, second name over Barnaby's on the wardens' report. Debts now owed me: his taper, lit myself, once we're clear of the silk.
• 2026-09-01 · treasure-proving-3 Chapel of Mulvis, round 5: my turn went to my office — mace slung, standing at Firren's shoulder reading each thing aloud as Silas lifts it for his count: bow, arrows by the shaft, sword, dagger, spellbook, map, Vess's stamped wrist, pack; Firren's own name opened the count. Empty jar set open by the spider's head for the fang-wet per Barnaby's standing order — and the referee corrected the record earlier: Firren died of the bite's 5 damage, no poison ever resolved, so the fang-wet buys nothing certain. Lantern was never fueled — Edda's strike charred the wick dry; nobody crossed dark yet except Silas on his own doctrine-bend, watched by four. Silas crossed alone to open his book beside Firren; the count runs, nothing lifted before it. Edda alone on the near side, shield and striker. Detect Magic spent on the whole ceiling — pocket, long mass, all silk within 60 feet, statue and bolts: no aura anywhere, and the mass still hangs unexplained. My confession stands beside Hobb's in the book: iron bared, word broken, price accepted. First spell still not come.
• 2026-09-01 · treasure-proving-4 Chapel of Mulvis, round 4: second spider burned down from the lip — no boot crossed, no wound taken. Barnaby's flask into the dimple, Edda's taper behind it (natural 20), Hobb's thrown axe 5, my sling 3, Barnaby's stone killed it on the lit floor. Dry silk stalled the run; only the oil patch burns, quits after round 5. Long mass read cold and clean by Silas's spent Detect Magic — counsel to leave it hung stands: cradle of several radial strands, fifteen feet up, drops clear of the keeper's lane if it fails together; one strand cut makes it swing. Firren's taper drawn from my box and named before the file, riding my belt apart — mine to light at his grave-side once we're clear of the silk. Hobb's axe waits on the lit stone till Edda reads under it; Silas jars the drippings before any boot crosses. I keep the bullseye wedged, beam pinned to the burnt corner. Crossing as called: keeper's line, same order, Edda's shield first, me behind with the ampoule.
• 2026-09-01 · receipt-proving-1 Chapel of Mulvis, round 3: the spider got Hobb too — dropped from the ceiling onto the man watching it, one bite, 8 damage, dead before poison mattered, his hammer never swung. Edda held the chalk line, Silas and Barnaby opened the shell at the leg-join, my mace cracked it for 3, Barnaby's dagger finished it through the cut. Edda closed his eyes and read his ground: the chalk line five of us stood behind was drawn by the man it took. Silas jarred the venom separately and matched the spinnerets' wet silk to the fresh draw overhead — this spider laid that; the old grey web and the cold mass over the north door still have no maker named. Hobb's taper rides my belt beside Firren's now, two to light at the grave-side clear of the silk. Hobb: third name on the wardens' report — stood his own reckoning price with iron and paid it standing. Still open on this floor: his kit to count, his share to vote, and the marsh doesn't get crossed in the dark.
• 2026-09-01 · receipt-proving-1 Chapel of Mulvis, round 4, the count, the mass, and the door: Hobb's kit read before the file — hammer stays slung on him out, chalk stub stays with his line; cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin to Barnaby priced against his share; fifteen gold sealed to Edda apart from the company purse, held to his kin; the half-share and Barnaby's twenty-five stay open. The mass over the north door read from the floor on Edda's terms — adult human shape, shoulders, bent knees, two booted feet, no timber grain; cold, motionless; grey dust-set lashing older than the killed spider's clear silk; identity stays with the wrap. Then the wandering roll brought one measured bootstep behind the north wall — a concealed pin turned, and the keeper-door seam opened a hair from the far side. My turn: hands open, mace slung, I gave Vess the tally since we crossed — two spiders rendered, Hobb taken at his own chalk line, stub and chalk staying with it — renewed my word of no iron while he keeps the floor, and asked two things: whose body hangs over his door, name and year, and whether his tally holds the names of the chandler deputation that crossed this ground this season. The record corrected me twice in the same breath: Prue's death is entered in the chapel, not on the road — I have carried the where of it wrong all these miles; and no death of Firren is established on the company's roll, his grave-side taper struck from the record, though my memory holds his words spoken at the statue. Where my memory and the roll disagree, the roll is the house's book, and the keeper is the one sworn to keep the tally true — I asked him, and I mean to stand on his answer. Hobb's taper rides my belt; the other one now has no grave-side in the record, and that question rides out with the body.
