imp

First light finds the camp on the rise — stone at their backs, the fire a ring of cold coals, the marsh flat and pewter-colored below. The night gave them nothing worse than dew. Barnaby's calf has stiffened under Verbena's tie; it carries him, and it lets him know about it on the downslope. The walk back is short and dry-footed on yesterday's bootprints. No grease trails move in the ditches this morning. No croak answers the boots. The marsh is as quiet as it has ever let them see it. The great door stands as they left it — gates smashed, hall collapsed, the narrow path swept boot-wide through the rubble. But the room has been kept again, overnight, while they slept a bend away. The wrecked hands are gone. Both of them — every plate, every cable, every finger Barnaby pried out of his cuff and dropped on the swept line. The brass is picked clean out of the rubble. Hobb's chalk tracings, Silas's knock-marks, the crossed cables Edda drew: scrubbed, all of it, the floor wiped back to grey stone. Except one mark. The company sigil on the seventh slab is untouched — crisp, deliberate, left exactly as Edda chalked it. As if it had been read, and answered by being allowed to stay. Nobody has stepped past the gates. Nothing in the room moves.

Aldous Quist memorises Sleep

“The keeper came home, read our mark, and chose not to erase it. Steel down until that courtesy fails.” Quist kneels outside the gates and works his loupe along the edge of the newly wiped stone, tracing brush-strokes, damp residue, and any small print toward the cleaner’s way in or out. Sleep is ready behind his teeth.

The loupe finds no water and no small tread. In the pale grit, one boot-width track lies days deep, with last night’s passage sharp atop it. It comes from the collapsed gap east, walks the whole swept line, and returns the same way; nowhere does it branch toward the slabs. Whatever kept the room used a boot, not a webbed foot. Doss Greeve is caller. When the company must choose one road, his word moves it.

“They spared our mark, not our necks.” I follow the boot-track inside, stop short of the seventh slab, and inspect its edges and chalk with pick and fingertip, testing for a catch or pressure play without stepping on it. Find or Remove Treasure Traps.

No roll: there is no treasure trap on the marked stone. The pick finds no catch, hinge, or pressure travel. Its joints hold old packed grit, unbroken beneath the chalk; the mark itself was never smeared. The cleaner wiped to its edges and around it. The marked seventh stone is not one of the six close-fitted lid slabs beside it.

“The keeper has answered courtesy with courtesy. East by the boot-track; leave the lids shut.” I sling the mace, show my holy symbol, and follow the print into the collapsed eastern gap, shield ready.

Doss Greeve memorises Cure Light Wounds

Correction: Doss is a 1st-level cleric; he receives no spells until 2nd level. *Cure Light Wounds* is not memorised. The holy symbol draws no answer. The keeper’s tread enters a shoulder-tight, dry lane through the eastern collapse. Doss advances several strides before morning light thins; the track continues ahead toward a squared opening, single file. He can see no room beyond from here. The others remain at the great door.

Doss Greeve memorises

“Single file. One sword’s room between us.” I enter the eastern lane behind Doss, shield high and sword low, and advance to the squared opening at his pace.

Iva enters with shield raised but cannot reach the opening without passing Doss; he still holds the lane ahead. She stops one sword-length behind him. The gap admits only one abreast, with dry rubble tight on both sides and the keeper’s tread underfoot. Nothing answers their movement.

I step into the eastern lane one sword-length behind Iva, load my sling, and watch the great door at our backs. “I’ve the tail.”

Tansy takes the lane behind Iva, sling loaded. From there she can watch west along the narrow gap, but Quist and Crake still stand between her and the great door; she holds the rear of the three inside, not yet the company’s tail. The passage behind remains still.

“Not tail yet, Root.” Quist enters the eastern lane and takes station one sword-length behind Tansy, leaving room for Crake. “Bring a flame before the daylight fails us, Crake.”

Quist takes his place behind Tansy. The line now runs Doss, Iva, Tansy, Quist, with Crake alone at the western mouth. Thin daylight still reaches Quist’s station; beyond Doss, the squared opening remains dark. *Sleep* stays unspent.

I strike the tinderbox, light a fresh candle, and enter the lane one sword-length behind Quist, keeping the flame low and my back toward the great door. “Now Root has her tail.”

Dry char catches without a roll. Crake lights candle one and enters last; he, not Tansy, is now the company’s tail. Four bodies and the bends of rubble stand between the flame and Doss, so the squared opening ahead remains dark. The great door is empty behind them.

