imp

Silas Horn

Third in file, behind Barnaby. First flame of the day to the lantern at the gates — no silk over this room — and I carry it high on the polished lane. Eyes down as I walk: the night-fresh prints, and their grit. Black in the tread or none. Every brass haul has come back pale-gritted — the fresh one is another chance to catch toll on his boots. Low, behind Barnaby: "The rise gave me my one spell back. Detect Magic, held. It spends on the keeper's hands, or whatever the lip shows — not before." Lantern to a slit before the gap.

DM

The bullseye catches and Silas shutters it to a slit. In the night-fresh tread, the light finds pale stone grit only: no black grains, oily shine, or tack. No visible marsh grease came off that boot onto the swept lane. **Detect Magic remains memorised and unspent.** Silas takes third place with the light.

Verbena Candell

Rearguard, shield up, mace slung — boots to the polish and a last look behind at the gates before the gap takes the light. The wiped floor unsettles me more than the hands did: a man who answers chalk with scrubbing is keeping a ledger in his head, and ledgers get balanced. As I pass the seventh slab I look at the sigil and say nothing. Allowed is not welcome. At the lip, low: "Ampoule's checked and seated — wax whole. Edda, when Barnaby reads, I'll hear it from back here. Nobody's hands go past his eyes."

DM

Verbena has not acted. Her turn stays open.

DM

The ampoule’s wax is whole and its belt-loop firm; Verbena can reach it without unbuckling the belt. The western gates remain empty behind her. At the round’s close, the full file stands on the keeper’s lane at the eastern lip: Edda, Barnaby, Silas with the shuttered lantern, Hobb, Verbena. Nobody has crossed. The fresh tread continues single-file into the rubble throat.

Barnaby Wick

Down at the lip, good knee to the swept stone, fingertips just short of where his polish ends. "Silas — slit of light along the seam, knee-height, and hold it." I read the near dust for the pale rectangle — whether his book sat down here again, and whether it was set or dragged: a lifted book leaves clean edges, a dragged slate scuffs the grain. Then the soot a body's length in — the wide splayed tread, both ways, fresh-pressed or days dull. And before any boot of ours goes under, I put my ear to the gap mouth and listen — hear noise, my 3-in-6.

DM

No pale rectangle lies at the lip: no straight lift-edge, no dragged scuff. Since this dust settled, no book-sized object has rested here. A body’s length in, the grit remains pale and dry—not soot—and carries only the keeper’s boot-width tread. No wide, webbed print uses this doorway. Barnaby’s Hear Noise roll is **4**: failure. He separates nothing from the lantern’s hiss and the file’s breathing. That is no proof the gap is empty.

Edda Motts

"Clean lip — no book, no wide tread — so his road's the road. We cross at his pace." I step over the lip first, shield up and canted overhead, boots set to the keeper's tread. Slow — the way a man walks who isn't laying for guests. At the mouth where the throat opens into hall, I halt the file and hold until the light has shown us ceiling and floor both. Called back low: "Silas — slit through here, and low past it, off the silk: that hall rigged webs pier to pier the last walks, and one breath takes it. Hobb — eyes up coming through; there hung a mass over the north door, heavier than any husk. Barnaby — read the hall as we form. Verbena keeps the fire rule. No boot leaves his line till I call the halt."

DM

Edda crosses alone. The rubble throat is shoulder-narrow, dry, and the keeper’s tread runs unbroken through it. She stops at the chapel mouth before stepping beneath the ceiling. Weak morning light through the broken vault outlines silk shrouding the roof and sagging northward; it is not enough to find an occupant or confirm the old heavy mass. The keeper’s print continues under the webs. The other four remain behind the area 1 lip; Silas’s lantern has not crossed.

pc-hobb

I cross on his tread, eyes up, hammer slung, and go down on one knee at Edda's shoulder at the mouth. The dark above Silas's slit is mine to read. First: the mass over the north door — still hung where it hung, or moved. And warm or cold — a body in that wrapping breathes heat into the dark; a husk doesn't. Second: his night boot inside this hall — where it turns. Under the webs to the north wall, or straight back out. Low, to Edda: "The broad print going out was the wrecked hands — his night's work was hauling, not calling on us. Nobody crosses the statue square till the mass reads."

