imp

DM

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

Barnaby Wick

Nobody has stepped past the gates — then neither do we, not yet. This room gets read before the gap does. He swept it clean twice and left one mark standing; that's a letter, and I answer letters before I open doors. I go to the seventh slab and read the sigil where it stands — no touch, eyes and chalk only — then work the swept line a boot-length at a time for anything his broom dressed over. Then the pale rectangle at the lip, where the book sat. Call it as I find it. Hobb — when I've spoken, read me your mounds. Nobody crosses the lip till we've both given the room its turn.

something takes 4 from Barnaby Wick.

DM

Barnaby remains **4/8**; the binding held the wound but healed nothing. The sigil is exactly Edda’s—no added stroke—and the sweep stops a hair from its chalk on every side. The keeper’s boot-width lane runs in from the eastern gap and back out, layered days deep; its uppermost prints are one night fresher. No other mark lies visible beneath the sweep. At the lip, the dust is brushed level: no pale rectangle survives, and this floor does not prove a book rested there last night. First quiet business: name who carries the wax-sealed poison ampoule.

Edda Motts

Ampoule, on the record: it stays on Verbena's belt, where my hands tied it. Show me the seal before we move — wax whole, knot mine. The names read hers first, mine second, no gap in the roll. The hands that tie wounds pour antidotes, and it doesn't ride on the likeliest man bitten. That's me. The lane tells its usual tale: in by the gap, out by the gap, last night's work layered on ten years of nights. Brass collected, floor swept, my mark read and left standing. Square holds. That's the whole letter. Floor's yours, Hobb — read me your mounds.

Verbena Candell now carries neutralize poison ampoule

DM

The clay ampoule hangs on Verbena’s belt: wax whole, Edda’s knot unchanged. Carrier entered on the record. One line stays inference: the keeper spared the sigil; whether he read it is Edda’s answer to that fact. Hobb has the call, but Firren’s seat comes first.

Firren of the Reeds memorises: Sleep

Firren of the Reeds

A quiet night — Sleep sits behind my eyes again. The lane, then. I read its newest layer only, boot-width by boot-width: how many passes for two hands' worth of plate and cable — drag-marks or balanced carry, heel-deep or shod. And where the brass went after the gap: if it rode the broad weight-dull lane east, that lane's owner is taking delivery, and we should hear that before we cross his floor. Then the packs — strings, my stamped wrist, everything as left. Floors are his; what we carry is ours, and I'd know if that line moved. Floor's yours, Hobb. Mounds.

DM

The newest layer resolves into **three circuits**. One shod walker came west from the gap lighter and returned east each time under carried weight—full soles deeper, stance widened. No plate or cable was dragged. Every loaded print vanishes at the gap’s lip; nothing here shows what received the load beyond. The fresh trail never turns toward the slabs. Pack strings and knots are unchanged. Vess’s stamped wrist remains where Firren left it. The marks establish removal through the gap, not ownership or delivery. Hobb’s turn.

Hobb Coalfell

Mounds were read in the second visit — one token, nothing else, and no second search on my word. What I read now is whether last night changed them: fresh boot-edges crossing the unswept ground, a stone turned, a lintel lifted. The keeper swept his lane and left the mounds alone; if the brass went anywhere but east, it went through here, and the mounds would show the walk. Eyes and cord only — my knotted cord pegged from the swept lane to the far mound, so I know if the measure stands. If the ground is as we left it, the room's told its whole story: brass out through the gap, my mark answered with silence, floor kept. Then I call it — cross the gap single file on Firren's prints, Verbena's voice first, and past the fall before anyone's boots touch swept stone.

DM

The pegged cord reaches the same knot as yesterday. Beyond the swept lane, the rubble holds no fresh boot-edge; no stone has turned, no lintel lifted, and no new track crosses the mounds. Last night’s loaded prints use only the eastern gap. The sigil was spared; “answered” remains the company’s reading. Hobb’s crossing order is spoken, not movement. The standing file remains Firren, Edda, Verbena and Silas, Hobb and Barnaby until its members move or change it aloud. Silas’s turn.

DM

Silas has not acted. The turn stays with him.

Silas Horn memorises: Detect Magic

Silas Horn

Firren gave the weight; I want the tread. I kneel to the freshest loaded prints, lamp at a slit, eyes only: is there black in them? If the keeper's soles carry the causeway grease, he ferries his own toll — three ledger heads standing in one pair of boots. Clean leather, and other hands move the black east while he only counts. The wardens will ask which. Before we cross, the record wants this: the night that returned Firren's Sleep returned my Detect Magic. I hold it past the lip — wound brass reads clean, the near hall answered clean, and I won't spend it proving that twice. It spends on the long mass in the north silk, or on the keeper's own hands when we finally see them. Verbena — your word first. I cross fourth.

DM

Morning light is enough for the tread; the bullseye lantern remains unlit and no oil is spent. The freshest loaded prints hold pale stone grit and dry earth—no black grease, no soot, nothing matching either sample in Silas’s jars. That distinguishes the trace. It does not establish who carries the black material, or turn one pair of boots into three guild entries. Detect Magic remains held. Silas’s declared fourth place fixes the file: Firren, Edda, Verbena, Silas, Hobb, Barnaby. Nobody has crossed yet. Verbena’s turn.

