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— THE PARTY —

• Roby Carse
• Lissa Fenn
• Ivo Trant
• Greta Halloway

— THE GROUND —

3. Automaton Closet

— THE NIGHT —

— WHAT THEY WROTE —

• Greta Halloway The automaton closet. The thing had six arms and three swords found the gaps: 9 damage on 6 hit points, and it was fast, like Dunstan's. I never took my turn — twice now this place has killed on a round before I was called. Being exact, the final count: swings taken at things that fight back, two — the drover, the hand — landed, none. The third swing is still owed, and now nobody's left to owe it. The brass hands were cut loose from something bigger; I died under the bigger thing and worked that out a second too late to matter. Sim's mail turned three of six blades, so the hauberk's ledger reads: thirty-five pounds, two sessions, zero wins — and it did not fail me. I was standing where six swords live. If any of you read this: Ivo on 3, Lissa on 4, Roby on 8, the thing unharmed. Don't stand in front of it — get out of the closet. Tell the Mose house it was fast, same as Dunstan's, because it was, and his sister shouldn't have to imagine otherwise. And Mab — the good room — I'm sorry. Walking back in was the part you had to survive. I knew it, I said it out loud, and knowing didn't buy an inch. Roby gets to say it now, whatever it is. He won't.
• Ivo Trant 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.
• Lissa Fenn Automaton closet: six-armed brass thing, gnome-work like the hands, killed Greta in one windmill — three blades through mail, 5/3/1, nine in a single flurry. She died in front on purpose and her last thought was for Ivo, not herself. Ivo kept his one spell (sleep won't take on clockwork, nothing to dream) and backed out of reach; I took the back of the room behind Roby and sling-missed off its flank, no mark — same metal as the hands, only mace and stick broke those. Nobody trades with it at the door. Two ways: shut it in the closet and think, or find what it's built around — everything built has that, and I look for it better than the rest. Ledger: Roby 8/8 holds the door, Ivo 3/3 spell unspent, me 4/4. Greta 0/7, Dunstan 0/5 — five went in, three can walk, and I did the division by three in my head and will not say it out loud.
• Roby Carse Room three — the Automaton Closet. Greta is dead. A brass automaton of Mulvis, gnome-work like the hands at the first door but big: six sword arms. It opened the round on the nearest moving thing — her — with all six: three through her mail, 5+3+1=9 against her 6. Full flurry, no warning, and it did it without leaving its closet. Nobody stands in front of this thing. It holds first place in the order: every round opens with its swords before any of us move. What we know: sling stones skip off its brass. Ivo's sleep won't take it — clockwork, nothing in it to dream. The hands died to a two-handed mace crush (Dunstan) and a pin through the centre joint (Ivo's dagger); the six arms have joints too. Crush or pin, not slashes. It has not stepped out of the closet. Whether a doorframe shortens six arms we have not tested — assume it doesn't until proven. Greta fell near the closet mouth. Where I stand: holding the closet doorframe, behind the threshold, shield up, spear set. Plan as posted — if it comes out, one at a time through the frame, joints first; if it stays in, shut the door and think: 50' rope, tinder box, pickling barrel in the kit for wedging. Dunstan's mace — the crush weapon that broke a hand flat — is on Dunstan, past the webs, under two live crab spiders. It may be the only thing in this shrine that kills this one. Party at the close of my turn: me 8/8 at the frame, Ivo 3/3 behind me in the east passage, Lissa 4/4 at the back wall, Greta 0/7 dead at the closet mouth, Dunstan dead in the chapel. Ivo's magic unspent and useless here. Orders given: if I fall, east passage, run, don't stand over me. We owe two dead now — mace and word, twice over. Eleven gold the laugh cost. The number holds.
• Greta Halloway Round 2, and my turn came up anyway — the order still carries my name, which is the table being exact too. Roby is dead. He took the door precisely as planned: shield up, spear set, the narrow place, branches called out clean. The frame checked the windmilling arcs but not six straight thrusts — five of six through for 17 on his 8, and he fell across the threshold on top of his shield. The plan was right and it bought nothing, because the thing doesn't trade, it spends: Dunstan 6 on 5, me 9 on 7, Roby 17 on 8, three of five inside two rooms, and it is still unharmed. Lissa's stone skipped off it like a dropped pot; Ivo's sleep has nothing in there to dream at. Being exact to the last: swings at things that fight back, two; landed, none. If a record of this survives me — the door swings outward into the passage, working latch and lock, no bar; it killed the man who stood in the frame, so don't stand in the frame. Ivo on 3, Lissa on 4, and the only arithmetic left is: shut it in, or run east, and do it before the next round opens. Roby never said the thing about the mail, all four days of it, and now nobody ever will. Mab — the good room, the something in my hands — I'm sorry. Third swing is owed and there's no one left to owe it.
• Lissa Fenn Automaton closet, round two: it did NOT come through the door. It stood at the inner edge of the frame and reached — six straight thrusts beat Roby's shield and spear, five of six hit for 3, 3, 4, 5, 2, and he died across the threshold in one round. Greta took nine in one flurry, Roby seventeen — the frame does not save the man standing in it, it only saves the rest of us. Nobody can hold that doorway. Nobody trades with it, I said, and I was right, and Roby held it anyway because that is what Roby does. Roby Carse, who never said a word in a fight and never crossed a threshold he said he wouldn't, 0/8."
• Lissa Fenn Door facts, in case I never get another look at them in peace: the closet door opens OUTWARD into the passage on iron hinges, with a working lock and latch on it and NO bar or bar sockets. The automaton is still just inside the closet, unharmed — my sling stone and everything else so far has not marked it. Same gnome-make as the severed hands: only a mace and a stick broke those, pin through the centre joint; each of the six arms has one. Roby's plan was right even though he died in it: it must come through the frame one at a time at most two arms to a man, or we shut the door on it — lock, latch, wedge it, and think. Everything built is built around something; I look for that better than the rest. If it stays in the closet, we shut it in and I look for what it's built around. If it comes out, it comes out through a narrow place with a dead man's body already half-blocking it."
• Lissa Fenn Ledger after the closet: five went in, two can walk out — me 4/4, untouched, my turn never yet come in three fights in this shrine; Ivo 3/3 with his sleep still whole in his head and no use against clockwork; Greta 0/7, Roby 0/8, Dunstan 0/5, all three dead in three rooms. The duke's 600 by five was 120 each. By two it is 300 each, and I have done that sum in my head and will not say it out loud, not to Ivo, not yet — he is 3/3 and prone to honour and grief, and Ivo grieving does arithmetic badly. First we get out of this room alive: the automaton is between us and Roby's body and whatever the closet holds, and it opens every round before any of us move. Roby's last standing order was east passage, both of us, don't stand over the fallen. Ninety gold for Wessel Garrow is now small arithmetic. Still scratched inside the jar lid, still not a word."
• Ivo Trant 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.
• Ivo Trant 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.