“Pass the candle forward. Hold the line.” I advance to the squared opening without crossing it, set my shield against the near edge, and listen into the dark.

Doss reaches the squared threshold and stops on its western side, shield braced against the jamb. Hear Noise: 5; no sound reaches him from the room beyond. The failed listen establishes only silence, not safety. Crake still holds the candle at the rear; passing it forward requires the line to act.

While the candle comes, I crouch over the keeper’s fresh tread and compare its length, heel, and sole marks against Tansy’s boot and the small prints from the tenant’s room.

There are no established “tenant’s room” prints to compare; that reference does not enter the record. Against Tansy’s boot, the keeper’s is plainly different: about a half-hand longer, narrower through the heel, with a straight outer sole. It is smaller than Iva’s own boot and lacks webbing or claw marks. The track is too worn to preserve any finer tread pattern. The candle remains with Crake.

I press my boot beside the keeper’s freshest print with my weight over it, comparing the depths for the keeper’s weight or burden. “Quist, relay the candle when it reaches you.”

The keeper’s fresh heel cuts deeper than Tansy’s weighted boot, though its toe leaves no drag or stagger. Keeper and burden together pressed harder than Tansy; the print cannot separate body weight from carried load, and a walking heel strikes harder than a planted test. Whatever crossed did so steadily. The candle remains with Crake until hands actually pass it.

Quist takes the candle from Crake and passes it forward into Tansy’s hand, shielding the flame with his palm. “Last night’s burden may have been the brass stripped from our wreckage. Same steady road in and out.”

The handoff succeeds; the flame stays lit. Tansy now holds candle one in one hand and her loaded sling in the other—she must pass or drop the candle to shoot. Quist’s brass explanation fits the deeper tread, but remains inference: the print records pressure, not what made it.

I turn west, hold still at the rear bend, and listen toward the great door for a boot, brass scrape, or shifting rubble. Hear Noise.

Hear Noise: 6; failure. Crake hears no boot, brass, or falling stone from the great door, but cannot distinguish true quiet from sounds lost around the rubble bends. He keeps the rear watch.

“Forward, hand to hand.” I unsling the mace and sweep its head across the floor just beyond the threshold, testing for grease, a drop, or loose stone before I put a boot through.

The mace head meets level dressed stone for its full reach. It comes back dry: no grease, drop, rocking slab, or loose rubble. The keeper’s boot-track crosses the threshold along the same clear strip. Doss has tested only the first few feet; he has not crossed.

I sheathe my sword, take the candle from Tansy, and close to Doss’s back. Shield still forward, I raise the flame beside his shoulder to cast its light through the opening.

Iva brings candle one to the front, sword sheathed and shield raised. Its light crosses the jamb. The chamber beyond is a chapel larger than the flame can measure. Dense grey webbing shrouds the ceiling immediately past the threshold, thick enough to hide a body; dry husks hang in it. Below, the keeper’s clear boot-lane runs directly under the silk toward the feet of a stone statue. Nothing within the webs is yet visible.

I crouch behind Iva and roll a sling stone hard down the keeper’s clear lane toward the statue, watching the ceiling silk for any answering tremor. “No heads under that web yet.”

The stone rolls cleanly along the boot-lane, then clicks against dressed stone near the statue. No strand crosses the floor, and no answering tremor runs through the ceiling silk. Whatever the web catches, the clear lane is not mechanically tied to it. The stone remains in the chapel.

“If the keeper crossed that chapel and came back, its return tread may carry the room with it.” Quist crouches over the freshest westbound heel near his station and uses loupe and stylus to search the impression for silk fibres, grease, husk-dust, or blood.

The loupe finds no silk fibre, grease, blood, or brown husk-dust in the westbound heel. Its deepest cut holds only pale mineral grit like the dressed floor beyond. The keeper returned by a dry, clean surface; that does not prove the ceiling or the rest of the chapel clean.

I draw my short sword and flatten into the rubble-shadow at the rear bend, watching the great door for anything following our line. Hide in Shadows.

Crake presses into the rubble-shadow with sword drawn. From the bend he retains a narrow view of the pale great door and keeps still; whether the shadow truly conceals him is not something he can judge. Nothing enters his sight.

“We lost Pell to silk once. Burn a road before we walk it.” From behind the jamb, I hook the nearest ceiling web with my mace and draw a fringe down into Iva’s candle flame, shield raised.

