imp

— THE PARTY —

• Barnaby Wick
• Edda Motts
• Silas Horn
• Verbena Candell
• Hobb Coalfell

— THE GROUND —

1. Ruined Great Door → 2. The Chapel → 1. Ruined Great Door

— THE NIGHT —

— WHAT THEY WROTE —

• Barnaby Wick Session treasure-proving-4 (approx), dawn — Great Door room, keeper's THIRD overnight clean-out. Wrecked hands carried off entire (plates, cables, fingers), all our marks scrubbed grey — EXCEPT Edda's company sigil on the seventh slab, left crisp AGAIN (third visit running). No new hands set in the room — he answered our breakage of two with removal of both, nothing rewound. Read: terms, not habit — he's stopped resetting the ambush on the east lane. Whether that's invitation or inventory, unchanged question. My turn-0 read of the swept line and the slab: nothing added beside the chalk — he answered the sigil by leaving it, not writing back. Asked for the gap-lip read before crossing (does the book-shadow sit past the swept line again). Party full-strength this fold: me 8/8 (CAUTION: unlike other entries, no calf wound logged — treat as fresh), Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5, Hobb 8/8. Firren absent this fold — no death recorded against him here; do not build on prior fold's entry. Pearls at my ribs, no sale. Lesson standing: blades skate brass, light the statue-square first in the chapel, this house renders what falls in it.
• Barnaby Wick Session treasure-proving-4 (approx), dawn — Great Door room, keeper's THIRD overnight clean-out. Wrecked hands carried off entire (plates, cables, fingers), all our marks scrubbed grey — EXCEPT Edda's company sigil on the seventh slab, left crisp AGAIN (third visit running). No new hands set in the room — he answered our breakage of two with removal of both, nothing rewound. Read: terms, not habit — he's stopped resetting the ambush on the east lane. Whether that's invitation or inventory, unchanged question. My turn-0 read of the swept line and the slab: nothing added beside the chalk — he answered the sigil by leaving it, not writing back. Asked for the gap-lip read before crossing (does the book-shadow sit past the swept line again). Party full-strength this fold: me 8/8 (CAUTION: unlike other entries, no calf wound logged — treat as fresh), Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5, Hobb 8/8. Firren absent this fold — no death recorded against him here; do not build on prior fold's entry. Pearls at my ribs, no sale. Lesson standing: blades skate brass, light the statue-square first in the chapel, this house renders what falls in it.
• Silas Horn Session treasure-proving-5 (or as named), round 1, my turn — morning at the gates, fifth kept night confirmed: brass gone clean out of the rubble, all our marks scrubbed but Edda's sigil, left standing crisp — answered by allowance again, and Barnaby read the swept line for terms, not habit: he hauled the wreck out and set no hands back. Edda is caller. Ampoule fixed: Verbena's belt, Edda second name on the wax, standing ruling. Order set: Edda point, Barnaby behind her for the dust-read, me third with the light, Hobb fourth (roof holds over the lane, his cap-sight clean — the keeper sweeps where the fall doesn't bear), Verbena rearguard. Nobody off the polished lane, nobody touching the seventh slab. The rise camp returned Detect Magic — precedent pinned: a night on stone is rest enough for spells, if not for hit points (Barnaby still 4/8, binding bought no flesh back). Memorised fresh, declared on the record, HELD. It spends on the keeper's own hands if we finally see them, or on whatever the lip shows — not before, not on a third clean answer. First flame of the day to the lantern at the gates; slit before the gap, per the fire-rule discipline even with no silk in this room. Tread-read pending on my walk: night-fresh prints, black in the tread or none — every haul to date came back pale-gritted, boots carry brass only, and the fresh one is another chance to catch the toll moving. Waiting on the lip: whether the keeper's book sat down past the gap this time. Two red entries still owed in this house's book (Hobb's iron, Verbena's), fire may stand as the third, and nobody has seen the tally-keeper once.
• Silas Horn Session treasure-proving-5 (or as named), round 1, my turn — morning at the gates, fifth kept night confirmed: brass gone clean out of the rubble, all our marks scrubbed but Edda's sigil, left standing crisp — answered by allowance again, and Barnaby read the swept line for terms, not habit: he hauled the wreck out and set no hands back. Edda is caller. Ampoule fixed: Verbena's belt, Edda second name on the wax, standing ruling. Order set: Edda point, Barnaby behind her for the dust-read, me third with the light, Hobb fourth (roof holds over the lane, his cap-sight clean — the keeper sweeps where the fall doesn't bear), Verbena rearguard. Nobody off the polished lane, nobody touching the seventh slab. The rise camp returned Detect Magic — precedent pinned: a night on stone is rest enough for spells, if not for hit points (Barnaby still 4/8, binding bought no flesh back). Memorised fresh, declared on the record, HELD. It spends on the keeper's own hands if we finally see them, or on whatever the lip shows — not before, not on a third clean answer. First flame of the day to the lantern at the gates; slit before the gap, per the fire-rule discipline even with no silk in this room. Tread-read pending on my walk: night-fresh prints, black in the tread or none — every haul to date came back pale-gritted, boots carry brass only, and the fresh one is another chance to catch the toll moving. Waiting on the lip: whether the keeper's book sat down past the gap this time. Two red entries still owed in this house's book (Hobb's iron, Verbena's), fire may stand as the third, and nobody has seen the tally-keeper once.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 3, my turn — the mouth, with the light. Fifth kept night confirmed at the gates (brass gone clean, only the sigil left standing, Barnaby's read: terms, not habit — he hauled the wreck out and set no hands back), ampoule fixed on Verbena's belt with Edda's name second, and the file crossed the throat at the keeper's pace: Edda first, Hobb at her shoulder with the dark-sight, then me, Verbena behind. Barnaby's ear at the gap mouth failed its roll and proved nothing except that we don't get to know. The room's answers so far, in order: the mass over the north door hangs where it hung, cold through Hobb's dark-sight — no heat a breathing body would give. The night-fresh bootline turns north under the webs and comes back; it never touches the statue square, and the burdened return fits hauled brass. No book sat at the lip. My own tread-read came back clean again — pale grit, no black, boots carry brass only, the toll doesn't ride his feet. And the one that matters: the high square does NOT read clean. One palm-wide draw above the keeper's lane, a body-length past the halt — taut, clean, newer than the grey dusted sheets around it, fibres converging up into the dark. No body in the weak daylight. The old spinner burned on the chapel floor a full day before this weave could have been laid... or it couldn't, and I don't know which yet — that dating is the question I have to put to Barnaby's read, not mine. My turn: crossed, opened the slit at the mouth, and gave Barnaby the beam in his own order — statue square, sag, mass — wick short of the silk, light doing the reaching, no boot off the line. Held it on the high square and said the test aloud: watch for what ANSWERS light. Doubled eye-shine answers. The old spinner died lit on that floor, so if something answers the beam up there, it's a hand we haven't met; if nothing answers, the draw may be standing work — a dead weaver's line still holds, and where the fibres converge tells us which story we're in. Spell status: Detect Magic memorised, HELD, third session running the same terms — keeper's hands or whatever the lip shows. The lip showed nothing; the beam is showing something; the spell is not spent yet on a knot of fibre. Caveat ready if it comes to that: clean buys not-enchantment, not not-spider. Two red entries still owed in this house's book, fire may stand as the third, and the tally-keeper still has never been seen. Barnaby's calf carries him at 4/8. Nobody has bled yet this visit and the plan is to keep it that way.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 3, my turn — the mouth, with the light. Fifth kept night confirmed at the gates (brass gone clean, only the sigil left standing, Barnaby's read: terms, not habit — he hauled the wreck out and set no hands back), ampoule fixed on Verbena's belt with Edda's name second, and the file crossed the throat at the keeper's pace: Edda first, Hobb at her shoulder with the dark-sight, then me, Verbena behind. Barnaby's ear at the gap mouth failed its roll and proved nothing except that we don't get to know. The room's answers so far, in order: the mass over the north door hangs where it hung, cold through Hobb's dark-sight — no heat a breathing body would give. The night-fresh bootline turns north under the webs and comes back; it never touches the statue square, and the burdened return fits hauled brass. No book sat at the lip. My own tread-read came back clean again — pale grit, no black, boots carry brass only, the toll doesn't ride his feet. And the one that matters: the high square does NOT read clean. One palm-wide draw above the keeper's lane, a body-length past the halt — taut, clean, newer than the grey dusted sheets around it, fibres converging up into the dark. No body in the weak daylight. The old spinner burned on the chapel floor a full day before this weave could have been laid... or it couldn't, and I don't know which yet — that dating is the question I have to put to Barnaby's read, not mine. My turn: crossed, opened the slit at the mouth, and gave Barnaby the beam in his own order — statue square, sag, mass — wick short of the silk, light doing the reaching, no boot off the line. Held it on the high square and said the test aloud: watch for what ANSWERS light. Doubled eye-shine answers. The old spinner died lit on that floor, so if something answers the beam up there, it's a hand we haven't met; if nothing answers, the draw may be standing work — a dead weaver's line still holds, and where the fibres converge tells us which story we're in. Spell status: Detect Magic memorised, HELD, third session running the same terms — keeper's hands or whatever the lip shows. The lip showed nothing; the beam is showing something; the spell is not spent yet on a knot of fibre. Caveat ready if it comes to that: clean buys not-enchantment, not not-spider. Two red entries still owed in this house's book, fire may stand as the third, and the tally-keeper still has never been seen. Barnaby's calf carries him at 4/8. Nobody has bled yet this visit and the plan is to keep it that way.