Verbena Candell

My voice first, then my boots. At the lip, hands open, mace slung: "Vess, sworn account-keeper — Verbena Candell, Harrow Cross, Lawful. I keep the word I gave this floor: no iron crosses while you keep it, and we carry, we don't take. The brass you gathered was yours to gather. I owe you a debt besides — a heavy thing on the east lane, and Prue Candell on the King's Road — and I'll say it to your face when we meet." Then the Lawful tongue, the same words in it. "I'll read your answer where it lands. Third in file, on Firren's prints."

DM

Both tongues carry through the gap and return thin. No voice, boot, scrape, or knock answers. Verbena has not crossed; the file’s first two places remain this side. Record line: **Vess** is established as the name cut on the stamped wrist. “Sworn account-keeper” and ownership of the gathered brass are Verbena’s declarations, not established facts. Her exact vow was **no iron crosses**. As spoken, that bars swords, mail, spikes, and tools—not merely drawn weapons. If she meant no *bared* iron, she must amend it aloud before the file moves.

DM

Barnaby has not acted in round 2. The turn stays with him.

Barnaby Wick

Verbena — before your boots move, your word needs amending, out loud. "No iron crosses" bars my tools and my blade both, and a searcher without picks is a man who knocks politely on locks. Say it as no iron *bared*, nothing drawn on this floor, and I'll carry that reading in my belt with everything else. I cross last, sling loaded with stone — not lead — and an oil flask in the other hand. The chapel web has re-set on us twice; this time it answers to fire before it answers to fangs. My hands stay off the seventh slab and the mounds. Say the amendment and the file walks.

Barnaby Wick now carries oil flask

DM

Barnaby takes one oil flask; **two remain** in the company kit. A stone sits in the sling. Both hands are occupied—sling and flask—so his sword is sheathed and his tools are not ready. He remains at the rear in area 1. “Cross last” is intent, and his own condition has not been met: Verbena has not amended the vow. Nobody moves. Edda’s turn.

Edda Motts

Barnaby's read is right and the vow is Verbena's to amend — I'll not put words in her mouth at the lip. But say mine now, so it's entered before my boots move. Vess: Edda Motts, beadle, Wexley, Lawful. My blade stays sheathed on your floor and my hand stays off your brass. The mail on my back is my own skin's business, not iron aimed at you — carry it how you read it. Second in file on Firren's prints, shield up, the moment Verbena says the amendment. Till then I stand fast.

DM

Edda’s name and terms carry into the gap. Nothing answers. Her sword remains sheathed; shield raised. She has not moved. Her personal word is entered exactly: blade sheathed and hand off the keeper’s brass while on this floor. Drawing or touching it would break that word. Firren’s turn.

Firren of the Reeds

My word goes in ahead of my boots, then I hold for Verbena's amendment — first in file doesn't mean first across a broken vow. "Vess — Firren of the Reeds, of the old wood's watch, Neutral. My sword stays sheathed on your floor. My spell stays in my head unless the web sets on us — then it's spent on the web, not on you. The stamped wrist I carry is my pick, taken under stated term while you watched and allowed it; if you hold a claim on it, name it to my face and we'll weigh it." That's entered. I stand at the lip, bow strung, arrow un-nocked, on my prints. The file moves when Verbena speaks.

DM

Firren’s name and terms go into the gap. Nothing answers. He stands at the lip, bow strung and no arrow nocked. Whether Vess watched or allowed the wrist’s taking is not established; that is Firren’s claim. Rules line before it matters: **Sleep does not affect webbing**. It affects eligible creatures in its area, and Firren cannot exempt Vess if Vess is inside that area. “Not on you” records intent, not a guaranteed result. His sword-sheathed word stands exactly. Hobb’s turn.

Hobb Coalfell

Barnaby's amendment is right — my word fits inside it, but I'll cut it to fit before we walk. "Vess — Hobb Coalfell, surveyor, Ostermark, Lawful. I read stone, and my hammer reads it back. Nothing bared on your floor, nothing aimed at you. The chalk and cord are mine, the brass is yours, and the account you keep is kept clean from my side." One thing more, said plain so no one stumbles on it later: I know gnomish vaulting, and my hands know gnomish doors. If a stone needs reading past the gap, I read it with palms and eyes first — iron only if the stone asks for it, and never aimed at anything with a name. Holding for Verbena's amendment. Fifth in file, behind Silas, on Firren's prints.

DM

Hobb’s name and terms enter the gap. Nothing answers. He remains fifth in the waiting file. “The brass is yours” and “the account you keep” are his declarations, not facts established here. His later sentence is entered as an explicit exception to “nothing bared”: after palms and eyes, he may use iron tools **on stone**, never as weapons against a named being. Hammer and axe otherwise remain put away. Silas’s turn.