2. The Chapel

Aldous Quist memorises

The first spider gets no bite. Quist fixes it through the doorway and speaks *Sleep*, centering the spell on the crab spider in the ceiling web and clear of the company.

The mace hooks an anchoring fringe. Candle flame runs up it in a quick blue line, clearing the doorway edge before dying in the thicker silk—no broad road without more fuel. The pull betrays a living weight overhead. A crab spider unfolds from the grey web above the statue, dog-sized and long-legged. Doss’s deliberate flush prevents surprise; everyone remains west of the web with the creature now visible. Combat begins. Quist acts first; *Sleep* is ready.

*Sleep* takes hold: 4 HD affected. The lone 2 HD crab spider receives no save. Its legs fold and it hangs slack in its own web, alive and unharmed at 9/9 HP, asleep for 7 exploration turns unless disturbed. Quist’s only spell is spent. With no conscious foe, the fight is over for now; the sleeping creature remains overhead and helpless.

The crab spider’s turn passes asleep. Sleep clock: 7 turns remain; combat rounds do not spend exploration turns.

I hold the rear bend with my short sword poised toward the great door, leaving the narrow lane clear for retreat. “Doss, neck first. We bought seven turns, not a pet.”

Crake holds the retreat lane and rear watch. The spider remains asleep overhead at 9/9 HP; no exploration turn has yet elapsed.

“Seven turns are worth more than mercy for a man-killer.” I follow the clear lane, drag the sleeping spider’s neck within reach with the mace head, and strike to crush it against the statue.

Doss Greeve misses crab spider

Doss Greeve misses crab spider

Natural 1: the hook tears through loose silk as Doss swings; the mace cracks against the statue, not the neck. Dragging and striking it ends the sleep. The crab spider jerks awake at 9/9 HP above Doss. Its initiative seat already passed asleep this round, so it gets no retroactive bite. Doss now stands by the statue directly beneath it.

Correction: Doss’s attack routine was rolled twice. His first receipt—2 vs 12—is the only attack; the later natural 1 is struck as surplus. He still misses, and dragging the spider still wakes it, but no natural-1 consequence stands. True state: spider awake and unharmed at 9/9; Doss beneath it; its round-1 seat already spent. Iva’s turn remains open.

I jam the candle upright at the jamb, draw Osla’s sword, and run the clear lane. “Behind my shield, Doss.” I cut upward at the spider’s body.

Iva Marrow misses crab spider

Iva Marrow misses crab spider

8 vs AC 7: miss. Iva’s sword cuts a hanging veil, but the spider draws its body tight above the stroke. Candle one remains upright and lit at the western jamb. Iva reaches the statue with shield raised; Doss can stand behind her, though both remain beneath the web.

Tansy Root hits crab spider for 4

Correction: Iva’s routine was also rolled twice. Her first receipt—4 vs 12—is the sole attack; the later 8 is struck as surplus. The result remains a miss. Her movement and position stand: by the statue, shield raised beside Doss. Tansy’s turn remains open.

Immediate correction: Tansy’s attack receipt landed as the prior post closed, so her turn was not open. Her sling stone hits exactly—12 vs AC 7—for 4 damage, cracking the spider’s underside. It clings awake above the statue at 5/9 HP. Round 1 is complete.

Aldous Quist hits crab spider for 2

Quist stays west of the web and throws his dagger past the candle. The blade punches into the spider’s cracked underside. “Three pounds of chitin left—finish it before it bites.”

Aldous Quist no longer carries dagger

Natural 20: Quist throws his dagger through the clear lane. It punches into the spider’s underside for the rolled 2 damage—no extra critical damage—and drops onto the stone below. The spider clings at 3/9 HP.

crab spider misses Doss Greeve

The spider drops at Doss, chosen from the two beneath it. Its bite rolls 2 vs 14 and skids off the raised shields without finding flesh. No poison save is needed.

Crake Fenn misses crab spider

I sheathe the sword, load my sling, and send a stone down the clear lane at its cracked belly. The shot clips silk and misses.

Crake’s routine 0 is his short sword, so the attack means he leaves the rear bend and runs the clear lane into melee. His 8 vs 12 misses; the point tears silk below the spider. The great-door approach is no longer watched.

I lock my shield above my face and drive the mace up at the cracked belly. “Account for Pell.”

Doss Greeve hits crab spider for 3

the fight is over

Correction accepted: Crake’s narration establishes a sling shot from the rear bend, not a short-sword charge. The wrong routine used the same attack number and missed, so no damage needs reconciling. Crake remains at the rear with sword sheathed and sling in hand; the great-door approach is still covered. Doss’s turn remains open.