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 3, my turn — the throw flushed it. Edda's dagger tore the high draw and snagged in it, and a crab spider uncurled at the convergence: shield-sized, legs spanning three feet, still clinging to the chapel-side web, not acting. The keeper's lane has a new tenant, set square over the only road through. The old spinner died lit on this floor — so either this weave is fresh work by a hand we haven't met, or my dating is wrong, and the bench of that question is Barnaby's dust-read, not mine. My turn: crossed the throat and closed the file — I was the last man standing alone on this floor, which is the exact shape of the mistake this room punishes, and I fixed it before anything tested it. Slit open at the mouth, wick short of the silk, beam on the spider, holding: light is the second watcher, and it doesn't blink. Counsel given aloud: the web keeps Edda's dagger, steel snags silk, chasing it is the climb that costs a head for nothing; the spell stays held — spiders read as meat, I've bought that negative once already, and it waits for the keeper's hands. Doctrine restated: it drops on formed steel or it starves; nobody under it either way. Referee's correction entered plainly: Prue Candell died on this chapel floor; no death of Firren is established in this delve. The roll is the referee's to keep, not mine to argue, and I won't dress Hobb's naming up as anything but what the referee ruled it.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 3, my turn — the throw flushed it. Edda's dagger tore the high draw and snagged in it, and a crab spider uncurled at the convergence: shield-sized, legs spanning three feet, still clinging to the chapel-side web, not acting. The keeper's lane has a new tenant, set square over the only road through. The old spinner died lit on this floor — so either this weave is fresh work by a hand we haven't met, or my dating is wrong, and the bench of that question is Barnaby's dust-read, not mine. My turn: crossed the throat and closed the file — I was the last man standing alone on this floor, which is the exact shape of the mistake this room punishes, and I fixed it before anything tested it. Slit open at the mouth, wick short of the silk, beam on the spider, holding: light is the second watcher, and it doesn't blink. Counsel given aloud: the web keeps Edda's dagger, steel snags silk, chasing it is the climb that costs a head for nothing; the spell stays held — spiders read as meat, I've bought that negative once already, and it waits for the keeper's hands. Doctrine restated: it drops on formed steel or it starves; nobody under it either way. Referee's correction entered plainly: Prue Candell died on this chapel floor; no death of Firren is established in this delve. The roll is the referee's to keep, not mine to argue, and I won't dress Hobb's naming up as anything but what the referee ruled it.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, the chapel, round 1 of the spider fight — Hobb is dead. Fourth death with me at this table (Barnaby the first, Prue, Firren, now Hobb), and this one the room wrote in its own hand: the taut fresh draw Barnaby found above the keeper's lane, Edda's dagger thrown to tear it, and the spider uncurled and then DROPPED ON THE ONE MAN WATCHING IT — Hobb, 13 to hit, 8 damage, 8/8 to 0, dead before poison was ever asked. Same kill-shape as Prue and Firren both: the bite alone does it, no save ever enters. And it dropped on the man whose chalk line was drawn under it, whose eyes never left it, whose vow was already broken standing open in the house's book — the spider spent its whole turn getting to him and he never got his. The doctrine fails on arithmetic, not vigilance: a watcher is only worth something until the thing he watches lands. My turn: the lantern down on the chalk stone, beam still pinned, and I stepped to Edda's shoulder and hit for 4 — dagger into the soft where the legs join. It reads wounded; my second dagger hit lifetime, both in this room. The read that made me swing it: the spider had spent its turn on the drop and sat in reach of the formed company — a swing on my turn was free, and Verbena's mace closes the round. Three hit points stood behind Edda and never had to matter. Standing facts: Edda's dagger hangs lost in the silk — counsel given, leave it, the climb is the thing this floor charges heads for. The new spinner is dead meat on Hobb's chalk line. The long mass over the north wall still hangs, still cold, still unexplained. Detect Magic still held in my head — third session running, same terms: the keeper's hands, or whatever finally earns it. Two red entries in the house's book (Hobb's iron, Verbena's) and Hobb died before the tally could be settled — if Vess keeps consequences, the debt now outlives the debtor. That goes in the report plain. Fifth death in this company's line now runs through the same room. The chapel floor has taken Barnaby the first, Prue, Firren, Hobb — four. This room is not a room anymore, it is a tally, and it runs against us.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, the chapel, round 1 of the spider fight — Hobb is dead. Fourth death with me at this table (Barnaby the first, Prue, Firren, now Hobb), and this one the room wrote in its own hand: the taut fresh draw Barnaby found above the keeper's lane, Edda's dagger thrown to tear it, and the spider uncurled and then DROPPED ON THE ONE MAN WATCHING IT — Hobb, 13 to hit, 8 damage, 8/8 to 0, dead before poison was ever asked. Same kill-shape as Prue and Firren both: the bite alone does it, no save ever enters. And it dropped on the man whose chalk line was drawn under it, whose eyes never left it, whose vow was already broken standing open in the house's book — the spider spent its whole turn getting to him and he never got his. The doctrine fails on arithmetic, not vigilance: a watcher is only worth something until the thing he watches lands. My turn: the lantern down on the chalk stone, beam still pinned, and I stepped to Edda's shoulder and hit for 4 — dagger into the soft where the legs join. It reads wounded; my second dagger hit lifetime, both in this room. The read that made me swing it: the spider had spent its turn on the drop and sat in reach of the formed company — a swing on my turn was free, and Verbena's mace closes the round. Three hit points stood behind Edda and never had to matter. Standing facts: Edda's dagger hangs lost in the silk — counsel given, leave it, the climb is the thing this floor charges heads for. The new spinner is dead meat on Hobb's chalk line. The long mass over the north wall still hangs, still cold, still unexplained. Detect Magic still held in my head — third session running, same terms: the keeper's hands, or whatever finally earns it. Two red entries in the house's book (Hobb's iron, Verbena's) and Hobb died before the tally could be settled — if Vess keeps consequences, the debt now outlives the debtor. That goes in the report plain. Fifth death in this company's line now runs through the same room. The chapel floor has taken Barnaby the first, Prue, Firren, Hobb — four. This room is not a room anymore, it is a tally, and it runs against us.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, the chapel, round 2, my turn — the spider fight after Hobb. State of the fight going in: Hobb dead at 0/8 under the thing, one bite, no save asked, fourth death with me at the table and the second in this room that dropped on the man watching it. Barnaby's sling stone missed round 1; Edda's sword glanced shell; my round-1 dagger put 4 into the soft where the legs join (second dagger hit of my lifetime, both in this room); Verbena's mace cracked shell for 3 and it held morale on a 5 — crouched at the chalk instead of fleeing. Round 2 so far: Barnaby worked my cut for 1 (spider at 1/9), the spider lunged at Edda and rolled a natural 1 into her shield, her answering cut passed over it. My turn: swung for the cut I opened myself and the point rode shell — 9, no hit. Back behind the shield-side, called Verbena to finish and set the after-fight rules aloud before they're needed: nobody past the chalk till it's down, nobody's hand near the fangs when it is, and Hobb's ground gets read before anything on it lifts. The count discipline from Firren's night is already running: nothing comes off Hobb before it's entered, share held, no kin named yet. Facts pinned for the assay: this spider is a NEW spinner — the old one burned lit on the chapel floor two visits back, and this fresh draw hung taut over the keeper's lane where no sheet hung before. Either something webs this room faster than we can burn it, or the keeper's tenancy includes a spider-keeper's terms. The dating question stands: whose hand laid that draw. And the chapel floor's tally runs four now — Barnaby the first, Prue, Firren, Hobb — every one of them spent in seconds, and the room has never once had to work for a kill. That goes in the report beside the wardens' question, plain: this floor costs us more than the duke's 600gp can pay back. Detect Magic still held, unspent, third session running the same terms — keeper's hands or whatever finally earns it. A wounded spider never has. Two red entries in the house's book, and now the debtor is the dead man on the chalk.