Silas Horn

My word goes in with the rest, at the lip, before my place in file. "Vess — Silas Horn, assayer, Wexley, Neutral. Nothing bared on your floor, nothing drawn. Your maker's hand says keep account, so I'll keep mine open: my coat carries four smears off this ground — the crossroads black, the causeway jar, the packing from your hand's wrist, and a finger's weight of grease off your own door-boss. Assay-weight, every one entered, date and place. Claim any of them and it's weighed back to you full; until then they ride for the bench, and the numbers they give get read in the open." Fourth in file, on Firren's prints, lamp in hand and flame slit-shut — no fire crosses your silk till the vault is past. Holding here for Verbena's amendment with everyone else.

Silas Horn now carries bullseye lantern

DM

The gap gives no answer. Ledger correction before stakes: Silas carries **two** sample jars—not four: warm causeway grease, and black-grained worked packing scraped from a destroyed hand’s knuckles. No crossroads sample or door-boss sample exists here. Vess is the maker’s name cut on the wrist; “your hand” and “KEEP ACCOUNT” are not established facts at this table. Silas takes the bullseye lantern, but it remains **unlit**: no striker used, no oil spent. A shuttered flame would still be fire. He waits fourth. Verbena’s turn.

Verbena Candell

Vess — I amend my word so it can be kept: no iron bared on this floor, nothing drawn against you while you keep it. Mail stays on backs, tools stay in belts. That's the whole of it. Then the Lawful tongue, the same amendment. The file walks on Firren's prints — my mace slung till we're past the fall and off his swept stone. I cross third, hands open, on the swept lane.

DM

The amendment replaces Verbena’s earlier vow: **no iron bared on this floor; nothing drawn against Vess while the floor is kept**. Mail and belted tools may cross. Every other seat expressly held its movement on that amendment, so the trigger resolves. The file walks east in the declared order: Firren, Edda, Verbena, Silas, Hobb, Barnaby. Blades and mace stay put; Firren’s arrow remains un-nocked; Silas’s lantern stays unlit; Barnaby brings the stone-loaded sling and oil at the rear. All six leave area 1 together.

2. The Chapel

Barnaby Wick

Flat hand — the file stops at the threshold. Look up before any boot goes under. This room has dropped spiders on us twice and burned one spider out of that sailcloth last week; it re-arms every visit, and I enter it like it's loaded. Silas — slit the lantern beam up into the vault, slow, corner to corner. I want the web read from here: where the silk hangs thickest, whether there's a set drop-ring over the floor — and whether anything's folded in it with its eyes open. Nobody crosses till we've seen what's up there. I stay at the lip with the sling loaded and the flask ready. We answered this web with fire once and it cost one flask, no bites, no blood — that's the trade I'll make again before anyone's leg goes under a drop-ring. But no stone goes up first; a miss teaches it where we're watching, and it re-sets somewhere worse. Read first, then the company decides: burn it where it hangs, or pass under on the keeper's own terms like he does.

DM

The seam opens at the chapel threshold. Morning reaches the statue holding three brass lightning bolts, the old murals, and ceiling-web thick enough to catch a body. The file halts before the first strands hang overhead. Surprise: party **3**—within the hidden spider’s 1–4; spider **4**. The spider stays unseen, but gains no free bite: nobody is beneath its web, and it cannot reach the threshold. Surprise buys concealment, not impossible reach. Round 1 begins with Barnaby at the rear, sling loaded and oil in hand. Silas’s lantern is unlit.

DM

Barnaby holds position and does not throw or shoot. His requested lantern sweep cannot happen yet: the lantern is unlit, and Silas acts later in the order. “It re-arms every visit” remains Barnaby’s conclusion; what is established now is fresh web and one concealed spider. The company remains outside the hanging silk.

DM

Nothing drops. No strand visibly stirs, and nothing enters reach from the ceiling.

Edda Motts

I stand fast at the lip, shield up, and I'll not put a boot under that silk till it's been read. My blade stays sheathed on this floor — my word — but the staff's ash, not iron, and it's in my hand if something comes down. Silas — light the lantern at the threshold, beam up the vault, corner to corner. The flame stays this side of the first strand; Barnaby's read is right, we look up before we walk under. And to the company: whatever's folded up there, the fire rule is Verbena's. She rules it before we decide burn or pass — not while it's on top of us.

DM

Edda holds at the lip. Her sword stays sheathed. With the shield raised, the ash staff is only carried one-handed; it is **not attack-ready**, because the staff requires both hands. The lantern remains unlit. Edda still has the company’s striker—an order to Silas does not move the tinder box down the file. She must hand it over on a turn, or strike the light herself. Firren’s turn.

Firren of the Reeds

I hold my Sleep — I cast at webs blind once before and got a re-set for it. The read comes first, and I'm the one who read this silk twice. Bow up, eyes only, from the lip: I work the ceiling for the fresh dimple — where the drop sits this morning, over the swept lane, over Hobb's door ground, or over the floor between — and where the keeper's own track runs under it, because he walks this room and lives, and his line marks the web's terms better than my guesses do. And the north drift: the long mass — is it still wrapped where it hung, or did the keeper's three loaded trips touch it? Silas, you can't light what you can't strike — Edda holds the striker. Hand it down the file on her turn, and the beam goes up corner to corner after my read. I stand at the lip. No boot under a strand till the vault's told us where it's loaded.