“Pell is accounted.” I make no second move; shield raised, I let the dead spider fall and wait for the chapel to settle.

Immediate correction: Doss’s action and receipt landed before the prior post closed. His mace hits exactly—12 vs AC 7—for 3 damage and crushes the spider’s cracked belly. It drops dead beside the statue. The fight is over—nothing hostile remains standing. All five adventurers are unharmed. Candle one burns at the western jamb; Quist’s dagger lies by the corpse. Above remain the husk-filled webs. The statue holds three brass lightning bolts, and murals continue beyond the candle’s reach.

“Clear the ceiling before we touch brass.” Shield over my face, I cut the web’s nearest anchoring strands with my sword and drag that section down onto open stone, watching for another living weight.

No roll is needed with time, steel, and no active foe. Iva severs the nearest anchors and drags down a shield-wide sheet between the threshold and statue. It brings only dry rat and bat husks; no second living weight moves. A clear strip now lies beneath bare stone, but heavy web still covers the farther vault.

I take the candle from the jamb, carry it beneath the cleared strip, and set it at the statue’s base without touching the brass. I sight along the farther web for legs or fresh-wrapped prey.

Tansy moves candle one safely to the statue’s base. Its light finds no moving legs and no clean, fresh-white wrapping in the web it reaches; everything visible is grey with age. The web thickens into darkness across the farther vault, beyond candle range, so that portion remains unread. She does not touch the three brass bolts.

Aldous Quist now carries dagger

Quist keeps beneath the cleared ceiling, crosses to the corpse, and retrieves his dagger from the stone. He wipes the blade on a dry husk and sheaths it. “Now price the brass before anyone pulls it.”

Quist recovers and sheathes his dagger beneath the cleared strip. It carries dark spider fluid but no contact with the fangs; the dry wipe removes it. He now stands by the corpse and statue. The three brass bolts remain seated and untouched.

“Price starts with the cost of keeping our fingers.” I cross beneath the cleared ceiling, crouch by the statue, and study the bolts’ casting, wear, and seats before tracing each socket and the statue’s hand with a fine pick. I do not pull. Find or Remove Treasure Traps.

No trap roll: there is no pressure catch, spring, wire, or linked trigger in the hands or sockets. Each bolt is dense cast brass, unmarked, held by tight friction in a flanged stone grip. The exposed shanks are polished by years of drawing and reseating; they were made to come out. Crake leaves all three seated. Exact appraisal would require handling and weighing them.

“Made to be drawn means drawn. One at a time; no bolt enters the six-hand socket yet.” I brace the statue’s wrist and pull the upper brass bolt straight from its grip.

Doss Greeve now carries brass lightning bolt

the party takes One brass lightning bolt removed from the chapel statue; value not yet established (0gp)

The upper bolt pulls free with a dry stone scrape. It is forearm-long, heavy cast brass; no click, movement, or answering sound follows. The other two remain seated. Doss now carries the removed bolt. No “six-hand socket” has been established in this company’s delve; that phrase remains Doss’s suspicion, not a known fixture.

“First drew no answer. Take the next.” I sheathe my sword, brace the statue’s middle hand with my shield rim, and pull its brass bolt straight out.

Iva Marrow now carries brass lightning bolt

the party takes Second brass lightning bolt removed from the chapel statue; value not yet established (0gp)

The middle bolt comes free like the first. The braced wrist does not move; no hidden weight shifts and no sound answers. Iva now carries the second bolt. One brass lightning bolt remains seated in the statue’s lowest grip.

“Three sell better than two.” I brace the statue’s lowest wrist and pull the last brass bolt straight from its grip.

Tansy Root now carries brass lightning bolt

Tansy Root now carries brass lightning bolt

the party takes Third brass lightning bolt removed from the chapel statue; value not yet established (0gp)

The last bolt releases without resistance or response. Tansy carries it. The statue now presents three empty, flanged grips; nothing inside them moves, and the stone figure remains still. All three bolts are in company hands, one each with Doss, Iva, and Tansy.

Quist handles each bolt in turn, balancing its weight, measuring length and girth on a wax tablet, and studying fresh metal at the worn shanks through his loupe. He checks whether all three share one casting and prices them as brass, workmanship, or matched shrine fittings—whichever a Gull buyer would pay highest.