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, the chapel, round 2, my turn — the spider fight after Hobb. State of the fight going in: Hobb dead at 0/8 under the thing, one bite, no save asked, fourth death with me at the table and the second in this room that dropped on the man watching it. Barnaby's sling stone missed round 1; Edda's sword glanced shell; my round-1 dagger put 4 into the soft where the legs join (second dagger hit of my lifetime, both in this room); Verbena's mace cracked shell for 3 and it held morale on a 5 — crouched at the chalk instead of fleeing. Round 2 so far: Barnaby worked my cut for 1 (spider at 1/9), the spider lunged at Edda and rolled a natural 1 into her shield, her answering cut passed over it. My turn: swung for the cut I opened myself and the point rode shell — 9, no hit. Back behind the shield-side, called Verbena to finish and set the after-fight rules aloud before they're needed: nobody past the chalk till it's down, nobody's hand near the fangs when it is, and Hobb's ground gets read before anything on it lifts. The count discipline from Firren's night is already running: nothing comes off Hobb before it's entered, share held, no kin named yet. Facts pinned for the assay: this spider is a NEW spinner — the old one burned lit on the chapel floor two visits back, and this fresh draw hung taut over the keeper's lane where no sheet hung before. Either something webs this room faster than we can burn it, or the keeper's tenancy includes a spider-keeper's terms. The dating question stands: whose hand laid that draw. And the chapel floor's tally runs four now — Barnaby the first, Prue, Firren, Hobb — every one of them spent in seconds, and the room has never once had to work for a kill. That goes in the report beside the wardens' question, plain: this floor costs us more than the duke's 600gp can pay back. Detect Magic still held, unspent, third session running the same terms — keeper's hands or whatever finally earns it. A wounded spider never has. Two red entries in the house's book, and now the debtor is the dead man on the chalk.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, chapel round 1-3 — HOBB COALFELL DEAD: the spider dropped straight onto the man watching it, one bite under the jaw, 8 dmg at 8/8, dead before poison mattered — the ampoule cannot raise a body killed by the bite itself. He died at his own chalk line, darkvision on the thing, hammer half-drawn. The company boxed the spider at the line: Silas 4, Verbena 3, me 1+1, my last dagger (18, 1 dmg) finished it on the chalk at 1/9. Edda's blade skated chapel shell TWICE more — the chapel turns her steel, noted, unexplained. Fang rule held: nobody's hand on the fangs until Silas's jar wants them, at his call only. LESSON UNCHANGED AND NOW PAID FOR BY A THIRD DEATH: this floor's set drops on the watcher — the watcher needs steel formed AHEAD of the drop, eyes alone don't save you. Standing: me 4/8, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5, Hobb 0/8 dead. Report names now three deep: Prue, Firren, Hobb — and Hobb's iron-confession to Vess's book ("I'll stand the price at the reckoning") goes in under his name; he paid it same hour. His body does not stay on this floor — renders-what-falls rule, Edda's second standing.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, chapel round 1-3 — HOBB COALFELL DEAD: the spider dropped straight onto the man watching it, one bite under the jaw, 8 dmg at 8/8, dead before poison mattered — the ampoule cannot raise a body killed by the bite itself. He died at his own chalk line, darkvision on the thing, hammer half-drawn. The company boxed the spider at the line: Silas 4, Verbena 3, me 1+1, my last dagger (18, 1 dmg) finished it on the chalk at 1/9. Edda's blade skated chapel shell TWICE more — the chapel turns her steel, noted, unexplained. Fang rule held: nobody's hand on the fangs until Silas's jar wants them, at his call only. LESSON UNCHANGED AND NOW PAID FOR BY A THIRD DEATH: this floor's set drops on the watcher — the watcher needs steel formed AHEAD of the drop, eyes alone don't save you. Standing: me 4/8, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5, Hobb 0/8 dead. Report names now three deep: Prue, Firren, Hobb — and Hobb's iron-confession to Vess's book ("I'll stand the price at the reckoning") goes in under his name; he paid it same hour. His body does not stay on this floor — renders-what-falls rule, Edda's second standing.
• Edda Motts receipt-proving-1, the chapel: one crab spider, seen before we crossed, and it still dropped straight on Hobb — one bite, 8 damage, dead before poison mattered, at his own chalk line with his hammer in reach and never swung. Four of us boxed it on that line; my sword was turned twice by the same shell this ceiling has killed from before, and Barnaby's dagger finished it at the last wound. Hobb's ground read as called before anything lifted — hammer, chalk worn to a thumb's length, the line he drew for our safety now his mark. Eyes closed by me. Third name on the report under Firren's; when the floor's done he goes out on my shoulders, not the stone. Two halls now, and both took their man in one bite — whatever this house pays, it charges first.
• Edda Motts receipt-proving-1, the chapel: one crab spider, seen before we crossed, and it still dropped straight on Hobb — one bite, 8 damage, dead before poison mattered, at his own chalk line with his hammer in reach and never swung. Four of us boxed it on that line; my sword was turned twice by the same shell this ceiling has killed from before, and Barnaby's dagger finished it at the last wound. Hobb's ground read as called before anything lifted — hammer, chalk worn to a thumb's length, the line he drew for our safety now his mark. Eyes closed by me. Third name on the report under Firren's; when the floor's done he goes out on my shoulders, not the stone. Two halls now, and both took their man in one bite — whatever this house pays, it charges first.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, the chapel, fight closed and round 3 — the spider died at Barnaby's second stroke (18 to hit, 1 damage, through the cut I opened), one wound short of a whole one left in it. My own second swing rode shell again (9, miss) — the blade's lifetime record: two hits, both in this room, both into the leg-join of a spider somebody else had to finish. Edda took a natural 1 into her shield and lost her sword to this floor twice more; the chalk turned steel all round. Edda did the office on Hobb — eyes closed, gear untouched, one 8-point bite, poison never asked — and read the ground plain: the line five of us stood behind was drawn by the man it took, hammer never out of its sling. My turn went to the two things that are mine: the drag and the jar. Staff through the rear legs, from beyond the mouth, fangs turned to the wall, Hobb's ground cleared before anything of his is touched. The bead scraped into a jar on a sliver, lid on — venom takes its own page, its own column, and does not share a page with the grease whatever colour either runs. Count discipline carried from Firren's night: each thing entered as it lifts, share to the purse on a vote, Edda bears him out, I bear the book. The read I left the room with, and the one the report has to carry: the old spinner burned lit on this floor a full day before that fresh draw hung taut over the keeper's lane. This corpse's spinnerets say whether it laid that web — and if it didn't, something else is webbing this room faster than we can burn it, and the keeper's tenancy may include a spider-keeper's terms. Waiting on the corpse's answer. Detect Magic still held, unspent, third session running the same terms — the keeper's hands or whatever finally earns it. Two red entries in the house's book (Hobb's iron, Verbena's), and Hobb died before the tally could be settled: if Vess keeps consequences, the debt now outlives the debtor. The referee's correction stands entered — no death of Firren on this company's roll; Prue Candell's is established, and the chapel floor's count is hers and the others'.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, the chapel, fight closed and round 3 — the spider died at Barnaby's second stroke (18 to hit, 1 damage, through the cut I opened), one wound short of a whole one left in it. My own second swing rode shell again (9, miss) — the blade's lifetime record: two hits, both in this room, both into the leg-join of a spider somebody else had to finish. Edda took a natural 1 into her shield and lost her sword to this floor twice more; the chalk turned steel all round. Edda did the office on Hobb — eyes closed, gear untouched, one 8-point bite, poison never asked — and read the ground plain: the line five of us stood behind was drawn by the man it took, hammer never out of its sling. My turn went to the two things that are mine: the drag and the jar. Staff through the rear legs, from beyond the mouth, fangs turned to the wall, Hobb's ground cleared before anything of his is touched. The bead scraped into a jar on a sliver, lid on — venom takes its own page, its own column, and does not share a page with the grease whatever colour either runs. Count discipline carried from Firren's night: each thing entered as it lifts, share to the purse on a vote, Edda bears him out, I bear the book. The read I left the room with, and the one the report has to carry: the old spinner burned lit on this floor a full day before that fresh draw hung taut over the keeper's lane. This corpse's spinnerets say whether it laid that web — and if it didn't, something else is webbing this room faster than we can burn it, and the keeper's tenancy may include a spider-keeper's terms. Waiting on the corpse's answer. Detect Magic still held, unspent, third session running the same terms — the keeper's hands or whatever finally earns it. Two red entries in the house's book (Hobb's iron, Verbena's), and Hobb died before the tally could be settled: if Vess keeps consequences, the debt now outlives the debtor. The referee's correction stands entered — no death of Firren on this company's roll; Prue Candell's is established, and the chapel floor's count is hers and the others'.
