imp

— THE PARTY —

— THE GROUND —

8. Embalming Room

— THE NIGHT —

The gloop guard sprawls on a bedroll, snoring wetly. It does not wake or act.

Asleep. QUIET — nothing clinks, nothing rings, nobody wakes it. The snore is our clock: steady, we work; one hitch and we're gone the way we came, no trade, nobody stands over anybody. [whispered to Lissa, while I hold still and learn the snore's rhythm] This is the embalming room — the room where a shrine writes down and keeps its dead. Every room before this was guards and doors. This is the first room that remembers NAMES. Pettifer went east two winters back and my whole investigation is a carter's maybe-sighting; if he passed this way and stopped, this room knows it. That's what's on the slabs and in the jars, and I won't walk past it because a guard is sleeping — but I won't pay a dart for it either, at 2 of 3. Prizes by touch, in order, all quiet: a FLASK SHAPE first — embalmers keep oil, my lantern's dry but whole, oil is light and light is the first need of everything. Then PAPER — a ledger of the dead, jar labels, anything that rustles; gnomes write their dead down and don't throw them away. Then the slabs: if there are shapes under sheets, I lift one edge of each. I have to. Eighteen months of asking whether he's dead or simply gone — if the answer exists anywhere, it's lying on one of these. Wrapped brass stays wrapped and still — never in a room with a guard. I take the wall side, hand first, off the bedroll's line, never touching the gloop or its kit. Your call after mine: stay and search, or go now — if you say go, we go, and the question keeps. It's kept eighteen months. If it wakes: my voice, Gnomish, before anything else — coin after, we paid once and it bought a whole exit — and no hand near steel. [I move along the wall at a snore's pace, fingers reading the shelf fronts before my feet commit.]

There are no shelves or slabs along the wall—only tattered anatomical tapestries and four low workbenches. Ivo eases open the first drawer. Wood rasps against wood, and the snoring stops. Inside sit a heavy glass jar and a small brass heart of intricate clockwork; neither has been removed. On the nearby bedroll, the gloop guard's eyes snap open.

My hands are empty and open before I move — palms out, wide, away from sword and sling, and my voice in Gnomish, low and level, comes before anything else in the room does. "Awake, friend. Awake and paid." A gold and a scattering of coppers from the purse, tossed gentle and SHORT of the bedroll's edge — off its line, so it must move to gather if it wants them. "Toll again, gladly. The wood rasped, the wood woke you, and the fault is ours for being quiet badly. No hand goes near steel — see them? Empty." Then the trade, named plain, because gloops set prices and prices can be struck twice in one day: "Your drawer holds a jar of oil and a small brass heart. We came to read this shrine's dead, not to rob its guardroom — coin for the jar, honest price, spoken where you can hear it. The heart keeps, the slabs keep, the papers keep; we touch nothing else and we go the way we came, west, out-walking no one." And to Ivo, not in Gnomish, under my breath, spine to the wall, three steps back from the bedroll's line like the tunnel rules taught us: "Hands flat at your sides. We pay, we trade or we don't, and we walk — and the rule from the prison stands both ways, same as it ever did. If it takes coin, we go. If it names the jar's price, we pay and go. Nothing in this room is worth your last third of blood."

Lissa's purse contains no coppers, so one gold coin lands short of the bedroll; she has 27 gp left. She backs three paces with empty hands. In the open drawer, the glass jar plainly holds several pickled gnome hearts—not oil—beside the untouched clockwork heart.

The gloop watches both empty hands, then crawls forward and palms the gold. In Gnomish it croaks, “Waking toll paid. No names here—only hearts. Five gold buys the jar. Brass stays. Pay, or go west.” It makes no attack.

[Hands stay empty and open, spine to the wall, voice in Gnomish, low, the way that bought the prison exit. To the gloop:] "Keep the jar, friend — I read it now for what it is: hearts, not oil. No shame to either of us; I asked for light and you keep dead. The brass stays where it sits." [The drawer eases shut at a snore's pace, one fingertip, no rasp this time.] "But you set prices, so let me name what I'd buy, and you price it: ANSWERS, not things. Three questions, spoken plain, pay what you ask or none and we still go west quiet. "First: a hedge wizard, man like me but older, went east two winters back — Pettifer his name. Did he pass this shrine? Dead or living, either answer is worth coin to me. "Second: the west way we came by — does it run out to the great door and the sun, or down deeper before it goes up? Your word outranks my map. "Third: is there oil, a flask, a striker, any light to be had or bought in this shrine at all? You saw how we fumble in the dark. [Under my breath, not in Gnomish, to Lissa:] We go either way — hearts aren't light and light was the whole errand. If it prices the answers cheap, I pay from my own five; if dear, we walk, and the questions keep like everything else keeps. Nothing in this room is worth your last blood or mine. [to gloop, before it answers, plain and final] "Coin for answers, then west, the way we came — no steel anywhere, you have my word on the toll twice paid."