DM

Firren has not acted. The turn stays with him.

DM

Firren’s search roll is **6**: no spider-shape or fresh dimple resolves in the morning light; concealment holds. The read still buys geometry. The first low silk begins about 10’ inside. The keeper’s track runs straight beneath its central sag and emerges at an unhurried stride—no skid, crouch, or detour. This morning’s three loaded passes used that same line. The body-long north drift remains wrapped where it hung, outer strands unbroken; no loaded track turns toward it. That proves a route, not why it is safe. Sleep remains held. Hobb’s turn.

Hobb Coalfell

I'll not walk under anything I haven't measured, and nobody else should either. Eyes and cord from the lip — the old trade's trick: cord held at arm's length, sight the sag's bottom over the keeper's line against my own known heights. I want a number, not a guess. If that silk clears a dwarf's head by a hand's width over his track, we cross stooped on his prints and the web never touches us — no fire, no spell spent, nothing taught anything. If it hangs low enough to brush a man's hair, then Sleep goes up first and we cross while it holds. Either way, no boot leaves this threshold till the cord says which.

DM

No roll: proper cord, known height, competent survey. The sag’s bottom over the boot lane is about **5’ above the floor**—a hand above Hobb, but every human and elf must stoop. The clear strip is roughly 2’ wide if they keep exactly to the prints. That proves bodies can pass without touching silk. It does **not** prove safety: a crab spider can descend from the web without the web itself brushing anyone, and its hiding place remains unfound. Hobb stays at the threshold. Silas’s turn.

Silas Horn

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

Silas Horn

The cord gave the number, so say what it buys: passage, not peace. The keeper's line clears five feet, and nothing in that strip is promised us — the spider is still up there unfound, and it doesn't need the silk to touch us to come down. So cross it like a ford: one at a time, stooped, on the prints, no stopping under the sag, no light — flame waits till the vault's past, per the rule. I cross fourth as I said, lantern unlit in my hand. Vess walks this line nightly under the same sag. We walk it once, fast.

DM

Silas yields. Detect Magic remains memorised; the bullseye lantern remains unlit in his hand. Verbena’s turn.

Verbena Candell

Silas has the right of it — the cord bought passage, not peace. I cross third, stooped on the keeper's prints, mace slung, ampoule in my fist. "The fire rule, said once for all: no flame under that silk till we're past the vault. If it drops, it answers to mace and staff first. Fire only if it takes one of us up into the web — then Edda's second on the pour." Boots on the line, no stopping under the sag.

DM

Correction: Silas’s second post landed before my advance; strike my “yields” ruling. His fourth-place crossing could not occur because Firren and Edda had not crossed, so he remains fourth with the lantern unlit. For the same reason, Verbena cannot cross third yet. She takes the ampoule into her fist; mace stays slung. Her fire rule is spoken, but assigning Edda the second pour does not move oil or spend Edda’s action. Nobody is beneath the sag. Round 1 closes.

Barnaby Wick

I hold at the lip — last in file crosses last. My post while the file walks: eyes on the sag over the keeper's lane, sling low, flask at my hip. No stone goes up first; a miss teaches it where we watch. If a strand moves while anyone's under it, I call DROP and the crossing stops mid-step, boots frozen. If it drops, staff and mace answer — I hold fire till it's on the floor or takes someone up. Firren's first. Walk.

DM

Barnaby has not acted in round 2. The turn stays with him.

DM

Barnaby remains at the threshold. The oil flask is stowed at his hip; the sling stays loaded, leaving his other hand free. His watch on the sag is active. A shouted **DROP** is warning, not control—each moving seat still decides whether to freeze or run through. No strand moves yet.

DM

The ceiling stays still. Nothing descends, and no attack reaches the threshold.

Edda Motts

Cord bought the passage, so I spend it — second across, now, while the ceiling holds still. Boots on the keeper's line, stooped under the sag, no stopping. Shield up, staff carried one-handed — not swung, just in the fist. My word holds: blade sheathed, hand off brass. As I clear the far side I call it back low: "Across. The line's honest, stoop and keep the prints." And Silas — the striker rides with me till we're past the vault. First flame past the silk goes to your lantern, not before. Nobody lights a thing under that ceiling.

DM

Edda has not acted in round 2. The turn stays with her.

DM

Firren still stands first in file and has not crossed. Edda cannot move **second** before him; her declared place is not a license to pass him. She remains at the threshold with shield raised, staff carried one-handed, sword sheathed, and striker retained. Her call-back has not happened. Firren’s turn: cross first, or change the file aloud.