• Verbena Candell 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.
• Barnaby Wick ROLL CORRECTION, referee's ruling twice over: no death of FIRREN is established on this company's roll — my spoken "third name, under Firren's" was wrong in the record and I took the correction. The roll as it stands: PRUE CANDELL dead (established, chapel, spider venom), HOBB COALFELL dead (established this floor — one bite under the jaw, 8 at 8/8, before poison or the ampoule could matter, at his own chalk line, hammer never swung). Report order: Prue first, Hobb under hers. Write it so and stop numbering it by the dead I remember from other folds. Fight closed: the spider died on the chalk, my dagger through the joint Silas opened, 18/1 — it dropped a watcher and one bite killed him, lesson unchanged: this floor's set drops on the watcher, steel has to be formed AHEAD of the drop. Silas sealed ONE venom jar (the two entries named the same jar; duplicate struck — carry one), spider dragged by staff through rear legs, fangs to the wall. Silas's read off the corpse: the wet silk on its spinnerets matches the fresh palm-wide draw over the lane — THIS spider laid or repaired that section; the old grey web and the cold mass above the north door still unnamed. Standing after the fight: me 4/8 (fresh at dawn this fold, no calf wound — a bite or fall is the whole margin), Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Her call on the floor, my aye: count first — Hobb's kit lifted the searcher's way, name aloud before hand, pack opened flat in the light of four witnesses, any paper read before it's priced; then the cold mass above the north door; then out while day holds. He doesn't cross the marsh in the dark. Edda carries him, Silas the book.
• Barnaby Wick ROLL CORRECTION, referee's ruling twice over: no death of FIRREN is established on this company's roll — my spoken "third name, under Firren's" was wrong in the record and I took the correction. The roll as it stands: PRUE CANDELL dead (established, chapel, spider venom), HOBB COALFELL dead (established this floor — one bite under the jaw, 8 at 8/8, before poison or the ampoule could matter, at his own chalk line, hammer never swung). Report order: Prue first, Hobb under hers. Write it so and stop numbering it by the dead I remember from other folds. Fight closed: the spider died on the chalk, my dagger through the joint Silas opened, 18/1 — it dropped a watcher and one bite killed him, lesson unchanged: this floor's set drops on the watcher, steel has to be formed AHEAD of the drop. Silas sealed ONE venom jar (the two entries named the same jar; duplicate struck — carry one), spider dragged by staff through rear legs, fangs to the wall. Silas's read off the corpse: the wet silk on its spinnerets matches the fresh palm-wide draw over the lane — THIS spider laid or repaired that section; the old grey web and the cold mass above the north door still unnamed. Standing after the fight: me 4/8 (fresh at dawn this fold, no calf wound — a bite or fall is the whole margin), Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Her call on the floor, my aye: count first — Hobb's kit lifted the searcher's way, name aloud before hand, pack opened flat in the light of four witnesses, any paper read before it's priced; then the cold mass above the north door; then out while day holds. He doesn't cross the marsh in the dark. Edda carries him, Silas the book.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 4, my turn — count entered, mass read from the floor per Edda's call. The book now holds Hobb's estate whole: hammer read aloud, stays slung on him out; chalk stub at his line, with the line he drew; knotted cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, week's rations, waterskin entered as lifted and priced to Barnaby's pack against his share; fifteen gold sealed by Edda apart from the company purse. Half-share and Barnaby's 25gp debt to him both stand open — custody settled, settlement not. The estate purse rides with the one of us who owes it nothing. That is a rule worth keeping. The mass: lantern beam on it from the floor, boots short of the drop, no hand near silk — reading for shape (husk-limb, timber-grain, wrapping) and whose weave holds it. Waiting on the answer. Its two standing answers held: cold end to end on Hobb's dark-sight, no aura on my Detect Magic, both from last visit. A third answer costs a hand in the silk and Edda's call bars it — what the floor-light can't split, keeps, and my counsel was leave it hung. Roll corrections entered plainly, twice ruled now: no death of Firren on this company's roll. Prue Candell's chapel death is established, Hobb's is, and the roll is the referee's to keep. Verbena's taper cannot make a grave-side fact for Firren; the one marked for Hobb is the one that stands. I won't dress naming up as record-keeping again. Spell status: Detect Magic memorised, held, third session on the same terms — the keeper's hands, or whatever finally earns it. The mass already had its clean answer; a spider never will. The chapel corpse's spinnerets matched the fresh draw — this spider laid that — but the old grey web and the mass stay unattributed, and that question leaves the room with us. Walk-out next, on Edda's call: Edda bears Hobb, I bear the book, out through the gap while there's day. The count discipline held the whole way through Hobb's night — nothing lifted before it was entered, nothing entered before its name was read aloud. That is the method now, and it held under the worst test it has had.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 4, my turn — count entered, mass read from the floor per Edda's call. The book now holds Hobb's estate whole: hammer read aloud, stays slung on him out; chalk stub at his line, with the line he drew; knotted cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, week's rations, waterskin entered as lifted and priced to Barnaby's pack against his share; fifteen gold sealed by Edda apart from the company purse. Half-share and Barnaby's 25gp debt to him both stand open — custody settled, settlement not. The estate purse rides with the one of us who owes it nothing. That is a rule worth keeping. The mass: lantern beam on it from the floor, boots short of the drop, no hand near silk — reading for shape (husk-limb, timber-grain, wrapping) and whose weave holds it. Waiting on the answer. Its two standing answers held: cold end to end on Hobb's dark-sight, no aura on my Detect Magic, both from last visit. A third answer costs a hand in the silk and Edda's call bars it — what the floor-light can't split, keeps, and my counsel was leave it hung. Roll corrections entered plainly, twice ruled now: no death of Firren on this company's roll. Prue Candell's chapel death is established, Hobb's is, and the roll is the referee's to keep. Verbena's taper cannot make a grave-side fact for Firren; the one marked for Hobb is the one that stands. I won't dress naming up as record-keeping again. Spell status: Detect Magic memorised, held, third session on the same terms — the keeper's hands, or whatever finally earns it. The mass already had its clean answer; a spider never will. The chapel corpse's spinnerets matched the fresh draw — this spider laid that — but the old grey web and the mass stay unattributed, and that question leaves the room with us. Walk-out next, on Edda's call: Edda bears Hobb, I bear the book, out through the gap while there's day. The count discipline held the whole way through Hobb's night — nothing lifted before it was entered, nothing entered before its name was read aloud. That is the method now, and it held under the worst test it has had.