DM

At the chapel mouth the throat widens enough for Hobb to kneel beside Edda without going under the silk. The north-door mass hangs in the same sag as before. In darkvision it gives no heat distinct from the stone: cold wrapping, though not proof it is empty. The night-fresh bootline turns north beneath the webs toward the north wall, then returns to the gap; it does not cross the statue square. The burdened return fits hauled wreckage, but does not prove the burden. No spider is visible.

Silas Horn

This seat gave up after 3 attempts and yields the turn.

DM

Silas yields. Detect Magic remains unspent; he and the shuttered lantern remain behind the lip.

Verbena Candell

I cross on the keeper's tread, shield up, mace slung, and take rearguard at the chapel mouth behind Hobb — eyes on the gap behind us once the light shows me the ceiling. Low: "Fire rule rides with me — no wick under that silk, and the lantern stays shuttered past this mouth. And before anyone names the north wall: Firren's taper rides my belt, cold, and it lights nowhere under this roof." I hold at the mouth and wait on Edda's halt.

DM

Verbena joins Edda and Hobb at the chapel mouth, shield turned west. The taper remains cold; no open wick passes beneath the silk. Barnaby and Silas still stand west of the throat, so Verbena guards the rear of the three at the mouth—not yet the rear of the whole company. The party remains split across the area 1 lip, and Edda’s halt holds.

Barnaby Wick

On the keeper's tread through the throat, down at Edda's shoulder at the mouth — my place in the file. "Silas — bring the slit to the mouth and open it *here*. Beam up the ceiling over the statue square first, then the sag, then the mass. Last set in this hall hung over the bunching-point and cost a man to learn it. Nobody's boot steps off this line till the high square reads clean." While the light climbs, I read the anchor points along the sag — old hang-rings, fresh-laid silk, any dimple newer than the keeper's last walk under it.

DM

Barnaby reaches the mouth. The silk uses no built hang-rings; it grips broken cornice and carved stone directly. Most sheets are grey and slack with dust. One palm-wide draw above the keeper’s lane, a body-length beyond the halt, is taut, clean, and newer than the web around it. Its fibres converge upward into darkness. Dust cannot date it to last night, and weak daylight shows no body—but the high square does **not** read clean.

Silas Horn

Through the throat on the keeper's tread, shuttered until the mouth. There I open the slit — wick short of the silk, the beam does the walking — and climb it in Barnaby's order: statue square first, then the sag, then the mass. Low, holding the light on the high square: "Watching for anything that answers light — doubled eye-shine is the signature. The old spinner died lit on this floor; if something answers up there, it's a hand we haven't met. If nothing answers, that draw may be its standing work — a dead weaver's line still holds. Either way, where the fibres converge tells us which story we're in." Held there. No boot off his line.

Edda Motts

Hold stands. "That draw is newer than its neighbors and set square over the only road through — so we move it, we don't walk under it. File back to the mouth's edge, shields up, no boot past the halt." I pull the dagger and throw it at the taut palm-wide sheet — tear the draw and spill whatever it holds down onto open stone with five of us waiting for it. "Blades ready. Whatever drops meets the company formed — it doesn't get a lone man under the sag."

DM

Silas posted out of order. His movement and lantern sweep are not resolved; he remains west of the throat with Detect Magic held. The turn stays with Edda.

Edda Motts no longer carries dagger

Edda Motts no longer carries dagger

DM

The dagger punches through the taut sheet, cuts a handspan, and snags. It hangs beyond the halt, quivering; the wider anchor does not part. The clean draw contracts around it. Above, a crab spider uncurls from the convergence—shield-sized body, legs spanning three feet—still clinging to the chapel-side web. Nothing falls. **The spider is seen before anyone steps beneath it, and it has not acted.** Edda’s dagger remains caught in the silk.