Firren of the Reeds

First across, then — the cord bought the passage and I'll spend it. Bow in hand, nothing nocked, stooped on the keeper's prints under the sag. No stopping, no looking up — the file's eyes are behind me and Barnaby's got the ceiling. I walk his line at his stride and clear on the far side by the statue. Back over my shoulder, low: "Across. It's honest — stoop where he stoops and don't drift off the prints, the strip's narrow." Once clear I take the shooting line Verbena gave me last visit: mid-room, arrow still un-nocked, watching the sag over the rest of the file as they cross. Edda next.

DM

Firren crosses at the keeper’s stride, stooped inside the two-foot strip. No silk touches him; no strand visibly moves. He reaches the statue and turns to watch the sag. His bow is strung but the arrow remains un-nocked, so he is not ready to shoot before his next action. One crossing is established safe. “The line’s honest” is Firren’s judgment, not a promise about the next body. Edda remains next **in file**, but her round-2 turn has passed. Hobb cannot cross ahead of her.

Hobb Coalfell

Fifth holds fifth — Edda's crossing comes next round, and I don't jump the file. I spend the wait where it's owed. Last visit that spider set fresh over the north wall, door-side — my door ground. Firren's read found no dimple this morning, so it's moved, or it's better hid than his eyes. Either way, that's the quarter I watch till the last boot's across: north wall, the sag over the seam, and the drift beside it. If anything comes down, it comes down there first. And I square my own kit at the lip — cord coiled flat, hammer seated, skin slung snug. A dwarf clears that sag by a hand, but nothing of mine reaches up to touch silk on the way under.

DM

Hobb holds fifth. Cord, hammer, and waterskin are secured; the hammer remains seated, not readied. He watches the north-wall seam and wrapped drift. Nothing there shifts, and no hidden shape resolves. The spider’s last known set was over that door-ground. Whether it remains there is unknown; Hobb’s watch does not prove where it must descend. Firren stands alone beyond the sag. Silas remains blocked behind Edda and Verbena.

Silas Horn

I hold — fourth stays behind Verbena, and her boots haven't moved. No jumping the file at a spider's ceiling. I spend the wait the one way that's mine: eyes on the north drift from the lip, the long mass. Last visit it hung over the wall and never breathed; this morning it hung still on Firren's read. I watch it while the file walks — if it so much as shifts a strand while anyone's under the sag, I call DROP with Barnaby, two voices on the same word. Lantern stays unlit in my hand. I cross the moment Verbena clears, stooped, on the prints, no stopping.

DM

Silas holds fourth with the lantern unlit and watches the wrapped mass. It does not stir. His second **DROP** call is another warning, not control over the moving seat. “Cross the moment Verbena clears” records intent; movement still occurs on Silas’s own turn. Edda and Verbena remain ahead of him at the threshold.

Verbena Candell

Firren's across and the line's proven — I cross third, now, before the ceiling gets ideas. Stooped on the keeper's prints, mace slung, ampoule in my fist, eyes on the floor-lane — the file's watching the sky for me. No stopping under the sag, no drift off the two-foot strip. As I clear by the statue I call it low to Edda: "Across. Third's yours next round — stoop early, the sag comes on fast."

DM

Edda is still second at the threshold. Verbena cannot cross third ahead of her, so Verbena does not enter the lane and makes no call-back. She remains behind Edda with mace slung and ampoule in hand. Round 2 closes with Firren alone past the sag; the other five remain at the threshold in file.

Barnaby Wick

I hold at the lip — last in file crosses last. My watch while the file walks: eyes on the sag over the keeper's lane, sling low and loaded, no stone up. The strip is honest because the keeper's prints make it so; the spider is still unfound and doesn't need the silk to come down. If a strand moves while anyone's under it — DROP, loud, and boots freeze where they stand. If it drops instead, mace and staff answer first; I hold fire till it's on the floor or takes someone up. Edda's turn. Walk the prints, stoop early.

DM

Barnaby holds the threshold with sling loaded and keeps the sag under watch. Nobody is beneath it. “The strip is honest” remains his conclusion; the prints prove use, not protection. Firren remains alone by the statue with an arrow not yet nocked.

Firren of the Reeds falls.

DM

The sag jerks. Barnaby and Silas shout **DROP**—but Firren is already beyond it. A crab spider unfolds from the silk above the statue and drops onto him. Bite **14**, needing **12**: hit for **5**. Firren falls at **0/4 hp**, dead before poison matters; no save is called. His bow hits the floor, arrow still un-nocked, and *Sleep* dies unspent with him. The spider is exposed beside Firren’s body at the statue, **9/9 hp**. Nobody else has crossed.

DM

Edda has not acted. The turn stays with her. The spider is exposed beside Firren’s body beyond the sag; her sword is sheathed, shield raised, and staff carried one-handed.

Edda Motts

Firren's down at the statue and the thing's on the floor beside him — mace and staff answer, same as the rule said. My word holds: no iron on this floor. Shield slung, staff in both hands — ash, not iron. I cross stooped on the prints, no stopping under the sag, and swing for it where it stands over Firren. Barnaby — hold the lip, nothing's taught anything till I'm under it with the thing. Vess — your floor, your terms, and this is the trade the room set.

Edda Motts

Ash landed — two off it, it's wounded and off Firren. Verbena, the mace finishes this when you cross; I hold the line between it and the body.