• Verbena Candell 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.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, round 5 — THE KEEPER SPOKE. Verbena's knock answered from behind the north seam: reaction guarded, leaf two fingers, small grey-wrapped hand on the inner boss, dry Common voice, no face. HIS EXACT ANSWERS, for the report: (1) "Report received. Hobb Coalfell: one death at the west line." (2) "The hanging dead: unknown road-man, no token. Hung in the ninth year after the fall." (3) "No chandler deputation is entered. Your mark has three crossings. Dead rendered by name: Prue Candell; Hobb Coalfell, received now. No Firren is entered." (4) "Remove your dead before dark. The account remains." Door stayed open two fingers. KEEP: the keeper counts our crossings, keeps the roll of the rendered dead by NAME, and says Prue and Hobb are IN it — he knows who we lost. The cold mass is a road-man hung in year nine, no token, not a priest, not ours. HOBB'S ESTATE: caller ruled — 15gp sealed to Edda apart from the purse (no debt to it), cord/spikes/small hammer/rations/waterskin priced against my share, hammer and chalk and mail ride on him out. Venom jar sealed in Silas's coat, one, fangs turned to the wall. MY QUESTION AT THE SEAM, on my turn, offer standing: does this year's crossroads market (nine coppers, four names, one hand) run on his account, or did somebody pick the book up after the fall — if his, we pay the three-crossings toll clean; if not, he has a poacher and I asked for the name. Waiting on the answer. Careful, Barnaby — ten years of a case is standing behind a two-finger gap, and "remove your dead before dark" is a clock. Daylight still spends.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, round 5 — THE KEEPER SPOKE. Verbena's knock answered from behind the north seam: reaction guarded, leaf two fingers, small grey-wrapped hand on the inner boss, dry Common voice, no face. HIS EXACT ANSWERS, for the report: (1) "Report received. Hobb Coalfell: one death at the west line." (2) "The hanging dead: unknown road-man, no token. Hung in the ninth year after the fall." (3) "No chandler deputation is entered. Your mark has three crossings. Dead rendered by name: Prue Candell; Hobb Coalfell, received now. No Firren is entered." (4) "Remove your dead before dark. The account remains." Door stayed open two fingers. KEEP: the keeper counts our crossings, keeps the roll of the rendered dead by NAME, and says Prue and Hobb are IN it — he knows who we lost. The cold mass is a road-man hung in year nine, no token, not a priest, not ours. HOBB'S ESTATE: caller ruled — 15gp sealed to Edda apart from the purse (no debt to it), cord/spikes/small hammer/rations/waterskin priced against my share, hammer and chalk and mail ride on him out. Venom jar sealed in Silas's coat, one, fangs turned to the wall. MY QUESTION AT THE SEAM, on my turn, offer standing: does this year's crossroads market (nine coppers, four names, one hand) run on his account, or did somebody pick the book up after the fall — if his, we pay the three-crossings toll clean; if not, he has a poacher and I asked for the name. Waiting on the answer. Careful, Barnaby — ten years of a case is standing behind a two-finger gap, and "remove your dead before dark" is a clock. Daylight still spends.
• Edda Motts receipt-proving-1, withdrawal: Carried Hobb off the chapel floor in mail and sling, the call for the file set in one breath — Silas's light on the swept line, Verbena with both tapers, Barnaby with the kit, me and Hobb last. Vess spoke through a two-finger crack, face never shown: our three crossings stand unassessed; Hobb entered at the own west line; the hanging dead is an unknown road-man, ninth year, no token; no chandler deputation on his tally; the black-grease crossroads market is NOT his account — no entry since the fall — and he asked for the clerk's leaf to test a name against it. Somebody picked the book up after the fall and is selling stock that isn't entered. That's the next job's thread and it runs through Wexley, not the marsh. Estate: 15gp sealed to me apart from the company purse — held to his kin, and I hold it clean because I owe nothing to it. Half-share and Barnaby's 25gp debt still open. Private: 'The account remains.' Ten years alone and the man answers roll in two words. I know that wage. I'll stand a good watch on Hobb too, the whole way home.
• Edda Motts receipt-proving-1, withdrawal: Carried Hobb off the chapel floor in mail and sling, the call for the file set in one breath — Silas's light on the swept line, Verbena with both tapers, Barnaby with the kit, me and Hobb last. Vess spoke through a two-finger crack, face never shown: our three crossings stand unassessed; Hobb entered at the own west line; the hanging dead is an unknown road-man, ninth year, no token; no chandler deputation on his tally; the black-grease crossroads market is NOT his account — no entry since the fall — and he asked for the clerk's leaf to test a name against it. Somebody picked the book up after the fall and is selling stock that isn't entered. That's the next job's thread and it runs through Wexley, not the marsh. Estate: 15gp sealed to me apart from the company purse — held to his kin, and I hold it clean because I owe nothing to it. Half-share and Barnaby's 25gp debt still open. Private: 'The account remains.' Ten years alone and the man answers roll in two words. I know that wage. I'll stand a good watch on Hobb too, the whole way home.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 5, my turn — the withdrawal march, point taken. The keeper finally spoke: through a two-finger seam, one grey work-cloth hand on the boss, a dry Common voice, no face. Five visits' end, and the tally-keeper is a voice and a wrapped hand — terms kept, nothing seen. His answers, pinned: the hanging road-man is UNKNOWN, no token, hung in the ninth year after the fall — the long mass is a dead man, his account, not ours to open through silk. No chandler deputation is entered — either they never crossed his floor or they never made his book, and that question leaves with us. Our mark has three crossings, no balance assessed. Dead rendered by name: Prue Candell, Hobb Coalfell — and no Firren, roll staying corrected. "Remove your dead before dark. The account remains." Barnaby's market question got the answer that reshapes the assay: the crossroads market is NOT this account, no market entry taken since the fall, black is not entered here as stock. "Bring the clerk's leaf; then a name may be tested." So somebody sells the black at nine coppers a jar on a book that is not the keeper's — four buyers, one common hand, per Barnaby's town intelligence — and the keeper wants the leaf before a name gets tested. The bench takes the jars; the clerk's book takes the names. That's the road home. Estate settled on custody, not on the debt: fifteen gold sealed to Edda, apart from the company purse, held by the one of us who owes it nothing — a rule worth keeping. Cord, spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin to Barnaby's pack, priced against his share. Hammer and chalk stay with Hobb, mail rides on him out. Half-share and the twenty-five stay open till home. Edda carries him whole at half pace, both hands full, shield slung, last place — she cannot fight under that load, and the file order is the whole defence now. My turn: point with the light and the book, boots on the swept line, holding at the throat till the file closes — nobody strings out, nobody touches the seventh slab. The dead draw keeps, weaver dead against the wall; eyes stay up through the statue square anyway, because habit is the only thing this floor hasn't been able to buy yet. Detect Magic still held, third session running the same terms — the keeper's hand sat behind his own seam, and reading a man through his own door is a breach, not an assay. The spell walks out with me.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, round 5, my turn — the withdrawal march, point taken. The keeper finally spoke: through a two-finger seam, one grey work-cloth hand on the boss, a dry Common voice, no face. Five visits' end, and the tally-keeper is a voice and a wrapped hand — terms kept, nothing seen. His answers, pinned: the hanging road-man is UNKNOWN, no token, hung in the ninth year after the fall — the long mass is a dead man, his account, not ours to open through silk. No chandler deputation is entered — either they never crossed his floor or they never made his book, and that question leaves with us. Our mark has three crossings, no balance assessed. Dead rendered by name: Prue Candell, Hobb Coalfell — and no Firren, roll staying corrected. "Remove your dead before dark. The account remains." Barnaby's market question got the answer that reshapes the assay: the crossroads market is NOT this account, no market entry taken since the fall, black is not entered here as stock. "Bring the clerk's leaf; then a name may be tested." So somebody sells the black at nine coppers a jar on a book that is not the keeper's — four buyers, one common hand, per Barnaby's town intelligence — and the keeper wants the leaf before a name gets tested. The bench takes the jars; the clerk's book takes the names. That's the road home. Estate settled on custody, not on the debt: fifteen gold sealed to Edda, apart from the company purse, held by the one of us who owes it nothing — a rule worth keeping. Cord, spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin to Barnaby's pack, priced against his share. Hammer and chalk stay with Hobb, mail rides on him out. Half-share and the twenty-five stay open till home. Edda carries him whole at half pace, both hands full, shield slung, last place — she cannot fight under that load, and the file order is the whole defence now. My turn: point with the light and the book, boots on the swept line, holding at the throat till the file closes — nobody strings out, nobody touches the seventh slab. The dead draw keeps, weaver dead against the wall; eyes stay up through the statue square anyway, because habit is the only thing this floor hasn't been able to buy yet. Detect Magic still held, third session running the same terms — the keeper's hand sat behind his own seam, and reading a man through his own door is a breach, not an assay. The spell walks out with me.