DM

Hobb has not acted. His turn stays open.

pc-hobb

Still on one knee at the mouth, darkvision nailed to the spider and it does not leave my sight. Firren died to the square nobody watched — the eyes stay on it now. I chalk a line on the floor stone at the mouth's edge, straight beneath its hang: its ground, marked, no boot crosses it light or dark. "It's seen. A seen crab-spider chooses — drop on formed steel or sit till it starves. The last one lasted a round against this company. "It drops, I draw. The word's already broken and the tally stands open — I'll not dress that up. Eyes are mine. Nobody past my line till Edda calls."

DM

Hobb’s chalk line lies across the mouth beneath the spider’s hang. He keeps it in sight; it stays folded into the web and does not drop. His hammer remains slung, ready to be drawn if it moves. Correction for the company record: **Prue Candell** died on this chapel floor. No death of Firren is established in this delve. Hobb’s spoken name does not rewrite the roll.

Silas Horn

Through the throat on the keeper's tread, and I stop behind Hobb's chalk — file whole again, nobody alone on this floor. Slit open at the mouth, wick short of the silk, beam up on the spider and holding there. Light doesn't blink; a seen thing stays seen. Low: "The web keeps your dagger, Edda — steel snags silk, and going up after it is the climb that costs. Leave it hanging. And the spell stays in my head: meat reads clean, I've bought that negative once already. It waits for the keeper's hands. "It drops on formed steel or it starves. Nobody under it either way."

2. The Chapel

DM

Silas crosses last; the table moves into **the Chapel**. His beam holds the crab spider in plain sight. It tightens its legs against the silk but does not drop. Neither side has surprise: the company found and named it before crossing. Round 1 begins: **Barnaby, spider, Edda, Hobb, Silas, Verbena**. All five stand behind Hobb’s chalk at the chapel mouth, outside the web’s drop-line. Edda’s dagger hangs in the silk. Detect Magic remains held.

Barnaby Wick

Knee down behind Hobb's chalk, sling out, one stone thumbed smooth. Silas's beam holds the thing and I aim at the lit body, not the legs, and throw — a seen spider is the only kind worth a stone, and it goes on five of us formed, not one man alone. "Wounded on formed steel beats fresh on a stranger. Nobody's boot past the chalk — steel waits for it to come down to us."

DM

Barnaby’s stone clips the carved cornice below the spider and skips into the chapel. Old silk shivers; the fresh draw holds. The spider remains unwounded at **9/9 hp**.

DM

The spider releases straight onto the man watching it. Hobb gets a hand to the hammer, but the spider’s turn comes before his: **13**, exactly enough to hit; **8 damage**. Its fangs drive beneath his jaw. Hobb falls from **8/8 to 0/8** and dies before poison matters—the ampoule cannot restore a body killed by the bite itself. The spider lands on open stone at the chalk line over him, now within reach of the formed company.

Edda Motts

No speech for it. Hobb went down in one bite and the thing is squatting on him at my line. Sword out, shield up, and I step onto the chalk and swing for the body — it doesn't get to sit on our dead.

Edda Motts

The stroke goes wide — skids off shell-edge and into stone. I hold where I am, planted on the chalk between it and the file. "It's mine on this line. Blades on it as it tries past me — nobody's boot off the chalk."

DM

Edda’s seat is held by her player. Her turn stays open.

DM

Edda’s sword glances from the shell and rings against stone. The spider remains **9/9 hp**, crouched over Hobb. Edda holds the chalk line with shield forward, now the company’s front rank.

Silas Horn

Lantern set on the chalk stone, beam pinned on it — and I step to Edda's shoulder with the dagger and put it in the soft of the body, where the legs join. Four points. It's the deepest cut anyone's opened on it. Back behind Edda's shield-side, blade still out. "It's bloodied and it spent its turn dropping. Verbena — finish it before it finds its feet."

DM

Silas reaches past Edda’s shield and drives his dagger beneath the spider’s body plate: **4 damage**. It jerks off Hobb and skitters sideways along the chalk, wounded at **5/9 hp**. Detect Magic remains unspent.

DM

Verbena has not acted. Her turn stays open.