With proper tools and time, no roll is needed. The bolts are solid brass through, not plated. Their weights match within a shaving; mold seams, alloy color, and finishing strokes show one workshop and one matched set. They are worth more intact as original shrine-machine fittings than as scrap brass, provided a buyer recognizes the work. Quist cannot guarantee a Gull price from the chapel floor; splitting the set would lower its best market.

“Keep the set together and wrap the polished ends.” Staying beneath bare ceiling, I tap the statue’s western face and plinth with my dagger pommel, then work a pick along every joint I can reach, searching for a hollow or concealed compartment.

The plinth answers hollow, about a hand deep. Crake’s pick finds a hairline panel across its lower front, but no external catch and no prying lip; it is latched from within. Each empty eye socket holds a bronze back-pad with slight inward travel, and a faint metal tick answers inside the base when tested lightly. He depresses neither fully. The bolts remain separately carried until their holders consolidate them. Wandering check: 2; nothing approaches.

“Three back-pads and three matched bolts. The set is a key before it is merchandise.” I align my bolt with the left eye socket, ease it in to the bronze pad, then press the pad fully with my shield raised.

Correction: there are two bronze eye back-pads, not three. The lightning bolt does not fit the left socket: its jagged casting is broader than the round flange and stops at the rim, well short of the pad. Doss cannot press it by this method. Nothing clicks or moves; he retains the bolt.

“One pad first; both if it only ticks.” With the brass bolt tucked under my sword belt and shield covering my face, I set my dagger point against the right eye’s bronze back-pad and press it fully inward.

The right pad travels about half an inch against a spring. At full depth, one internal bar shifts with a dull tick; the base panel stays latched. The pad pushes back as soon as pressure eases. Iva may keep it depressed with the dagger, but doing so occupies that hand and fixes her at the statue. The left pad remains out.

I tuck my bolt through my belt, raise my shield, and press the left eye’s bronze pad fully inward with my short-sword point while Iva holds the right. “Both down.”

With both eye-pads fully depressed, the two push-rods draw an internal crossbar aside. A firmer click sounds in the plinth. The panel remains shut, but a coin-sized bronze seal-bed rises flush from its center, cut with an irregular keyed pattern. Both pads must stay held; releasing either lets the crossbar return.

“Hold both. The panel wants a matching seal.” Quist warms a patch of tablet wax at the candle, presses it squarely onto the keyed seal-bed, and lifts it straight away to take an exact impression without forcing the lock.

Aldous Quist now carries wax impression of keyed seal-bed

The warmed wax takes the full pattern cleanly and lifts without moving the bronze bed. No click follows; wax is too soft to serve as the rigid matching seal. Quist now carries an exact raised impression for comparison or a future casting. Iva and Tansy still hold both eye-pads depressed.

“Keep both down.” I kneel at the seal-bed, set a flat pick for tension against its edge, and work the irregular cuts with a hooked pick, feeling for the final latch. Open Locks.

Open Locks: 45 vs 15%; failure. The picks reveal why: this is not a single tumbler. Several short pins must be depressed together at different depths across the seal-bed—the rigid matching face supplies the pattern. Crake cannot retry this lock by picking until he gains a level or the circumstances change; the proper seal would still work. Nothing jams, and the panel remains shut.

“Release the pads. The lock will keep.” I turn my brass bolt under the candle and compare its tip, butt, and casting seams against every ridge of Quist’s wax impression, looking for the matching rigid face.

No surface of the bolt matches the wax. Its tip, butt, and mold seams are all wrong in both outline and depth; the other two bolts are cast identically, so none of the set is the seal. Doss retains his bolt. Iva and Tansy still hold the pads—the order to release them does not move their hands before their turns.

I release the right pad, pull my dagger free, and step back beneath the cleared ceiling. “The keeper carries the seal or knows where it sits. Find them before we break shrine stone.”

The right pad springs out. The crossbar slides home and the keyed seal-bed sinks back into the panel; the panel remains shut. Iva withdraws safely with dagger free. Tansy still holds the left pad alone. That the keeper carries or knows the seal is a plausible inference, not established fact.

I release the left pad and sheathe my sword. By the candle, I trace the keeper’s freshest boot-marks around the statue to find where its route continues.

The left pad springs out; both eye mechanisms reset. The keeper’s freshest tread circles the statue, then turns north beneath the uncleared web. It ends at a dressed wall whose joints almost vanish: two vertical seams, shallow hinge pockets, and one jamb-block standing a finger-width proud. Toe scuffs at that block show repeated opening. The keeper’s road continues through a concealed north-wall door.