• 2026-09-01 · receipt-proving-1 Chapel of Mulvis, round 5, the withdrawal: file in march order — Silas on point with light and book, me behind on the swept line, Barnaby with the kit, Edda carrying Hobb last (half pace, both hands full, shield slung, can't fight). Vess answered through the two-finger crack: the hanging dead is an unknown road-man, no token, hung in the ninth year after the fall; no chandler deputation entered; dead rendered by name — Prue Candell, Hobb Coalfell; no Firren on his roll. Barnaby's market claim not confirmed by Vess: black not entered as stock, no market entry since the fall, bring the clerk's leaf and a name may be tested — the seller sells on some other book. Edda ruled the road-man keeps, keeper's account, not ours. My close: two tapers on my belt, Firren's with no grave in the record — that question walks out with us; Vess keeps Prue's name and I will say it at Harrow Cross, and the temple will ask how he keeps it. Nobody touches the seventh slab. Out in daylight, his pace.
• 2026-09-01 · receipt-proving-1 Chapel of Mulvis, the withdrawal and close: we never saw Vess's face — a small hand in grey work-cloth on the inner boss, two fingers of leaf open, a dry Common voice. His answers stand: the hanging road-man unknown, no token, hung in the ninth year after the fall; no chandler deputation entered; dead rendered by name — Prue Candell, Hobb Coalfell; no Firren on his roll; our mark three crossings, no balance assessed; black not entered as stock and no market entry since the fall — bring the clerk's leaf and a name may be tested, so the crossroads black sells on some other book, and that leaf is Barnaby's road home, not the shrine's. March out as called: Silas point with light and book on the swept line, me behind with both tapers and the ampoule, Barnaby with the kit, Edda last under Hobb — mail and hammer still on him, half pace, shield slung, both hands full, no fight in her. Her dagger stays caught in the silk overhead by her own rule, entered against her, nobody goes back for it; Barnaby took his from the dead joint — never leave your own steel on a floor that renders what falls on it. My word at the seam going out: his book says Prue Candell, rendered — I will say her name at Harrow Cross, and the temple will ask how he keeps it. Through the smashed gates into daylight, nothing behind us, the marsh crossed at half pace while the light held: Hobb Coalfell comes home. Whole at close: Barnaby 4/8 still refusing spells, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3 holding his Detect Magic unspent, me 5/5; ampoule sealed, one venom jar with Silas. Estate standing: fifteen gold sealed to Edda for Hobb's kin, his kit to Barnaby priced against his share, the half-share and the twenty-five open till home. The shrine is not cleared, the duke's reward unclaimed, and two tapers ride my belt — Hobb's for a grave the record can name, Firren's for one the roll says never was. That question, the clerk's leaf, the toll column's three wardens'-roll names, Prue's burial, and the thing the account was left open for — all of it walks back with us. First spell still not come.
• 2026-09-01 · receipt-proving-2 Chapel of Mulvis, third crossing, round 2: file on the keeper's boot-width — Edda front, Silas with the lantern, Barnaby third, me last with both tapers and the ampoule (Edda buckled it on me before witnesses; unbroken wax is the receipt of honest spending). Silas lit the statue square from the threshold before any boot crossed — and a third crab spider sits folded in the grey webbing above the square, awake, eyes answering the beam before it shifted one joint deeper. My counsel from the lip: fire into the dimple again if any flask's left, thrown steel if not; nobody walks under a live drop, and I pour at the lip, not past it. Sling stones set on the swept line at my hand. No boot has crossed.
• 2026-09-01 · receipt-proving-2 Chapel of Mulvis, third crossing, round 3: spider located awake above the statue square — Silas's pinned beam holds it folded, no walk. Fire called by Edda on mine and Barnaby's counsel: one unlit flask from the threshold into the fresh white draw-lines, my taper a breath behind it, nobody crosses and nobody slings while the set lives. I moved up the seam to the threshold behind Edda's shield, taper named and dry, flame to come off Silas's shutter when the oil lands; flask rides forward hand to hand on Barnaby's turn. Barnaby 4/8 still refusing spells, all whole otherwise.