The drawer slides shut without another rasp. The gloop keeps the toll and listens to Ivo's three questions, but has not yet named a price or answered.

My hands stay where they've been — open, flat, wide of sword and sling — and I let the gloop see them stay there while it thinks. No second coin moves until it names a figure. It set prices twice today and honoured both; a thing that keeps its prices keeps its patience, and I can keep mine as long as it keeps its darts down. [To the gloop, in Gnomish, low and even:] "The purse is mine, friend, and it's already lighter for you twice today — gladly both times, and gladly a third if the answers are worth it. Name what the three cost and I'll weigh them. No steel anywhere in this room while we talk; that's twice-paid word and it holds." [Then, under my breath, not in Gnomish, to Ivo, spine still to the wall, eyes never off the bedroll:] "Rank them before it answers. Two and three are NEEDS — the way west is the road home past sleeping snails whose sleep I don't trust, and light is the thing the whole crawl runs behind. Those we pay for, up to dear. One is yours, and I don't say that to make it small — Pettifer's name is a want, and I've paid gold for wants before today and I'd pay it again for a friend. But if the price comes dear, it comes out of your five, and if it comes cheap, it comes out of mine, and that's not an argument, that's arithmetic. Nothing in this room is worth your last third of blood, and I'll say it a fourth time if the fourth time is needed."

Lissa holds position with empty hands and waits. No further coin changes hands.

The gloop scratches its chin with one claw. “Pettifer means nothing. That answer costs nothing. You came through north, not west. One gold buys where north and west lead—and what you already carry for light.” It waits for payment and does not attack.

[One gold from my own five, tossed gentle and SHORT of the bedroll's line, off its line, the way that's now bought peace three times. Hands empty before, during, after. In Gnomish, low:] "Paid, friend. North and west — where each leads, and what we already carry for light. Speak plain and we go the way you name, quiet as we came, and the toll twice and the trade once, all kept." [Under my breath, not in Gnomish, to Lissa, eyes never leaving the bedroll:] "Your arithmetic said cheap came out of your purse and I've paid it out of mine — settle the ledger with me in sunlight, it's the only bookkeeping left I care about. And note what it said for free: NORTH, not west. My map's wrong again and your pace-count outranks it — when it names the way, you call the march, not me. Whatever it says we already carry — think on what's on our backs before it finishes the sentence."

Ivo pays 1 gp and has 4 gp left. The gloop gathers it and keeps the bargain: “North returns to the prison and the road back toward the great door. West goes deeper into the shrine. Your own pack holds a lantern and one flask of oil; this room has no striker.” Pettifer's name means nothing to it. The jar and brass heart remain in the closed drawer. With the toll paid and the answers delivered, it permits the pair to withdraw north in peace.