“The last one answered a tug.” From beneath bare stone, Quist cuts a long leg from the dead spider and throws it high into the thick web directly above the keeper’s concealed door, watching for any weight that closes on the vibration.

The severed leg sticks and sends a clear ripple through the silk. Nothing living closes on it. One fixed, human-length bundle directly above the concealed door shifts as a single wrapped mass, then hangs still; its silk is old and grey, not fresh. The thrown leg remains caught. Wandering check: 6; nothing approaches.

“Old wrapping means old pockets.” From beneath bare stone, I cast a running loop of rope around the human-length bundle and pull it down toward the cleared strip, staying out from under it.

With repeated casts and no pressure, the loop catches. Crake hauls from outside the fall-line. Old silk tears loose in a broad sheet, and the bundle drops hard onto the cleared stone without striking anyone. The wrapping splits enough to show a desiccated adult human in rotted road clothes. Its pockets and remaining wrappings are not yet searched. The north door now has bare ceiling immediately above it.

“Name before purse; both go in the book.” I use the mace to roll the corpse clear of its wrapping, then search its neck, hands, belt, and pockets for identification, coin, or a seal matching Quist’s wax.

The corpse is an adult human man, dead roughly a decade: road cloak, cracked boots, empty knife sheath. No name tag, holy sign, ring, coin, purse, or matching seal remains. His hands show old cart-rope callus, but nothing identifies him. The company can enter him only as an unknown road-man unless later evidence supplies a name.

I sheathe the dagger, draw my sword, and take the north door under its cleared ceiling. Standing beside the seam with shield toward the opening, I press the proud jamb-block inward with my sword pommel.

The proud block will not depress; it is seated solidly inward. Under the off-center pommel, however, it gives a hair sideways and returns. The edge wear arcs around its seat: this is a turning boss, not a push-button. The concealed leaf remains shut.

Behind Iva’s shield, I wrap my fingers in my cloak hem, grip the proud jamb-block, and turn it clockwise along its worn arc.

The boss turns one quarter clockwise, smooth and recently greased. A concealed pin withdraws with one clean click; the north-wall leaf relaxes open a hair but does not swing. The block’s travel exposes a short line of tight angular script beneath its former seat. None of the five can read it. Tansy’s cloak hem carries a fresh grease crescent.

“Keep the boss turned; its label vanishes when it closes.” Quist moves beneath the cleared ceiling, leans in behind Iva’s shield, and copies every stroke of the exposed angular script at full size onto his second wax tablet.

Aldous Quist now carries full-size copy of angular door script

The boss remains seated at its quarter-turn without being held. Quist copies both groups of characters stroke for stroke at full size. The copy is exact enough for later translation, but supplies no meaning here. The leaf remains unlatched a hair.

I take Quist’s place beside the unlatched seam and put my ear close to the hairline opening, listening beyond it for breath, boots, or metal. Hear Noise.

Hear Noise: 2; success. Beyond the slit there is no breathing, footfall, ticking, chain, or shifting metal. The air is close and still; Crake’s own movement returns from a room immediately beyond rather than a long passage. Nothing active reveals itself, though silence does not prove the room empty.

“Open it from the side; light before boots.” I brace my shield toward the seam and push the unlatched leaf inward with the mace head, only wide enough for the candlelight to enter.

The leaf swings inward silently. Candlelight enters a small, dry chamber hung with rows of mold-rotted, gnome-sized robes. Against the far wall stands a man-tall brass figure with six arms folded across its torso. It does not move or tick. The keeper’s boot-track crosses the threshold toward it. No one has entered; only the narrow wedge of room is lit.

“Boltless, it sleeps. Keep the keys outside.” I lay my brass bolt beside the candle, cross the threshold along the keeper’s track, and use my sword point to part each hanging robe while my shield faces the six-armed figure.

Iva Marrow no longer carries brass lightning bolt

Iva Marrow no longer carries brass lightning bolt

Iva leaves her bolt beside candle one and enters alone. The sword point parts every robe within the light: all hang empty; several collapse into moldy strips, revealing only bare hooks and wall. The six-armed figure remains motionless. The keeper’s tread continues past the robes and bends behind it. “Boltless, it sleeps” is inference; established fact is only that no bolt has touched it and it has not moved.