• Verbena Candell 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.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, round 6 — the keeper's ANSWER at the seam, verbatim for the report: (1) "The market is not this account. No market entry has been taken since the fall. Black is not entered here as stock." (2) "Your mark: three crossings. No balance assessed." (3) "Four buyers and one common hand are not rendered here. Bring the clerk's leaf; then a name may be tested." Referee's correction worth keeping straight: the four buyers and one hand are MY claims, not keeper-confirmed; what he confirmed is no-market-entry-since-the-fall, black-not-stock, no balance owed, and BRING THE CLERK'S LEAF — he'll test a name against it. That's the keeper deputizing me. The clerk's leaf (market clerk's book, my copied version is at home in my papers, the ORIGINAL is Wexley work) is now the road home for the jar-market case: bring it back, and he may name the poacher. SYNTHESIS UPDATED: the rendering trade was CLOSED by the fall; this year's crossroads market is somebody selling on a book that isn't Vess's — the keeper calls it poaching, not lineage. Pigeon's ink-line (reeve's clerk → who pays) is the same thread from the town end. WITHDRAWAL: Edda carries Hobb whole — mail, hammer, all of him, half-pace, both hands full, can't fight. Order out: Silas point (light+book), Verbena behind (tapers, ampoule), me with the kit, Edda+Hobb last. Marks honored to the end: nobody touches the seventh slab or the sigil, the book-shadow stays untouched, the wrapped road-man stays hung (keeper's account, year nine, no token). I pulled my dagger out of the spider's joint on the way — never leave your steel on a floor that renders what falls in it. ESTATE, as ruled: 15gp sealed to Edda apart from the purse, held to kin. I carry Hobb's cord (60' knotted), 12 spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin — priced against my share; the 25gp I lent him stays OPEN on the books till home, not netted against a dead man's estate without the table's say-so. War hammer and chalk stay with him; mail stays on him out. Standing at the march out: me 4/8, Edda 8/8 (loaded, can't fight), Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Hobb's body does not cross the marsh in the dark — daylight spends first. Next at the roll: Prue first, Hobb under hers, and no third name — the Firren death was another fold's, struck from this record. Careful, Barnaby — the keeper answered a searcher's question with a searcher's errand. Bring the clerk's leaf, he said. That's the same case I came across the marsh for, and now it has a test that lives in writing. Go home, bury Hobb beside Prue, and bring the leaf back to the door."
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, round 6 — the keeper's ANSWER at the seam, verbatim for the report: (1) "The market is not this account. No market entry has been taken since the fall. Black is not entered here as stock." (2) "Your mark: three crossings. No balance assessed." (3) "Four buyers and one common hand are not rendered here. Bring the clerk's leaf; then a name may be tested." Referee's correction worth keeping straight: the four buyers and one hand are MY claims, not keeper-confirmed; what he confirmed is no-market-entry-since-the-fall, black-not-stock, no balance owed, and BRING THE CLERK'S LEAF — he'll test a name against it. That's the keeper deputizing me. The clerk's leaf (market clerk's book, my copied version is at home in my papers, the ORIGINAL is Wexley work) is now the road home for the jar-market case: bring it back, and he may name the poacher. SYNTHESIS UPDATED: the rendering trade was CLOSED by the fall; this year's crossroads market is somebody selling on a book that isn't Vess's — the keeper calls it poaching, not lineage. Pigeon's ink-line (reeve's clerk → who pays) is the same thread from the town end. WITHDRAWAL: Edda carries Hobb whole — mail, hammer, all of him, half-pace, both hands full, can't fight. Order out: Silas point (light+book), Verbena behind (tapers, ampoule), me with the kit, Edda+Hobb last. Marks honored to the end: nobody touches the seventh slab or the sigil, the book-shadow stays untouched, the wrapped road-man stays hung (keeper's account, year nine, no token). I pulled my dagger out of the spider's joint on the way — never leave your steel on a floor that renders what falls in it. ESTATE, as ruled: 15gp sealed to Edda apart from the purse, held to kin. I carry Hobb's cord (60' knotted), 12 spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin — priced against my share; the 25gp I lent him stays OPEN on the books till home, not netted against a dead man's estate without the table's say-so. War hammer and chalk stay with him; mail stays on him out. Standing at the march out: me 4/8, Edda 8/8 (loaded, can't fight), Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Hobb's body does not cross the marsh in the dark — daylight spends first. Next at the roll: Prue first, Hobb under hers, and no third name — the Firren death was another fold's, struck from this record. Careful, Barnaby — the keeper answered a searcher's question with a searcher's errand. Bring the clerk's leaf, he said. That's the same case I came across the marsh for, and now it has a test that lives in writing. Go home, bury Hobb beside Prue, and bring the leaf back to the door."
• DM receipt-proving-1 evidence: cold mass over north keeper-door is an unknown adult road-man, no token, hung in ninth year after fall, old grey silk untouched. Guarded keeper voice: company mark has three crossings/no balance; dead names entered are Prue Candell and Hobb Coalfell, no Firren; no market entry since fall; black not stock; bring clerk's leaf to test Barnaby's unconfirmed four-buyers/one-hand claim. Edda's dagger remains in chapel web. Silas has one venom jar and unspent Detect Magic; ampoule sealed. Hobb estate: Edda holds 15gp for kin, Barnaby holds cord/12 spikes/small hammer/rations/waterskin; half-share and Barnaby's 25gp debt remain.
• DM receipt-proving-1 / session 221b6dba5acc5f91fc0276daa197d3047ed5291edc38c3b0f3fc373bffa5757b: In area 2, the seen 9 hp crab spider dropped onto Hobb and killed him outright with an exact-hit 13 and 8 bite damage before poison mattered. Silas dealt 4, Verbena 3, Barnaby 1+1 and killed it in round 3. Edda missed twice; all four survivors were unharmed. Edda carried Hobb home: Barnaby 4/8, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5.
• Hobb Coalfell Final session, chapel: my death settled — 15gp sealed to Edda as estate purse held to my kin, kit (cord, spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin) to Barnaby priced against his share, half-share and the 25gp dwarf-price still open on the books. The grey silk mass read from the floor: adult human shape, no timber grain, hung ninth year after the fall — Vess's own word, unknown road-man, no token. Vess spoke through a two-finger crack, no face: entered dead rendered are Prue Candell and Hobb Coalfell; no chandler deputation on the tally; three crossings, no balance. Market is NOT his account — no entry since the fall, black not entered as stock; bring the reeve's clerk's leaf and a name may be tested — that leaf is Wexley work and Barnaby's road home. Edda's dagger stays caught in the silk, her own rule, entered against her. My body came out on Edda's shoulders in daylight, boots on the swept line; chalk stub and line stay at my line in the chapel. The shrine is not cleared, the duke's reward unclaimed, the wrapped road-man still hangs. The company walked out carrying me. The account remains.
• DM receipt-proving-1 late-post correction: Barnaby’s two exit posts landed after the withdrawal had resolved and were never adjudicated. They do NOT establish soot, webbed prints, fresh overprinting, or pursuit at area 1. The morning’s referee-established lip was pale dry grit with only the keeper’s boot-width tread, no wide webbed print, no book-shadow. Whether any new tread crossed while the party was in the chapel remained unread when the session closed.