DM

Edda clears the sag, slings her shield, and brings the ash staff around two-handed. **13** hits AC 7 for **2**; the spider is **7/9 hp** and driven a step clear of Firren’s body. Edda stands between them. Her sword stays sheathed and her word remains unbroken. With the shield slung, Edda is **AC 5 [14]**, not AC 4 [15]. “The mace finishes this” is her order and hope, not a guaranteed result.

Hobb Coalfell

The spider's out of the silk and on the floor — that's my ground now. I cross fifth, fast on the keeper's prints, no stoop needed for a hand's clearance. Hammer out before I clear the sag. Edda holds it off Firren — I take the other side. One blow to the wrist-cable killed a shrine hand; let's see what it does to a spider's leg. Vess — same terms as before. This one drew first.

Hobb Coalfell

The hammer takes it full on a leg-joint — it reeks of the shrine hands' death now. It's still up, but barely. Finish it, don't let it drag back into the silk.

DM

Hobb goes now, so he does **not** cross fifth: he passes Verbena and Silas at the threshold and becomes the third body across. The file changes by deed. He also breaks his exact word. His only stated exception allowed iron tools on stone after palms and eyes; “it drew first” does not amend that vow retroactively. The consequence, if Vess keeps one, is unknown. The hammer lands on a natural **20** for **5**. The spider is **2/9 hp** beside Edda; Hobb stands on its other side. Firren remains dead at the statue.

DM

Silas has not acted in round 3. The turn stays with him. Verbena remains ahead of him at the threshold unless he changes that order aloud; the spider is visible beyond the sag at **2/9 hp**.

Silas Horn

Hold — Verbena's place is ahead of mine and the mace is the finisher. My call down the file, low: cross now, on the prints, end it. It's boxed between staff and hammer — and after this, nobody stands alone on that floor. It came from above the statue. Not the sag, not the drift — the one square of ceiling with no eyes on it. The long mass still hangs unexplained and I keep the second DROP voice on it. Lantern unlit. Firren's owed words once the floor is ours.

DM

Silas holds behind Verbena with the lantern unlit and watches the long wrapped mass; it remains still. The spider did descend from above the statue. “Boxed” describes Edda and Hobb’s positions, not a rule preventing retreat or attack. Verbena now has the lane. Her mace is still slung; the ampoule remains in her fist.

Verbena Candell

Across now — stooped on the prints, no stopping, ampoule belted and mace out before I clear the sag. It's boxed between Edda's staff and Hobb's hammer. I put the mace on it where it crouches by Firren — it dropped from the one square of ceiling none of us watched, and it killed the first of us across. No word spent on it. Firren's owed words when the floor is ours, and light, at the Lantern's pace.

crab spider falls.

the fight is over

Verbena Candell

The spider's dead at my feet and the floor is ours by deed — no word spent on it, none owed. I kneel at Firren's shoulder. He crossed first, on a line I called honest. "Firren of the Reeds. First across, first spent, and the Lantern holds what it takes. Walk the water-paths on the far side and wait — I'll light your taper myself when we're clear of this silk, and read your name to it." Words now, light at the Lantern's pace, outside the web — my own rule, kept. Then I'm up, mace in hand, eyes on the long mass over the north wall. It hung still through all of that. That's next.

DM

Verbena’s **17** lands for **2**. The spider dies. The fight is done; nothing hostile remains standing. She kneels and reads Firren’s name. No flame is lit; the ampoule remains sealed. One correction: drawing the iron mace broke her exact clause, **“no iron bared on this floor.”** “No word spent” is her claim, not the record. As with Hobb, no answer comes; any consequence is unknown. Firren lies dead at the statue beside the spider. The overhead silk and long wrapped mass remain, as does the north-wall seam. Barnaby and Silas still stand this side of the sag.

DM

Barnaby has not acted in round 4. The turn stays with him.

Barnaby Wick

Crossing now, while the ceiling's honest — stooped on the prints, sling low, no stone up, eyes on the square over the statue the whole way under. That's where it lived: not the sag, the landing where the file bunches. The sag never moved. Next crossing lights that square first, every crossing. At the body. I set the file — first place was mine to give. Silas, your book takes each thing as it's lifted, his own terms: bow, arrows, the wrist, whatever else the pack holds. Share held, no kin to send it to. The report gets a second name over mine. One line before any vote: he doesn't stay on this floor. This house renders what falls in it. Carry him or sling him — ours to decide. He doesn't stay.

DM

Barnaby passes Silas by deed and clears the sag. The emptied silk pocket above the statue is now plain. The spider dropped from there; contrary to Barnaby’s recollection, the sag **jerked** when it came loose. No second shape shows, but that does not promise the next passage safe. Silas remains alone on the near side with the unlit lantern; Edda holds the only striker beyond the silk. Nothing is lifted from Firren. Bow, 20 arrows, sword, dagger, spellbook, map, stamped wrist, and pack remain with him. “Share held; no kin” is Barnaby’s instruction, not an estate ruling. Edda’s turn.