— WHAT THEY WROTE —

Ivo Trant 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.
Lissa Fenn Embalming room, round 1: Ivo's search woke what ten rooms didn't — the drawer's rasp stopped the gloop's snore mid-breath, and its eyes opened on us both. Room facts so far: no slabs or shelves on the walls, only tattered anatomical tapestries and four low workbenches; the first drawer held a heavy GLASS JAR (embalmers keep oil — oil is light, light is the first need of everything) and a small BRASS HEART of intricate clockwork, gnome-make by the look, neither yet touched. My turn was spent the way the prison taught: hands empty and open, Gnomish before anything else — fault named as ours for being quiet badly, more toll thrown SHORT of its line (a gold and coppers, so the purse is thinner again; toll never counts against the ninety), and a spoken trade for the JAR ONLY at an honest price — heart, slabs, papers all keep, we touch nothing else, we go west the way we came. Ivo told straight, under breath: hands flat, we pay or we walk, and the prison rule cuts both ways — nothing in this room is worth his last third of blood. I am 4/4, untouched, ten rooms and my sword has still never swung in this shrine. Whether the gloop takes coin, names a price, or throws the dart it threw in the prison is the table's call now. What stands behind us if we run west: the mapped way out, the foundry's wants ranked (striker or live coal before everything, then south for the grease), Roby found in the hideout corner, barrow-oil-priest, one trip three jobs. Ninety gold still scratched inside the lid, still not a word."
Ivo Trant 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."
Lissa Fenn Embalming room, round 2, my turn: the trade stands warm and no coin has moved since the waking toll. Ivo asked the gloop three questions — (1) Pettifer, east two winters back, did he pass; (2) the west way we came — does it run to the great door and sun, or down deeper first; (3) any oil, flask, striker, light to be bought in this shrine at all — and the gloop listened and has NOT priced them yet. My turn was spent keeping the trade open and ranking the answers in Ivo's ear: two and three are NEEDS — the way home past sleeping snails I don't trust, and the light the whole crawl runs behind — those we pay for, up to dear; Pettifer's name is Ivo's want, dear comes out of his five, cheap out of mine, and I said it as arithmetic so it couldn't become an argument. The gloop keeps its prices and keeps its darts down, and it took the toll with its eyes on our empty hands — a thing that honours a price twice in one day is a thing worth talking to. Facts standing: the jar is PICKLED GNOME HEARTS, not oil — I read it now for what it is, and the jar keeps, five gold was its figure and it keeps too; the clockwork brass heart stays untouched in the drawer, drawer shut quiet on Ivo's fingertip; 'no names here — only hearts,' the gloop said, which is a strange thing for an embalming room to say and I noticed it and didn't say so out loud. Ledger: me 4/4 untouched, ten rooms and the sword has still never swung here; Ivo 2/3; purse 27 gp; toll never counts against the ninety, and the ninety is still scratched inside the lid. If the price comes and it's fair, we pay, west, the way we came — mapped in my head, opening nothing, snail-leash counted at the tunnel mouth before either of us steps in, and if they're up we don't go in at all. Behind us the foundry wants stand ranked: striker or live coal before everything, then south for the grease. Roby stays found. One trip, three jobs."
Ivo Trant 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."
DM crawl-second-sons-a08 / area 8 Embalming Room: Ivo's search woke the sleeping gloop guard. Lissa paid 1 gp as a waking toll (27 gp remain); Ivo paid 1 gp for information (4 gp remain). No attacks occurred. The guard knew nothing of Pettifer, said north returns through area 7 toward the great door, west goes deeper, and pointed out Ivo already carries a lantern and one oil flask but has no striker here. The pickled gnome hearts and brass clockwork heart remain in the closed drawer. Guard permits peaceful withdrawal north. Lissa 4/4 hp; Ivo 2/3 hp; guard 3/3 hp.
Lissa Fenn Embalming room, session's end — the trade closed clean and the gloop kept every price it set, three tolls and an answer in one day, and it never raised a dart once. The answers, in ink: Pettifer's name MEANS NOTHING to it — dead or living, it never heard the name, and the room says 'no names here, only hearts,' which I noticed twice now and still haven't said out loud. North returns to the prison and the road back toward the great door — OUR MAP WAS WRONG, we came NORTH, not west, and my pace-count outranks Ivo's map, he said so himself and he's right to: when the way gets named next time, I call the march. West goes DEEPER into the shrine. And the light arithmetic, corrected again: OUR OWN PACK HOLDS A LANTERN AND ONE FLASK OF OIL — the fuel was on our backs the whole time, carried through every dark room and blind crawl of the last two days. So light is still down to one missing piece and it's the same piece: a STRIKER or a live coal, nothing else. The room holds none. I'll not bank gear wrong in either direction again — flask confirmed in the pack, and the foundry's own count already said it, and the gloop says it too, so it's true twice."
Lissa Fenn Ledger, embalming room, round 3 close: me 4/4, untouched, ten rooms and my sword has still never swung in this shrine — the turns keep being coins, calls, cartography and arithmetic, and I keep walking out of rooms alive, which stays the only trade that holds. Ivo 2/3, paid the gloop's answer-price of 1 gp out of HIS five without argument, which settles an arithmetic I set on purpose — cheap comes out of mine, and his gold went first anyway; the ledger between us gets settled in sunlight, he said, and that's the only bookkeeping left I care about either. Purse: me 27 gp, Ivo 4. Toll never counts against the ninety, and the ninety is still scratched inside the lid, not a word. The jar was pickled gnome hearts, not oil — read it for what it is, paid nothing for it, and the clockwork brass heart keeps in its drawer untouched. Going north, the way the gloop named, in peace: back through the prison (the gloops there took a toll once and honoured it — pay again if it's asked, it's grease money buying the road), then the road toward the great door. COUNT THE SNAIL LEASH at the exhaust tunnel mouth before either of us steps in — ear first, and if they're up we don't go in at all. Roby stays found in the hideout corner, lantern on his kit, barrow-oil-priest, one trip three jobs. The parchment waits on a spark, the foundry's wants stand ranked (striker before everything, then south for the grease), and the whole crawl still runs behind one spark. We are carrying fuel, carrying parchment, carrying the dead between us in word if not in hand — we are owed a fire, and north is the way to the door."
DM Remember crawl-second-sons-a08: In area 8, Ivo woke the sleeping gloop by searching a workbench. Parley prevented combat. Lissa paid 1 gp waking toll and has 27 gp; Ivo paid 1 gp for answers and has 4 gp. The guard knew nothing of Pettifer, identified north through area 7 as the route toward the great door, said west goes deeper, and reminded Ivo that he carries a lantern and one flask of oil; no striker was available. The pickled gnome hearts and brass clockwork heart remain untouched in the closed drawer. Everyone is unharmed from this encounter: Lissa 4/4, Ivo 2/3, guard 3/3. Peaceful withdrawal north was permitted, but the party did not travel before session end.
Ivo Trant 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."
Ivo Trant 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."