Verbena Candell

Mace out and past Edda's shield — I swing for the soft where Silas opened it, leg-joint to the body. The blow lands — the Lantern judge it by its works — and I plant my feet at Edda's side, not retreating a step. If it still moves, steel finishes it. If it doesn't, my hands are Hobb's before they are anything else's.

DM

Verbena brings the mace down across the spider’s back. Shell cracks; **3 damage** leaves it at **2/9 hp**. Reduced below half and alone, it checks morale: **5**—it holds. The wounded spider crouches at the chalk instead of fleeing.

DM

Barnaby has not acted in round 2. His turn stays open.

Barnaby Wick

Dagger in past Edda's shield, low into the cut Silas opened — point through the join of leg and body, one deep and held. "Bleeding and boxed — it's got two wounds' worth of legs left. Hold the line and let it spend them."

DM

Correction: Barnaby’s attack landed just before my hold post; that hold is struck. His dagger finds Silas’s opening for **1 damage**. The crab spider is at **1/9 hp**. Barnaby’s round-2 turn is complete.

DM

At **1/9 hp**, the spider lunges at Edda. Its attack roll is a natural **1** against 14 needed: the bite strikes squarely into her raised shield and slides off. Edda is unharmed; the spider remains exposed on the chalk line.

DM

Edda’s answering cut passes over the spider as it recoils from her shield. The blade misses; the spider remains at **1/9 hp** on the chalk line.

Silas Horn

Past Edda's shield again, dagger low for the cut I opened myself — and the point rides shell instead, off the join and away. The blade skids; the wound stays mine and unfinished. Back behind the shield-side, blade still out. "Half a wound left in it. Verbena — yours. Edda holds the line, nobody past the chalk, and when it's down nobody's hand goes near the fangs. Wet channel or no, Hobb's ground gets read before anything lifts."

Edda Motts

I put the shield forward first and drive the point in behind it, low, at the joint Silas and Barnaby have already opened — the same stroke that killed the thing's kin two rooms ago. It slides off shell-edge and skates. Twice now this chapel has turned my steel and I say nothing about it. I stay planted on the chalk over Hobb. "Still mine. Silas — pin the light and let it bleed. Nobody's boot past me."

DM

Silas thrusts again, but the spider twists aside; his dagger scrapes shell and deals no damage. It remains at **1/9 hp**.

DM

Verbena has not acted in round 2. Her turn stays open.

DM

Verbena’s mace strikes stone beside the spider. It remains alive at **1/9 hp**; round 2 ends with Hobb dead and the four survivors unharmed.

Barnaby Wick

Dagger again, low, into the cut we've already paid for — leg-join to body, the seam the three of us have been opening. It holds one wound's worth of life and I spend nothing new on the reach for it.

the fight is over

Barnaby Wick

Through the cut — it stops dead on the chalk, over Hobb. "Done. Nobody's hand near the fangs — the wet stays in that channel until Silas's jar wants it, and only at his call. Hobb's ground gets read before anything on him is lifted: the house renders what falls in it, and he doesn't stay on this floor past the reading. Third name on the report, under Firren's. He stood his price at the reckoning with iron — I'll carry that to the wardens with his name."

DM

Barnaby’s dagger goes through the opened joint. **1 damage kills the crab spider. The fight is over—nothing hostile remains standing.** Hobb lies dead at his chalk line; the spider’s corpse is beside him, fangs still dangerous. The other four are unharmed. The ampoule remains sealed. Silas’s lantern burns on the stone, Edda’s dagger hangs in the overhead silk, and the old cold mass remains above the north door. Beyond the bodies, the keeper’s tread turns north; Mulvis’s statue still holds three brass bolts.

DM

Record correction: no death of Firren is established on this company’s roll. Hobb cannot be entered beneath one; Prue Candell’s chapel death is established. Barnaby’s spoken ordering does not alter the record. Edda has not acted after the fight. Her turn stays open.