I lay my brass bolt beside Iva’s, take the candle, and follow the keeper’s track into the small chamber. Without touching the brass figure, I hold the flame around its flank to see where the prints lead.

Tansy Root no longer carries brass lightning bolt

Tansy Root no longer carries brass lightning bolt

Tansy leaves a second bolt beside Iva’s and carries candle one inside. Behind the figure, its brass back holds an empty, purpose-cut lightning-bolt socket matching the carried set’s profile. Fresh keeper prints stop square before that socket, then continue to a closed brass door in the east wall. The figure remains inert and untouched.

Quist follows Iva’s cleared path but stays behind her shield. Without touching the figure, he works his loupe around the empty socket’s rim and the floor below, looking for fresh scrape filings, grease, soot, or matching brass transfer that would show when a bolt last entered or left it.

A bright insertion scrape cuts through the socket’s old grease, still free of dust. One fine brass curl lies directly below; its color matches the bolts. No soot is present. A matching bolt entered and left this socket recently—possibly overnight, though the mark cannot date the exact hour. The figure remains inert. Wandering check: 6; nothing approaches.

“Fresh scrape says the keeper worked it. Leave every bolt outside.” I follow the boot-track around the figure without touching it, set my ear against the closed brass door, and listen. Hear Noise.

Hear Noise: 5; failure. Crake hears nothing through the brass door, but its thick leaf makes the silence inconclusive. He remains inside beside the east door. The automaton does not react to his passage; Doss and all three bolts remain outside the room.

“The keeper wakes it to pass, then takes the key away. We do neither.” I lay my bolt with the other two, follow the prints around the figure, and try the brass door gently from behind my shield.

Doss Greeve no longer carries brass lightning bolt

Doss Greeve no longer carries brass lightning bolt

3. Automaton Closet

Doss leaves the third bolt with the other two in the chapel and enters last; the company is now wholly inside the closet. The east brass door yields no travel under gentle pressure—it is locked or barred. The six-armed automaton remains inert at 24/24 HP. That the keeper must wake it to pass is inference. Established: the keeper paused at the recently used socket, then walked to this door. Travel reset order; Quist acts first.

“The door, not the bolt, woke it. Back to the chapel!” Quist runs the keeper’s track around the automaton and out through the concealed north leaf, putting the stone wall between himself and its six arms.

Correction: the automaton did not wake when Doss tried the east door; it remains wholly inert. Quist nevertheless retreats through the open concealed leaf into the chapel and takes cover behind the north wall. The other four and candle one remain in the closet.

The automaton’s seat passes inert. No bolt is inserted; its six arms remain folded.

“It did not wake. Don’t pay panic for nothing.” I stay beside the east door, trace its edge for the locking point, and work the accessible mechanism with tensioner and hooked pick. Open Locks.

Open Locks: 69 vs 15%; failure. The edge contains a compact warded lock rather than a bar, but Crake cannot set its inner catch. Nothing jams or triggers; the east door remains locked. He cannot retry this lock until gaining a level unless the circumstances or tools change. The automaton remains inert.

“No bolt. No forcing until talk fails.” I strike the brass door three times with my mace and call through it: “Keeper of Mulvis—Magpie Company. Your road is kept and your goods untouched. Open for fair terms against the road-killer.”

The third knock draws an answer. A high, rough Common voice says through the brass: “No keeper here. No latch this side. Take your road-killer elsewhere.” Something heavier gives one low snuffle behind it. Reaction: 4, hostile and unwilling; no terms are struck. The brass door stays shut, and the automaton remains inert.

“Talk failed. Clear the seam.” I sheathe my sword, set my shield boss against the brass beside the lock, and drive my shoulder into it to force the door.

Force Door: 6; failure against Iva’s 3-in-6 chance. Brass booms under the shield boss, but the warded catch holds and the leaf does not shift. The voice beyond falls silent; the heavier thing scrapes away from the seam. Iva stands at the locked door with sword sheathed. The automaton remains inert.

“Again, low at the catch.” I brace my shoulder beneath Iva’s shield boss and drive both legs against the brass door at the lock side.

Combined Force Door: 1 vs 4-in-6; success. Tansy’s low drive and Iva’s shield shear the warded catch. The leaf jumps inward. Beyond, a soot-dark little figure crouches behind a rotten couch with a loaded crossbow; beside him, a broad collared animal shows its teeth. “One step and I shoot.” Neither side attacks. Iva and Tansy remain at the threshold; the broken door cannot lock again without repair.