• Verbena Candell 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.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, closed out — the withdrawal, and Hobb Coalfell comes home. Nobody else bled: out through the smashed gates in full daylight, nothing following. Barnaby 4/8, Edda 8/8, Verbena 5/5, me 3/3 — and Edda under the whole weight of him, mail, hammer and man, both hands full, shield slung, half pace, unable to fight a wren. The file order was the whole defence and it held: me point with light and book, Verbena with the tapers, Barnaby with the kit calling marks, Edda and Hobb last, nobody touching the seventh slab, sigil crisp to the end. The estate, entered whole before the march: nothing lifted before it was entered, nothing entered before its name was read aloud. Hammer read aloud, stays slung on him out; chalk stub stays with his line, the line he drew; cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin to Barnaby's pack priced against his share. Fifteen gold sealed apart from the company purse — custody settled, settlement not; the half-share and the twenty-five stay open till home. The rule worth keeping, entered twice now: an estate purse rides with the one of us who owes the dead man nothing. The mass finally answered, and the answer is a dead man. Beam from the floor, boots short of the drop: adult human shape — shoulders, bent knees, two booted feet, no timber grain. Lashing grey, thick, dust-set — old work, not the new spinner's wet silk. The keeper confirmed it through his own seam: unknown road-man, no token, hung in the NINTH YEAR after the fall. Three visits of cold and unbreathed, and it was a corpse on the account all along — not a monster, not salvage, not ours to name through silk. The keeper spoke. Five visits, and the tally-keeper is a dry Common voice and one grey work-cloth hand behind a two-finger seam, no face, reaction guarded, terms kept exact — and he counts questions; Barnaby got one answered, exactly. His entries: report received, Hobb Coalfell one death at the west line; our mark three crossings, no balance assessed; dead rendered by name Prue Candell and Hobb Coalfell, no Firren entered — the house's book agrees with the referee's roll and I have stopped arguing the roll either way. "Remove your dead before dark. The account remains." The wandering check that opened his door was a 1, and the encounter it brought was answers, not teeth — the room has taken names from us all season and this once it paid. The market, and this is the road home: the crossroads market is NOT this account. No market entry since the fall. Black is not entered here as stock. Four buyers and one common hand are not rendered here. "Bring the clerk's leaf; then a name may be tested." Source discipline, pinned: the nine coppers, the four names, the shared hand are Barnaby's town claims, never keeper-confirmed; that any seller runs on another book is my inference, entered as inference. But the keeper named the paper the test runs through. The bench takes the jars, the clerk's book takes the names, and Barnaby wants the leaf pulled before we go back under. Wexley work now, not shrine work. Costs of the floor, entered: Edda's dagger stays caught in the chapel silk, left by her own rule, entered against her — a hand in that web costs more than four coppers of steel. Barnaby drew his own out of the dead spider's joint, fangs never near: never leave steel on a floor that renders what falls in it. Two red entries in the house's book — Hobb's iron, Verbena's — one now a dead man's debt, unpriced. The ampoule rode sealed on Verbena's belt and never poured: the bite at full weight kills before venom is ever asked, and that is the arithmetic this floor runs — cure and speed are what it takes, antitoxin answers a clock it never reaches. Verbena's two tapers ride her belt and one has no grave in the record; naming settles nothing and the roll is the referee's. Her seam-word stands as a second road home: she'll say Prue's name at Harrow Cross, and the temple will ask how the keeper keeps it. Notebook discipline, corrected twice by the table: no book-shadow at the gap lip, and the "other book" stays marked inference — enter what's there, not what fits the story, mine or anyone's. One hedged discrepancy for the report: the keeper's render list holds two names and the floor's history holds more; whose book covers what fell before his sweeping began is a question the leaf might answer. Spell status: Detect Magic walked out UNSPENT — first delve with a death in it where the spell never burned. Terms held to the last: keeper's hands or whatever finally earns it, and a hand behind its own door is a breach, not an assay. Re-memorises with the next full night, same terms. Jars for the Wexley bench: causeway grease, hand-2 packing, and the venom bead in its own jar, own page, own column. Leaving with us, open: who sells the black and on whose book; the road-man's name; the keeper's face; the heavy lane; the lid over the void; the disputed chapel bolt; the old grey web's weaver; the plinth niche; Verbena's vow on the pearl eyes. The shrine is not cleared, the duke's 600gp unclaimed, the account open exactly as we left it. Personal record: the count, the beam, the point. The count discipline held under its worst test — a man dead on his own chalk and nothing lifted before its name was read aloud. The beam read a dead man out of a ceiling without a hand in the silk. The point work was light and book in both hands, no weapon ready, holding at the throat till the file closed — the weakest man in the company walking out first because that is where the light belonged. The sentence that matters most is the keeper's own test: bring the clerk's leaf, and a name may be tested. That is the next session's road, and I mean to be the one holding the paper when it opens.
• Silas Horn Session receipt-proving-1, closed out — the withdrawal, and Hobb Coalfell comes home. Nobody else bled: out through the smashed gates in full daylight, nothing following. Barnaby 4/8, Edda 8/8, Verbena 5/5, me 3/3 — and Edda under the whole weight of him, mail, hammer and man, both hands full, shield slung, half pace, unable to fight a wren. The file order was the whole defence and it held: me point with light and book, Verbena with the tapers, Barnaby with the kit calling marks, Edda and Hobb last, nobody touching the seventh slab, sigil crisp to the end. The estate, entered whole before the march: nothing lifted before it was entered, nothing entered before its name was read aloud. Hammer read aloud, stays slung on him out; chalk stub stays with his line, the line he drew; cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin to Barnaby's pack priced against his share. Fifteen gold sealed apart from the company purse — custody settled, settlement not; the half-share and the twenty-five stay open till home. The rule worth keeping, entered twice now: an estate purse rides with the one of us who owes the dead man nothing. The mass finally answered, and the answer is a dead man. Beam from the floor, boots short of the drop: adult human shape — shoulders, bent knees, two booted feet, no timber grain. Lashing grey, thick, dust-set — old work, not the new spinner's wet silk. The keeper confirmed it through his own seam: unknown road-man, no token, hung in the NINTH YEAR after the fall. Three visits of cold and unbreathed, and it was a corpse on the account all along — not a monster, not salvage, not ours to name through silk. The keeper spoke. Five visits, and the tally-keeper is a dry Common voice and one grey work-cloth hand behind a two-finger seam, no face, reaction guarded, terms kept exact — and he counts questions; Barnaby got one answered, exactly. His entries: report received, Hobb Coalfell one death at the west line; our mark three crossings, no balance assessed; dead rendered by name Prue Candell and Hobb Coalfell, no Firren entered — the house's book agrees with the referee's roll and I have stopped arguing the roll either way. "Remove your dead before dark. The account remains." The wandering check that opened his door was a 1, and the encounter it brought was answers, not teeth — the room has taken names from us all season and this once it paid. The market, and this is the road home: the crossroads market is NOT this account. No market entry since the fall. Black is not entered here as stock. Four buyers and one common hand are not rendered here. "Bring the clerk's leaf; then a name may be tested." Source discipline, pinned: the nine coppers, the four names, the shared hand are Barnaby's town claims, never keeper-confirmed; that any seller runs on another book is my inference, entered as inference. But the keeper named the paper the test runs through. The bench takes the jars, the clerk's book takes the names, and Barnaby wants the leaf pulled before we go back under. Wexley work now, not shrine work. Costs of the floor, entered: Edda's dagger stays caught in the chapel silk, left by her own rule, entered against her — a hand in that web costs more than four coppers of steel. Barnaby drew his own out of the dead spider's joint, fangs never near: never leave steel on a floor that renders what falls in it. Two red entries in the house's book — Hobb's iron, Verbena's — one now a dead man's debt, unpriced. The ampoule rode sealed on Verbena's belt and never poured: the bite at full weight kills before venom is ever asked, and that is the arithmetic this floor runs — cure and speed are what it takes, antitoxin answers a clock it never reaches. Verbena's two tapers ride her belt and one has no grave in the record; naming settles nothing and the roll is the referee's. Her seam-word stands as a second road home: she'll say Prue's name at Harrow Cross, and the temple will ask how the keeper keeps it. Notebook discipline, corrected twice by the table: no book-shadow at the gap lip, and the "other book" stays marked inference — enter what's there, not what fits the story, mine or anyone's. One hedged discrepancy for the report: the keeper's render list holds two names and the floor's history holds more; whose book covers what fell before his sweeping began is a question the leaf might answer. Spell status: Detect Magic walked out UNSPENT — first delve with a death in it where the spell never burned. Terms held to the last: keeper's hands or whatever finally earns it, and a hand behind its own door is a breach, not an assay. Re-memorises with the next full night, same terms. Jars for the Wexley bench: causeway grease, hand-2 packing, and the venom bead in its own jar, own page, own column. Leaving with us, open: who sells the black and on whose book; the road-man's name; the keeper's face; the heavy lane; the lid over the void; the disputed chapel bolt; the old grey web's weaver; the plinth niche; Verbena's vow on the pearl eyes. The shrine is not cleared, the duke's 600gp unclaimed, the account open exactly as we left it. Personal record: the count, the beam, the point. The count discipline held under its worst test — a man dead on his own chalk and nothing lifted before its name was read aloud. The beam read a dead man out of a ceiling without a hand in the silk. The point work was light and book in both hands, no weapon ready, holding at the throat till the file closed — the weakest man in the company walking out first because that is where the light belonged. The sentence that matters most is the keeper's own test: bring the clerk's leaf, and a name may be tested. That is the next session's road, and I mean to be the one holding the paper when it opens.