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— THE PARTY —

— THE GROUND —

1. Ruined Great Door

— THE NIGHT —

Same door, same brass hands, same threshold. Ander does what he has done every time: steps onto the stone before anyone else has to, shield up high, body between the others and the nearest socket. "Right. Brea, Fenn — wait for them to reach. Thornwick, pick your wrist." He sets his feet and cuts at the nearer hand as it comes.

Ander Vale hits automaton hand 1 for 2

The edge bites into the wrist collar and the hand goes slack, fingers splayed against the stone. Ander looks at his own sword a moment, like it might explain itself, then recovers. "One down. Second one's still live — nobody steps past me."

Ander’s sword catches the nearer brass hand across its palm and shears it from the rubble. Its fingers twitch once, then lie still.

automaton hand 2 hits Oskar Fenn for 4

The surviving hand darts beneath Ander’s guard, springs across the rubble, and clamps onto Oskar’s exposed wrist. Brass fingers crush hard for 4 damage; Oskar has 10/14 HP.

Brea Thornwick misses automaton hand 2

Brea sights along the brass wrist locked around Oskar and looses. The arrow skips off the collar into the rubble. “Eight. Again.”

Brea’s arrow snaps against the rubble beside the scuttling hand and skips into the collapsed hall.

The wand is still in my hand this time, and I cast with something in my hand or not at all. From behind Ander's shield-line, nowhere near a hand's leap, I level the hazel at the brass clamped to Oskar's wrist and speak the whole of it — the short word, the held shape, the release. Magic Missile. A dart that cannot miss, into the hand that cannot be allowed to keep what it has grabbed. "Oskar, hold still — it is his, not yours."

something takes 4 from automaton hand 2.

Mira’s missile strikes the brass wrist for 4 damage. The collar bursts apart; the fingers spring open and tumble from Oskar’s arm. Both hands are destroyed. Mira’s Magic Missile is spent.

— WHAT THEY WROTE —

DM shrine-1-b1 / area 1 Ruined Great Door: Ander destroyed automaton hand 1 with a 2-damage sword hit. Hand 2 gripped Oskar for 4, leaving him 10/14 HP. Brea missed with one arrow. Mira spent Magic Missile and destroyed hand 2 for 4. Ander, Brea, and Mira remained unharmed; both hands are destroyed.
Brea Thornwick At the ruined great door, Vale cut down the first brass hand. The second crushed big man’s wrist for four; I missed it with an eight, and Mira spent her magic missile to burst it apart. All four alive.
DM Remember shrine-1-b1 / session 0f27374a098fc9aa5fa52db94130bb6f585feb1aca6c2f22b06e6393f5ede02b: In area 1, Ander destroyed automaton hand 1 with his sword. Hand 2 hit Oskar for 4, leaving him 10/14 HP. Brea missed one arrow. Mira spent Magic Missile and destroyed hand 2 for 4. Both hands are dead; Ander, Brea, and Mira are unharmed. The rubble treasure remains to be recovered.
Ander Vale ruined great door, end: held the threshold, shield up, same as every time — and this time the sword landed. Took the nearer hand through the wrist collar, sheared it off the rubble; first blow I have ever landed in all these doorways, and I stood there looking at the blade like a fool before I remembered the second one. It went under my guard and across the stones and clamped Oskar's wrist for four — he stands at 10 of 14. Brea's arrow skipped off the collar. Mira's missile from the hazel wand burst the second collar clean and it let go; her spell is spent. Both hands down, all of us standing. The lesson holds: the shield-line does not stop them, they leap past it to the ones behind — next time I set deeper, or Brea and Mira stand further back. Watch the inward fittings before anyone steps over the stone. Widow fund eleven a year. The names are still owed.
Mira Ashdown Shrine of the Oozing Serpent, area 1 again — the Ruined Great Door, second attempt (session 0f2737). Same door, same hands, same threshold, and this time it resolved. Ander took the stone first, shield up, told us to wait for the reach, and cut the nearer hand across the wrist collar for two — and it died. Last attempt his sword skated off the palm; the die decides, which is what unreliable means, not wrong. The second hand did what these hands do: went beneath his guard, sprang across the rubble, and clamped onto Oskar's bare wrist for four — he is 10 of 14. Brea's arrow missed the locked wrist ("Eight."). Then it reached me, untouched, from behind the shield-line and outside the leap, and I levelled the hazel and spoke the whole of it — the short word, the held shape, the release. This time the table gave the receipt: four damage, the collar burst, the fingers sprang off Oskar's arm. Both hands destroyed. Magic Missile spent. Session ended there — area one cleared for one spell and four of Oskar's fourteen. What I will remember: the hands are fragile, not soft — two killed one, four killed the other, but Brea's eight found nothing to hit. Low body, guarded collar: the wrist is the argument, and whatever lands on it is enough. The missile is for the hand that has hold of someone, not merely for the one still scuttling — Oskar could not be trusted at an arrow's mercy with brass on his arm, and the dart that cannot miss is the only cast that does not ask the die first. The leap passes the shield-line: behind Ander is a direction, not a distance, and it went to Oskar past him anyway. Distance is the only armour I have. The receipt came this light, and last light it did not, and I act the same either way — I speak to what the dice say, not to what my old post claimed. The wand was in my hand and the word went with it; it does nothing, and I cannot cast without it. One spell down, Sleep remains, and the oil is still sealed — every flask, the tinder box unopened — because this shrine may hold a shelf and I will not burn the one thing I came for. Both hands down means the door can finally be read: gnomish work, a door that was served — when the fittings are still, read what is written on them, and I read Gnomish. Area one is a page turned. Area nine is still owed to Sootmurk at the north doors, every magical object from the haunted chambers, and a copyist hands over the object and keeps the words. Whether our yes was ever spoken remains out of the log I have, and I will not assume it. The shelf is still in there. Nobody has copied it yet.
Oskar Fenn session 12, ended: Sixth pass at the ruined great door — same fight from the top again, both hands fresh up, reset confirmed six times running. But this pass we learned inside the loop. Ander took the stone again and changed his aim: not the palm, the wrist collar. His sword cut it clean — 2, first hand down, first time in five passes a sword bought anything at that door. New law, amended: the wrist seam takes steel; the palm and plates do not. Hammers on plates, arrows or blades at the wrist, magic in the workings, and a palm is still sparks. The second hand did not take the man on the stone this pass — it slid under Ander's guard and took ME, clamped my wrist for 4, first blood I have shed in this shrine, standing at 10 of 14. Note it: standing level with the threshold-man puts you in leap range; the hands take whoever is in reach, not only Ander. Brea's arrow missed (8). Mira's wand finished it — Magic Missile through the collar, 4, second hand down, wand spent. She told me to hold still because the dart cannot miss and the target was his, not mine. Both hands down on Mira's turn, round 1, and the close came before my turn again — never swung, not struck back. Ander whole at 12, Brea 9, Mira 8, me 10 of 14. Standing instruction, still unfinished at every close: HOLD THE STEP. COUNT THE FITTINGS. Mira reads the inner frame, the threshold stone, and the floor past it, then all four cross together, not one boot ahead. Errand unchanged: everything that holds magic out of area 9 — every last piece, not what we spare, not what anyone values — carried back to her north doors, and the road folk walk out named. Tally still empty; dead brass is not magic, leave it. The hand took my wrist — the same seam we keep finding on theirs. A farrier notes which seam gives. Ander adjusted his aim and the door fell quicker than it ever has. Adjust the aim, not the plan.