Edda Motts

Knee down at Hobb's side and close his eyes first — the office comes before the reading. Then the ground, as called: hammer by his right hand, never swung; chalk stub worn to a thumb's length. The line five of us stood behind was drawn by the man it took. He went down in one wound on his own mark. "Hobb Coalfell. Stood his line with iron in reach and never got his swing. Third name on the wardens' report — the roll's mine to keep and his to be on." The wet stays in the channel till Silas jars it at his call. And when this floor's done with, he goes out on my shoulders.

DM

Edda closes Hobb’s eyes without moving his gear. Her ground-read matches the record: one 8-point bite killed him outright; poison never had time to matter. His hammer never cleared its sling. The chalk line and thumb-length stub remain where he used them. Hobb’s body, kit, and the spider’s venomous corpse stay in place; only his name is lifted into the report.

Silas Horn

My call — and the handling is the last corpse's, exactly: staff through the rear legs, from beyond the mouth, no hand in front of the fangs. I drag it off Hobb's ground and turn them to the wall. The beam goes to the channel, and the jar goes in from behind — bead scraped in on a sliver, lid on. Venom takes its own page in the notebook, its own column. The grease doesn't share either, whatever colour they run. Hobb's kit lies as it lies until the count: each thing entered as it lifts, his share to the purse on a vote. Edda bears him out. I bear the book. One read off this corpse before it's done — the spinnerets. The old spinner burned a day before that draw hung over the lane. If this one didn't lay it, something else did.

Silas Horn now carries sealed crab-spider venom sample

DM

The staff keeps Silas beyond the fangs. He drags the spider clear of Hobb and leaves it against the wall, fangs turned to stone. One venom bead goes into a separate jar, sealed and entered as **crab-spider venom**. Clear wet silk still clings to the spinnerets. Its twist and sheen match the clean palm-wide draw overhead: this spider laid or repaired that fresh section. That does not identify the maker of the older grey web or the cold mass. Hobb’s body and kit remain untouched.

Verbena Candell

Mace slung. I kneel where Edda knelt and give Hobb his words at the Lantern's pace: "Hobb Coalfell. Drew iron at your own reckoning and paid the price standing. The Lantern holds what it takes, and it took you at your line." His taper comes out of my box and rides my belt beside Firren's — named before the file, mine to light at his grave-side, clear of the silk, both of them. Standing. "Two tapers on this belt now. Edda carries the body, Silas the book — but his ground isn't read until the hammer's entered, and the share's still to vote. I say we finish this floor first: he doesn't cross the marsh in the dark."

Silas Horn now carries jar of spider venom (chapel corpse, bead from fang channel)

DM

One cold taper is marked for Hobb and remains unlit beneath the silk. Record correction again: no death or grave-side taper for Firren is established; Verbena’s words cannot make one. Hobb’s hammer has been read aloud but remains slung on his body, and no vote has assigned his share or kit. Verbena’s call to finish the chapel before withdrawal is one seat’s position. Edda remains caller; Barnaby and Silas have not answered it.

Silas Horn no longer carries sealed crab-spider venom sample

DM

Inventory correction: “sealed crab-spider venom sample” and “jar of spider venom (chapel corpse, bead from fang channel)” named the same jar, not two samples. The duplicate entry is struck; Silas carries **one** sealed venom jar. Nothing was physically dropped. Barnaby has not acted in round 4. His turn stays open.

Barnaby Wick

Verbena's call has my aye — finish the floor, in order: the count first, then the cold mass above the north door, then out while there's day. I kneel at Hobb's kit and take it the searcher's way — name aloud before the hand, Silas's book entering as it lifts. The hammer. The chalk stub. Then the pack, opened flat on the stone where all four of us can see it — nothing in a pocket, nothing in the dark. If there's paper in it, pension or syndicate or a kin's name, it gets read aloud before it's priced. The share is the caller's vote. And the roll stands corrected: Prue's name first, Hobb's under hers. I'll write it so.

DM

Barnaby lays out Hobb’s war hammer and chalk stub. The opened pack holds his 60’ knotted survey cord, twelve iron spikes, small hammer, one week’s iron rations, waterskin, and a purse of fifteen gold pieces. No paper, key, seal, pension mark, kin-name, or hidden pocket appears. His chain mail remains on the body. Nothing is assigned or carried yet; Silas has not entered the count on his own seat. The ledger is not open to rewrite: Hobb’s half-share and Barnaby’s 25 gp debt to him already stand. Custody of that estate remains undecided. Votes to finish the chapel: Barnaby and Verbena. The count spends one exploration turn.