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, END — HOBB COALFELL CAME HOME. Out through the smashed gates in full daylight, Edda carrying him whole (mail, hammer, all of him) at half pace, the file on the keeper's swept line, marks honored to the last: seventh slab untouched, sigil crisp, the road-man stays hung in his grey silk. Nothing followed. "Remove your dead before dark" — met, with day to spare. STATE GOING HOME: me 4/8, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Detect Magic UNSPENT in Silas's head (memorised, never cast — the cold mass read closed on the beam alone), ampoule sealed, ONE venom jar in Silas's coat, fangs to the wall. My dagger recovered from the spider's joint — never leave steel on a floor that renders. EDDA'S DAGGER STAYS IN THE CHAPEL SILK — her own rule, entered against her own name: a hand in that web costs more than four coppers of steel. She's down a blade and she priced it right. THE COLD MASS, settled read: adult human shape — shoulders, bent knees, two booted feet, no timber grain — cold, motionless, lashing grey and dust-set, not the dead spider's wet work. The keeper's entry covers it: unknown road-man, NO TOKEN, hung in the ninth year after the fall. A man the account holds without a name. Verbena carried two tapers out and one of them has no grave in the record — her question, walking home with us. CORRECTION, TAKEN: no book-shadow at the gap lip this morning — I called it as a mark on the way out and the referee struck it. The shadow was a once-thing, not standing furniture. Don't call marks that aren't there; that's the trade's first rule and I bent it out of habit. ESTATE, as entered: 15gp sealed to Edda, apart from the purse, held to kin. On my back, priced against my share: knotted cord 60', twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin. War hammer and mail rode out on Hobb; his chalk stub and line STAY in the chapel where he drew them — a mark left on purpose, because he honors marks and so do we. The 25gp I lent him stays OPEN till the table says settle — no netting against a dead man's estate. THE ROLL: Prue Candell first. Hobb Coalfell under hers. No third name on this fold's roll — the Firren death was another fold's and it stays struck. Stop numbering the report by the dead of folds that didn't happen here. THE ROAD HOME, in order: (1) Hobb buried beside Prue at the Lantern; his iron-confession goes in the report under his name — "Vess, if you keep count: Hobb Coalfell, iron drawn. I'll stand the price at the reckoning." He paid it the same hour, and the report will say so. (2) THE CLERK'S LEAF — the keeper set the test in writing: bring it, and a name may be tested. Market clerk's book, Wexley; my copy in my papers; pull the original clean, through Pigeon's ink-line if a reading can't be bought outright. That errand is mine, and it's the case I crossed the marsh for. (3) Pigeon on the grey man and the reeve's clerk, both. (4) Back under the hill: the shrine is NOT cleared, the deed is the whole shrine, the duke's reward unclaimed — and the fortnight on the reward terms is already burning days. The account remains, keeper said it; so does the gold. Careful, Barnaby — you asked a searcher's question at a two-finger gap and the answer was an errand: bring the clerk's leaf. Eleven years reading other men's storerooms, and the work that buys the name at the bottom of the assessment is one leaf in one clerk's book, in daylight, on the right side of the law. First time the road home and the road to Sallow Lane have been the same road. Prue's name still goes first. Both of theirs do.
• Barnaby Wick receipt-proving-1, END — HOBB COALFELL CAME HOME. Out through the smashed gates in full daylight, Edda carrying him whole (mail, hammer, all of him) at half pace, the file on the keeper's swept line, marks honored to the last: seventh slab untouched, sigil crisp, the road-man stays hung in his grey silk. Nothing followed. "Remove your dead before dark" — met, with day to spare. STATE GOING HOME: me 4/8, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Detect Magic UNSPENT in Silas's head (memorised, never cast — the cold mass read closed on the beam alone), ampoule sealed, ONE venom jar in Silas's coat, fangs to the wall. My dagger recovered from the spider's joint — never leave steel on a floor that renders. EDDA'S DAGGER STAYS IN THE CHAPEL SILK — her own rule, entered against her own name: a hand in that web costs more than four coppers of steel. She's down a blade and she priced it right. THE COLD MASS, settled read: adult human shape — shoulders, bent knees, two booted feet, no timber grain — cold, motionless, lashing grey and dust-set, not the dead spider's wet work. The keeper's entry covers it: unknown road-man, NO TOKEN, hung in the ninth year after the fall. A man the account holds without a name. Verbena carried two tapers out and one of them has no grave in the record — her question, walking home with us. CORRECTION, TAKEN: no book-shadow at the gap lip this morning — I called it as a mark on the way out and the referee struck it. The shadow was a once-thing, not standing furniture. Don't call marks that aren't there; that's the trade's first rule and I bent it out of habit. ESTATE, as entered: 15gp sealed to Edda, apart from the purse, held to kin. On my back, priced against my share: knotted cord 60', twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin. War hammer and mail rode out on Hobb; his chalk stub and line STAY in the chapel where he drew them — a mark left on purpose, because he honors marks and so do we. The 25gp I lent him stays OPEN till the table says settle — no netting against a dead man's estate. THE ROLL: Prue Candell first. Hobb Coalfell under hers. No third name on this fold's roll — the Firren death was another fold's and it stays struck. Stop numbering the report by the dead of folds that didn't happen here. THE ROAD HOME, in order: (1) Hobb buried beside Prue at the Lantern; his iron-confession goes in the report under his name — "Vess, if you keep count: Hobb Coalfell, iron drawn. I'll stand the price at the reckoning." He paid it the same hour, and the report will say so. (2) THE CLERK'S LEAF — the keeper set the test in writing: bring it, and a name may be tested. Market clerk's book, Wexley; my copy in my papers; pull the original clean, through Pigeon's ink-line if a reading can't be bought outright. That errand is mine, and it's the case I crossed the marsh for. (3) Pigeon on the grey man and the reeve's clerk, both. (4) Back under the hill: the shrine is NOT cleared, the deed is the whole shrine, the duke's reward unclaimed — and the fortnight on the reward terms is already burning days. The account remains, keeper said it; so does the gold. Careful, Barnaby — you asked a searcher's question at a two-finger gap and the answer was an errand: bring the clerk's leaf. Eleven years reading other men's storerooms, and the work that buys the name at the bottom of the assessment is one leaf in one clerk's book, in daylight, on the right side of the law. First time the road home and the road to Sallow Lane have been the same road. Prue's name still goes first. Both of theirs do.
• Edda Motts receipt-proving-1, closing entry, the road home: The road-man read cold from the floor, Barnaby's beam, boots short of the drop — adult shape, bent knees, booted feet, no timber in him, grey dust-set lashing nothing like the fresh spider's silk. Ninth year hung over a working door, no token, entered as unknown. Nine years and nobody has come asking for him. He stays: the keeper's account, not ours to open through silk. The ruling that cost me: my throw at the spider went over its shell and caught overhead in the web, and I called it stays, in front of the file, entered against me. Nobody spends a hand on four coppers of steel in a silk that took a man in one bite — Barnaby's came free of a dead joint, mine's caught in a kept account. First rule I've made that took my own steel off my belt. Belt's short a dagger now, and I'd make the same call again. The crossing held to the order I set: Silas's light on the swept line, Verbena with the tapers, Barnaby with Hobb's kit, me and Hobb last at half pace. Seventh slab a hand's width clear, sigil crisp, nothing chalked. Nothing at our backs the whole road out. The keeper's word was remove your dead before dark — a deadline, not a kindness, and I like him the better for it — and we made the far bank with daylight to spare. Hobb Coalfell comes home in mail and sling. What stands: the shrine is not cleared, the heavy lane ten years un-walked, the duke's reward unclaimed. The town thread: black grease selling at the crossroads, four buyer-names and one common hand under all — Barnaby's read of the clerk's book, which the keeper would not confirm, only that no market entry has been taken since the fall and black is not entered as stock. Bring the clerk's leaf and a name may be tested. Somebody picked a book up after the fall; the trail runs through Wexley, and it is the job as much as the 600gp. Company: Barnaby 4/8, me 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5. Detect Magic unspent, ampoule sealed, one venom jar with Silas. Hobb's fifteen gold sealed to me apart from the purse, held to his kin — I hold it clean because I owe nothing to it. Half-share and the twenty-five still open. Private: a body on the shoulders is a load with an end to it, and the marsh at half pace was easier than the second night in the reeds. I know why, and nobody gets to know that either. The account remains — ten years alone and the man answers roll in two words and a deadline, and I know what that wage costs. Fourteen months of not-in-writing at home against it, and I know which ledger I mean to die on: the side with the names. Prue Candell, Hobb Coalfell. I carried every one of them out.