Quist stays behind the north wall and calls through both doorways. “No one crosses. Your machine still sleeps and its three bolts lie outside it. We want the black-grease killer taking road folk, not you. Give us its habits and den; we kill it, pay for your broken catch from the duke’s fee, and quit your shrine.”

Reaction: 7; wary counteroffer. The crossbow lowers a finger’s width. “Not my shrine. Not my machine. Gorfthistle—and that’s Butch. The Black One lies below the foundry; gloops feed it. Ten gold now pays my catch and buys which west road stays dry. Duke-promises buy nothing.” No one crosses; no terms are yet struck.

The automaton remains inert; its seat passes.

Keeping my hands plain, I count ten gold from my purse and slide it across the threshold. “Ten now—for the catch and the dry road. Book it: company owes Fenn ten from first fee. Name the road, Gorfthistle.”

Crake Fenn no longer carries gold pieces

Crake Fenn now carries gold pieces

the party pays 10gp — Paid Gorfthistle for the broken catch and the dry road; company owes Crake Fenn reimbursement from first fee

Gorfthistle palms the ten coins; Butch stops growling. Terms are struck: the broken catch is paid, the company may cross his room single file without touching his goods, and the route is his middle west passage—keep uphill where it forks. It reaches the foundry on dry stone; the low way carries greasy snail-feed. Gorfthistle keeps the crossbow loaded but points it aside. Crake retains 2 gp; the company owes him 10 gp from its first fee.

“Paid terms bind both sides. Single file; touch nothing.” I sling the mace, cross Gorfthistle’s room with my hands clear, and take the middle west passage, keeping uphill at its fork.

Only Doss moves. He crosses Gorfthistle’s room without touching couch, bedroll, accordion, or stores. Beyond Tansy’s candle the middle passage is black; he follows its wall by hand and takes the rising fork. Forty feet on, the wall falls away into a broad, metal-smelling chamber with dry stone underfoot—the foundry lip by Gorfthistle’s directions. Doss can see nothing inside. He stands alone and unlit; the others have not followed.

“Root, bring the flame.” I cross Gorfthistle’s room single file with sword sheathed and touch nothing. Once past his goods, I draw steel and follow Doss up the middle passage as far as the dark allows.

Iva crosses under the paid terms, draws only after passing Gorfthistle’s goods, and follows the rising wall by touch. Doss answers her low call at the far opening. They now stand together on the foundry lip, still unable to see into it. Tansy and candle one remain two rooms behind; Crake is with her, while Quist remains in the chapel.

I carry the candle across Gorfthistle’s room, touching nothing, then take the uphill middle passage to Doss and Iva. At the foundry lip I raise the flame behind their shields.

Tansy brings candle one to the lip. Behind the two shields, its narrow light shows a cold furnace mouth, a dry slag channel, and old iron rails descending onto the foundry floor. A broad, soft-bodied smear of black grease crosses that floor and continues south beyond the flame. Nothing moves within the light. Doss, Iva, and Tansy are together; Crake and Quist remain behind.

Aldous Quist now carries brass lightning bolt

“Matched stock does not get left on the floor.” Quist gathers all three brass bolts against his chest, crosses Gorfthistle’s room without touching his goods, and follows the middle passage uphill toward Tansy’s candle. “Fenn, bring the tail.”

the party takes Three matched solid-brass lightning-bolt shrine-machine fittings, carried by Aldous Quist; value unestablished (0gp)

Quist gathers all three matched bolts, passes the inert automaton without inserting one, honors Gorfthistle’s terms, and reaches candle one at the foundry lip. Crake remains alone in the closet as tail. Wandering check: 1. From the chapel behind Crake come two small, measured bootfalls on stone, unhurried and approaching the open concealed leaf. Their source is not yet visible.

The automaton remains inert as the bootfalls reach the chapel side of the open leaf.

I withdraw through the broken brass door, keeping my hands visible and touching none of Gorfthistle’s goods. “Two measured boots entering the closet behind me—not ours.” I cross his room under the paid terms and take the middle west passage after the company.

6. The Foundry

Crake withdraws cleanly, honors Gorfthistle’s terms, and follows the uphill route. Correction: he heard two footfalls from one unseen walker, not two identified walkers. Nothing pursues him through Gorfthistle’s room. All five reunite unharmed at the dry foundry lip. Candle one shows the black grease trail running south; Quist carries all three bolts. The keeper—or whatever wore its tread—remains behind. Reaching area 6 closes this morning push by table law.