Edda Motts

The roll stands as the record says: Prue first, Hobb under hers — write it so, Barnaby. I'll check the page. Caller's call: aye, the searcher's order. The count now, Silas's book open, name before the hand. Estate ruling: the fifteen gold to me — entered apart from the company purse, spent by nobody till the vote, and held by the one of us with no debt to it. Cord, spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin to Barnaby's pack, priced against his share. The war hammer and the chalk ride on him — the chalk stays with the line he drew. His mail stays on him out. Then the mass: read from the floor, lantern on it, no hand in the silk, no burn under it. The keeper walks that drop nightly and lives. What can't be read from the floor, keeps. Then out while there's day — he goes on my shoulders.

Edda Motts now carries Hobb Coalfell's estate purse — fifteen gold, held to his kin

pc-hobb no longer carries small hammer

pc-hobb no longer carries surveyor's cord, knotted, 60'

pc-hobb no longer carries iron spikes x12

pc-hobb no longer carries waterskin

pc-hobb no longer carries iron rations, one week

Edda Motts now carries Hobb's sealed estate purse (15 gp)

Barnaby Wick now carries iron rations, one week

Barnaby Wick now carries iron spikes

Barnaby Wick now carries waterskin

Barnaby Wick now carries small hammer

Barnaby Wick now carries surveyor's cord, knotted, 60'

DM

The estate ruling is applied. Edda seals Hobb’s fifteen gold in a separate estate purse; it is **not** company treasure or spending money. Barnaby packs the knotted cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, and waterskin. Hobb keeps his chain mail and war hammer; the chalk stub stays at his line. These transfers settle custody only—the half-share and 25 gp debt remain. Edda’s call stands: read the cold mass from the floor, then withdraw in daylight with Hobb’s body. No hand enters the silk and no flame passes beneath it.

Edda Motts no longer carries Hobb's sealed estate purse (15 gp)

DM

Inventory correction: the two estate-purse names referred to the same fifteen gold. The duplicate entry is struck; Edda carries one item, **“Hobb Coalfell’s estate purse—fifteen gold, held to his kin.”** Nothing was physically dropped. Silas has not acted in round 4. His turn stays open.

Silas Horn

The book first, while the count is fresh. Entered as lifted: hammer read aloud, stays slung on him out; chalk stub at his line, with the line he drew. Cord, twelve spikes, small hammer, rations, waterskin — to Barnaby's pack, priced against his share. Fifteen gold sealed to Edda, apart from the purse. The half-share and the twenty-five stay open — entered, not settled. Then the mass, on Edda's terms: beam from the floor, boots short of the drop, no hand near silk. I read for shape — husk-limb, timber-grain, wrapping — and whose weave holds it. Cold and clean are its two answers; a third costs silk. What the floor-light can't split, keeps.

Silas Horn memorises: Detect Magic

DM

The beam resolves an adult human-shaped body: shoulders, bent knees, two booted feet—no timber grain. It is cold and motionless. The outer lashing is grey, thick, and dust-set, not the killed spider’s clear wet silk. Identity and contents remain hidden without disturbing the wrap. Detect Magic is memorised but **not cast**. This read closes the second exploration turn. Wandering check: **1**. Behind the north wall comes one measured bootstep. A concealed pin turns with a clean click, and the keeper-door seam opens a hair. Someone on the far side is opening it.

DM

Verbena has not acted. The north-door seam remains a hair open; her turn stays open.

Verbena Candell

Boots even, mace slung, hands open. I cross to the seam and speak through the hair it's opened, low. "Vess, sworn account-keeper — Verbena Candell, under the Lantern. My word holds: no iron crosses your floor while you keep it. The tally since we crossed: two spiders rendered, both dead; one man of ours taken at his own chalk line — Hobb Coalfell, surveyor. His stub stays with his line, and the chalk stays with it. "Now your side of the book, keeper. Whose body hangs over your door in the old grey silk — name and year? And a deputation of chandler-folk crossed this ground this season. Does your tally hold their names?" To the file, without turning: "Hold where you stand. Iron stays slung while he reads his own doorway."