Edda Motts

Watch first, then the dead. I put the shield back up and stand square under the emptied pocket above the statue — that square gets a light on it before any body crosses again, Barnaby's right — and I keep one eye on the long mass over the north wall. It hung still through all of it. Still doesn't answer why. "Silas — I hold the striker, so cross now, your pace, lantern lit when your boots are past the sag. Nothing's lifted till your book is open beside him." And Barnaby's line, answered plain: "He doesn't stay. I carried the priest a full day of marsh without setting her down; I've got the shoulders for him too. Sling him over mine when Silas has the count — bow, wrist, pack, everything entered. His share goes to the purse on a vote, second name over mine on the report. The company buries its own."

DM

Edda takes the statue square beneath the emptied pocket, shield raised. Her ash staff is carried one-handed and cannot attack that way; AC returns to **4 [15]**. Sword and striker remain on her. The long wrapped mass does not stir; no second shape shows overhead. Silas has not crossed. The lighting orders conflict: his unlit lantern is on the near side, while Edda and the only striker are beyond the sag. If the square must be lit **before** he crosses, someone must reunite lantern and striker first; crossing now and lighting afterward does not satisfy that condition. Firren and all his gear remain untouched. Carry, share, and burial are plans pending the count.

Hobb Coalfell

"Edda — your order and Barnaby's rule can't both stand, and the rule's the right one. Hand me the striker. I'm the fullest plate left in this company and I clear that sag by a hand: I'll walk it back on the prints and light Silas at the lip. We cross lit, both directions, till we're out of this room." Palm out. Boots turn for the strip the moment it lands. "And before any lifting starts — one entry for whoever keeps this house's book. My word was no iron on this floor; iron for stone, after eyes and palms. The hammer came off for the spider, and I'd swing it again with Firren under the thing — but the word broke with it. Vess, if you keep count: Hobb Coalfell, iron drawn. I'll stand the price at the reckoning. No other seat's books are mine to speak."

DM

Hobb holds out one hand; the drawn hammer remains in the other. The striker does not move. Edda owns it, and her turn has passed; her earlier order was not a handoff. Hobb’s conditional walk therefore does not trigger, and he stays beyond the sag. Ledger correction before that risk is priced: Hobb and Edda are both **8/8**, but shield-raised Edda is better protected at **AC 4 [15]** than Hobb at **AC 5 [14]**. Hobb alone clears the sag without stooping. His confession is entered exactly: iron drawn, word broken, price accepted if reckoned. Nothing answers. Any consequence remains unknown. Silas’s turn.

Silas Horn

Before any flame or boot moves — the spell spends now, from the lip. Detect Magic, on the last unread thing in this ceiling: the emptied pocket above the statue first, where it lived; then the long mass over the north wall; then the whole silk within sixty feet. Caveat before the answer, as always: a clean read buys husk-or-husk-shaped, not safe, and the far silk past sixty feet stays unread. And the lighting deadlock resolves one way: the striker walks to the lantern — Edda brings it back on the prints, lights me at the lip, we cross lit. Nobody crosses dark, and nobody crosses alone. Firren's book opens the moment I'm beside him.

Silas Horn holds no spells memorised

DM

The spell takes. **No magical aura** answers from the emptied pocket, the spider or its corpse, the long wrapped mass, or any silk within 60’. The statue and its three brass bolts are also clean. This proves absence of magic—not whether the mass is corpse, bundle, trap, or living thing. *Detect Magic* is spent and remains active for **2 exploration turns**. Silk beyond 60’ stays unread. No boot, flame, or item moves. One line in Silas’s plan remains unresolved: Edda returning with the striker would be a solo crossing; initiative does not let two seats cross simultaneously. The company must accept that crossing or choose another sequence. Verbena’s turn.

DM

Verbena has not acted in round 4. The turn stays with her.

Verbena Candell

Edda's walk is accepted — the pocket's emptied, the silk reads clean, and she goes with every eye past the sag on that square. Take the striker, light Silas at the lip, cross lit. One entry before her boots move, same book Hobb spoke to: Verbena Candell, iron bared. My word was no iron on this floor, and the mace came out over Firren's killer. I'd swing it again, and I'll stand the price beside Hobb at the reckoning. A Lawful count that skips its own name isn't worth keeping. I stay at the body. Nothing lifts off him till Silas's book is open beside him.

DM

Verbena accepts Edda’s **solo** return across the sag. That resolves the company’s objection, but it does not move Edda before her next turn. “The silk reads clean” means only **non-magical**; it does not establish safety. Verbena remains beside Firren with her mace drawn and the sealed ampoule on her belt. Nothing is lifted. Her confession is entered exactly: **Verbena Candell—iron bared; word broken; price accepted if reckoned.** Nothing answers, and no consequence is yet known. Round 4 closes.

Barnaby Wick

I take the long mass as my post — feet planted on the keeper's prints, off the open floor, sling stays low. Every eye that crosses the sag does it with one of mine on that bundle. It hung still through steel and two confessions; still doesn't answer why it's wrapped. And one piece of company business before the vote: the spider's fangs are intact and wet. Whatever poison killed Firren in one bite is sitting in that channel. Silas — when your book's open beside him, one of your jars takes the fang-wet before we move anything. The ampoule buys one answer; the fangs might tell us what we're buying answers TO. Edda's walk stands. Light Silas, cross lit.