DM

Reaction **6**: guarded. The leaf opens only two fingers. A small hand wrapped in grey work-cloth holds the inner boss; no face appears. A dry Common voice answers: “Report received. Hobb Coalfell: one death at the west line.” “The hanging dead: unknown road-man, no token. Hung in the ninth year after the fall.” “No chandler deputation is entered. Your mark has three crossings. Dead rendered by name: Prue Candell; Hobb Coalfell, received now. No Firren is entered.” “Remove your dead before dark. The account remains.” The door stays two fingers open.

Barnaby Wick

I come up even with the seam, hands empty, boots short of the threshold. Voice low, kept inside the crack. "Barnaby Wick, searcher to the Wexley chandlers. One question, keeper, then we take our man off your floor. "The black's selling again at the crossroads this season. Nine coppers a jar and rising, four buyer-names in the market clerk's book — and one hand under all four. Your toll column is ten years old. Does that market run on your account, or did somebody pick the book up after the fall? "If it's yours, name what we owe for three crossings and we pay it clean. If it isn't — somebody's selling your stock without entering it, and I'd take the name."

DM

The wrapped hand stills on the boss. “The market is not this account. No market entry has been taken since the fall. Black is not entered here as stock.” “Your mark: three crossings. No balance assessed.” “Four buyers and one common hand are not rendered here. Bring the clerk’s leaf; then a name may be tested.” It does **not** confirm Barnaby’s price, buyers, or shared hand. “One question answered.” The leaf closes; the pin seats with a quarter-turn.

Edda Motts

I sheathe the sword and take Hobb up across my shoulders — mail, hammer, all of him — shield slung to my back to carry the weight square. To the pinned seam, no question in it: "Roll matches yours, keeper. Prue first, Hobb under. The account remains." To the file: "Out in daylight, his pace. Silas on point with the light, boots on the swept line. Verbena behind with the tapers. Barnaby with the kit — call every floor mark as we cross, nobody touches the seventh slab. Me and Hobb last — nobody slow behind me. "The wrapped road-man keeps — the keeper's account, not ours to open through silk. The clerk's leaf is town work. The twenty-five stays open till home. March."

Edda Motts now carries Hobb Coalfell's body, chain mail, and war hammer

pc-hobb no longer carries war hammer

pc-hobb no longer carries chain mail

DM

Edda gets Hobb across her shoulders with his chain mail and war hammer still on him. The load fixes her at half pace; both hands are occupied, her shield is slung, and she cannot fight while carrying him. She takes the last place. Hobb’s body is now carried gear for travel; his chalk stub and line remain in the chapel. The keeper-door gives no answer. The wrapped road-man stays untouched. Edda has called the withdrawal, but each survivor must take the stated marching place on their own turn.

Silas Horn

Point taken — light and the book both mine. I walk the swept line at a slit, nobody under the dead draw longer than the pace costs, eyes up through the statue square out of habit, its weaver dead against the wall. Low, at the seam, to the file: the road-man stays hung — keeper's account, not ours. And his ask goes in the book before the throat: the clerk's leaf. Four buyers, one hand under all, no market entry since the fall — whoever sells black at the crossroads sells it on a book that isn't this one. That's Wexley work, and the assay's road home. I hold at the throat till the file closes up. Nobody touches the seventh slab.

DM

Silas reaches the throat and holds point. Lantern and book occupy both hands; no weapon is ready. The dead draw remains slack and empty above the keeper’s lane. Source correction for his entry: the keeper established **no market entry since the fall**, **black not entered as stock**, **no balance on three crossings**, and **bring the clerk’s leaf**. “Four buyers” and “one common hand” remain Barnaby’s reported claims, not keeper-confirmed facts. That any seller uses another book is Silas’s inference.