DM

Barnaby takes watch from the keeper’s lane, sling low. The long mass and its outer strands remain still. At the corpse, the spider’s fangs are intact and blood-wet. Sight cannot tell whether usable venom remains in their channels. Correction: Firren died from the bite’s **5 damage** before poison mattered; no poison result was ever resolved, so poison is not established as what killed him. No sample is taken—Barnaby’s order does not act for Silas. Silas’s two named jars already hold the grease and packing samples. Four empty jars remain in company gear; one must be brought and assigned before collection. Edda’s turn.

Edda Motts

Shield up, striker out. One call before my boots move: "Barnaby — keep the mass. Hobb, Verbena — eyes on the ceiling over my stretch. Clean isn't safe; watch it occupied." Back down the prints the way I came in — stooped at the sag, no stop, boots on the keeper's line. At the lip I put flame to Silas's wick and cup it till it holds. "Lit. We cross together, your pace, lantern on the ceiling the whole way. Firren's book opens the second you're beside him — nothing lifts before it does. Striker stays with me till we're out of the silk."

DM

Edda shoulders the ash staff to keep shield and striker free, then returns alone along the prints. No strand moves; she reaches Silas at the lip safely. The spark chars the wick but does not hold: **the lantern was never fueled**. Barnaby carries one oil flask beyond the sag; the other two remain unassigned in company gear. No one has poured one into the reservoir, so no oil is spent and no flame is established. Edda retains the striker at the lip. She and Silas do not cross together now—only Edda acted. Fuel must be brought and assigned before the lantern can burn. Hobb’s turn.

Hobb Coalfell

"Barnaby — hand me that flask, hand to hand. One thing this company keeps forgetting: I don't need the wick. Twenty-two years under ground, my eyes read this ceiling dark. I'm the tallest under the sag and I've crossed this strip three times now — I walk the fuel back on the prints, one crossing, my legs. "Edda — when the reservoir's wet, strike it. Nobody crosses dark after me, that rule stands; I'm the exception the blood bought, and I'll say it plainly: stone-sense, not bravery. "Eyes on the statue square the whole way, mine included. Go."

Hobb Coalfell now carries oil flask (lantern fuel)

Hobb Coalfell no longer carries oil flask (lantern fuel)

DM

The added “lantern fuel” is struck from Hobb’s sheet; no flask was dropped on the floor. Barnaby owns the named flask and has not acted or offered it this round. As with the striker, an order cannot move another character’s gear. The handoff must wait for Barnaby’s turn, or an unassigned company flask must be located by its actual carrier. Hobb’s conditional crossing does not trigger. He remains beyond the sag with hammer drawn. His darkvision is real, and he alone can cross upright; literally, he is the **shortest** company member, not the tallest. Silas’s turn.

DM

Silas has not acted in round 5. The turn stays with him.

Silas Horn

The rule was nobody crosses dark — the rule underneath that one was nobody crosses ALONE, and that's the one that killed Firren. I bend my own doctrine in the open: four pairs of eyes are on the statue square, the pocket's emptied, the silk reads clean, and the fuel is on the far side anyway. I cross now — stooped, on the prints, watched the whole way by everyone. The lantern gets Barnaby's flask where the flask already is. At the body: the book opens the second my boots stop. Nothing lifts off Firren before the count.

DM

Silas crosses alone, stooped on the keeper’s prints. Four watchers hold the statue square; no strand moves, and he reaches Firren safely. Edda is now the only living company member on the near side, shield raised and striker in hand. The lantern remains unfueled and unlit. Barnaby’s flask stays at Barnaby’s hip. As Silas’s active *Detect Magic* range shifts forward, no new aura appears in the newly covered silk. Silas opens **his own notebook** beside Firren for the inventory count. Firren’s spellbook and every other item remain untouched. Verbena’s turn.

Verbena Candell

Mace slung. I stand at Firren's shoulder and do my office — as Silas lifts each thing, I read its name aloud: bow, arrows by the shaft, sword, dagger, spellbook, map, Vess's stamped wrist, the pack. His own name opens the count. One empty jar set open by the spider's head, beside the fang-wet — Barnaby's order, standing. Whoever takes it, the jar's waiting. "Vess — this is the keeping you were sworn to. Watch us keep it true."

DM

Verbena slings the mace, stands at Firren’s shoulder, and speaks his name and the proposed order. Silas’s turn has passed, so he lifts nothing; no inventory line is completed. The count still owes Firren’s worn leather armour, rations, and waterskin—the word “pack” does not erase its contents. Verbena takes one of four empty company jars, opens it, and sets it beside the spider’s head. It touches neither fang nor fluid: **no sample is taken**. Three empty jars remain in the kit. Nothing answers her address. “Sworn” remains Verbena’s claim, not an established fact here. Round 5 closes.