Verbena Candell

My place is behind Silas, and I take it — tapers flat under my hand on the belt, ampoule in the other, eyes on the dead draw while his boots pass under it and mine follow the same line. To the seam as I pass it, low: "Your book says Prue Candell, rendered. I'll say her name at Harrow Cross, and the temple will ask how you keep it. The account remains, keeper." To the file: "Two tapers on my belt and one of them has no grave in the record. That question walks out with us — not here, not now. Nobody touches the seventh slab."

DM

Verbena follows Silas through the dead draw on the swept line. No silk moves. She carries the ampoule in hand; her mace remains slung. The two cold tapers stay flat at her belt, only Hobb’s assigned to an established grave. The keeper-door remains shut and gives no answer. Silas and Verbena now hold the throat. Barnaby remains in the chapel with the recovered kit; Edda follows under Hobb’s weight.

Barnaby Wick

Kit square on my back, sling strap over it — I take my place behind Verbena, boots on her line through the dead draw. On the way past the chalk: my dagger comes out of the spider's joint and goes back in its sheath. Never leave your own steel on a floor that renders what falls in it. At the gap's lip, calling marks as we cross: book-shadow past the swept line — nobody chalks it, nobody touches the seventh slab or the sigil on it. We walk out the way we walked in, on his line, carrying our dead.

DM

Barnaby draws his dagger from the dead spider’s joint without nearing the fangs and sheathes it. **Edda’s thrown dagger remains caught overhead in the silk.** He joins Silas and Verbena in the throat. Correction: this morning’s close read found **no book-shadow at the gap lip**—no pale rectangle or drag. Barnaby cannot call one as a mark. The company sigil on the seventh slab is real and remains untouched. Edda and Hobb are still in the chapel; the table has not travelled.

Edda Motts

Hobb square on my shoulders, at his pace. Boots on the swept line — under the dead draw with my eyes on the floor, seventh slab a hand's width clear. At the seam, nothing: the keeper has my word already. "Silas — one line for the book: my dagger stays in the silk, left by my own rule, nobody goes back for it. Barnaby, yours came free of a dead joint; mine's caught over a keeper's account. A hand in that web costs more than four coppers of steel. Entered against me." Through the gap on his line, up behind Barnaby. File closed. Out while there's day.

Edda Motts no longer carries dagger

1. Ruined Great Door

Barnaby Wick

Through the Great Door on the swept line, eyes on the road behind, not the room ahead. At the gap's lip I read the soot again — this morning it carried webbed prints both ways. Fresh tread over ours, or only ours going out? That answer says whether anything crossed while we were under the hill, and it goes in before we're clear. Seventh slab a hand's width off my line, sigil crisp, nothing chalked, nothing touched. At the door's mouth, low: "Daylight first, then the causeway at his pace. I'm counting the light against a body on shoulders — say we make the far bank before it's gone, because he doesn't cross the marsh in the dark and neither does the grey man's road."

Barnaby Wick

Through the door last, turned backward, sling strung, a stone in the pouch. My post is the road: the keeper swept past this threshold too, and I read it the searcher's way — fresh tread over his grey morning, or only ours going out? That answer says whether anything crossed while we were under the hill, and it's the one that follows me home. To Edda, low: "Call the pace — but count the day against a body on your shoulders. If the light dies before the far bank, we hole on the rise, stone at our backs, fire small. He does not cross the marsh in the dark. And when he's down — I want the reeve's clerk's leaf pulled before we go back under. The keeper set a test in writing. That's my road, not the shrine's."

DM

The file crosses area 1 on the swept line. Nobody touches the seventh slab; the company sigil remains. They pass the smashed gates into full daylight, and nothing follows. Edda carries Hobb across the marsh at half pace. **Hobb Coalfell comes home.** Final state: Barnaby 4/8, Edda 8/8, Silas 3/3, Verbena 5/5; Hobb dead. Detect Magic is unspent; the poison ampoule is sealed. Silas carries one venom jar. Edda’s dagger remains in the chapel silk. The wrapped road-man and keeper’s account remain. The shrine is not cleared; the duke’s reward is unclaimed. Session closes on the withdrawal.